Monkey Wrench (7 page)

He reached out, but I stopped him as his fingers were about to reach the fabric. He let his hand drop.

“No touching allowed. Are you an artist?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I studied in Japan last semester. I didn’t get to Fuji, though.”

Pearl turned and clapped her hands together. “Goody! I’ve been many times. We can have such fun talking about Japan.”

She beamed at me. I gave her a look that I hoped would remind her that we were just exploring this idea.

Ross settled into the banquette. I got in next to Pearl.

“Tell us what the GrandSons program is all about,” I said.

Ross scooped his hair off his forehead. He smiled. “We are a non-profit that matches up older women with younger guys so that we can serve in a capacity like a grandson. If you give me a room in your home, I will do whatever chores you find necessary.”

“I’m not sure what I would need done,” Pearl said.

I nearly choked on my coffee, the coffee I’d brewed after scrubbing out the coffeepot with a Brillo pad. My dishpan hands told a different story.

“Do you have CPR training?” I asked.

“I do,” Ross said. “And I can take her to all her doctor appointments if you’d like.”

“I can drive,” Pearl said. “I’m an excellent driver.”

Diplomatic, choosing not to answer, he smoothed his tie down over his skinny chest.

Pearl said, “Ross, do you like crossword puzzles? I’m stuck on this week’s
New York Times
. That damn Will Shortz. He never met a pun he didn’t like.”

“I’m a whiz, ” Ross began.

I held up a hand. “Pearl, let’s figure out some other ways Ross can help you. Do you go to school at State full-time?”

“Yes, but I have a very flexible schedule. In fact, most of my classes are at night so I can be available. I can help her with grocery shopping, other errands. Either she can come with me or I’ll go myself.”

His forehead creased. “For example, my last Granny—that’s what
we call them …” Ross explained.

Pearl’s lip curled into a snarl. I stifled a laugh. Granny was not her style. “Not me,” Pearl put in.

“Okay.” Ross’s head tilted as though he was puzzled. “Anyhow, my last Granny was very sick,” he said. “She had to be driven to dialysis three times a week. Many, many doctor appointments. They know me over at O’Conner Hospital, let me tell you.”

Pearl leaned in to him. “What happened to her?”

“She passed a month or so ago.”

“How awful for you,” Pearl said, her mouth turning down.

Ross said sincerely, “It is a downside of this job, but I prefer to think that I was blessed to have spent time with her. She was a very courageous woman.”

We were quiet for a moment, thinking about the people who had passed.

“My husband and I met at Manzanar. Do you know what that is?” Pearl asked, her face close to his.

Ross looked at me for guidance. I sat back. If he was going to live here, he’d hear this story more than once. I wanted to see how he handled it.

“The internment camp, right?” he said. He smiled at her tentatively.

She nodded. “Our families had been taken off their farms. We lived in wooden shacks. I was only four. Hiro was a big boy, about eight.”

I watched Ross as Pearl told the story of how the young boy had shared his food with Pearl, and listened to Pearl sing. His eyes never left her face.

I felt myself soften. This kid could be the answer to our problems.

Pearl finished up. “I made a quilt about my experiences. It’s won a lot of awards. It’s hanging in the Japanese American National Museum.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll get a picture.”

Pearl jumped off the banquette and went down into the living room. There was definitely a spring in her step that had been missing.

I said to Ross, “Do you have references?”

“Of course,” Ross said. “I can email you the list.”

Pearl presented the framed picture and article. Ross seemed suitably impressed.

“Okay, well, then,” I said. “Ross, thank you for coming.”

Ross stood up and bowed in Pearl’s direction. “
Arigatou gozaimasu
.”

Ross started toward the door. Pearl grabbed my arm.

“Did you hear that?” Pearl whispered. “He speaks Japanese. He can move in tomorrow.”

Pearl’s face opened up in a huge smile, one I hadn’t seen in months. Pearl had fallen for this kid hook, line, and sinker.

She stopped in front of her reflection in the microwave and smoothed down her cowlick.

“Okay. Let me check his references,” I said.

“He’s charming, Dewey. Good job,” she said, patting my hand. “You were right. He’s just what the doctor ordered.”

I lowered my voice. “I’m glad.”

She looked better already. Her eyes were shining.

