by Scott, Kylie
“Yeah, but I think she’s got a point. There’s every chance the target was your sister. From a distance, you two look a lot alike. But while Frances is armed and trained to handle this sort of thing, you’re not. Plus, you’re already recovering from head trauma. You being there on your own so much isn’t good.” He sits forward, elbows resting near his knees. “We had a talk and . . . you’re going to move back into the condo. Just for a while.”
“What?” I gasp. “Move in with you?”
He nods somberly. “With me, yes.”
“And you two just decided this? How? Why?”
“Hear me out . . . legally, it’s half your house anyway.”
I shake my head. “No, Ed. Just so much no.”
“My hours are eleven to six, so you won’t be on your own so much. Just in case someone is messing with you,” he says, face lined. “You’ll be safer.”
“Thank you so much for making decisions about my life for me. But us living together is just an all-round fantastically bad idea.”
“Closer to your work here too, so the commute is easier. And I know you like the area.”
“You do not want me living with you.” My mind is officially blown. The man is already on the verge of outright hating me. This could tip him over the edge. I can’t afford it. “I cannot believe . . . I mean, what on earth makes you think you’re in any way responsible for my personal safety?”
“Calm down.”
“I don’t want to calm down!”
Iris clears her throat in a rather distinct manner over at the counter.
“Sorry, I’ll calm down.” I turn back to Ed and hiss, “No. Absolutely not.”
“I’ll clear out the spare room. You’ll have your own space. It won’t be so bad.”
“Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”
“Look, I don’t want you getting hurt again,” he says, eyes serious. “This shit happening now with your car, I’ve got to admit, Clem. I’m a little freaked.”
“It could be nothing.”
“Or it could be something. We don’t know.”
I’m pretty sure I’m wearing his trademark scowl times a hundred.
“It’s still your place too, that’s the fact of the matter.” He swallows, turns away. “We’ll just be roommates for a while. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“Great. Do I get to spend time with your new girlfriend too?”
He just gives me a dry look. “Want to turn the sarcasm down a little? I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Making decisions behind my back is not the answer.”
He lifts one shoulder. “Look, I know it’s not going to be easy. But it just feels like the best choice to me. I don’t want anything happening to you, okay?”
“Ed, nothing’s going to happen to me. Probably. Frances shouldn’t have agreed to this.” I pull my cell out of my back pocket and bring up her number. It rings approximately twice before the call is cut off. I growl in frustration. “She’s not answering. Why am I not surprised?”
A moment later, a text arrives.
Frances: Consider yourself evicted.
Clem: What the hell is going on?
Frances: I hate to say it but the man made sense. You’re on your own too much. It’s not safe. Not if there is some cop-hater out there who knows my address. This is for your own good.
Frances: Besides, you’re already moved in. You’re welcome.
“I’m already moved in?” I ask, bewildered.
“She dropped off your stuff earlier,” he says. “I had a break, stopped by home to let her in. Your things are all waiting. We’ve just got to get the second bedroom sorted.”
“Fuck.” I slump back in the chair, cell lying forgotten in my lap. “You two are treating me like a child.”
He sighs. “We care about you. And think about it. If there is something going on, it dates at least back to the first attack when you lost your memory. And maybe it dates further back, when we were together and . . .”
“And when my safety would have been your business.”
“My responsibility, yes.”
“So this is some misguided macho thing.”
His lips press together hard. When he speaks, it’s clear he’s making an effort to be calm and reasonable. “You would feel the same way if something happened to me when we were together. Exactly the same. We both looked out for each other; it’s what couples do. So I owe you some help in making this right.”
“Ed, this is not a good idea.”
“Look,” he says, shifting tactics, “you’re working in town now and don’t need to be commuting when you should be taking it easy, recuperating and everything. Plus, there’s no need to be spending that money on rides. This will be better. You’ll also be close to where you have your self-defense classes too, right? There’re a lot of reasons why this is a good idea.”
I am not convinced. “Not for you, there isn’t.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “And on the bright side, you’ll get to spend more time with Gordon.”
“He’s a good dog.”
“It won’t be so bad.” Ed frowns. “It’s only until things calm down and we know you’re safe.”
My head falls against the back of the couch and I stare at the ceiling. “But I really don’t like the idea of putting you out like this.”
“Eh. No big deal.”
“Yes, it is.”
He doesn’t bother to respond.
While some of his arguments may have substance, it still isn’t right, this dumping of me upon his fine self in a domestic setting. Same goes for the bizarre collusion between him and my sister. Guess the attack on my car scared her worse than she let on. It seems so random, though, bashing in a windshield and dinging up some doors. So petty and stupid. Surely it doesn’t mean anything?
“Maybe just for a few days while things calm down,” I say, thinking it all through. “But I don’t need you accompanying me everywhere and playing bodyguard. That’s unnecessary.”
“Okay,” he says, all easygoing like.
“And you’ll tell me if it gets to be too much. If I’m doing something wrong or that you don’t like.”
A nod.
“Or if I’m just generally irritating you and you need your space or whatever.”
Another nod.
“I promise not to yell at you again.”
