Must Like Spinach

by Con Riley

  For a second he stops seeing the place through the rosy lens that’s blurred his vision lately.

  Instead of comfort, he sees years of neglect.

  Instead of charm, the whole place is shabby.

  “And look at the size of this yard.” Now her arms are outstretched. “It’s huge. How is she supposed to manage it all on her own?”

  “She doesn’t.” Jon pinches rosemary between his fingers, but the scent isn’t calming this time around. “She doesn’t have to. I’m here, and I help her.”

  “But not for much longer. Isn’t that right?” She walks briskly back to the house, the hem of her suit pants dragging across rain-dampened grass that’s too long. Its overgrown length is another sign of neglect Jon can only blame himself for.

  She’s right, he has to accept as he follows her, his feet dragging as well. He’ll only be here for another month or so at the most.

  She’s right, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling so wrong.

  Chapter 22

  HE’S GETTING ready for bed, midway through brushing his teeth, when someone knocks on his door.

  Tyler.

  No one else knows how to climb the stairs to avoid the worst of its creaks. Another soft rat-a-tat-tat has him rinsing quickly before taking the few steps necessary to pull the door wide open.

  “Hey.” Tyler’s shouldering a bag, and he glances over his shoulder. “I… uh… I can’t—” His sentence come to an abrupt stop that Jon completes for him.

  “You can’t stay over there tonight?”

  “Not while she’s there.” Tyler closes his eyes. “I mean, of course Lorna needs somewhere to stay. Of course it makes sense that she wants to be here when Peggy gets released tomorrow. I get it, but….”

  “Come in.”

  Tyler’s quiet while Jon backs into the kitchen area, only shaking his head when Jon tilts his toward the refrigerator. He doesn’t want a drink or something to eat, it seems, and he doesn’t want to sit down either. Instead he lingers between the kitchen, living space, and bathroom. He’s right there, twisting the strap of the bag, and yet he’s nowhere specific, like he’s not sure of his place here.

  “Hey.” Jon takes the couple of steps that put him at arm’s length. “Come on. Come in for real.” He grasps the strap of the bag and tugs. “Why don’t you give that to me?” Tyler only lets go slowly, and then at the last possible moment, he reaches for the strap again. It pulls taut between them, and his words come out stretched just as thin.

  “How was Princess?”

  “Good. She was happy to see me.”

  “And you locked up okay?”

  “Yes. Everything was fine there. She was eating when I left.”

  Tyler’s breath comes out in a sharp huff, and the bag strap between them quivers. “That’s good.” The bob of his Adam’s apple is distinct. “I appreciate you doing that for me. Thanks.”

  “It was nothing,” Jon says. He pulls on the strap, encouraging Tyler closer. “It was good to get outside,” Jon adds. They’re close enough that his exhale ruffles the hair at Tyler’s temple. “Princess kept looking for you. It was cute.”

  “Yeah? Peggy kept asking for you too, every time she woke up.” The strap tightens, but this time it’s Tyler exerting pressure to bring Jon even closer. “I mean it. Thanks so much. For everything. Not just for walking the dog. For Peggy too.” He’s breathless, like he’s in a rush to get the words out. “You didn’t have to get her niece from the airport or drive her around.” The strap slackens completely; Tyler’s finally let go. “You took time off work.” There’s a surprised tone to his voice, like people helping him out is something new to process. Then Tyler pushes close and hugs him. His whisper is rough. “Did she talk to you about her plans? Did she tell you about taking Peggy back to Philly with her?” His hand tightens at Jon’s nape.

  “Yeah, she did.” He closes his eyes at the sensation of Tyler’s lips so close to his ear. “It doesn’t have to happen. She’s processing options, that’s all.” He’d probably do the same thing; consider the pros and cons before formulating a decision. “Besides—”

  He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Tyler catches his mouth in a kiss, and when he pulls away, he sounds shattered. “If she takes Peggy—” His next kiss is as emotion driven until he breaks off to say, “And then you—” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I’m so bad at this.”

