Purely Relative (5 page)

Jon made a guttural exhale. “Scott likes to play head games.”

Mulling that over a second, I sensed some truth to it, given
that Scott had been trussing me up like a Thanksgiving bird he planned on
devouring minutes before broadcasting his faith. “Head games? With me?”

“With anyone and everyone.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s good at it.” Jon turned into a gas station. “Sorry.
Just a quick pit stop. The fuel gauge says half a tank but I’m pretty sure I’m
running on empty. Christine likes to play a few head games of her own.”

“No problem,” I said laughing. I sat there and fidgeted a
few seconds, then remembered the wet crossword magazine. Reaching beneath the
mat, I pulled out the wavy and distorted book. Jon said it was his and he no
longer wanted it. Trashing it would be the sensible thing to do … yet I
couldn’t do it. “Be right back,” I yelled over my shoulder as I jogged into the
convenience store.

A clean-cut man of Middle Eastern descent sat behind the
counter copying data from his smart phone into the margin of the magazine he
had opened. He perked up when I approached him. “May I help you?” The ‘l’s
rolled off his tongue so I guessed him to be Indian or Pakistani.

“My book got wet and I was wondering if you could spare a
plastic bag for me to put it in.”

He knit his dark brows together. “Are you going to buy
anything?”

I thumbed outside toward the pumps where Jon stood. “My
boyfriend’s buying gas.”

The man nodded his head toward Jon. “Your boyfriend may have
a free bag. You must buy something.”

“What? You’re kidding, right? It’s just a plastic bag.”
When, after a long pause, he didn’t even crack a smile, I groaned and stomped
over to the drink coolers. Something for Jon and I to drink to relax and set
the mood might be nice. I headed inside the beer cave and emerged with chilled
bottle of cheap white wine. On my way to the cash register, I stopped at the
magazine rack and selected a crossword puzzle book similar to the one I’d
ruined.

He rang it up and I handed him a twenty. Ignoring my
outstretched palm, he slapped my change on the counter as if he were avoiding
any sort of physical contact.

I stared at him, waiting for him to put my purchases in a
bag, but he sat back on his chair and began writing in the margins of the
magazine again. Unbelievable!

“Can I have a bag, please?”

A petulant sigh accompanied him throughout the
five-to-seven-inch distance from his chair to the plastic bag dispenser. The
bottle made a loud clunk as it hit the hard counter. He grabbed the puzzle book
and moved to drop it in the same bag as the wine.
Oh no, you don’t!

“I want the magazine in a different bag so it won’t get damp
from the condensation.” I gave him my sweetest smile but received a huff and a
scowl in return. Clearly he was not a fan of short blonde chicks trying to bilk
him out of his stash of plastic bags.

As soon as he finished, I dropped the magazine bag inside
the wine bottle bag, flashed him a toothy grin and left the store.

I was still grinning when I sashayed out to the car where
Jon was already in the driver seat, waiting. He was on his cell phone but shut
it down as soon as I opened the car door.

“What did you get?” he asked, starting Christine’s engine as
I buckled in.

I slipped the plastic bag far enough down the side to reveal
the wine bottle within. “For later.”

“Are you planning on getting me drunk and having your wicked
way with me, Miss Lindley?”

“I am indeed, Mr. Cripps.” I shot him a sidelong glance but
otherwise kept facing forward. Let him figure out what I had planned. At that
moment I didn’t know myself.

“Excellent,” he murmured so softly I barely heard him.

***

The sun streamed in through my
bedroom window, rays reflected through a crystal I had hung from the frame. The
heater kicked on and the crystal began to swing, causing a rainbow of colors to
dance on the white sheets of my bed. A bright flash struck Jon’s face as the
crystal caught and reflected the sun.

“Morning.” My lazy lion cracked open an eye. His predatory
perusal set my senses on high alert, like a gazelle that has made a wrong turn
and suddenly finds itself in the lion’s den. During the night I’d commandeered
most of the sheets, leaving him the scantest bits to cover his nude form. He
didn’t seem to mind. I certainly didn’t mind the view of his skin—darker
where the sun had kissed him but even the private parts were far darker than my
sheets. The muscles of his biceps and shoulders rippled as he plumped his
pillow beneath his neck, his eyes never leaving mine. How did such a formidable
male animal end up with me? He could break me if he wanted, snap me in half
with his powerful hands, cut me with a harsh word. And yet I danced on the
blade’s edge, bared my neck to him in submission, loving it, him.