“That would be nice.”
“All right.” I take a breath. “Don’t you have some ground rules for me?”
“Why don’t we just work it out as we go along?”
And I’m back to staring at him again. Maybe I’m just irritated by how much, deep down in the mire of my subconscious and soul, I actually want to be close to this man. To be in his house and part of his everyday life. When it all goes wrong and is taken away from me—an inevitability, given our history and how easily I tend to piss him off . . . well, it’s going to suck.
“She’s finished for the day,” calls out Iris, looking much too pleased by this turn of events. “You can take her home.”
Home. I’m not sure where the hell that is anymore, if I ever even had a clue to begin with.
* * *
Ed moves his easel and art supplies into a corner of the now somewhat crowded den. A surprisingly comfortable futon mattress thingy lies unrolled on the floor of the spare bedroom. My suitcase sits nearby, along with the stack of books Iris sent me home with. I didn’t let Ed carry them, either. Scattering my few things around is about as much commitment as I dare make to this new living situation.
At least there is one creature in the universe genuinely pleased with the new arrangement. Gordon is ecstatic, following me around constantly. Even going to the toilet without him is a challenge. It’s not that I don’t love him, but peeing in private is kind of a thing for me, apparently. When we sit down to eat dinner, he sits on the floor beside my chair, watching me with eager eyes.
“Don’t feed him from the table,” say
s Ed without looking up from his bowl of beef panang with jasmine rice. I have a green papaya salad with shrimp and vermicelli noodles. He ordered. It seemed easiest.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Sure you were.”
“Stop pretending you can read my mind.”
The side of his mouth inches up. “I’m not reading your mind, Clem. I just know you, and as soon as he starts begging and making those eyes at you, you can’t help yourself.”
“Did you want some?” I nod at my bowl.
“There’s cilantro in it. Stuff tastes fucking horrible.”
“Huh. So I don’t eat coconut and you don’t eat cilantro.”
A grunt from Ed.
“Learn something new every day.”
Gordon whines ever so softly, his gaze shifting cautiously from my food to his owner. Not the most subtle of pups.
“Bad dog,” mutters Ed.
“That’s emotional abuse.” I turn to him. “I’ll be your witness, Gordy. I saw it all.”
This time Ed snorts. At this rate, who exactly is the bigger animal could be debatable.
“So, what do you normally do at night?”
He takes a swig of beer, shoulders just about up around his ears. Like he’s trying to make himself disappear in plain sight. Like my presence requires him to be permanently bracing for something. “I don’t know . . . watch TV, do some work, hit the gym.”
Note: he refrains from mentioning restaurants and possible amorous female companionship of the brunette variety. It’s a considerate, polite omission.
The following silence is broken only by Gordon’s continued near-silent yet heartbreaking pleas. If Ed wasn’t sitting right there just waiting for me to fuck up, I would totally feed the dog from the table. He was right about that much. Not that I would ever admit it out loud.
Maybe I should ask if we can put on some music. Anything would be better than this. On the walk home, the lack of communication didn’t seem so explicit and all-consuming. There were other people passing by, traffic on the street, and myriad things to make up for our lack of noise. But now, not so much.
“You know, I might finish eating in my room.” I start to rise, gathering up the bowl, utensils, and beer. “Do a bit more unpacking. Get organized for tomorrow.”
“Clem, sit.” He sighs. “You don’t have to hide in your room.”
My butt hovers above the chair, undecided. “Are you sure you haven’t had enough awkward for one evening? Because I kind of have. It’s been a long day and—”
“Please.”
I sit.
“Sorry. It’s just weird having you here.”
“Hmm.” No shit. I down some beer, searching for something non-offensive and noninvasive to say, and of course come up empty. “Shannon from your work came to see me the other week.”
He raises a brow. “She did? Guess you two used to get along okay.”
“Apparently we were real close.”
“Don’t know if I’d go that far. But I might be wrong.” His elbows rest on the table, making it hard not to ogle his shoulders. It’s sad how I objectify this man. Sad for me, at least, since my chances of ever touching him are nil to none. I tear my gaze away from him. Much safer to stick to my food.
“Anyway, she had a lot to say about everything. Especially when it came to us. Not that there is an us now. I didn’t mean—”
“Such as?”
“Such as what she was saying? Umm, well, apparently we were fundamentally flawed. This appeared to be based on you thinking I was a delicate creature in need of much careful handling on account of my mother’s long illness and death and all.” I frown. “That’s come up in a couple of conversations. I mean, it had to have been a big thing in my life, right?”
“Yeah,” is all he says.
“Who are you when all of your formative moments are gone?”
He finishes chewing what’s in his mouth, washes it down with beer. “Like I’ve said before, you’re still you, just different. Guess she has a point, losing your mom . . . you’d been sad for a long time. Watching someone you love fade away couldn’t help but mess with your head. And since I knew that, I guess I did try to be careful with you. Maybe to the point of being too careful. Too cautious, not open enough.”
“Mm.”
“What else did she have to say?”
