Desperately Seeking Epic

by B. N. Toler

  I closed my eyes and willed myself to calm down. This woman was driving me mad. “How are we supposed to get paid if you cancel the jumps?”

  Placing the bucket on a plastic-covered table, she turned to me, sticking out her lower lip—a look I found sexy-as-fuck on her even though she was mocking me—and she pouted. “Well I guess everyone should come in here and help. The quicker it gets done, the faster you guys get back to doing dives.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Clara?” I asked, exasperated beyond belief. “The other day you were bitching about us needing to make more money and today you cancel our jumps? That makes no sense.”

  Whipping her head around, she glared at me before stomping to the front door where the guys had been watching us through the window. Opening it, she boisterously called, “Come on in, boys. Might as well hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  Reluctantly, the guys moseyed in, their gazes flicking to me in question. I had no idea what the shrew was about to say, so I rolled my eyes in answer. Marcus entered last, remaining by the door, leaning against it to hold it open, his arms crossed over his chest. I wanted to laugh—defiant little fucker.

  “I asked all of you for four hours on Sunday evening,” she began. “None of you showed up or even bothered to call.”

  “It was our night off,” Bowman protested.

  “It was my night off, too, yet I was here,” Clara muttered.

  “Yeah, but you have no life so . . .” Marcus interjected, earning an exasperated sigh from Clara.

  “Let’s be clear,” she ignored him, taking the high road, and continued, “I am a college educated woman. I can find another job if I want to.”

  “So why don’t you?” Marcus pushed.

  “Because I love working with tiny little assholes,” she snapped. I guess she detoured off the high road.

  Marcus glared back.

  Clara tilted her head as she looked at each and every one of us. “Because this,” she motioned her hand around the room, “was left to me. Half of it, anyway. Now I’m here trying to make it bigger and better, trying to grow this business and y’all seem to think you can ignore me. Well here’s the deal . . . no jumps until we get this office done. If you won’t take me seriously, maybe you’ll take your loss of income seriously.”

  “On that note, I’m heading out,” Sap announced. “Good luck, Clara,” he mumbled. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with her or me as he marched out the door.

  I turned my attention back to Clara. “You can’t do that,” I argued.

  “Yes, I can.”

  “We’ll schedule around you.”

  “She changed the password to the schedule log in the system. I already tried,” Marcus informed me.

  Clara looked at me, her hands on her hips, one brow lifted in a perfect arch. She was pretty damn proud of herself.

  I stared blankly at her. “Are you serious?”

  “You left me no choice.” She shrugged.

  “I didn’t realize stopping our income was a choice.”

  “We’re partners,” she scolded. “You should be backing me up. I would do it for you.”

  “Partners discuss things and make plans together. That’s not what happened here,” I argued.

  “You won’t listen to anything I say.” She threw her hands out in frustration. “Every time I come to you with an idea or plan, you shut down and ignore me.” The room was quiet, everyone hanging on every word we spoke.

  I could’ve fought her on it. Somehow. But at that point I just wanted to shut her up. If painting the walls did that, I figured let’s get it over with. “All right, guys, we’re painting today.”

  They rolled their eyes and groaned, but began looking around trying to figure out where to begin.

  “Happy now?” I taunted, giving her an obnoxious bow like a servant would to their queen. “We’re all here, doing as you bid, your majesty.” But it came out rougher than I intended.

  Clara’s eyes glossed over a little and she almost seemed to frown. I was being a dick. We all were. At that time, I thought she was just hell-bent on bulldozing us, forcing us to bend to her whims at any cost. Now, I know she wanted to be a part of the business. She wanted to make her mark and feel useful. She was trying to find her place.

  We all took our tasks and got to work, ignoring her. Even when we broke for lunch, we left and didn’t invite her. She stayed at the office and kept working. By evening, we’d finished the painting and even though everyone complained and made it clear they hated her for making them be here, she thanked us all, one by one.