I caught up with Ross at the front door. “Thanks for coming,” I said.

“No problem. I’ve got no place to live right now, so this would work out great for me, too.”

When I got back inside, Pearl had climbed up on the countertop, opening a high cupboard. I could see her lime-green Kitchen Aid mixer on the shelf. That sucker was heavy.

Pearl was reaching for it, kneeling on the Formica.

“Pearl,” I yelled, catapulting myself the length of the kitchen. “Criminy, you’re going to kill yourself.”

I put one hand on her back and the other on the mixer, steadying both. That mixer was so top heavy, I was afraid that one or both of them was going to land on the floor.

“Jump down,” I said.

Pearl turned so she was sitting down, facing me, still on the counter. “Chill, Dewey. I’ve done this a gazillion times before. Just because you weren’t here to see me …”

“I’m here now. And I’m begging. Please let me.”

She pouted but swung her feet and landed nimbly on the floor. “If Ross were here, he could get down the mixer when I felt like making cookies. And he could fill the bird feeder and …”

I filled my arms with the mixer and set it up for Pearl. She unwrapped two sticks of butter and plopped them in the bowl.

I kissed her cheek. “All right, all right. I can see you like him. I’ll call him and have him come back tomorrow.”

The store was closed tomorrow, Sunday. I had to paint the bathroom, but I would have time to help Pearl and Ross settle in.

I let myself out. When I looked back, Pearl was standing in the front window, a measuring cup in her hand. I waved but she didn’t wave back.

_____

As soon as I got home that night, I could smell the combination of steam and aftershave that meant Buster was fresh from the shower. Yippee, he was awake.

He was standing near the stove, dressed in basketball shorts and a T-shirt with a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. I loved the domesticated touch on my big and burly guy’s guy.

I kissed him hello. I let my cheek linger on his, feeling the sweet vulnerability of his naked chin.

“Hi yourself,” he said, returning the kiss. “Have a seat.”

He took my laptop case and my purse from me, laying them on the counter. He pulled out a chair at the two-seat kitchen table. We’d found the bar-height table in a dumpster and spent hours sanding and painting the wood.

Buster and I hadn’t spent every minute refinishing furniture. One memorable night was forever associated with this piece for me. Running my hands over the smooth top reminded me of Buster’s not so smooth hands running over me. I smiled at him.

“Did you put away all the bad guys?” I asked, settling myself. He’d put out placemats, dishes, and silverware already. In the middle of the table sat the souvenir trivet we’d gotten in Monterey. It was a cast-iron sea otter on his back, his paws and feet held up to receive the dish. It reminded me of the Crawl. I put work out of my mind for now.

The trivet meant only one thing. His favorite dish to make and my favorite comfort food—mac and cheese.

“Only playing Grand Theft Auto with your brother,” he said. He put on a blue rubbery hot mitt and pulled a bubbling casserole from the oven. I inhaled the sweet smell of toasted bread crumbs that he liked to sprinkle on the top.

“Kevin was here?” I asked. My brother and Buster had been best friends growing up and even though I didn’t get along well with my sister-in-law, Kym, I was glad to hear he’d been by.

“He left before you got here.”

“That’s because he’s avoiding me,” I said. I didn’t even wait for him to sit down before dug my fork into the gluey goodness.

“You’re the best,” I said, after the first bite. “Boyfriend. Ever.” I sighed with contentment.

He dumped the double boiler water and set out steamed broccoli. He put some on my plate and some on his, and sat down, tucking a cloth napkin under his chin.

“Why is your brother avoiding you?” he asked.

I pointed my fork at him. “That bathroom at QP. Still not finished.”

Buster spooned a huge forkful of casserole into his mouth. “Still?” he said, around the food.

“And the Crawl starts on Wednesday,” I said. “I’m going in to paint it tomorrow. And the tile guys get there on Monday. After that, Kevin tells me it’s only a matter of a few hours worth of work.”

“I’ll help you paint,” Buster said. He put more broccoli on my plate. I made a face.

“Thanks,” I said. “For the painting, not the broccoli.”

He frowned. “You’ve got to eat your veggies. They’re good for you.”

“Thanks, Dr. Oz. Not to change the subject, but did you score any playoff tickets?”

