by KL Donn
“If you want to tell me where the vacuum is, I can get it and then you won’t have to worry about it. I’m the one that scared the fudgesicles out of you and caused it to break.” Amusement darkens his gray eyes.
“No really, Mr. Legend. It’s fine. I can get the rest of it tomorrow.”
“So you do know who I am.” He tilts his head and looks at me for a very long moment, making me tingle with nervous energy. A dog barks in the distance, breaking our awkward silence. “Here,” he says, and goes to fetch my book for me. “I’m sure Macen has other redeeming qualities, even if he’s NID.”
My face crinkles in confusion as he hands the book back to me. “NID?”
“Not into details.” He laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not my term.”
“Mr. Stone is an insensitive, pompous jerk who just needs to realize he loves Kimberly, and then he can get on with his life. But as it stands now, he’s in a tailspin of denial over his previous mistakes which, as romance goes, will only push him further away from his happily ever after, and we can’t have that. Everyone deserves a happily ever after. Unless, of course, this book is a series. I need to check on that.” I snap my fingers and flip the book over, turning to the last few pages. “Oh, thank God. It’s a standalone.”
“Okay then.” He bobs his head, clearly not following my logic. “I’m just going to dispose of this and continue on with hiding from the media. Thanks again for letting me trespass. Most of the neighbors know I do this when I don’t want to be bothered with…well, you know.” He points over the fence to the news crews waiting to catch him.
He jogs down the flagstone steps toward the alley and slips out the gate, emptying the dustpan into the recycling bin on his way out.
“Really, Neenah? Did you just word vomit all over Ian Legend? And about your book boyfriends, no less.” I smack myself on the forehead with the heel of my hand.
I look around the patio for any remaining large chunks of broken glass. When I don’t see any, I take a big leap closer to the door and head inside for the night. With Macen tucked under my arm, I go up to bed, but first, I stop to check on Dane.
He’s sprawled across the mattress sideways with his hand gently touching his favorite soccer ball. At this point in his life, I’ve given up on him ever sleeping straight in a bed. He prefers crooked with his feet hanging over the edge, so I throw the blanket over him as he lies.
When I turn from the bed, Fathead Ian is staring back at me. His eyes follow me around the room as I pick up Dane’s dirty clothes. I walk over to him and look into his eyes. Yeah, not even close to the real thing.
It’s looking more and more like this might be a book hangover night.
Dane tugs on my nightgown strap, and for the life of me, my eyes won’t open to look at him. “Yes, Dane, I’m awake.” I push the comforter off my hands and rub my eyes. They’re thick and swollen from being up too late reading.
“Hungry. I want syrup,” he says, jumping up onto my bed and causing my down comforter to poof a few feathers out into the air. He jumps to grab them as they float through the air.
“Would you like some pancakes or waffles to go with your syrup?”
“Just syrup.” He rolls to the edge of my king-sized bed and jumps off. His bare feet smack against the word floor as he runs toward the stairs.
“Not happening, mister,” I holler after him as I make my way to the bathroom.
After splashing some cold water on my face, my eyes are finally ready to see the world. Ugh. I lean into the mirror to get a better look at the damage I’ve done staying up late reading. Well, the world will be seen today through a few red streaks. The sad part is Mr. Macen Stone still has not redeemed himself, so he won’t get any more of my late nights.
I grab my robe and cinch it around my waist before making my way downstairs. SpongeBob blares from the living room television, so I quickly brew some coffee in the Keurig. I’m going to need it in order to hear those songs again. And again. And probably later again this evening.
The sun shines brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the kitchen, so I walk over and roll down the bamboo shades just enough to keep the sun out of my eyes. A quick glance at the patio reminds me to get the hand vac out and clean up the glass. “Hey, Dane. Don’t go out and play on the patio until I sweep it. There’s broken glass out there.”
I take a sip of coffee and remember Dane didn’t tell me what he wanted with his syrup, so I walk over to the open den. “Dane, did you hear me about the patio?”