  “At what?”

  “At keeping things casual.” He’s sheepish. “I’m the worst.”

  Jon’s not so sure about that. He’s pretty sure he’s got Tyler beat at underestimating what they started. “Hey,” is all he can get out. “Hey, things will seem better in the morning. Nothing’s going to happen right away.”

  “No? You think so?” His tight grip slightly loosens.

  “I do. And I think you’re running on empty right now. Come on. Come to bed. Things will all work out, you’ll see.”

  He’s glad, he decides as Tyler simply nods and follows, that so much has been invested in his training. It makes being convincing easy even when he’s less than certain. But it means he can be outwardly reassuring as he guides Tyler from the living space to the bathroom. And then he’s calm as he steers him past the spare room doorway and guides him into his own, like that’s the best place for him. And that’s the real benefit, he decides, after close to a year of corporate bullshit; it makes sounding confident easy when he really has no clue if what he says next is true.

  “Peggy’s not going anywhere.”

  Tyler wants to believe. That much is clear when he doesn’t put up a fight when Jon gets him to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels to untie his sneakers for him. He simply stares, blank faced and exhausted, and nods whenever Jon says things will all work out just fine.

  “They will, Tyler.” He makes a promise that’s not in his power to keep and then goes ahead and makes another. “Besides, I’m sure Peggy gets final say in what happens.”

  There’s relief in Tyler’s next kiss like he hadn’t let himself believe that. He goes down real easy when Jon pushes on his chest and maneuvers him so he can pull up the sheets. And when Jon says, “You can sleep now; we got this,” he closes his eyes like his trust is complete. He rests his head on Jon’s shoulder, slides an arm across his belly, and is asleep between blinks.

  Jon, on the other hand, stares at his ceiling for the next forty minutes. The stain at its center seems to shift as his thoughts drift, running through strategies to persuade Peggy’s niece to leave her safely in Seattle. It darkens as if the patched repair above it has suddenly worsened when he runs through all the reasons she’s right to want Peggy somewhere well maintained and safer.

  His breath comes out in a sigh so huge that Tyler sleepily lifts his head.

  “Jon?” It’s a real insight into Tyler’s usual life that he goes from that sleepy murmur to upright so fast. “What is it?” He rubs at his eyes.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  “About Lorna?”

  “Yeah.” Jon draws in another deep breath that comes out this time as a huge yawn, and tiredness makes him honest. “Trying to figure out how to convince her that this place is the best option for Peggy.”

  Tyler distills all the strategies Jon’s already run through into a simple statement. “The only way she’ll ever think that is if this place miraculously gets fixed up. I want that to happen so bad, it’s not even funny. So, I hear you, Jon, but it’s not on you to make the impossible happen.” He drifts off again, his head a warm weight in the dip between Jon’s chest and shoulder, his hand a lesser weight right over his heart. There’s a simple comfort in each point of contact between them, a profound ease that’s far from sexual in sharing both a bed and worries with someone who has no expectations.

  Tyler doesn’t make demands like Bettman does, or issue challenges like Stan Hallquist. He’s simply present in each moment, doing the best he can while expecting so little.

  It’s a gift that makes Jon want to fix his whole wor
ld, an incentive more alluring than any corner office, and right before sleep finally takes him, a solution slowly takes shape.

  The stain on the ceiling is hazy.

  When he squints, it looks a whole lot like a hammer.

  Jon doesn’t know how to fix a problem the size of this house, but he does know someone with the right tools.

  IT’S EARLY enough when Jon gets in to work the next day that most cubicles are still empty. He doesn’t go to his own office right away or visit the breakroom for his first cup of coffee. Instead he walks with purpose, his strategy crystal clear in his mind as he heads to Carl Snyder’s office.

  It’s empty when he gets there.

  He’s not with his team when he checks back fifteen minutes later, and no one in the breakroom has seen him either. Jon checks Carl’s online calendar as he prowls between departments—he doesn’t have a breakfast meeting booked or a site visit out of the building.