“Morning.” I moved closer, and faced the opposite direction
to press my back against his front from sternum to groin, a groin that was
wide-awake and rather bossy.

Jon draped an arm and pulled me in closer. He buried his
nose in my hair and inhaled deeply. His breath stirred the strands nearest my
ear, tickling. All was warm and safe in my queen-sized bed with my lion
stretched out behind me, savoring my hopefully not too gamey scent before the
inevitable feasting would begin.

He rocked his hips against mine, the steely reminder of his
desire in the cleft of my ass. A musical intertwining of groans, his and mine,
a request and simultaneous consent, and his hand slipped lower and lower.

Lips brushed against the nape of my neck, soft to the raspy scrape
of his morning stubble. A leg insinuated itself between my virginally
clamped-together limbs, a gentle urging to open to him. I did. I always did.

“Geez! It’s noon! Jon! Wake up!” I
untangled myself from the sheets, no easy chore considering their mangled
state. I ran naked into the bathroom to grab my robe and use the toilet. I
called out to him, “I gotta go pick up Ian at the airport. He lands in like
fifteen minutes. I’m going to be so late, and he’s going to be so pissed.” I
grabbed my hairbrush and attempted to detangle my hair, a hopeless mess.

When I ran into my bedroom, Jon was on his cell phone
talking. “... American at 12:15 PM, no idea what gate ... That would be great!
Call when you have him, and I’ll give you directions to Gayle’s. Thanks. We’re
even now.” He chuckled, warm and hearty. “Okay. See you later.” He clicked off
and smiled at me. “Relax. It’s all taken care of.”

“What did you do? What’s all taken care of? Ian?”

“I called Jenny. She lives right next door to the airport.
She already knows your brother and he knows her.” Jon shrugged and stood to
pull on his briefs. “She’ll meet him and bring him here.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you asked her to do that. She barely
knows him.” I stumbled over my words, still incredulous he’d do something like
that so spontaneously.

He walked to me and pulled me into an embrace. “Relax. She
didn’t mind at all. She’s picked up my friends for me before. She doesn’t have
to pay to park either since she’s an airline employee.”

“But she’s on vacation. I hate to impose on her like this.”
I really did. I’d just inched out of uncomfortable territory with Jenny and
didn’t want to lose any ground. I also didn’t want her talking to Ian about
Jon. I had only told Ian I was dating someone, but no particulars. He also
didn’t know I was currently unemployed, and starting on Monday, I’d be floating
my resume around. Jenny knew all that and if she told him ...
oy
.

“Gayle, it’s no biggie. Really.” He twisted his wrist up
into viewing range. “I gotta go, though. I have an errand I need to run, and
Black Friday is not the best day for it so I’d better get a move on. I told her
to call me for directions, but I suppose your brother could call you. Either
or.” His jeans and sweater quickly covered the rest of his body, while I still
stood in my bathrobe.

“Okay. Thanks, I guess. I would have been late for sure, and
Ian’s kind of a schedule Nazi.” I screwed my face up remembering all the times
he yelled at me when we were kids if I handled anything of his for longer than
five seconds.

I was the barely tolerated little sister, especially by Ian,
the oldest sibling in my family. Our middle brother, Henry, gave me a wider
screw-up margin, but also teased me the most. But Ian, Ian was the one who
always sided with my twin, Gordon, no matter what our dispute was or who was in
the wrong. In Ian’s eyes, I was always the offending party. To a certain
extent, I resented him for that blind faith he placed in Gordon. I wanted some
of it, too.

On the other hand, Ian was the one who made the most fuss
when I did something that amazed him. He was the one who first dragged me out
to the gun range, unbeknownst to our father, and had me firing at targets. I
think when I behaved more like a boy than a girl, Ian loved me most. When I did
girly things or went off with our mother, it was like I gravely disappointed
him. Yet, Ian was the only one who offered to come visit me at Thanksgiving, a
day late because he’d enjoyed a meal at a “friend’s” house. I had no idea if
his friend was male or female, but I’d certainly be trying to find out in a few
hours.