He ignores me, staring trancelike at the television.
“So, you don’t want to go swimming in the pool I built last night out on the patio?”
He throws a hate-filled glare in my direction. “That’s not what you said. Don’t lie,” he growls.
“You’re right, but there’s a difference between lying and teasing. You were ignoring me, so I teased you to make you pay attention.”
He throws the remote at me and hits me in the center of my knee before landing on the rug. “It’s still a lie because you didn’t build a pool on the patio. It’s not big enough to hold a pool. And you couldn’t do that all in one night. You’d be digging for days—"
“Dane Evan Wells, don’t throw things at me. It’s mean and disrespectful.” I pick up the remote and carry it back over to the end table next to him, turning the TV off in the process.
“Turn it back on,” he yells, reaching for the remote, but I swipe it up quickly and hold it in my hand. “Give me that.” He tries to pry my fingers from the black plastic case, but I’m stronger than he is. At least for now. I lift it high above his head, and he stomps on my feet.
“Dane, stop. Just stop. You need to calm down.”
He doesn’t listen and continues climbing up my body to get to the remote. In our struggle, my robe falls open and exposes my legs. Dane pinches the meaty part of my inner thighs with his little fingers, twisting the skin until it burns.
“Ouch. Stop it.”
His fingernails dig into my flesh, leaving raised scratch marks. I slap his hand off me, and he falls to the floor crying.
“I’m gonna call the cops on you for hitting me,” he lashes out, kicking at me.
I stop dead in my tracks. My blood runs cold and nausea rolls up from my stomach. That’s what I used to say to his father. I step back and turn away going straight into the kitchen. Why didn’t I just ask him what he wanted for breakfast and be done? I clean up my wounds with a heavy heart. Some lessons I don’t think I’ll ever learn.
I pull out a bowl and start whisking some batter adding the signature ingredients my mom used to make for me on bad days, cocoa powder and almond extract. While the pancakes bubble, I decorate the table with plates, napkins, and silverware. Then pull out the butter and syrup, placing them closest to where Dane has been sitting these past few days.
Our life may not be normal, but I try my best knowing that normal is subjective.
“Dane, breakfast is ready,” I call out. I’ve already spread his silver dollars with butter and syrup.
He ambles into the room with his eyes downcast.
“Well, c’mon and eat before they get cold. Cold pancakes are the worst.”
He giggles and slides into the chair. I need to get him back into some semblance of a normal morning after his tantrum.
He cuts a few pieces and takes a bite, chewing them slowly. Before he takes a drink of his milk, he looks up at me. “Mommy, I hope the scratches on your legs heal.”
That’s about as good of an apology as I’m going to get out of his Asperger’s’ mind. He’s just like his father, remorseful in the aftermath of his blinding rage.
“I accept your apology. I need you to know that hurting someone is not an acceptable response for when you don’t get what you want. Violence is never the answer. Ever. Okay?”
He nods slowly, but I know it’s more of a learned response when I ask okay, than him actually understanding what he’s agreeing to.
“I
’m sorry for teasing you about the pool. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t like it when people tease. It’s mean.”
Is teasing mean? I never thought of it that way. In my mind, teasing is relating to someone in a joking manner, to want to see them laugh or smile. I pull out my phone and Google ‘teasing’ and scroll down through the short paragraph. Oh my God, it’s a form of verbal bullying. I’m messing him up just like his father did.
“Dane, I’m so sorry. I misunderstood the word. I’m not perfect.”
He looks at me blankly then goes back to eating his pancakes.
“I’m trying to be a good mommy to you now. I know things have been pretty awful this last year. I messed up really badly, but our life will get better. We will be happy, so help me God if it’s the last thing I do.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and I swipe at it.
“I don’t like it when you cry,” he says, shoving the last bite of pancake into his mouth. He reaches across the table for a napkin in the holder and hands me one as he sits back in his seat again. “Daddy scared me.”
