Satan, Line One

by M. J. Schiller

  She grasped my upper arms and gave me a slight shake. “Come on. Say you’ll at least consider it.”

  “All right, I’ll at least consider it.”

  “There you go. See. I knew you’d be agreeable.” She moved with me to the door.

  “The answer’s still going to be no, but I’ll consider it.”

  She shook a finger at me. “Now, now. Keep an open mind.”

  I stopped in my tracks, flabbergasted by her persistence. I mean, who in their right mind would go back to work part-time for a paltry salary? Sure, physically I could do it. After weeks of recovery from my car “accident”—if that’s what it’s called when a car jumps the curb and rams your body into a storefront, then drives away—the doctor had cleared me for all activities just yesterday. She climbed the few stairs to our front door, opened it, but paused with her hand on the knob. “I’ll be back for your answer.” She smiled, perhaps a little evilly, and backed out the door. “Good night,” she murmured.

  I stared at the door for a second then ambled back over to the bassinet, gazing at my baby.

  What do you think, Myles? Could you use a change in environment?

  I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking about it. It was crazy, right? But for some reason, I was tempted. I trudged over to the couch and fell into it.

  Twenty minutes later, the door creaked open, slammed shut, and feet pounded on the hardwood. I’m not sure which woke Myles, but he was screaming again.

  I wanted to cry. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”

  Zoe stopped halfway up the steps. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dani.” She spun around and came back. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  I pressed Myles’ binkie into his mouth but he pushed it out with his tongue. “It’s okay.” I sighed and turned to her. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

  She scrunched her forehead. “Bad day?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I’ll watch him for a bit.”

  I hesitated, but she plucked him from the crib and bounced him gently. His volume decreased. She was going to be a good mother someday.

  “You go upstairs and take a nap.” She was an awesome daughter right now.

  I looked at the long flight of steps. “I’m too tired to attempt the stairs.”

  I returned to the couch, lay down, and rolled, putting my back to the room. Yanking the covers over my head, I mumbled, “Good night.”

  The sound of Zoe’s feet padding as she walked back and forth with Myles, singing James Taylor’s “Sweet Baby James,” as I often did, lulled me. Her soft crooning and rhythmic walking were the last sounds I registered before I crashed.

  A half hour later, Zoe’s boyfriend/our neighbor, Zack, honked the horn of his Cobra. Zoe squealed and bolted for the door. “Zack’s home early.”

  I sat quickly, searching for my bundle of joy. “Don’t—” bang “—slam the door,” I finished, defeated. Sure enough, wails rose from the bassinet.

  I wonder what the world record for a baby continuously crying is?

  I swallowed a whimper and rose to change and feed Myles, hoping that might calm him.

  Zoe

  Halfway across the lawn I realized I had slammed the door. I came to a stop, sucking air in between my teeth, and spun to look at the house, grimacing. “Ooh….” Although I knew Myles was probably screaming his head off inside, I convinced myself all looked quiet, my guilt over waking him fleeting in light of who I was running to.

  Zack! All luscious six-foot-one, one hundred and seventy-three pounds of him.

  I could say that now because we were dating. Unbelievable. I was so lucky.

  Zack was getting something out of the trunk when our other best friend, Nick, nudged him and pointed in my direction. Zack looked over, and the smile on his face was electrifying. At least it was sending waves of some sort through me. He took a few steps toward me and was ready when I leaped into his arms and wrapped my legs around him. Our lips became tangled next, and our tongues, then….

  Someone cleared their throat. Zack drew back, and I twisted my head as he lowered his, color painting his face. Zack’s mom had gotten out on the other side of the car and was staring at us pointedly.

  “Oh.” My head was still fuzzy from Zack’s kiss. “Hi, Mrs. Issaacs.”

  “Hello, Zoe.”

