Touchwood

by Karin Kallmaker

  Rayann peered closer. "Oh, I see."

  "There was a water leak last winter — or was it the winter before? Well, anyway, the wall is probably all right, but the books and shelves are ruined."

  The bells tinkled and Rayann was left to examine the shelves in the rear corner of the store. Louisa was right. The books were ruined, and the particle board shelves — not a good choice by the original carpenter — had warped and split in places. Rayann suspected the wall behind them was not in good shape either. One good tug on Emily Dickinson would bring everything tumbling down. Emily, did you ever suspect you'd be such a pillar of strength? Rayann left well enough alone. Tomorrow she would make a fresh start on the project.

  She was engrossed with watching customers until mid-afternoon, when Louisa taught her the simple inventory and cash register procedures. As the day grew later the customers grew younger. It appeared that college students came because they could find used copies of lesser-known works. Rayann suggested a computer might be helpful with the inventory. Louisa laughed the idea off, saying there wasn't enough turnover to bother. During a lull, Rayann said, "By the way, the teaching job I mentioned is three hours on Tuesday afternoons until Christmas."

  "No problem," Louisa said. "I can cope by myself for a few short hours." She was almost smiling.

  "Oh, I'm sure you can," Rayann said quickly, not sure if Louisa was teasing. Her expression was so hard to decipher. "Is it all right if I go upstairs and make a few phone calls? Not long distance. Just to the city."

  The smile deepened. "Don't worry about it. I knew someone would be missing you."

  "Yeah," Rayann said. "Just not very much."

  After the little scene she'd made at the bar, word was probably going around about "marital strife between her and Michelle. Rayann wondered how many of her friends knew she had been — what was the Old English word? Cuckolded? She shuddered. But she could trust Judy. Judy would have told her if she'd known. At least Rayann thought so. She dialed Judy's home number and was greeted by the answering machine. A blast of Talking Heads segued into Dedric, Judy's lover, saying, "At the beep you can talk your head off."

  Rayann left a brief message, saying she'd moved to Oakland and apologizing for her absence. She knew that Michelle had come between the friendship she and Judy had shared through and since college. She knew she hadn't found time for Judy because Michelle had been more important, though she didn't like people who used friends as fill-ins between lovers — and it seemed she was guilty of doing just that. She continued, "I know it's been a long time. Listen, call me and we'll talk. You don't even have to be the therapist. We'll talk about you for a change." She read off her new phone number and then paused. 'Please do call me, Jude." She couldn't think of anything more to say.

  While she had her courage, she called Michelle and got the answering machine, as she hoped she would. She left a succinct message saying she would pick up her belongings tomorrow. She could probably borrow Louisa's car, and she wished she didn't have to. She'd sold her own car to finance materials — she could use Michelle's anytime she wanted, right? She'd had a lot of wood blocks and finished pieces when she'd moved into Michelle's, but over the past three years her collection had shrunk. Michelle had urged her to work with the wood blocks Rayann already had before she started anything new. She hadn't felt right buying anything while the ironwood still served as an end table. Every inspiration she'd sketched out had been suited to lighter, softer woods. Rayann realized that she had been frustrated and trapped, and never realized it. How could I be so stupid? Michelle could keep the ironwood forever — I never want to see it again. Her computer was stored under the bed, and there were albums and books. The purple robe was hers, even though Michelle wore it more often. Good God. She angrily wiped tears away. She would not cry again.

  The next morning, Rayann's first thought was of Michelle, which upset her since she'd spent so much time the night before deciding she would not think about her. But she couldn't help herself. More asleep than awake, she could almost feel the warmth of Michelle's breath against her ear as she whispered love and passion to her. Hold me, baby, I'm... Despite the cold, Rayann threw the covers back and sat up, holding her head in her hands. Almost choking with bitterness, she thought she now knew why Michelle had always called her "baby" when they made love — so she wouldn't accidentally say the wrong name.

  Now that's what I call starting the day out on a positive note. I'm going to have to work on the looking-forward attitude I talked myself into last night.