“I understand. Maybe someday we can forgive him.” Now is not that time though. I dab at my eyes and reach across the table to mess up his bed head hair some more, making him grin just a little. “Looks like you’re done. Go brush your teeth then play in your room while I clean these dishes.”
I finish eating my cold pancake and make one more cup of coffee while Dane goes up to his room. What a rough start to a Saturday morning.
After clearing the dishes and getting dressed, I head out back with the vacuum. I’m glad I waited until morning to clean up this mess because the sun glints off the tiny shards of glass, helping me find them more easily.
“There. All done.” I stand up and wipe the dirt from my knees where I was kneeling, surveying my work. I look around and conclude this is now the cleanest patio in the neighborhood. “I’m pretty sure the neighbors don’t vacuum their flagstone. They’re going to think I’m nuts.”
“You’re right. I don’t vacuum my patio or anything outdoors, for that matter, but I don’t think you’re nuts. Not yet, anyway.” Ian chuckles, strolling across the back walkway. His smoke-colored eyes dance with amusement at my expense.
5
Ian
She’s going to be mad when she finds out I’ve been standing here watching her vacuum. I should’ve announced myself five minutes ago, but the way the sunlight shimmered across her skin left me speechless.
“I, uh, I see I’m too late to help.”
“Yes, your timing is impeccable. You’re about a half hour too late. Besides, I thought men were allergic to cleaning?”
“Maybe some men are, but I grew up with a mother who taught me Saturday mornings were made for dusting, vacuuming, and laundry.”
Her eyes roam the length of my body. “You don’t appear to be dressed for cleaning. So are you hiding from the media again, Mr. Legend?” One hand is bent backward and casually resting on her hip. I know that womanly stance. It’s accusatory.
I look down at my Polo swim trunks, matching tank top and slides. I don’t understand what she’s hinting at. “No, I’m not cleaning today. I actually have a game, and on game days, I swim to loosen up my muscles. Would you and Macen—was it—like to join me?” I take a few steps closer to her to bridge the distance between us.
She throws her head back and laughs deeply. Gleaming white teeth radiate back at me, but the freckles that spread from cheek to cheek across her nose catches my attention and steals my breath for a moment. “No, Macen and I, well, we’re on a break. He’s not working out like I’d planned. So unless he shapes up as a book boyfriend, I’m afraid we’re going to have to break up.” Her head is looking down and away as she explains the situation, but when she looks up clear, blue eyes smile back at me, and I’m reminded of the ocean in the Turks and Caicos Islands. She’s breathtaking.
“Okay, so just you then. Would you like to come over and swim for a while?”
Sadness washes over her face. “No, I can’t, but thanks for asking.”
“I see. Too many Saturday responsibilities.” I point to the vacuum in her hand.
Right then, a little boy comes running through the door with a soccer ball in his hands. “Mommy, can you play goalie for me?” He sees me and immediately hides behind her. Her hands reach to hold him back.
“Yeah, responsibilities. Some other time, maybe,” she says, dismissing me.
She looks down at the little boy. “Yes, Dane. Let’s go to the park.”
They turn to head inside, but the little boy turns back, pointing at me saying, “But, Mom, that’s Ian Legend.”
“I know, Dane. C’mon. Let’s go inside now and get our stuff for the park.” She pushes him toward the door, but he’s locked his legs. She attempts to push him inside, but it’s like trying to move a bull that doesn’t want to be moved.
“But, Mom,” her little boy begs.
“I have goalie experience. I could help,” I blurt out my offer and watch his little boy eyes bulge in surprise.
“That’s very kind of you, but you have a game later. Remember? We can’t take your energy by playing goalie for us. If you lose, I’ll feel really bad. Do your normal pre-game warm up. We’ll be fine by ourselves.”
“Would you like to come swimming now, and I’ll play goalie for you later this evening, after my game?” I address her son, who looks up at his mom for approval.
“Can we? Mom, pleeeeease?”