  She was trying to pull off one of those parental stern looks, but the corners of her lips gave her away. She was amused, not mad. Zack put me on my feet but not before running his hands over my ass where his mom couldn’t see it. He stared into my face in a way that made everything else disappear. Until Nick shoved him and he stumbled forward, grabbing my arms so he wouldn’t bump into me.

  “Geesh. Get a room already.”

  Zack turned back to him. “What? Jealous?”

  It was meant as a harmless taunt, but struck a chord. Nick had asked me out before Zack and I became a thing.

  Realizing his mistake, Zack tried to backpedal. “Hey, man. I wasn’t thinking—oof.” Nick had shoved a duffle bag into his midsection and Zack winced, which seemed to satisfy Nick.

  He gave me a smile. “Hey, Zo.”

  “Hey, Nick.” I stuck my hands in my back pockets, suddenly uncomfortable. I sensed something—no. It couldn’t be. Nick got over my rejection a month ago. I was misreading the look on his face. Had to be. My throat was tight, but I managed to ask, “Nice trip?”

  We all headed toward the house. Zack’s mom was ahead of us, so we took our time, creating some distance from her.

  “Yeah,” Nick answered for them. “Zack really liked it. I don’t know how you’re going to survive when he’s seven hours away from—ow!”

  Zack had elbowed him in the ribs.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart dropping, heavier than my backpack on finals week. “You—You decided?” Panic seeped into my voice, and, at the same time, adrenaline surged through my veins.

  Nick put an arm around Zack’s back, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Zack’s a University of Colorado-Denver Linx.”

  “Oh.” I stumbled back a step or two.

  Zack brushed Nick off, grabbing my arms. “I was going to tell you, later,” he added with venom, half turning his head back to Nick. “In private.”

  I jerked out of his grip, knowing the tears were racing each other to my eyelids. “No. That’s okay. Like…I knew this was a possibility. I’m just gonna go—” I walked quickly away. I didn’t want them to see me break down like some junior high student. Of course my boyfriend was going away to college soon. I knew that. I’d simply put off thinking about it. Now, suddenly, it seemed so real.

  “Zoe,” Zack called. I waved him away.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” He must have turned on Nick. I could tell he was really pissed.

  “What are you talking about, man? I didn’t think it was some big secret. I thought you texted her.”

  “I wanted to tell her in person. But you ruined that, didn’t you?”

  “Hey, hey…” That’s all I heard before their voices faded out, drowned out by the beating of my heart. I’d loved him for so long. Now he was mine, but he was going away to college? It wasn’t fair.

  You’ve got almost two years before he leaves, Zoe. Two years.

  But it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough.

  Zack

  I could have killed Nick. He knew how Zoe would react. Knew her almost as well as I did. But not quite…. A smile slid over my face as I unpacked my bag and threw dirty clothes in the general direction of my laundry bag.

  Nick didn’t know how sweet it was to kiss her. It stirred me like no one else I’d kissed. He didn’t know how much she could turn a guy on with the sensual way she moved beneath him…pressing into him, writhing…. Not that we’d gone all the way, but…we’d come as near as we could to crossing that line without stepping over, teetered on the edge, so close it scared me the lack of control she brought out in me. My smile grew wider, and I plopped onto my bed, sitting on the edge and removing my shi
rt. I smelled it, made a face, and tossed it with the rest.

  I ran my hands over my chest, thinking about the way she did the same thing, but with small, soft hands. I couldn’t stop thinking about her…the things we’d shared together that we’d given to nobody else. The times we’d almost gotten caught.

  But I always came back to the same memory. The night she’d first taken her shirt off for me.

  She was babysitting at a neighbor’s house. The kids were asleep. It started innocently enough. Just some kissing. But pretty soon my fingers were buried in her hair. She’d worked open my shirt and ran her hands over my bare skin. Every step nearer to her, I needed to get even closer. Be swallowed up in her. Become a part of her. Share a physical oneness like the melding of the rest of us.

  The lights were out but the combination of moonlight, streetlight, and a light above the stove in the next room, gave us enough illumination to see each other well. It was serious what we did. Dead serious.