  Shivering, she dressed and tried to anticipate the day. It wasn't that hard. The evening had been surprisingly pleasant. After dinner, she and Louisa had agreed on a work schedule and house rules, such as how to hang damp towels and the amount of coffee that went into the basket filter — intimate little rules that would make life hell if they both didn't follow them. They found they both thought anyone leaving the cap off the toothpaste was uncouth.

  Louisa had also offered to include groceries in the price of rent. Rayann protested. Since Louisa was waiving the rent while Rayann worked on the shelves, Louisa was getting the worst of the deal. But Louisa laughed it off and had her way, saying a well-fed laborer would labor well. Over drinks, Rayann opened up a little and told Louisa stories about her life, up to and including college. She alluded to her lesbianism, but hadn't used the L-word itself, which drew no comment from Louisa. Louisa mentioned her son and grandson, but mostly they had talked about books and movies. Louisa had groaned when Rayann hailed "good old movies" like All About Eve, Anastasia and Bus Stop — movies Louisa said she'd seen in the theater during their first release.

  Rayann stared out the kitchen window as she ate a bowl of cereal. Fog wrapped the house in quiet, and an occasional drip of water from the window sills broke the silence. Cereal bowl rinsed and drying in the dish rack — in accordance with the house rules — she went down to examine the shelving project. Alone in the bookstore for the first time, she resisted the temptation to linger over the books. There would be plenty of long, lonely evenings for reading. Thinking positive again already! As she crouched in the Poetry Corner she heard water running upstairs and Louisa's light tread moving from the bathroom to the kitchen.

  The Poetry Corner was going to take some effort. Rayann carefully removed everything that could be removed without prying or toppling the infrastructure. As she set down the last stack she became aware of Louisa watching her.

  "I thought I'd get an early start," she said, feeling as if she were a guest caught in the wrong part of the house.

  "I didn’t realize you were an early riser. I thought maybe you'd reconsidered," Louisa said. A look of anxiety faded away.

  "No. I'd tell you. I don't run from things... not usually." She looked at her feet, then back at Louisa, who smiled.

  "You don't have to start that today. There's lots of time."

  "My mother would say time was a-wasting." Oh my God, I've started quoting Mother. I knew it would happen some day.

  "There is plenty of time. A time to every purpose."

  "No time like the present. Your turn," Rayann said with challenge in her voice.

  Louisa smiled. "Okay, ummm, time... "The strongest warriors are Time and Patience.' That's three quotes. Add a fourth, you can call it a gallon."

  Rayann groaned. "It's too early for Groucho Marx! Let's see — 'Do not squander Time, for that's the stuff life is made of.'"

  "Okay." Louisa's expression was a mixture of laughter and stubbornness. "You want to play hard ball. Well, I'll say Time is issued to spinster ladies in long white ribbons.' Top that."

  Rayann wrinkled her nose. "I've never liked the word spinster. It has such bad connotations."

  "There's nothing wrong with the word," Louisa said, moving away and taking a philosophical tone. "It's the meaning people give it. Spinster is often synonymous with unloved or unlovable. I think Woolf meant something different. Louisa May Alcott — for whom I was named, by the way — certainly meant something dif
ferent. Her spinsters usually weren't alone by chance but by choice. She was an ardent advocate of women's health and independence."

  "Really? I thought she espoused women-in-their-place themes." She had wondered why there were so many Alcott books.

  "Heavens no," Louisa said. "She herself hated Little Women, but it paid the mortgage. The sequels, which are more feminist, are not as well known, and her works for adults are quite radical for Victorian-era novels."

  'I'll have to read them," Rayann said, turning back to the shelves. "I had no idea."

  Louisa laughed, and went over to the sales counter. "Don't read them just to please me. My friend Danny says I never know when to stop selling books."

  Rayann realized that she did want to please Louisa. It was probably because Louisa had not met her while Rayann was at her best, and she wished that circumstance were otherwise. Louisa was an interesting woman, and Rayann would like to have her respect. A knock interrupted Rayann's thoughts.

  Louisa glanced at the clock over the cash register. "Good lord, it's after opening." She hurried to unlock the front door.

  Why on earth am I sweating? Maybe it's just from moving these books.