She looks from his anxious face to my hopeful one and back again.
“I guess. Can you meet us back here in thirty minutes? I still don’t know which house is yours,” she says, slightly blushing.
I point over my shoulder and show her. “The one closest to your bedroom.”
Her blush deepens.
“Dane, go get ready.”
He scampers off excitedly.
“Next time, ask me privately before you go playing on the hopeful excitement of a little boy who just met one of his heroes. I don’t like being manipulated,” she scolds me.
“My apologies. I just wanted to make up for last night. I’ll go now and let you get ready. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” I skip down the flagstone steps two at a time and leave through the gate.
On my way back through my yard, I pull out the extra floats and throw them in the pool. Once inside, I make some lemonade then put it in the refrigerator to chill. I check my emails and put my phone on the charger, finding any chores to do to help pass the time.
After the longest thirty minutes ever go by, I walk back over and let myself into the gate to escort them. They’re standing on the patio, and she’s rubbing sunscreen into his skin while giving him the rundown of what appears to be the rules for the day. The last ones I hear are, “No fangirling, and use your manners.”
Surely there’s a better term for fangirling than that, especially for a little boy.
“Are you ready?” I ask, startling them both.
“Yep,” Dane says, jumping from the porch to the patio and running at breakneck speed toward the back gate.
“Dane, wait for us,” his mom calls out.
I walk next to her and hold out my hand to formally introduce myself. “Hi. I’m Ian Legend. It’s nice to meet you.”
She beams a larger-than-life smile at me and shakes my hand. “I’m Neenah Wells, and that Tasmanian devil is my son, Dane. It’s nice to meet you too.”
“Are you friends with Maggie, or did she sell you the house?”
“We’re great friends. She was one of Dane’s teachers in Minnesota where we’re from. When we decided to move, Maggie offered up her family’s home to watch over when she accepted her new teaching position in Spain.
“Aww. A newbie to Chicago. Welcome!” We catch up with Dane at the back gate, and I hold it open for them. “I’ve only met her once, unfortunately. Under the same circumstances I met you, as a matter of fact.”
“So you intrude into your neighbors’ yards often the
n? That’s good to know, but how will I know you from a real intruder?” She raises a beautifully arched eyebrow at me.
“That’s a valid question. I’m not sure really, because I usually don’t make any noise, and I won’t knock on your doors or windows. Unless you’re expecting me, of course. I only intrude when the media sniffs a story they want to exploit. It comes with the fame, or notoriety, depending on the story.”
I enter the security code on my gate and open it for them.
“Oh wow!” Dane says when he spots my goal set up. He runs over and stands on the painted lines on my grass.
Neenah and I continue walking along the path to the pool. She sets her bag down between the lounger and the table.
“This is really nice, Mr. Legend. Thank you for inviting us. Will there be other neighbors coming to swim with us?” She points to all the floats in the pool. “I haven’t met anyone yet.”
I turn the radio on and tune it to a Top 40 station. “No, it’s just us today,” I inform her, grabbing my towel from the chair and laying it next to the pool. “Relax. Enjoy yourself, and feel free to get in whenever you like.” I kick off my slides and remove my tank top.
She gasps slightly when she sees my tattoos on my chest and back, but she doesn’t ask about them like everyone else does. I dive into the pool and swim under all of the floats, coming up for air more than midway.
Dane sees me in the pool and kicks off his sandals, jumping straight onto the unicorn float and partially sinking it before it rises back up. “He can swim, can’t he?” I yell over the music to Neenah, who nods and smiles in return. Whew.
He surfaces, wiping the water from his eyes and exclaims, “This is the best pool ever!” He uses his hands to paddle the unicorn around for a little bit, jumping off and climbing back on it. He lines the floats up and jumps on them one by one until he gets to the end and dives in. Once he does that for a while, he curls up on the big unicorn and lounges for a little bit, quiet and content. He’s got that little boy summer-time smile riding wide on his face.