  There’s no reason for him not to be here.

  Jon stops midway along a hallway and closes his eyes for a second.

  It had all seemed so clear in the middle of the night—safety was Lorna’s main concern, while independence would be Peggy’s. Jon could bridge that gap, if only he could locate Carl sooner rather than later. He’d tell Jon exactly how to make the repairs that mattered the most, and he wouldn’t sugar coat how to go about them. With his advice and some tools, Jon might make some headway—complete enough repairs that Lorna will change her mind and give up the idea of relocation. But now that source of advice is nowhere to be found, getting things fixed up in a hurry looks like a long shot.

  He hadn’t grasped how the idea of solving Tyler’s problems had buoyed him until Carl’s absence yanks that lifeline away. His face twists in frustration that’s reflected in the opaque glass wall dividing the hallway from the meeting room behind it. Jon turns away from that glimpse of failure but then stops abruptly.

  Wait.

  Hadn’t that opaque glass been transparent the last time he walked past?

  The meeting room door is ajar, and Jon nudges it further open to peer inside.

  Carl’s in there alone, taking photos with his phone of something that absorbs him. It’s some notes Anthony’s team left behind that hold his attention. He’s sneaking photos of a long list of locations they think could be developed.

  Jon steps inside and closes the door behind them with a soft click. It’s almost worth all his earlier frustration when Carl jumps out of his skin.

  “Shit, son,” he’s startled into saying. He clutches at his chest and asks, “You trying to kill me stone dead?” Carl shoves his phone into his pocket so fast he almost drops it. “I was…. This isn’t how it looks….” He’s sheepish. “Aw, hell. If they leave all that good stuff in plain sight, I’d have to be dumb as a box of rocks not to take a look.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jon leans against the closed door and crosses his arms. It’s hard to keep a straight face. “This how you plan to make sure your team gets ahead?” He’s teasing. It’s right there in his tone of voice and in the way he gives up and openly grins, but maybe Carl doesn’t know him well enough yet to believe he’s not about to call him out for cheating. He simply looks at Jon like he’s carefully weighing his answer.

  Jon knows for certain he was right to think Carl was the best man to help him out when he pulls out his phone. The overhead light glints off the silver in his hair, and he says, “I’m not trying to get ahead, Jonathan.” His chuckle doesn’t have a whole lot of humor behind it. “Right now, I’m just hanging on for dear life.” He advances until there is less than a foot of space between them. “Look. I’m deleting them right now,” he grumbles, “only I didn’t take them for me in the first place.” His gaze is as steely as his hair, and he’s direct. “Thought my team could use this as a starting point, that’s all. A way to fire up some competitive spirit.” His headshake is small. “I dropped the ball at the beginning with them, I guess. Thought if I buried my head in the sand, maybe all this crap would blow over.” He gestures at the glass still covered with the sketches Jon made on his first day. “But Stan’s like a dog with a bone. He won’t let up on judging my guys based on all this bullshit. They’ll get canned, and no one else in this industry will hire people he labels as failures. Right now I don’t think Stan remembers what failure feels like.” His next words are also full of raw truth. “I don’t know what the fuck he’s thinking lately.”

  His head hangs for a long second as he deletes photo after photo. “Damn shame for him that I’m twice as stubborn as he is. I have to be, because my guys could make a good team with the right leader.” He points one more time at the glass. “We all have a hill to die on, I guess, and if this project is mine”—his shoulders pull back as he inhales, and he’s inches taller—“I’ll go down fighting just so I don’t take them with me.”

  He sounds deadly serious to Jon. “It won’t come to that.”

  “Huh.” Carl doesn’t sound so certain. “Got an email from Stan last night reminding me that he’ll be looking closely at both teams based on this—” He stops before saying, “Bullshit,” again. “Well he’ll get to look at precisely nothing if I can’t get them to start working together. Hell, it seems like even the interns have come up with better ideas than my guys so far.” He points at the drawing of the strip mall Jon drew during their first meeting. More writing has been added to the glass, and he recognizes Eric’s blocky penmanship above it. He’s listed fast-food franchise names next to Jon’s neon signage. Each one of those brands would attract higher rents than the pizzeria or diner could likely afford. But a small voice in his head whispers, none of those big names could make pizza half as amazing or the best pie in the whole city.