I kissed Jon goodbye, wondering but not asking why and where
he needed to go. I recalled the order from Kruger's. Black Friday was the
pick-up date. Was that Jon’s errand?

Get a grip, Gayle! It’s way too soon for a ring.

I wasn’t ready for a ring anyway. I was too young. There was
still so much about Jon that remained hidden, facets to which he had only begun
to grant me peeks. Loving Jon was like eating a piece of Baklava, one thin phyllo
sheet at a time—a hint of honey, an occasional nut, but so many layers to
plow through before all the flavors could fuse into a single yumminess.

Still ... it was Jon’s crossword puzzle magazine. Most
likely the order form had been between the pages. The magazine was a year old,
though, so chances were it had been in that bathroom available to any number of
Cripps guests to tackle.

I retrieved the bag I’d stashed the wet puzzle magazine in,
and realized I’d forgotten to give Jon the replacement I purchased. I’d do it
later. In the meantime, I pulled the old one out and laid it on some paper
towels to dry.

I flipped a few pages. A bloodbath of blue ink marred nearly
every puzzle, clearly not from a ballpoint pen but from a gel or felt tip style
pen. Page after page of casualties lay dead and mortally wounded on the
battlefield of the waterlogged pages, water that came from a toilet I reminded
myself. Nothing a little soap and water couldn’t tackle, though.

As I flipped toward the back, I caught a glimpse of ink that
hadn’t smeared and backtracked to find it again. There it was. Pristine
ballpoint pen ink, not within the grid lines of the puzzle but in the margins.
I read the words there, “Probably not until 11/29, sooner if possible. Same
grade and $$.“ Below that he’d written, “Size 6. Thalia.” The handwriting was
definitely Jon’s. I checked the date of the magazine again. November of the
prior year. My heart sank, for the mystery had been solved. The order had to be
for Thalia’s engagement ring from last year. I hadn’t bothered to determine in
what year the order form had been prepared. My eyes had gone immediately to the
boldly written month and day for pickup and automatically assumed the current
year. My ring size was a 4 1/2, birdlike compared to Thalia’s finger. No doubt
her mother would proclaim a larger ring finger to be a sign of robust health
and fertility.

Gah! I’m so ridiculous.

Leaden steps took me into my bathroom where I lingered under
a very long shower. I had nowhere to be other than at my apartment waiting for
Ian to arrive. I’d already cleaned it before going to the Cripps’ the day
before, put clean sheets on the sofa bed for Ian, stocked up at the grocery
store. Since Jon and I had skipped the wine and gone straight to bed the night
before, I had a bottle of wine to share, too. Jon would join us later that
night for dinner, for which he volunteered to do most of the cooking. The sons
of Italy were also good cooks.

An hour later, Ian still hadn’t arrived. I scrambled to find
my cell in case he’d crossed wires with Jenny. Sure enough, my phone had logged
a missed call.

“Dammit!” I punched in the digits to retrieve my voicemail.
As it rang, I paced, chewing the inside of my mouth. I wondered if he was still
waiting for me or if he’d taken a cab. If the latter, he might show up any
second. The message had been left nearly an hour earlier, probably as soon as I
had stepped under the water.

“Hey Gales, it’s Ian. Hey, thanks for outsourcing my
pick-up. Listen, I’m going to grab some lunch with Jenny first. Least I can do
to thank her for picking me up, right? See you later. Call me on my cell if you
need to reach me.”

I disconnected from my inbox and clicked off to pick up my
sagging jaw. Wasn’t like they were total strangers, after all, else she’d have
never agreed to pick Ian up. Still, I thought Jenny would have been doing it
solely as a favor for Jon and would be only too happy to dump Ian off at my
place so she could get back to her shopping.

That Ian wasn’t all that anxious to see me also stung a
little. I hadn’t seen my own family since the end of May. I had passed on
Thanksgiving at my parents’ because Jon had invited me to his parents’ house
and being unemployed, I could ill afford to be jetting anywhere.

I mentally computed when Ian might show up. If his plane
landed at quarter past twelve and Jenny met him around 12:25 … allowing forty
minutes from the airport to my house with some traffic and allowing an hour for
lunch…. I figured I might as well make myself lunch because I still had a while
to wait.