Fearsome

by S. A. Wolfe

  “Lauren,” Imogene scolds before turning to me. “Jess, Dylan has matured. A little. He’s not the same playboy he was in college.”

  “A little. Huh? But he’s still a playboy, right? Just a different kind of playboy.”

  “Oh, he likes you. Imogene is right. Dylan has grown up a lot in the last couple of years. I can totally see you together,” Lauren says.

  “Carson believes otherwise. Honestly, why do you think he doesn’t want me going out with Dylan?”

  Imogene shrugs. “Carson is kind of a mystery. We know he was seeing some woman who worked in one of the New York showrooms, one of his distributors, I think. Anyway, I think he stopped seeing her a while ago. Whoever he was dating, he never brought her around here. Maybe if Dylan gets paired off with someone, Carson is afraid of being alone,” Imogene suggests. “Hey, maybe I’m onto something here. Carson keeps whatever personal life he has a complete secret from us. If he isn’t at the shop, he’s roaming around in his big house.”

  “Does Dylan live with him?”

  “God, no, they’d be at each other’s throats all the time,” Imogene says. “It’s enough they work together. Carson built a very nice house up the road from here. He has the same views as you, but his house is one of those eco-friendly, green designs. It has a lot of glass and concrete, but it’s very comfortable. I’ve only been there a few times for company parties. Dylan lives with Leo.”

  “They’re in an old farmhouse that Leo is renovating by himself,” Lauren says. “Dylan would rather pay rent to Leo than live for free with his brother. I think he wants to get out from under Carson’s control.”

  “Lordy, we have to get out of our parents’ houses,” Imogene says.

  “Amen,” Lauren agrees.

  Before I can ask more questions, we’re interrupted by a loud, appreciative whistle. Dylan and Carson are walking over with their tool belts resembling holsters. If they were wearing cowboy hats, they’d look like gunslingers by the way they swagger towards us.

  “Bathing beauties.” Dylan winks at me.

  “I fed Bert and gave him clean water,” Carson directs towards me. “You have to remember to take care of him. He’s your responsibility and, if you don’t think you can handle him, tell me now and I’ll take him.”

  I’m taken aback by his rudeness.

  Dylan shoots him an icy glare. “Hey.”

  “Geez, Carson. Lighten up. Bert’s fine,” Lauren says.

  “I saw Bert had food this morning,” I say timidly, hoping he doesn’t see I’m a little tipsy from one cocktail.

  “Our porky friend, Bert, is okay,” Imogene says. “Stop being such a control freak.” After three drinks she’s pretty mouthy.

  Carson winces when Imogene says that, but then he turns to me and his expression softens. “Bert goes through a lot of water. Gin would keep a dish in the kitchen and one on the porch for him,” he says. “Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pay better attention.”

  Carson nods and heads back to his truck.

  Dylan kneels down next to me. “We’re done with the bookcases. We have to strip some of the dead branches out here. Gin asked us to do it two months ago. The tree over there is dead.” He points to a brown lilting tree. “We’re going to cut some things down today and haul it later if that’s okay with you.” He is waiting for my answer, but I know nothing about home care and trees.

  “Ah, yeah. I guess that’s okay. If my aunt wanted it done, I guess you should do it.”

  “Good call,” Imogene says, slurping down her diluted vodka and cranberry.

  “Good.” Dylan smiles at me and then heads back to the truck. Carson hands him a chain saw.

  “You okay there?” Imogene asks. “You look a little worried.”

  “This whole house business is new to me. I don’t know if I’m qualified to make decisions about houses and trees.”

  “You can always ask Carson or Archie for help,” Lauren offers. “Damn, it’s hot.” She begins spritzing herself with the water sprayer.

  “Carson doesn’t like talking to me. I’ll ask Archie for help.” I slather on more sunblock.

  “What’s that? I don’t like talking to you?” Carson stops next to us with a chain saw propped up in his gloved hands. Dylan is already checking out the dead tree about one hundred yards away from us.

