Riversong (16 page)

He sat next to her, legs stretched out over the grass. “Doubtful. Denial and all that.”

“Why does he do it, do you think?”

“Lazy. Doesn't want to do the work of a real job.”

She remembered Zac's confession that day long ago at the river and wondered about his mother. “Does Mike ever talk about his ex-wife?”

“Never.” He looked at her then and she felt him take her in, all of her sensitivities and insights. He saw things that others didn't. She felt anything but invisible. And for some reason she told him the story of the river and Zac. In the telling of it, something occurred to her that she hadn't known. “I think what he did messed me up more than I knew. It was the first time anyone touched me in that way and it was pretty awful.”

His eyes were soft, like a caress. “Of course. It would.”

She felt her skin tingle as if he touched her. She got up from the steps and walked over to the hydrangea bush. “What do you think I should do?”

“Make the place successful so you have some leverage with Mike, and then run Zac out.”

“Of town?”

“You know that kid came by the other day for the rec. key”

“The basketball player?”

“His mother dropped him at his grandmother's and disappeared somewhere, either screwed up on meth or dead because of meth. Zac's a big part of the problem here, and if it was up to me his sorry ass would be in jail.”

“Why don't you turn him in?”

“I have. The police are too few and too lame to get solid proof.”

“If it wasn't him, wouldn't it be someone else?”

“Not necessarily. It takes a certain kind of talent to run that kind of business. Mike says Zac's no businessman, but I disagree.”

“Why do you care so much?” she said.

“Same story you've heard a thousand times. My brother died of a drug overdose at fifteen.”

Lee sat next to him again. “My mother was a drunk.”

“She ever get sober?”

“No, she died from it eventually.” A Robin Red-breast hopped in the branches of the Japanese Maple.

He shifted on the steps to look at her face. “How did your husband die?”

“He committed suicide.” Her voice was thick and she fanned her face with her fingers to stop the tears. “It's still hard to say it out loud.”

He placed his fingertips on her forearm for the briefest of moments, his eyes kind but also shocked. “I'm very sorry. Do you know why?”

“I suppose the easy way to explain it would be that he killed himself over a bad business deal.” She told him of Enterprise Games and Dan's arrangement with DeAngelo, and that she hadn't understood the details of it until after his death. “But, he was a complicated man, even more so than I understood until it was too late. He had this obsession with success, especially financial and I believe he couldn't face it - losing the company and this giant debt, but I don't know for sure because he didn't leave me a note or any explanation, other than the deed to the loan.” She stopped herself before she told him the rest; that she was essentially hiding from DeAngelo's people. She didn't want him to be in danger by knowing the truth. Plus, she was ashamed to be this desperate and to have allowed this to happen to her life. She said only, “I had to sell everything to pay the debt and obviously lost the company. And I'm pregnant. It all happened in an instant – one day I'm on top of the world, the next day my husband's gone, the company's gone, my financial security is gone.”

“It's awful to watch your dreams slip away.”

“I keep wondering what I should've done differently.”

He murmured something Lee couldn't hear and then reached down, plucked a blade of grass and flicked it with his index finger. “My brother and I were Irish twins, if you can be that when you're Hispanic – ten months apart.” He rubbed the scar on his cheek. “The drugs just kept sucking him away until the person he really was disappeared. Even after all this time I wake in the night and wonder if there's something I should've done differently. I understand that emotion only too well, but I also know that you can't move on until you've accepted that you did the best you could.”

“I don't know how to do that.” She was chilled and zipped up her sweatshirt. A frog croaked from somewhere in the yard. “I'm haunted with, ‘what ifs’.”

He turned his face towards her, and her heart constricted. “I know. I've never gotten over the loss but I live each day with gratitude that I'm still here, that for some reason God spared me from the fate of my brother and so many of our friends who got into drugs and gangs. I make the most of this life - try to make it more beautiful with my actions and my music.” He laughed and shook his head. “Do I sound like a pretentious ass?”

She wanted to reach for him but instead mumbled, “Not at all.” Her voice threatened to break and she took a deep breath. “What you said was lovely. I just don't know if I can do it.”

“You're strong. You'll get through this.” His gaze shifted to rest on her mouth.

Her lips parted and she felt herself lean towards him as if an outside force controlled her movements, something in the air was stronger than her own will, which was telling her to move away from him. He had a muscle that ran from his ear to the collar of his shirt and she wanted to put her mouth there to see if it was warm and salty as she imagined. “I should get back to work,” she said.

“I'll go then.” They stayed like that for a moment, heat between them, until he moved his eyes from her mouth and back to the blade of grass in his hand. “Would you have dinner with me sometime?”

“I can't.”

“Too soon?”

“Too everything.” She took the blade of grass from him, rubbing it into a ball. “I still feel married, for one thing. I'm pregnant.” She poked him with the blade of grass, trying to sound light. “Anyway, normal men don't date pregnant women.”

He smiled but there was something in his eyes that looked sad and how she wanted to kiss him then, to feel his body next to her. “I'm not normal.” He pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, and she felt him breathe her in and out, the scent of his breath chocolate. “Does your hair smell like strawberries because of its color?”

“Tommy.”

“Yes?”

“I'm only staying here long enough to get back on my feet. I don't belong here.”

He let go of her hair and a half smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Say it isn't so.” He stood and moved towards the fence. “Don't hold it against me if I keep asking you out. I was born an optimist.”