  Oh, man. The way the light kissed her curves. I had to take a second to admire that, take it all in, memorize it for later. But pretty quickly it wasn’t the kitchen light kissing her curves anymore, it was me.

  I would have taken her that night. I wouldn’t have been able to resist her quiet urgings, were we not swept by the headlights from the Brettenachers’ car as they turned into their driveway.

  “Shit! Shit!” I scrambled to find my shirt, which I had tossed aside without care. “I thought you said they’d be out past midnight.” I found her bra and threw it to her, then tried to tug my underwear on, knocking my shins against the coffee table repeatedly as I bounced around, trying to balance on one leg.

  “They told me they’d be back in the early morning hours and they would pay me double. Do you think they saw us?”

  I looked over at the windows and tried to figure the angles. “No. We were probably too low.”

  “Probably?”

  She was in Zoe panic mode. And I think, right at that moment, I loved her more than ever before. She was almost dressed. The keys were in the door. I should have been gone. But I grabbed her, and kissed her one last time. She stopped her frantic movements and responded to me. The back door creaked open, and Zoe slapped at me. Hissing. “Get out! Zachariah Avery get out of here this second.” I grinned and snuck out.

  I was halfway down the sidewalk when Mr. Brettenacher opened the front door. “Zack?”

  I stopped, dread gnawing at my stomach as I turned around slowly.

  “How’d you get here so fast?”

  “Uhh….”

  “I texted him as soon as I saw your headlights.” Zoe stepped out the door.

  Mr. Brettenacher looked along the street in the direction of my house and frowned. “You were headed the other direction when I came out.”

  “I thought I’d dropped my keys, but they were in my pocket.”

  “Hmm….” He looked back into the living room, and Zoe hurried toward me.

  She looked me in the eye, relaxing her shoulders. “Good night, Mr. Brettenacher. And thanks.”

  He faced us again and exhaled. He gave us a smile. “No, thank you, Zoe. Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  Zoe waved at him. When the door shut, she heaved a big sigh. “Oh, my gosh. That was too close.” She looked at me and we laughed. We took hands and headed home.

  “What did you tell him about the lights being off?”

  She shrugged smugly. “Told him I had a headache and I was resting my eyes. He said his kids give him headaches all the time, too.”

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to her. “Sexy and smart.”

  “You’ve got it.” And we kissed.

  And now, millions of kisses later, she wasn’t answering my texts. Typical Zoe. Ignore the problem and maybe it will go away. Only this time it was her not wanting me to go away. It’s not like I wanted to either. But how could I reject a full ride scholarship? University of Nebraska offered me squat and cost more than I, and my single mom, could afford.

  I peered through my window at hers. No movement. Was this what it all came down to? Money? Was I choosing money over Zoe? But I knew I really wasn’t choosing anything above her. I had no choice. And I’d be back. Seven hours wasn’t insurmountable.

  I hung my head. It sure wasn’t like being able to walk her to classes. Have her to kiss good night every night. But it was just something we’d need to get through. Our love could handle that.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  Tucker

  My secretary, Jeanie, greeted me as I walked in the door. She looked as though she’d been waiting for me.

  “Someone’s in your office.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Dani and the baby?”

  “You wish. Some woman named Sally Beckwith?”

  Her name wasn’t ringing any bells. “Is she a client?”

  “Not that I can tell. Her name isn’t showing up anywhere in our files.”

  I tilted my head. “And you let her into my office?”

  “More like she didn’t give me a choice. But I’ve been watching her on the monitor. She hasn’t moved from her seat. I was just going to call security.”

  I came around to her side of the desk and looked at her monitor. It wasn’t the greatest picture, but the woman did look vaguely familiar.

  “Hmm…let me see what she wants first.”

  Jeanie hesitated. “O-o-okay. But give me the high sign if you need security.”

  I smiled, trying to reassure her. “You’ve got it.”