  “Nothing. Go do your choppy thing.” I make the international chopping motion with my hand.

  “My choppy thing?” I can see a twinkle behind his sunglasses. His T-shirt is drenched with sweat and I see some trickle down his neck. I look away. Guys shouldn’t be allowed to look that good when they are filthy and sweating.

  Lauren giggles like a drunk.

  “Just go chop your trees and things,” I repeat, waving him on and putting my sombrero back on to hide my face. He walks off, chuckling. “Hope you don’t lose your pecker,” I mutter so he can’t hear.

  Imogene and Lauren laugh so loudly Carson sneaks a glance back at me.

  For a while after, the obnoxious noise from the chainsaws drowns out any conversation. We watch them scale trees, take down dead limbs and make piles. They are far enough away from us so we’re not in danger, but we’re close enough that we can admire their muscles in action.

  “Pretty hot,” Imogene shouts over the saws. “And I’m not talking about the sun.”

  Lauren props herself on her elbows to watch Carson and Dylan. “Oh, here we go, ladies. The shirts are coming off. It’s show time.”

  She’s not kidding. As Carson walks farther away to the dead tree, he puts his saw on the ground and takes off his shirt. As he wipes his neck and forehead with the wet T-shirt, his abs ripple on his flat stomach while the muscles in his shoulders and biceps look impressively taut. I ogle him, knowing I’m safely hidden under my sombrero.

  Dylan is muscular and tan, though skinnier and an inch or two shorter than Carson.

  “I had no idea the country had this kind of entertainment.” I’m mesmerized with Carson’s waist and the muscles flexing just above his jeans. “Wow.”

  “Yes, our country boys got it going on,” Imogene says in a country twang.

  Carson stands with his back to us and starts up his saw again. The sound is so sudden and loud all three of us girls flinch and laugh loudly. He certainly jolted us out of our butt-gazing frenzy.

  The tree is not as tall as the ancient one next to the house, so after a few swipes with their saws, Carson and Dylan are able to push it over. It snaps free with a clean cut. Dylan looks over at us and gives a thumbs up.

  “If they are going to do this every day, I am staying here the whole summer.” I peer out from under the brim of the hat and continue watching them.

  Imogene laughs. “Quick, Jess, this would be a good time for you to run over there and give them your SPF speech. You can apply the lotion for them.”

  “Dylan would love that,” Lauren says. “Carson would have a cow. He’s kind of conservative when it comes to public displays of anything.”

  “Yeah, I’m not doing any of that. My eyeballs are already in sensory overload just watching those two.”

  “Here comes the beefcake. They are so fucking obvious, strutting in front of us. Everyone, lie down and close your eyes. Don’t give them the satisfaction of an audience.” Imogene puts a towel over her face.

  “How drunk are you?” I ask. “They saw us watching them hop around the trees.”

  “Ladies,” Carson says as he walks by us to his truck. I’m too busy to respond, studying the eye-catching tan line below his stomach where his jeans keep dipping, exposing skin that is paler.

  “Carson,” Lauren acknowledges him even though her eyes are closed while she works on her glorious tan.

  Dylan stands in front of me and blocks the sun. “I forgot to tell you that Carson is going to come back tomorrow to put the library back together and then you can set up your computer in there.” He’s so bright and chipper compared to his brother.

  �
�My computer?” I attempt to think back to my conversation with Carson.

  “Yeah, Carson said your office is sending it over so you can work from here. How cool is that?” Dylan says.

  “Very cool!” Imogene and Lauren say in unison and a little too loudly, as only drunks would do.

  Carson blasts the truck horn impatiently. He’s already got the equipment loaded in back and is in the driver’s seat. His hand hangs out the window to bang the side of the door loudly to get Dylan’s attention.

  Dylan sighs. “The boss calls. I have to get back to the shop. Tomorrow night, we’re on.”

  “I’ll see you then.” I try to sound casual, but I feel Lauren and Imogene’s eyes on me.