  She raided Louisa's garage-slash-storage shed for tools. She spread them on the lawn and hosed them off.

  "Did you find what you needed?" Louisa asked as Rayann came through the front door.

  "Mostly. I couldn't find a saw, but they're not terribly expensive. Can I buy one when I get the wood?"

  "Certainly. The laborer needs her tools. Do you think you'll be able to salvage any of the wood? I know the books are lost."

  "I can't see enough of it to tell yet." Rayann frowned. "Ill try, but you could be looking at all new materials. It's hard to say." She was surprised when Louisa laughed.

  "You sound just like Paulette — the plumber who came to fix the water leak. So serious."

  Rayann smiled. "Well, this is a job, isn't it? I should be careful how I spend your money."

  "True, but ifs hard to take you seriously with those lumps in your pockets. What are they?"

  Rayann pulled out the tape measure and a variety of sockets for which she’d been unable to find a socket wrench. "This and that. Ill get them sorted out. By the way, do you have an old towel?"

  "As in, I shouldn't expect to see it again?"

  It was Rayann's turn to laugh. "Oh, you'll see it. You just won't want to touch it."

  Towel in hand, she went back outside and dried the tools, stacking them in the toolbox. The task completed, she congratulated herself for having accomplished something useful without even once thinking about — Well, it was nice while it lasted. Sighing, she went back inside, toolbox in hand.

  Louisa looked up from her ledger. Her smile froze, then slowly thawed, becoming simply forced.

  "Have I 'done something wrong?" Rayann asked.

  Louisa shook her head. "I'd forgotten Chris's toolbox was in there," she said. She cleared her throat. "Glad to see it's still in good shape."

  After an awkward silence, Rayann said, "Well, I'll get started on the shelves." She remembered Hazel Schoernsson mentioning a Christina, but Rayann didn't know who she was.

  Louisa nodded and refocused her attention on the ledger.

  Despite her earlier efforts, there were still a lot of books wedged in place, all of which were bloated from water and had fused to one another after they dried. She hooked the hammer behind Emily Dickinson and pulled. Nothing loosened except her grip on the hammer. She tugged, but nothing budged. Sorry, Emily, but it's got to be done. She felt like a dentist as she wedged the crowbar behind the book and pulled. It shifted.

  Rayann fell on her rear with a cry of alarm as the remaining books, then the shelves, peeled away from the rotted Sheetrock, and toppled toward her. She scrambled back but something heavy — most likely The Complete E.E. Cummings — landed on her shin. She sat up and looked at the ruin as a layer of mildewed Sheetrock dust settled over the entire scene.

  She started to laugh but suddenly very strong, masculine arms were around her. Her self-defense training went instinctively into action as she shoved the man back and rolled away. She came up crouched, crowbar in one hand. "I can get up by myself," she said fiercely.

  "Jesus Christ, are you trying to break my neck, too?" He steadied himself and glared down at her. "Who the hell are you? Good lord, look what you've done. Are you nuts?" He glared at Rayann and the mess, then brushed futilely at a dusty handprint on the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  "What's it to you?" Rayann demanded, equaling him in belligerence if not in height. She didn't like to be touched by strangers, least of all men, particularly men in three-piece suits who looked as if they thought women were helpless. She clutched the crowbar. Behind him Rayann saw a little boy watching them with his mouth open. The boy looked familiar — which was strange because she knew absolutely no children.

  "What in the — Oh, I see Emily did the trick," Louisa said, appearing behind the man. "Teddy, have you introduced yourself to my new assistant and tenant?"

  "No," he muttered, glaring at Rayann. "I suppose she can clean this up. I'll come by after work and put up some new shelves." Rayann's annoyance migrated to anger.

  Louisa laughed, her eyes resting on Rayann. "Dear, you've been saying that for a year at least. Rayann's in the middle of putting up the new shelves. She started, quite appropriately, by dismantling the old ones." She walked to the wall and peered at it, then prodded the fallen Sheetrock with a loafer-shod foot. "Rayann, do you know anything about Sheetrock?"