He shook his head morosely. The Giants had become too popular since winning the World Series a couple of years back. Now everyone wanted to go to their games.

After dinner, I cleaned up while Buster checked ESPN.

“I’m going to take a bath,” I said.

It was the middle of Sports Center, so he had no objection. I pulled off my clothes and sat on the edge of the tub, letting my hand dangle in the water. I could barely wait for the tub to fill up. My hot water heater gurgled and complained as I taxed it to the maximum, asking for the hottest it could give me. I was afraid the old thing would blow up before I got a full tub.

I brought my iPod in and set it to Lucinda Williams, Shelby Lynne, and Rosanne Cash. I needed the plaintive sounds of country music to carry me far from Silicon Valley.

I added bubble bath, and then added more. It had been a two-capful week.

A bubble drifted up and popped. I caught another one on my palm. I imagined Vangie’s troubles inside that bubble. When it popped, I felt a little sense of release. I tried it again. Wyatt. Pop.

Barb V. Pop. The Crawl. Pop. Pearl. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Silly but it worked. I climbed into the tub already more relaxed. I closed my eyes and eased back.

I heard Buster come in and sit on the toilet seat. “Feeling better?”

“Getting there,” I said, without opening my eyes.

“Can I wash your back?” he asked.

I leaned forward in answer. I let my head and arms fall as he went to work with the scratchy loofah.

“You seem pretty tense,” he said. “Vangie?”

“And I’m worried about Pearl. Vangie was sort of looking after her, but now—”

I didn’t have to say more. Buster nodded.

I continued, “I heard about this great service. The kids at State set it up. An older woman can get a young man as a roommate. She rents him a room for cheap, and in turn he helps out around the house.”

Buster looked skeptical. “Why would a college kid want to live with an old lady?”

“Watch it. Pearl would not appreciate that kind of talk.”

“You know what I mean. What’s in it for him?”

“Cheap rent, close to school. A home-cooked meal once a day. Wouldn’t you have liked that when you were in college?”

“Nope, I much preferred living with four guys, none of whom could boil water and only one of whom hit the toilet with any regularity.”

I splashed Buster. “Is that where your neatnik tendencies come from? Frat house trauma?”

He splashed me back. Water dripped from his nose. I brushed it away.

“I was never in a fraternity and you know it. We lived in a condemned public housing tract because it was the cheapest rent we could find.”

Buster was the son of a single mom. Money had always been an issue in his life.

“So if there had been a wonderful older lady you could have lived with, wouldn’t you?” I leaned back. “I think it sounds sweet.”

“Are you sure this guy isn’t after her bank account?”

“That would never happen. No way, not after what happened to Tess and Celeste. Pearl is too smart for that.”

“What about Hiro’s vinyl collection? Isn’t that worth some money?”

I sat up straight. “Yeah, but it’s not like someone could walk out
with hundreds and hundreds of records.”

“And you should warn her not to let the guy use her car. There could be expensive ramifications if he gets into a wreck.”

My heart sank. Of course he was thinking of problems I’d never
dreamed up.

“Buster, you ruin everything. Why do you have to be a cop? You’re always looking for trouble.”

He shrugged, wrung out the loofah, and set it on the edge of the tub.

It was like asking a cat why it hated dogs. That was Buster’s nature.

I closed my eyes. He did have a point. I didn’t know much about this kid. I’d been so eager to get Pearl some help, I hadn’t really thought it through.

I’d call Pearl in the morning and tell her I’d had second thoughts. Slow it down.

I conceded, “Maybe we’ll hold off until I can look into this a little further. Get some references, talk to some others.”

“That’s a plan.”

“As long as you’re in cop mode, can you stand a little shop talk?”

Buster groaned and slid as if he was falling off the toilet seat. I took advantage of his vulnerable position and reached under his arms and dug my fingers in, tickling him. He wiggled out of my grasp and sputtered. He slammed his hand in the water and I backed away from the spray, laughing.

“You trying to drown me?” I asked. “Just one question, I swear.”

I didn’t wait for him to acquiesce. He’d answer my question. He always did.

“I was looking at a Twitter feed today …” I’d keep it to myself that it was Wyatt’s. Buster’s tolerance had its limits. “And I saw a tweet about Provigil. A kid said he had some and was offering to trade. Do you know what that is? I never heard of it.”