“Sure you want to hear it?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?” He loads up his mouth again with food, but his gaze remains on me, waiting. Only the kitchen lights behind him and a lamp in the den are on. And in this low light, his eyes are darker. Mysterious, even.
“She said I tried,” I continue. “But I never really fit into your world and that’s what made me insecure. She made me sound like some pretty pathetic, clueless kid from the suburbs who got out of her depth, actually. I mean, she phrased it nicely, but still.”
His brow creases. All of this is dangerous ground. “That’s bullshit. You fit in with me and my family and friends just fine. I never expected you to change for me. Was surprised when you said you wanted the tattoo, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You liked ink on me, but it wasn’t really your thing. Until you decided it was. Anyway, Shannon’s way off,” he says. “My life isn’t edgy or some such bullshit. I go to work, come home and walk my dog, do laundry on the weekends. It’s a long way from anarchy and mayhem.”
“But do you separate the colors when you’re washing? Because if you don’t . . . whoa. That’s really flouting the rules right there.”
“Is it now?”
“Oh yeah. Chaos, pandemonium, total bad-boy territory. Chicks go wild for that sort of thing.”
His gaze is amused.
It warms me. “Believe me or not.”
“I think not.”
“Tell me something formative about you,” I say. Then rush to soften the demand for information before the inevitable wariness enters his eyes. “Roomie. Ed. Friend.”
“That what we are, huh?” He sighs. The question seems to be hypothetical, so I keep my mouth shut. Maybe he’s not sure what label to slap on us either. “Okay. Let me think.”
I eat. Harder to blurt out silly random crap with a full mouth. Or messier at the very least.
“I didn’t have my growth spurt till senior year. I was always one of the shortest in class up until then,” he says. “Never got picked for sports or anything. Some of the other kids gave me so much shit for it. Then, suddenly, I shot up like a foot within six months or so. I guess that counts as formative. It didn’t make any difference to my friends, but some people really started treating me differently.”
“Girls?”
“Yeah, some of them were girls.” Out comes a hint of a smirk. “It was like all of a sudden I existed for a reason other than for piling crap on.”
“Did you score?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
I smile. Maybe not, but I bet he kisses well. The tingles are back.
“It was a good lesson in not falling for people’s false perceptions of you, you know?”
“Do you mean just because you were pretty all of a sudden didn’t mean who you were as a person changed?” I ask.
He licks his lips, eyes a little wary now. Or assessing, maybe. I don’t know.
“What? You’re a pretty man; you must know you are. How is that a big deal? Am I not supposed to say that?”
“It’s considered bad form to hit on your ex.”
“I’m not hitting on you; I’m stating a fact. Oh my God, Ed.” I scoff. “Also, I know full and well that using exes for back-up sex is a thing, so don’t try that with me.”
He stands so suddenly his chair screeches back against the floor. “For your information, I don’t fuck around with my exes. Ever.”
Bowl and empty beer bottle in hand, he stomps over to the kitchen. His movements stiff, brutal. The man is mad.
“I hit a nerve,” I say, realization weighing me down the same as dread.
>
“No shit.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
The stiff line of his back is like an insurmountable wall as he rinses off his bowl and cutlery in the sink. And for a couple of minutes, I’d actually been doing okay there.
Conversation apparently over, I finish up at the table and wait in line to wash up. Gordon follows behind hopefully. If anything, my nearness seems to make Ed seize up even more.
No way, no how, can we live together like this. I feel as if, when it comes to him, I’m surrounded by emotional landmines. Never knowing when my dumb ass is going to stumble across another one and yet again blow things to hell. For all the talking she did, Shannon didn’t exactly go into specifics about the breakup. She mostly just dwelled on how ill-suited Ed and I were and how inevitable the implosion of our relationship had been. Or at least, I think that’s all she said. My mind wandered a time or ten. Being talked at is the worst.
God, coming here was such a bad idea. “That’s what our breakup was about, huh?” I ask. “Me thinking you’d cheated on me with an ex?”
Movements brisk, he shuts off the tap and wipes his hands on a tea towel. Basically confirming my query. Much as I might hate it, part of me revels in the newly acquired information. Another piece of the puzzle no one had previously deigned to mention. Then he’s gone, heading for his bedroom. “Sweet dreams, Clem.”
And the door is shut, locking me out.
“I don’t think he meant that,” I say, picking out the remaining shrimp for Gordon. Since we’re no longer at the table, there’s no breaking the rules. “Not really. What do you think, beautiful boy?”
Given the way his tail is beating against the hardwood floor, Gordon agrees.
“Oh, you’re the best puppy. It’s nice to have you on my side.”
He laps up the treats right out of the palm of my hand. Little grunting noises of delight spilling out of him the entire time. I choose not to see this as bribery. More of a waste-not, want-not situation.
“Want to sleep on my bed with me?” I ask, patting his head. “I bet that’s breaking the rules too and I don’t even care.”
Turns out, neither does Gordon. I finish up in the kitchen and turn out the lights. Brush my teeth, put on my pajamas, and get comfortable on the futon. Fortunately, Gordon is a very good dog and doesn’t hog more than his half. It’s nice not to be alone.