  We bullshitted in the parking lot for a few minutes while she remained inside and when everyone left, I went back in, realizing I had left my keys on the desk. She was in the office on the phone when I found her. Unaware that I had returned.

  Her back was to me as she sat in the office chair, one elbow propped on the desk, her head resting in her hand. “Yes, I’ve looked the papers over and I’m still deciding,” she spoke in a monotone voice into the receiver. Her tone didn’t match her stature; to hear her, you’d have thought she was discussing something irrelevant—something that warranted no emotion. But the way she held her head, her eyes clenched closed, said something entirely different. She was hurting. Badly.

  “I’m aware you’re ready to get this done.”

  She listened for a moment to whomever she was speaking with before her head shot up and she snapped. “Well you can tell Daisy I have been your wife for the last five years and I’m sorry that our divorce is getting in the way of your romance.”

  I was stunned, and my brows rose as a reaction. Shrew was married? She’s getting a divorce? I had been racking my brain wondering what in the hell inspired her to move here and jump into this business she knew nothing about. I guess I’d found my answer.

  “Well I’ll sign them when I’m ready,” she stated in a calmer voice. “Give Daisy my best.” Slamming the phone down, she hung her head, her hands clenching the armrests of the chair as she tried to calm herself.

  I decided to let my presence be known. As I entered the office, I cleared my throat, causing her to jump, yet again. She stood, wiping at her eyes quickly, before clearing her throat. “I thought everyone left?”

  “Forgot my keys,” I said as I grabbed them off the desk and dangled them for proof. “You okay?” I asked. Maybe I didn’t like her. Maybe I didn’t want her there, but I’m not a complete tool. I hated to see a woman cry. Especially one that had so much fierceness to her. Wild animals aren’t meant to be broken. And neither was she.

  “I’m fine.” She grabbed her purse, and met me at the office door. I flipped the light off as she passed by me and headed up front. As she locked the front door, I had to ask one more time. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Paul,” she sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face and pushing it behind her ear. “I appreciate you asking, but we both know you don’t give a shit about me. Let’s not pretend.”

  I groaned through clenched teeth in annoyance. “I may not like you,” I clarified, “but that doesn’t mean I want you to suffer.”

  Shaking her head, her mouth quirked up in a sad smile. “I’m fine. Have a good night.”

  She hurried to her car and climbed in. When she started her vehicle, the engine groaned in protest before it sputtered out. She turned it again, but this time it didn’t even attempt to cut on. With her doors and windows closed, I couldn’t hear her, but with the well-lit parking lot, I could read her mouth when she said, “Fucking piece of shit.”

  Thudding her head against the steering wheel, her shoulders rose as she inhaled deeply. Damn. She was going to need a ride. More alone time with her. Great. Just great.

  I decided to give her a minute, knowing she’d get out of her car at some point and ask me for a ride. But she didn’t. When I got tired of waiting, I gave her passenger side window an aggressive rap to get her attention. Cutting a sharp glance to me, she mouthed, What?

  I glared a
t her. She wasn’t my favorite person in the world either, but I was willing to give her a ride and this was how she acted?

  “I’m leaving. If you need a ride, I suggest you move your ass.” With that, I went to my truck and climbed in, giving the door a hard slam. Still, she didn’t budge. Shaking my head, because, unbelievable, I fired up my truck and put it in drive. At the sound of my engine, she hopped to and got out of her car. But she didn’t rush. In fact, I think she forced herself to move slower as she locked her car, then walked across the parking lot. Like I said, unbelievable. This chick had balls. I wanted to laugh and strangle her simultaneously.

  Opening the door, she climbed in, and slammed the door, clearly imitating me.

  “Take it easy on my baby,” I jested, trying to lighten the mood.

  Crossing her arms and letting out a huff, she pointed and murmured, “That way.”

