What a Man's Gotta Do (22 page)

The kid reached up, fiddled with his glasses. “You play football?”

“Not much anymore. But I used to some, when I was younger.”

“Bet you weren't scared.”

“No, but only because I was too dumb to know any better.”

Lucas sorta laughed at that, which made Eddie feel pretty good. Which in turn made him feel like those damn walls were closing in on him again. “So the question is,” he went on, “if you weren't so scared of gettin' hurt, and if you could catch better, would you like to play?”

That got a shrug. Which prompted Eddie to open his big mouth and say, “I suppose I could give you a few pointers,” and the words exploded inside his head, because that meant sticking around, didn't it? And where'd he get off, offering to be something to this little boy he knew he couldn't be?

Then he saw the look on Lucas's face, like Eddie had just promised him the moon or something, and he felt this odd stirring inside him, something that felt an awful lot like joy, even though he felt lower than a worm at the same time.

“Hey, let's you and me go find something to eat,” he said, somehow, over the tightness that had taken root smack-dab in the center of his chest. He stood up, holding out his hand to Lucas, which was another mistake because the instant that little hand landed in his, all trusting like that, Eddie's heart screamed inside his chest because, dammit, he did want to stay around and teach the kid how to play football and how not to be so scared all the time, even as he realized that was, without a doubt, the dumbest thought he'd ever had since right after his mother had died and he'd hoped with all his heart that his father would come get him and take him away to live with him.

Oh, yeah, boys cried, all right. And Eddie had done more than his fair share of it back then, and he hadn't liked it much, as he
recalled. Especially the ache that came with the tears, the hollow, cramping pain that came from knowing how much it hurt when people died or went away or just plain outright let you know you weren't really wanted.

No, it didn't make you a baby, avoiding something that could hurt you. Or any less of a man. He remembered then why he lived the way he did, why he avoided entanglements. He'd been through as much pain as he ever cared to, thank you. All he wanted now was to be left alone, to live out his days in peace.

But right now, he had this little kid's hand in his, and it felt almost better than anything he'd ever known, maybe even better than how it felt to make love to the boy's mother…

…who was standing in the doorway with one of those sappy looks women get on their faces at moments like this.

Damn.

 

He was having some sort of crisis again. Mala could see it in his face, feel it in the waves of tension pouring off of him. Oh, he'd smiled and chatted and rooted for the Lions like everybody else, had joined in taking sides when her parents had gotten into one of their good-natured tiffs about something, but something had happened, during that talk with Lucas. Something that was making the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

It wasn't until half-time that she realized Eddie had disappeared. She didn't think he'd just leave without saying something to somebody, but…

A quick tour of the house revealed nothing. Then she happened to go into her old bedroom for a moment to get a little car out of her coat pocket to prove to Lucas that it wasn't lost, she did have it. She hadn't bothered to turn on a light, which meant she could see out into the backyard, illuminated somewhat by the lights Pop had set up around the deck. Way over by the back wall, something or somebody moved. She called Lucas and gave him the car, then sent him back to the living room before slipping on her coat and quietly letting herself outside.

Eddie was standing as far away from the house as he could get, hands in his jacket pockets, staring up at the full moon.

“The instant you howl, I'm outta here,” she said from a good six feet away.

Nothing. She swallowed, stuffed her hands in her own pockets, already knowing the way a woman does that it was over. That she'd lost. But she still said, “Um, if you don't get in there soon, I can't guarantee the locusts will have left anything.”

Now he twisted slightly, his expression unreadable. Bands of light from the house sliced across the yard, mingling with the deck lights, barely reaching this far back.

“I can't do this,” he said.

“Do what? Eat my m-mother's cooking?”

“Your voice is shaking.”

Damn.
“Yeah, well, it does that when I'm scared.”

He turned more fully, enough for her to see the sadness in his eyes. “And what's scaring you, Miss Mala?”

“You are. Eddie, for God's sake—it's only a Superbowl party. We didn't even arrive together.”

“And I'm the only non-family member here. You think I didn't notice that?”

“Del and Galen were invited, but they opted to go to his father's instead. And the Metlocks next door didn't come because she's got a bad cold. What are you implying? That I set you up or something?”

“You tell me.”

That did it. “Okay, fine. Yeah. I set you up but good, boy. Whoo-hoo, let's all get wicked Mala for daring to bring a little fun into Eddie King's life—”

“Oh, don't go getting all over-dramatic on me, Mala—”

“How is it such a crime to try to make you feel part of something?”

She watched as her words hit their target.

“How could I ever really feel a part of what y'all have? I'm just a stray, an outsider—”

“By your choice, Eddie.”

“That's where you're wrong.”

“No, I'm not. God—you're just like Grateful was, when you first brought him home. Remember how he'd snatch the food from my hand, then scurry back under the cupboard? How many
times did he do that before he learned to trust me? How many times are you gonna stick your toe in the water before you realize you won't drown if you get all the way in?”

He snapped his head away, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Oh, God, Eddie…you're so close. You're so…damn…close….

“And did you happen to take a good look at this family?” she went on, desperate to at least keep him within the range of her voice, petrified if she stopped talking, he'd leave. “My father never even finished high school. He's worked with his hands all his life. But he made good and sure both Steve and I went to college, and now my brother's married to an Oxford-graduated princess who speaks five languages. But
her
brother's married to a country girl who sounds just like you. Far as I can tell, the only requisite for fitting in around here is being human. Which is why I suppose Scott never did make the grade.”

It was brief, but she caught the smile. Then he said, “You're asking too much of me, Mala.”

“Oh, for crying out
loud!
” She stomped away, her arms braced across her ribs, tears burning her eyes, the back of her throat. But they were for him, she realized, far more than for her.

