A Summer in Sonoma

by Robyn Carr

  They learned a little more about each other. Neither of them had ever been married; they both came from families of four children, though hers were half sibs. His family was local, hers was in Des Moines. And they’d both worked at their current jobs for more than five years.

  At one point he asked her if she was still feeling nervous about her incident and she told him she was slowly getting past that, but she’d decided to be a lot more cautious. She didn’t want to find herself in that position ever again. “I’m all done dating,” she said. “At least for a good long time. I think I’ve been through enough.”

  “Understandable.”

  “That really shouldn’t have happened. I usually have much better instincts than that.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you did anything wrong, Cassie. He’s a freak, that’s all.”

  After an hour or so of coffee, they browsed together, helping each other pick out books. In the parking lot he said, “You know, I like these coffee dates. It’s a real nice break in the day.”

  “I enjoyed it, too.”

  “I know it’s only been twice, but I’m already looking forward to the next one.”

  “Even if you have to drive across town?”

  “Even if,” he said. Then he pulled a short stack of business cards out of his pocket, sifted through them and handed her one. All it said was his name and a phone number. “If you call that cell number when you feel like coffee, I won’t keep you waiting so long. I don’t give it out that often—I get too many calls from bikers with mechanical problems when I do. They like me to walk them through home repairs. But I’d like you to have it.”

  “Gee,” she said. “You have that kind of schedule, that a person can just interrupt you in the middle of work and it’s okay?”

  “I put in a lot of hours. No one minds when I take a little personal time. You call—I’ll come,” he said.

  “You know…I haven’t offered you my phone number, and there’s a reason—”

  He put a big hand gently on her forearm. “Oh, I’d love to have your number, Cassie. But I know it’s important you be in charge right now. You call me anytime. I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks. That’s nice. That you understand.”

  “Hey. I was there, remember?”

  Billy’s part-time job in addition to the fire department was in construction. He could’ve made it his full-time job and maybe make more money than he currently did at F.D., but it didn’t have the same potential for growth. It offered good money for flexible hours that he could fit around his F.D. schedule. The contractor let him work a few hours here and there while he was doing his twenty-four-hour shifts with the department and full days on his off time. He could get in at least twelve full days a month, usually more like sixteen. Cutting wood and stone for countertops was often tedious, but he did it perfectly and it paid well.

  And it was damn hard work. Both his jobs were physically demanding. Although he was a paramedic, he didn’t drive the rescue rig every day—he was a firefighter first. So about every other workday, he worked the rescue rig and other times he was on the engine. Then he’d cut wood and rock—exhausting, dirty work. He had about enough time to eat, sleep and go back to one job or another. But he and Jules needed the money. He hadn’t called in sick to either job since the day he started. He didn’t average a day off a week. If he could just stay with F.D. eight to ten years and promote himself on time, the money and overtime would get real good. Right now he was keeping his finger in the dam.

  Today he had come home from his twenty-four-hour shift at F.D. and gone to bed for a few hours, despite the noise in the house. He knew Jules was going to lunch with her girlfriends, which was a good thing—it could put her in a decent mood. A little break from the kids, some girl talk, maybe she could get in some serious complaining about Billy and unload it. So he woke himself up after about four hours of sleep and went straight to his mother-in-law’s to pick up Clint and Stephie before their nap time. They’d already had lunch, so they were ready to settle in when he got them home.

  Ordinarily, he’d take advantage of the quiet and try to catch a nap; he hadn’t had much sleep and was planning to go back to the shop after dinner and hopefully work till midnight. But instead, he went after some marital points; he cleaned the kitchen, picked up dog-doo, trimmed the hedges and put the ladder up against the house to see if he could fix the drooping gutter that was breaking away because someone hadn’t cleaned it out in the late fall and it had been too burdened with leaves and twigs to stay attached. That someone was him.

  He put his toolbox on the slanted roof to his right and was going after the gutter with a screwdriver, leaning a little to the left, when the toolbox began to slide. He dropped the screwdriver in the gutter and grabbed for the toolbox, which he shoved back up on the roof. But the sudden action caused the ladder to sway and teeter and he couldn’t get the toolbox stable. He grabbed the gutter for ballast, but it was a poor choice—the gutter was already weak and breaking away from the eave. His feet pushed the ladder away and it fell to his right. Billy hung on to the gutter but not for long. It gave under his weight and tore away, but at least his descent was slower. After dropping a few feet, he let go so he wouldn’t tear the whole damn thing off, and fell the rest of the way. It wasn’t all that far.

  The ladder crashed to the ground with a loud clatter and he hit the ground right after it. He landed on his feet first, then fell back on his ass. He let himself roll back on the grass and lay there for a second, thinking, First, that was so stupid, and second, what I do not need right now is an injury. He didn’t move, assessing his hips and spine. He let his eyes briefly close and thought, There is no one better with a ladder than me; that was idiotic.