  “Bye, ladies.” With that, he dashes off to Carson’s truck.

  I watch them drive away, knowing that the girls are still staring at me with grins.

  “Well?” Imogene asks. “He likes you, so the big question is, what are you going to wear?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking of clothes, maybe some jewelry, maybe both,” I answer. “I’m definitely wearing panties.”

  Imogene chuckles while Lauren says, “Skin. You want to show skin. You want Dylan to be heaving with desire to the point that he wants to jump you.”

  “Oh, brother,” Imogene groans. “Guys don’t need to see skin to be horny. They find any woman desirable if she’s walking around with a vagina.”

  “Unless he’s gay,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, don’t worry. Dylan’s not gay. You could wear a garbage bag and he’d still be crazy about you. I can tell,” Imogene says. “So, are you going to sleep with him?”

  “Absolutely not. No first date fucks.” I want to sound as tough as them.

  Ten

  After too many vodka cranberries in the hot afternoon sun, Imogene and Lauren take over two of the empty bedrooms and nap away until the evening. I keep myself busy in the studio, painting until my buzz has worn off and I know I can’t keep avoiding my parents.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t call us when you found out,” my mother says over the phone.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Aunt Virginia was still alive,” I practically shout into the phone.

  My mother is silent on the other end. I am holding the vintage phone in the kitchen tightly to my ear, listening for any signs of life on the other end. My mother finally sighs.

  “I’m sorry, Jess. At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do. I was very close to Gin when I was a child and as a young woman, but then she came between your father and me. I took you to stay with Gin when your father and I had a rough patch in those early years. We had great fun, I remember it well, but your father came to take us back.”

  “Why couldn’t we have all stayed with Ginnie that summer? Dad, too?”

  “Your aunt disliked him. She made that known to him as well. She believed that your father wasn’t good enough for me because she thought he was very controlling.”

  “He is!” I shout into the phone. “I love Dad, but he is very stodgy and very controlling and you know it. He chose my college and he chose my field of study. He’s always had the final word on everything I do or you do.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you say it like that. It’s his way of loving people—to take care of them.”

  “Controlling isn’t the same as loving. Why did you run to Aunt Ginnie’s that summer?”

  My mother is silent for a moment. “Robert cheated on me. I found out that he had been having an affair with a woman in our circle of friends for two years. I took you to Hera so I could figure out what to do next. Your aunt adored you and loved having us there. We were her only living family.”

  “How could you take that away from her? From me? I loved being here. I know that. You tried to scrub my memories, but they’re coming back, Mom. Why did you forgive Dad for cheating, but you couldn’t forgive Aunt Ginnie for butting in?”

  I hear my mother crying softly on the other end, sniffles she tries to hide. I wait patiently and listen to her as I wonder where my father is and why he hasn’t bothered to pick up the extension like he usually does.

  “It wasn’t that simple, Jess. I still loved your father and I didn’t want to lose him. He gave me an ultimatum. We couldn’t see your aunt anymore.”

  “How could you be so weak to agree to those terms? It goes against everything you two have taught me about being independent and strong. What did Dad have to gain by giving you the ultimatum?”

  “I’m pretty sure at the time that he would have divorced me if I hadn’t cut off ties with Ginnie. Don’t think badly of your father. A lot has changed in the last fifteen years; our marriage is stronger and he is much more respectful and loving.”

  “If that were true, you and he would have reconnected with Ginnie and given me my aunt back.” I fight the tears.

  “I know your father is concerned about you.”

  “Ah, you mean he’s worried that I’m making bad choices and he wants to tell me what to do.”

  My mother sighs, almost as if she’s agreeing with me. “He loves you.”

  There’s a silence on the line, neither of us know what to say, yet we don’t want to end the call.

  “What are you going to do while you’re there? What about your job?”

  “My job is fine. Nathan is letting me work from here for a while. I’m figuring some things out on my own this time. Archie Bixby and Ginnie’s friends are helping me with the house. I’ll let you know what my future plans are, but for now, I’m staying here to think it out. I’ve never really had a vacation, so I’m using part of the summer here to take a break from the city. That’s all.”