She turned back. “The only thing I ask…”
Oh, what the hell.
“All I'm asking is for you to accept my love. Not return it,” she added when shock streaked across his features. “Just…accept it.”

“Dammit, Miss Mala,” he said softly, after several excruciating seconds. “You weren't supposed to fall in love with me.”

“So sue me.”

Anger flared in his eyes. “This isn't fair. We both knew goin' in what the limits were, that neither of us was interested in anything permanent. So you haven't been completely honest with me, have you? You're just the same as all the rest, wantin' to clip my wings.”

“No, Eddie. You'd clipped your own wings long before I met you.”

She watched as his brows crashed together. “And what in tarnation is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you're so damn busy blaming the past, you've totally lost sight of the present. That you work so hard at keeping yourself from getting hurt again, you refuse to grab hold of the happiness that could be yours.”

“That's bull, Mala. Besides, I told you, I'm no good at this kinda thing. I don't how to be a family man.”

“And you never will until you get over yourself and
try.
”

He stood stiffly, not looking at her, his hands still rammed in his pockets. Then he said, “I think maybe I'd better go,” and she said, “Fine.”

His gaze flicked to hers. “You know I did not want to hurt you—”

“I'm not.”

“—or make you mad.”

“Not that, either.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, I knew what I was getting into, okay? Maybe it didn't work out the way I hoped, I'll admit that, but I knew the odds were against me.”

And still he stood there, not looking at her, his jaw rigid. “I just don't want you to feel sorry for yourself,” he said quietly.

“Trust me. I'm not the one I feel sorry for.”

After another moment he said, “There a way out of here without goin' through the house?”

“Side gate. To your right.”

She stood, listening to his heavy footsteps crunching the dry grass, then the whine of the metal gate opening, slamming shut.

 

Her mother was alone in the kitchen, spreading out yet more hot wings on a cookie sheet, when Mala came in. “God, Ma,” she said, taking off her coat, “like dinner wasn't enough?”

Bev shoved the sheet into the oven, took one look at her daughter and frowned. “What happened?”

Well, there was little point trying to skirt the issue, wasn't there?

“Eddie went home. Said to say thanks, he had a good time.”

“Oh, hell, honey…it didn't work?”

And of course, her father picked that precise moment to walk into the room. “What didn't work?”

“Mala and Eddie, whaddya think? God, men can be so dense. They just had a fight.”

“We didn't have a
fight
—”

“When was this?”

“Just now,” Bev said. “Out back. I saw 'em. Then he walks away, couldn't even come inside to say goodbye—”

“Ma, it's okay—”

“I'll kill 'im, swear to God—”

“
Pop!
Both of you, cut it out, because if you don't, I'm gonna cry, and that's the last thing I want to do because…because…”

And on a sob, she sank into her mother's embrace, while Marty said, “What? What? Did I miss something here? I swear I'm gonna kill him!”

“Marty, put a lid on it,” Bev said, then shushed Mala in her arms like she used to do when Mala was little. Except she wouldn't be shushed, so Bev moved them all out of the kitchen before anybody else came in, down the hall to Bev and Marty's bedroom, fussing at Marty to go away, this was women's stuff, only he said the hell it was, this was his daughter, so Bev gave up and told Marty to at least close the door, for godssake, and keep his mouth shut.

Then she sat with Mala on the edge of the four-poster bed that Mala used to crawl into with them when she was little and still afraid of the Bogeyman. And all these words just came pouring out of her, about how she'd given it her best shot and how she knew this was probably how it would end so she had no business feeling bad except, oh, God, the look on his face nearly killed her because he was a good man and the best thing that had ever happened to her and why couldn't he get it through his thick head that he was worthy of being loved? And Ma said, “I know, honey, I know,” over and over again, while Pop just kept saying, “I don't get it. The guy dumps you, and you feel bad for
him?
”

To which her mother said, “Of course you don't get it, Marty. You're a man. And if you don't get the hell out of here, right now, you're never going to
get it
again, got it?”

And through her tears, Mala had to laugh, that after nearly forty years, her mother could still manipulate her father by threatening to withhold sex. “I just can't compete with you,” she said, and her mother was obviously about to give one of her smart comebacks when her eyes suddenly went wide behind her glasses.

“Oh, my God…you really mean that, don't you?”

Mala gave a shaky sigh. And when she said, “Yes. I really do,” it wasn't with anger, or even annoyance, as much as simple resignation. “No matter how hard I try to keep the house clean or the cookies baked or a man interested, you always got me beat.”

Her mother stared at her for some time, as flabbergasted as Mala had ever seen her. Then she shook her head, swore, and said, “Why do women do this to themselves?”

“Do what?”

“Try to impress their own mothers. God knows, I nearly drove myself nuts, trying to meet my mother's standards. Or worse, my
grandmother's.
” She frowned at Mala. “I bet you run around cleaning the house when you know I'm coming over, don't you?”

She nodded. Sniffed.

“And because
I
baked for every class party, you feel
you
got to, right? Even when the kid tells you like five minutes before they go to bed, so you stay up half the night so you won't disappoint them?”

Mala looked at her mother. “Yeah. I do.”

“And now I bet you've got come cockamamie idea that because your father and I have stuck together for all these years, we've got some kinda magic formula for marriage that you think's outta your reach, right? Well, you listen to me, little girl, and you listen good.” Bev lunged over, grabbed Mala's hand. “There's nothin' magic about it. What it is, is plain bullheaded endurance, because, in case you haven't missed it, your father and me, we drive each other nuts.”

“But you love each other.”

“Of course we do. That don't mean we don't want to do each other in on a regular basis.”