  Shifting the truck into drive, I mumbled to myself, “That way.” Even my mocking was high-pitched. For the next ten minutes we rode in silence with the exception of Clara directing me. When we finally reached her house, I didn’t throw her out like I wanted, instead I parked, leaving my headlights on as I surveyed the property. The place was a shithole. The yard was overgrown; the grass looked like it hadn’t been cut in ages, and one of the front windows had a cardboard box taped over it, possibly meaning broken glass was the culprit.

  “You’re living here?” I probed in disbelief. “By yourself?”

  Clara opened her door as I cut the ignition. “Yes. By myself.” Sliding out, she huffed deeply. “Thank you for the ride.”

  I opened my mouth to respond when the sound of glass breaking sounded out, causing her to jerk her gaze to the house.

  “What was that?” I asked as Clara narrowed her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled as she dug through her purse, retrieving a large revolver.

  My eyes widened. What the fuck? “You carry a gun?”

  She didn’t look at me as she popped the chamber open, spinning it, before popping it back in place. Damn. My dick twitched a little. She handled the weapon like a pro, it was sexy as hell. “Sure do.” Without another word, she left the truck door open and made her way toward the house. I hopped out of the truck and rushed beside her, refusing to look like a pussy by letting her enter the house alone.

  “You can go, Paul. I have this.”

  “What if someone is in there?”

  “If someone is, they’ll be sorry,” she replied as she took the first step to the porch, which groaned in protest from her weight. Her face tightened and she winced at the sound, fearing it alerted anyone that might be inside to her approaching. I followed behind her, the stairs creaking loudly with my additional weight. Her hand, the one not holding the gun, had just found the doorknob when I took the final step onto the porch. At that exact moment, as she opened the door, I fell through the porch floor, the aged and weak wood having given out from under me.

  The sound of the wood splitting was loud, causing Clara to whip around, and she pointed the gun in my direction.

  My stomach felt like it dropped out of my ass. “Don’t shoot,” I shouted. She immediately dropped the gun to her side, pressing her mouth in an angry and frustrated flat line.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, clutching my chest, my heart racing. She almost shot me.

  “I almost shot you,” she growled as if it was somehow my fault.

  “No shit,” I snapped as I took inventory of myself. No missing body parts; no injuries. Climbing out of the hole, I treaded gently on the porch, fearful I might fall through again. “Give me the gun,” I ordered her.

  She scowled at me. “No.”

  I glowered back. “I’m going in first so give me the gun.” I held out my hand as I gave her a stern look.

  Quirking a defiant eyebrow, she snickered, “Do you even know how to use a gun?”

  “Of course, I do,” I lied. I had fired guns before, but I was no pro. All I really wanted at that moment was to make sure she didn’t kill me by accident.

  Rolling her eyes, she handed it to me. “Be careful with that.”

  I shook my head in annoyance, cursing this infuriating woman to myself as I entered the house. The weight of the gun surprised me as I held it by my side. This was a heavy gun for a girl. I almost said that to her, but decided against it since it might earn me some kind of feminist lecture. My steps were slow, and light, but the floors still creaked with each one. She was right behind me as I blindly made my way down the dark and unfamiliar hallway.

  Something thudded and I stopped, causing her to bump into me. “Damn it, Paul,” she muttered.

  “Shh,” I ordered hastily, extending my neck slightly to listen. Scratching sounds, like nails on a wall. I was relieved it was only an animal . . . we just didn’t know what kind of animal.

  After a moment of quiet, she whispered, “It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen.” She nudged me forward, and we crept toward the back of the house, toward what I assumed was the kitchen. We reached the doorway and Clara weaved her thin arm between me and the doorframe before I had a chance to understand what she was doing. In a flash, the kitchen light blazed on, shocking my eyes. A loud hiss mixed with a frantic meow made me jerk when something small and black jumped. It scared the shit out of me and I reacted, jerking my arm up to point the gun, which accidentally went off with a loud pop that kicked my heartbeat into overdrive.

  “Shit,” I gasped, freaked out that I had just accidentally fired the gun. The bullet split through a vase on the kitchen table, destroying it into hundreds of pieces. The small black thing, I now knew was a cat, as I watched it haul ass out of a tiny fold of cardboard on the back window, seemed just as freaked out as me. Apparently there were multiple windows busted in this house.