  Ignoring the man, who now also seemed familiar, Rayann turned to Louisa. "Enough to know that it's got to be replaced. And the project will take a little longer than an evening to do properly."

  Louisa shuddered as she peered into the hole left in the wall. "I hate to think what's behind there. Well," she continued, turning back to the sandy-haired man, "to what do I owe this honor?" She stepped over the rubble as if it were an everyday occurrence and hugged him, then bent to the little boy who submitted with good grace to her embrace.

  "Tucker's going to the dentist so I thought we'd drop by on the way." To Rayann's surprise he smiled. The smile clicked. Of course, she thought. Several pictures of him and the little boy were upstairs in the curios cabinet. "I had no idea it was a construction zone." He shot a glance at Rayann that seemed teasing on the surface but guarded hostility.

  Rayann wiped her hands on the back of her pants, and then reached out to shake hands. "I'm Rayann Germaine," she said sweetly. She couldn't afford to antagonize Louisa's son. He was older than she thought he'd be. Louisa had either been in her teens when she had him or was older than she appeared. She's so attractive for her age. The thought came to Rayann involuntarily.

  He squeezed her hand briefly. "Ted Thatcher. And this is Tucker." The little boy peered at her from behind his father's legs.

  "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?" Louisa took his answer for granted as she headed for the stairs, followed by son and grandson.

  As the door closed Rayann heard him say, "Are you sure she knows what she's doing? Why on earth did you get a renter?"

  Louisa's laughing answer, before it faded out of Rayann's hearing was, "Dear, it was your idea, remember?"

  Rayann's pique dissipated as she set about separating books from Sheetrock and usable wood from rotten planks. She ignored the flash of attraction she had felt for Louisa. After all, you've got a broken heart and you don't even know if she's gay. But then who was Christina? Rayann shook her head fiercely to clear it. None of your business, that's who. You're just starting to feel lonely. Not much of the wood was usable. It wasn't long before Louisa's son and grandson left and Louisa returned to survey the work in progress.

  "The older I get the more dependent he thinks I should be," Louisa said suddenly. "Have you ever been convicted of a major crime?"

  Rayann blinked. "I've never even been arrested. Some of my more radical friends are disgusted with me."

  Louisa laughed. "They'
d love me, then." She laughed again at Rayann's shocked expression. "War protest. It wasn't fun at the time but somehow so very important. I lost my job because of it and we were pretty hard up for a while." Louisa paused. "Anyway, Teddy's a lawyer and he's going to ask a friend at the police department to see if you have a rap sheet."

  Rayann dusted her hands on her backside but they only got dustier. "I'm not sure I like that. I mean, I don't work for him."

  Louisa said, "You're filthy," and she swatted at Rayann's behind, creating a cloud of dust. "No, you don't, but once he knows you're not a hardened criminal he might be willing to part with his ladder, sawhorses and electric saw for a few weeks."

  "A lawyer who owns sawhorses?" Rayann asked skeptically.

  "Teddy will surprise you. Besides, he bought most of the equipment when he first promised to do the shelves. He might even give you a hand."

  Over my dead body. Rayann decided she'd have the new Sheetrock and shelves up in record time.

  After lunch, she cleared away the debris, and pried the remaining Sheetrock from the wood beams. They were real 2x4s, dating the house to pre-fiberglass insulation days. It was an exterior wall, so Louisa agreed with Rayann that she should pack it with fireproof insulation before replacing the Sheetrock.

  Rayann loaded the debris in the back of the El Camino to take to a dumpster. El Caminos were such useful car/trucks. One of Rayann's first crushes had been on her gym teacher — of course — who had driven an El Camino and had been able to load up an entire Softball team's equipment in the back and include two, or maybe just one lucky passenger in the front. Rayann worked up a sweat moving the books, remembering one ride when she'd been squeezed between Miss Smith and Rita 'Tomboy" Barker and nearly fainted. Breathing hard, but pleased, she slammed the tailgate.

  "Don't you want to see my license?" Rayann looked at the car keys Louisa tossed to her. Louisa raised both eyebrows with a glance that plainly said she hadn't considered it necessary. "I think you're far too trusting."