  Carl’s voice drags his attention away from the glass. He rubs slowly at his shirtfront as he continues. “I guess all my skills stop the minute you take a hammer out of my hand. If my team had someone who knew how to lead like—” He gestures toward Anthony Nelson’s map.

  “Hey, I’ve seen you lead.” Although now that he comes to think about it, none of Carl’s team had turned out to help at the animal shelter. “Well, I’ve seen other people work for you when they didn’t have to.”

  Carl’s snort is disbelieving. “There’s a whole world of difference between getting real work done like at the shelter and this. That was worthwhile. Everyone there thought it was for a good cause.” He drops his head and stares at the floor. “No point kidding myself that my team has any reason to think the same way about this. Besides, who wants to work for a boss who’s on his way out?” He looks up abruptly and says, “I’m not kidding them, and I sure as hell know I’m not kidding myself. I’m not cut out for corporate crap like Stan, stuck in an office all day, making plans I can’t build with my own hands. I always do better with real projects.”

  It’s fate, Jon decides, that their needs converge in a way that’s perfect.

  Luck, that delivers an answer to both of their problems.

  He picks up a pen and sketches a solution out for Carl on a sheet of paper.

  It takes a while, but when Carl picks up a pen of his own and joins in, Jon finally feels hope take root.

  Chapter 23

  LESS THAN an hour later, it’s clear Carl’s team isn’t used to spending time together out of the office. After they get to the pizzeria parking lot as directed, they hover next to their cars. To a man, they look doubtful. And when Carl says they’ll need to cross the street to Peggy’s house instead of focusing on the businesses in the strip mall, he gets skeptical looks in return and hears murmurs of disagreement.

  Jon doesn’t address either sign of dissent—this isn’t his herd to wrangle.

  For a moment, when one team member in particular bitches aloud about the pointlessness of this last-minute outing, Jon wonders if Carl will let it go like he’s seen him do so many times in meetings. But instead of letting it slide, Carl steps up and deals. “Listen up,” he says, and his tone’s assertive. “All eyes on me now.” A coupl
e of his team glance up from their phones. “Take a look around. Any of you recognize this place?”

  “Nope.” It’s one of the younger team members that speaks. The last time Jon observed both Acquisition teams together, this guy had paid more attention to Anthony than to his own boss, like he felt for sure he was on the wrong team. “I thought you said this was a fact-finding mission. What kind of facts are we supposed to find here? That this parking lot is more pothole than asphalt?” His question rouses a couple of chuckles.

  “Wait.” Another team member breaks in. “Is this…?” He looks to Carl who gives a slow nod. “It is. It’s the neighborhood Mr. Fournier drew on the meeting room wall. The one he said was a good example of opportunities we missed.”

  Carl and Jon nod at the same time, but Jon steps back when Carl speaks. “That’s exactly where we are right now. Now I’ll tell you why we’re here. Get over here, all of you.” He waits until he has all their attention, pausing for a long moment when the same man as earlier dawdles. “You with us, Kyle?” he asks, all patient and slow, like he has all the time in the world. “Because I can always call Eric if you’re not. Get him to send down one of his interns. You ready to get cut out of the team by someone who’s hungry?” He asks like he doesn’t know the answer. “Because now’s as good a time as any for you all to learn what I took thirty years to find out.”

  Kyle’s sure paying attention right now, and he nods quickly when Carl says, “Every single one of us can be replaced. But we’re much more vulnerable when we’re apart than if we work together. You think Stan Hallquist will keep two Acquisition teams if he thinks one can generate the same revenue?”

  The whole group shakes their heads.

  “So here’s where we have a real chance to make a difference. But we all need to have the same goal. So this is what I’m thinking….”