  “Billy!” He heard Julie yell from inside the house. He could hear the tempo change as she yelled while running from the kitchen to the back patio doors. “Billy! Billy! Oh, God, Billy!”

  He lay there, a very slight smile on his lips, thinking this was probably mean, keeping his eyes closed. She knelt beside him, lifted his head in her arms and said, “Billy! Are you dead?”

  He opened his eyes. “You should never do that. Move a person like that. I could’ve had a spinal injury.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  “What happened?” she asked, her eyes wide and fearful.

  “I fell off the ladder. I was lying here wondering if anything was hurt. I didn’t know you were home. Do you love me?”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said, dropping his head with a thump.

  There was a sound, a sliding sound. Billy grabbed her and rolled to the left, putting himself on top of her, covering her to protect her. The toolbox clattered to the ground about six feet away, a couple of tools bouncing out. When the crashing subsided, he lifted his head. “That’s two stupid things in one day,” he said. “I think I’m too tired to be doing this stuff.”

  “Let me up,” she said.

  “No. First you have to tell me if you love me.”

  “No, I hate you! You took ten years off my life!”

  He pressed his lips against hers. She didn’t respond, so he lifted his head and grinned into her eyes. “I cleaned the kitchen,” he said. “I put Clint and Stephie down for a nap. I picked up dog shit and trimmed the hedges.”

  “And fell off the ladder.”

  “That’s right. And I’m not getting back on it today. Did you have a nice lunch?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you get to dump on the girls about your little condition? About your bad, bad husband?”

  “I haven’t said a word to anyone. And don’t you, either.”

  “Okay. Then can you help me into the bedroom?”

  “You’re hurt?”

  “I’m horny. You could lie naked beside me for a little while, then after I’ve put you in a good mood, I can have a little nap.”

  “Is that all you ever think about?”

  “When I’m on top o
f you like this, that’s all I think about. I’ll be very, very sweet to you. Very careful. Well, not too careful.”

  “This is the root of all our problems,” she said. “Right now all I want to do is clobber you, and you still get to me.”

  He grinned handsomely. “If that’s the biggest problem you have, Jules, you have it pretty good.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she said.

  “You feeling okay, baby?” he asked sweetly, gently brushing her blond hair over her ear. “You’re not feeling sick or crampy or anything, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I worry a little bit about that IUD, in there with the baby.” His brow furrowed. “If you don’t think it’s okay…”

  “I still want to clobber you,” she said, shaking her head.

  He just smiled. “I know.” He got off her and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s take advantage of nap time.”

  A little while later, feeling calmer and more affectionate, Julie said, “I ran into Chelsea in the ladies’ room at the restaurant today.”

  “Yeah?” he responded with a yawn. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  “I talked to her for a while. Did you know she left that insurance company to sell Hummers? And that she’s a sales manager now?”

  “So she said,” he replied, bored or sleepy.

  “So…I don’t like Chelsea, but what she did makes sense. Before making a change, she worked for that dealership on weekends for a while until she could see the potential, then she quit her old job. Good idea, huh?”

  “Hummers,” he snorted, rubbing his head back and forth on the pillow tiredly. “No one wants a Hummer right now….”

  “Chelsea says they’re selling as well as ever. People like them. It makes them feel rich.”

  “Not for long,” he said, his eyes still closed.

  “But that’s not the point, the point is it’s very smart to find a business opportunity and work at it part-time to see if there’s any real possibility there, and then make a move. There’s absolutely no future in cutting countertops—it’s just part-time work and the pay is good, but never gets better. Right now you have all your eggs in one basket, but you’re so smart. You have a degree. You could check around, see if there’s a place to go where you can really put your education to use, be successful….”

  “Hmm,” he said. And then she heard him softly snore. She leaned over and put a gentle kiss on his cheek. “What if you fell off a ladder at work?” she whispered. “What would we do?” She was answered by a light snore.

  When she had looked out the kitchen window and seen the ladder on the ground and Billy beside it, motionless, eyes closed, her very first thought was, Oh, no! Not my Billy! No! No! Soon after that came relief. Then what quickly followed was that old fear. Firefighting, paramedic work, cutting granite—none of this was low risk. If something happened to him, their strapped lifestyle would become catastrophic. Julie and the kids and no income, and after the insurance and small fraction of pension ran out…she would lose the house. Her mother would be forced to look after the kids so she could work, just to keep her from sinking out of sight. And what work could she do? She’d done a little waitressing and secretarial work after Jeffy while Billy was working and going to school, before the next two kids—and neither job had paid a damn.

  And now there would be four children?