  “Motherfucker,” I yelled as I tried to catch my breath. I wasn’t scared of a cat. Okay, maybe it scared me for a second because of the sheer shock of it. Clara’s laughter pulled me from my shock as I turned to see her bent over, holding her stomach, laughing.

  “You think this is funny?” I sneered.

  Her body shook as she tried to get her laughter under control. “Not you shooting my vase,” she finally answered, “but your reaction was priceless.”

  “Why do you even have this?” I asked, darting my gaze to the gun in my hand.

  “Give me that,” Clara demanded as she pried the gun from my hand. Passing by me, she placed the gun on the counter, closing her eyes as if she needed to calm down herself. “Fucking cat,” she muttered under her breath, still chuckling.

  “I’m not going to lie,” I piped in, a little out of breath. “That scared the shit out of me.”

  “Gee, I couldn’t tell,” she said dryly.

  “You need to get new windows,” I pointed out.

  She huffed, something that held a hint of disdain. “New windows cost money.”

  “This place isn’t safe with cardboard as windows.”

  “Thank you, Paul. I didn’t realize,” she griped sarcastically.

  “When did you move in here?”

  “About a week ago,” she sighed as she crossed her arms and turned, letting her gaze travel the room. There was no stove, half the cabinet doors were missing, and the linoleum on the floor was ripped in several places. And this was just the kitchen. I cringed to think what the rest of the house looked like.

  “Did you get it for free, because short of that, I cannot imagine why you’d move in here?”

  “Guy gave me a lease-to-own option, it was super cheap, and I liked the idea of . . .” She twisted her mouth in thought before she continued, “Putting life back into it. Someone gave up on this place a long time ago. Maybe I just don’t like giving up.”

  I had the feeling she wasn’t just talking about the house anymore. I fought the urge to scrunch up my face in humored skepticism. This sounded just like a woman to me. They’re all so sentimental. She was insane. This house was a money pit. And it would take her forever to get it to
standard, suitable living conditions. “Look here,” she pointed as she approached. I stepped aside when she reached the doorframe and ran her hand down the wooden panel. Engraved in the wood were initials and dates with height measurements beside them. “This was a family. Someone’s kids grew up here. Someone’s life started here.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I watched her tiny finger run over the etched wood. “But not your life,” I pointed out. “There are better places around here that need far less work.”

  “That’s my point, Paul. Someone gave up on this place. They built it and then they just let it go and didn’t look back. They simply threw it away like yesterday’s trash.” Her gaze lingered where her fingers brushed the wood, a sadness seemingly seeping out of her, but she quickly recovered.

  Lifting her face to meet mine, she gave an awkward smile. “Thanks for the ride, Paul.”

  I realized she was telling me it was time for me to go. “Oh, yeah,” I sputtered. “Sure.” She followed me back down the hall to the front door and before I exited I turned and asked, “Aren’t you scared to be here by yourself?

  “Why?” she snickered. “You think I should be?”

  “Hell yes,” I asserted, widening my eyes in emphasis. “We’re here together right now with a big ass gun and I’m scared.”

  She laughed. Like really laughed. Her smile stretched across her face, her mouth opened, her teeth in full view. She could be such a pain in the ass, and it drove me fucking nuts. But in that moment, knowing I made her do that, laugh that way, it was like a thrill—just not the kind I was used to. Thrills were my life, and I was addicted to them; the rush of doing something dangerous always gave me a high I had never been able to replace. Until that moment.

  When her laughter ebbed, it faded into a grin, before shrinking to a small smile. Our gazes locked for a moment, and I wondered if in that brief span of seconds she felt what I did. Did she forget for a small time that she hated me, that she thought I was an asshole? Was I the only one feeling this way? I felt like maybe she did, the way her bright eyes seemed soft as they were fixed on mine. But as quick as the moment came, it seemed to disappear even faster.