  When I walked into the room the woman rose. I stuck out my hand. “Good afternoon. I’m Tucker McCord.”

  She gave a weak smile, her face tight. Shaking her hand was like holding a dead fish. “Sally Beckwith.”

  “So my secretary said.”

  I crossed to my desk and stood behind my big brown leather chair, gripping the top. It was my one splurge in an otherwise modest work area. I had a small, unadorned wood desk with a glass top, and three-feet-tall, glass-fronted antique lawyer shelves lined the walls on both sides, an estate find. I put a lot of work into refinishing them and was happy with the outcome. I had also put some money into the chairs facing my desk. I wanted my clients to be comfortable. Some of them found visiting a lawyer intimidating. The carpet was nice, too, but the space itself was tiny compared to my partners’ offices. I found that suited me. I was a simple man, and I didn’t feel the need to pretend to be anything different.

  From the vantage point behind my desk, I was able to get a good look at my visitor for the first time. She wore a casual down coat—with feathers sticking out of the seams here and there—over a dressier black skirt and white blouse. She took a seat, crossed her legs, and immediately bounced her foot in a rapid, jerky motion.

  I’d seen the same movement before, in this room. Why couldn’t I remember?

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Beckwith?” Before she could answer I interjected, exasperated, “I’m sorry, but do we know each other.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Her smile seemed more confident, her voice uplifted.

  “You’ve been here before. Many years ago….”

  An image flashed through my head. The same bouncing foot, but she was wearing tattered jeans and a band T-shirt. A band I didn’t recognize. She was young—twenty, twenty-two. Time hadn’t been good to her. She’d aged far more than the years that passed between.

  “Yes. I came in with my boy, Benji.”

  I smiled. “Yes. I remember him. Cute kid. He’d have to be…fifteen or sixteen by now?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Wow. Really? Eighteen.”

  “You played with Benji.”

  “Yes.” I took a seat, focusing in on an object on my desk.

  My grandfather had given me this desk “toy.” Seven silver balls were suspended by wire in a straight line. When one of the balls was drawn back, then released, it clanked against the next ball, causing the ball on the opposite end of the line to s
wing up. When, on its downward swing, it hit the ball next to it, the first ball would be set into motion again and the pattern would repeat. If two of the balls were pulled back, two from the opposite side would react in a similar way, and would continue doing so for some time. They really were sort of mesmerizing. When some problem stumped me, I would often place the toy in the middle of my desk and follow its rhythmic motion. For some reason, it cleared my thinking, much like when my son Scott used to toss a ball to focus his thoughts. He hadn’t done that in a while. I missed it.

  The toy demonstrated, I suppose, one of Newton’s laws of physics, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Perhaps an appropriate thought for a lawyer’s office, where negative actions, crimes, were met with negative consequences, imprisonment. That is, if the system worked, which it seldom did.

  I probed my mind more. The boy was whining, which agitated her all the more, so I showed him my grandfather’s gift. Of all the kids I’d had in my office since, her Benji was the most captivated by it.

  I stared at her again, and my memories began to unfold. “You wanted a divorce from an abusive spouse.” She’d had a split lip, and bruising at her temple and all up and down her arms. “We set an appointment for the next day, but you never showed. I tried to find you at the address you gave us,” a rundown mobile home held together with duct tape, “but no one ever came to the door.”

  She nodded rapidly. “I was there. He had a gun to Benji’s head and threatened to blow his brains out if I made a peep.”

  Her words struck me. They’d been there, held at gunpoint, while I was a thin, cracked door away. “I…I’m so sorry. If I’d known—”

  She waved it off. “There was no way for you to know.” She wrung her hands. “It doesn’t matter now. That son-of-a-bitch—literally, by the way—he’s dead. Met with an unfortunate accident.” She raised her eyebrows and her smile made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to know. “I’ve remarried, and my husband is good to me.”

  “If that’s the case, I don’t know how I can—”

  “I’ve come about Benji.”