  “All right,” my mother says. Her voice trembles so I know she’s still crying. I don’t have memories of her crying, so I’m not sure if she’s crying about losing her aunt or if she thinks she’s losing me.

  I hear my father in the background. “Michelle, stop crying, you’re making it worse.

  “Mom,” I say. “You should cry. This is a terrible and sad thing.”

  “Take good care of yourself, Jess. And I am sorry. You need to know that. I wish we had handled it differently and you’d had some years to spend with your aunt before she died.”

  “I’m sorry we weren’t with her during her illness and at the end of her life. I think that makes us horrible people, a horrible family,” I retort.

  “Robert and I are responsible for that, not you. Sometimes, family loyalty is misplaced and we can’t undo the hurt we’ve caused. I never thought I’d be that kind of mother. I’m sorry.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “That didn’t sound good,” Imogene says. She and Lauren are peeking in the kitchen, waiting for a safe time to enter.

  “It’s kind of typical with my mother and me.”

  “That sucks,” Imogene says. “I can’t imagine not being close to my parents and my grandmother.”

  Lauren nods. “My parents drive me crazy, but we’re close.”

  “You were probably raised on Harry Potter books and funny sitcoms. My parents entertained me with quantum physics and ‘60 Minutes’. We were never the fun family.”

  “This is depressing. We need food,” Lauren says as they scrounge through the fridge.

  I hang up the plastic receiver of the rotary wall phone and it accidentally falls and conks me on the foot. I make another attempt and, this time, when I latch the phone on the chrome cradle I notice a phone number scrawled in pencil on the side of the phone. It’s my apartment number in New York. Underneath it is another phone number with a line through it, which is my old phone listing for my college dorm. Aunt Ginnie must have thought of calling me several times over the last few years, but couldn’t bring herself to break the archaic, destructive promise she made with my parents.

  Imogene makes us delicious bacon and cheese omelets and we polish off the cranberry juice and orange juice, without the vodka this time. Our heads all ache a little, but we want to enjoy the nice evening out on th
e porch. I like their company and feel more connected to the town and the house because of them. We laugh hardily like longtime friends and then I suggest they both spend the night. I can’t tell if we’re still tipsy or entering the hung-over stage.

  While they head off to their self-appointed bedrooms, I put fresh water in Bert’s bowl and then head upstairs to the studio to paint some more. I end up painting until after midnight. My back is sore from sitting on the tall stool and leaning forward to drizzle vibrant colors down the watercolor paper. It’s hypnotizing watching where the paint will puddle and if it swirls into other colors. I love this part of my process, the beginning. There’s no messy middle to deal with yet. Like the beginning of a relationship or a work project before the computer code becomes riddled with bugs and the clients become demanding. Beginnings are exciting and offer so much hope.

  I finally turn in for the night as Bert snuggles next to me in the bed. This time I make sure to set the alarm on my cell phone for eight in the morning, hoping this will be before any dangerously handsome workmen can find me half-dressed in bed.

  I roll on my side and hug Bert who eagerly licks my face and grunts.

  “God, is this what it’s come to, Bert? Me hugging a slobbering dog? A farting dog, no less? And, geez, can I just say the obvious?”

  Bert looks at me and waits for my answer.

  “You stink. You have the worst breath. I’ve never had a dog; is this what they mean by dog breath? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is what I’d call a WMD, buddy.”

  He perks his head at me.

  “Weapon of mass destruction. That’s what you got going on and you’ll never get the ladies with that breath.” I scratch roughly behind his ears the way he likes and then can’t resist hugging him again.

  “I’m so lucky I have you,” I whisper to him.

  Eleven

  The pounding begins when I’m still in a wonderful, dreamy position with the cool sheets wrapped around me and the down pillows are scrunched below me in all the right places. I jolt up and realize someone is repeatedly slamming the doorknocker as if they’re trying to raise the dead.