Lee peeled dampened wallpaper from the hallway, short pieces at a time. She was now two days into her fourteenth week of pregnancy and awakened that morning to find the nausea gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a surge of energy and a resolve to make progress on the house. On a footstool, she reached for a strip of wallpaper near the top of the wall. Sweat trickled down her back and wet gobs of paper stuck to her forearms and back of her hands. Just as she peeled a stubborn strip with her fingernails and dropped it in the bucket, she heard a knock on the front door. Wiping her hands on the front of her sweatpants, she ran down the stairs. A young woman and a boy stood on the charred porch.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” the woman said. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and wore a long cotton dress and Birkenstocks. “We broke down. My car.” She pointed toward the road. “It did this shake, shake, shake thing and then it just died. I had to leave it there.”

The boy looked around the porch. “Did you have a fire?” He had big brown eyes, dark skin, and straight black hair. “Did a fire truck come?”

“It did.”

“I'm in first grade and a fireman came to my school.” His long brown eyelashes swept his cheek and he clutched his stomach. “Mom, I'm starving.” He peeked at Lee from underneath his brown bangs. “I wanted to eat at Dairy Queen but my mom says you shouldn't put all that junk in your body.” He leaned on his mother, wrapping his arms around her legs.

The woman stroked the back of his hair, introduced them as Annie and Alder Bell and asked to use her phone. Lee motioned them in and handed Annie her cellular phone. “I just moved in, so you'll have to use my cell.”

Annie's face was blank as she looked at the phone. “I don't know who to call.”

“A tow truck?”

“Does that cost a lot?” said Annie.

“I think so.”

“I guess I'll have to call my boyfriend.” Annie touched her fingertips to her mouth. “He won't be happy.”

Lee raised her eyebrows at Alder. “How would you like some lunch while your mom uses the phone?” Alder grinned, and nodded his head.

Annie put her hand up, resting the tips of her fingers next to her heart. “No. It's bad enough we barged in on you.”

“Nonsense. C'mon Alder, I'll show you my kitchen.” Lee took Alder's hand, which felt hot and plump in her fingers. She thought how beautiful he was and of her own child growing inside her. Would his or her fingers be so luscious, she wondered. In the kitchen, she pointed to a chair. “Sit down here.” She looked at him, shrugging her shoulders. “What do you eat?”

“You got peanut butter?”

“I do. You like strawberry jam?”

“Yeah! That's my favorite.”

Lee set the bread on the counter and pulled the peanut butter from the fridge. Her fingers fumbled with the plastic fastener of the package of bread, dropping it on the floor. She ignored it and put two pieces of bread on a plate, then plunged a spoon into the peanut butter and plopped a cold, stiff dollop on one of the pieces of bread. Alder's eyes were wide. “My mom only puts this much on.” He held up his fingers to show half as much.

“You'll have extra today.” She tried to spread the peanut butter on the bread but instead of smearing it made a hole in the soft bread.

Alder came to counter. “You ever done this before?”

“I hate peanut butter. It was on sale.”

“You're not supposed to keep it in the fridge.”

“Everything goes in the fridge.” She spread the jam on the other piece and put it on top of its lumpy partner. “I'm afraid of bugs.” She handed him the plate.

He sat at the table, taking a big bite and talking with his mouth full. “You got any milk?”

“Sure.” Lee poured him a glass of milk and sat down across from him. Annie's voice wafted in from the other room. “No. Don't be ridiculous. Just forget it.”

Alder stopped eating. He looked down at his plate, poking what was left of his sandwich. Lee cleared her throat. “You want some fruit?”

“No thanks.”

“Hey, I've got pie.”

Alder looked up and smiled. “My mom doesn't let me eat dessert very much.”

“This is homemade pie, so it can't hurt you.” Lee went to the refrigerator and took out the latest pie from Ellen and cut him a big piece. “It has berries. Those are healthy.”

Alder took a huge bite, eyes round. “Man, this is good stuff.”

They heard Annie's voice yelling in the other room. “Leave Alder out of this!”

Alder chewed another bite of pie, gazing at the edge of his plate with a glazed look in his eyes. “My mom's boyfriend's a real asshole.”

Lee looked at him, shocked. “That's not a word for a little boy.”

His eyes shifted to her face and his voice was flat. “But it's true.”

Lee sat down, put her chin in her hand and wiped a spot off the table with her finger. “Does he live with you?”

“No, he just comes for sleepovers.”

Annie came into the kitchen, eyes red.

Lee stood up, ready to apologize. “I gave him some pie.”

Annie nodded and said in a small voice like she wasn't listening. “Sure, it's fine.” She sat and stared at a spot on the table.

“Would you like a piece?” Lee asked.

“No...” She looked at the pie, brushing her tight blond curls from her forehead and pinching her soft middle section. “I'm trying to lose weight.” Her smooth pink skin reminded Lee of a ripe succulent peach.

“Can I give you guys a lift somewhere?” said Lee.

Alder sat up in his chair. “That'd be great ‘cause I don't want to walk anymore and it sounds like asshole isn't gonna pick us up.”

Annie snapped her head. “Alder! I told you not to say that word.”

Alder looked down at his plate. “Sorry, Mom.”

Annie swept her hair back from her forehead. “You know what? I
will
have a piece of pie.”

No one spoke while Lee cut another piece and put it in front of Annie. She took a small bite and then picked up the crust with her fingers and examined it. “This crust is well done. You make this?”

Lee shook her head. “No, I don't cook. A neighbor up the road.”

“My mom's a real good cook,” said Alder.

“I went to chef school.” Annie rested her arms on the table top and Lee noticed burn scars on the top of her hands and bruises on her forearms. “Not that it matters anymore.”

“Where did you study?”

“My mother had an Italian boyfriend who was a chef and we moved to Tuscany to live with him when I was in high school. He taught me everything he knew. But then my mother broke up with him and we came home. After high school I went to culinary school but I couldn't afford anywhere decent. I knew more than the teachers because of Franco.”