  Billy didn’t have accidents like that; he was too sharp. His reflexes were good; he was strong. But he was also tired from working all the time. How tired would he be with a new baby crying to be fed every two hours for weeks? How could he be so blissfully happy about another baby when it put the future of the entire family at risk?

  She heard Stephie wake up with a cry and a cough and it changed her entire thought process. Oh, no, please don’t get sick! she thought. She went instantly to the bedroom the two younger kids shared and scooped her up, took her to the kitchen and quickly dosed her with decongestant and Tylenol, praying off a fever or cold. Then she spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening tending to food, picking up Jeffy and taking him to soccer practice—she had to stop off with three kids in tow to pick up Gatorade for the team because it was her turn—throwing together meals, tending a crying, miserable, sick kid, cleaning up vomit, tossing in laundry, picking up toys and clothes. When Billy finally roused from his nap at about six, at least a couple hours later than usual, which magnified how tired he’d been, she was sitting in the kids’ bathroom with Stephie on her lap, the bathroom filled with steam to loosen up her congestion.

  “What’s going on?” he asked sleepily.

  “Stephie’s got something. She threw up three times, couldn’t keep supper down and she’s hacking like the croup.”

  “Fever?” he asked, running a hand along the back of his neck, trying to get his bearings.

  “I’m keeping it down with Tylenol. But she’s sick.”

  He reached for Stephie and she went to him, whimpering, “Daddy,” like a sick little pumpkin. “Clint?” he asked.

  “So far, so good.”

  “Okay, take a break. I’ll do steam room duty,” he said.

  She left him sitting on the closed toilet seat, holding his daughter against him, knowing he hadn’t had enough rest and would still try to get in some hours at the shop no matter how late he started. He had to be at the fire department first thing in the morning for his twenty-four-hour shift. She couldn’t let him do night duty with the kids—it would be on her so he could be rested and safe. But she was so tired. Early pregnancy made her want to sleep around the clock, but she couldn’t.

  And she thought, I can’t go on like this. I just can’t.

  After lunch with the girls, Marty did a little shopping before going home. Joe was with three-year-old Jason; there was no reason to hurry. She tried on clothes, found a couple of nice things on sale and bought them, though she’d have nowhere to wear them. All she really needed in her wardrobe these days were clothes for work and clothes for the lake. But she fell in love with a pair of crepey pants that were snug around the hips and butt, flowing at the hem. Then there was this low-cut top that showed off her cleavage and fit so nice—the perfect ensemble to go out for an evening, maybe dinner, maybe dancing. And she couldn’t resist a fitted dress with a slit up the side that showed off her figure; it was lavender and really drew attention to the light brown of her soft, shoulder-length curls.

  Joe didn’t like to dance. For evenings out he liked to get together with the gang from F.D., usually at a sports bar. Vacations were taking the RV up to Tahoe, pulling the boat along with it. Weekends were spent either at the lake or watching sports on TV—at a bar or someone’s house or, most often, at home on his own big screen. They never did the things she’d like to do anymore. He chose all their recreation.

  So she bought shoes, too. High-heeled sandals with ankle straps. Very sexy. Marty was small and trim; she could get away with those three-inch heels, and she was agile in them. They’d look great twirling around a dance floor. Sometimes she bought these things while in the fantasy that life could be fun again. There was a time that dressing up like this got Joe all excited, especially the shoes…. He’d see her legs in those heels and go crazy. That was before they were married.

  When she got home Jason and Joe were in front of the TV playing a video game, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a couple of kids. Joe thought these games were a perfect way to help Jason develop hand-eye coordination, but Marty secretly believed Joe just wanted to play them, himself.

  She dropped her packages on the dining room chair and surveyed the kitchen. It looked as if they’d been grazing all day, not bothering to pick up a single dish, rinse out a glass, wipe bread crumbs off the counter. Around them in the family room were more plates, empty chip bags, cellophane from snack cakes, used and balled-up paper towels as opposed to napkins. Joe had gone through the newspaper there, as well, leaving the couch cushions all askew, some on the floor, and the newspaper strewn aro
und on the coffee table and floor, along with his coffee cup and toast plate from breakfast. She had left everything immaculate, having cleaned while he slept in.

  And of course Joe was wearing only those navy-blue, rotting gym shorts—his summer day-off uniform—under which he was naked. He had a hairy body, a heavy, scratchy growth of stubble. It would never occur to him to clean up a little, look presentable for her on his day off, though she’d asked him to a thousand times.

  “Hey, babe,” he greeted at the sound of her entry, but he didn’t turn around. He was very busy stacking and collapsing colorful blocks on the screen, pretending to compete with his three-year-old son while he helped little Jason develop some competence with the game. “You get the mail?”

  “Joe, look at this kitchen! It’s a mess.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get it later.”

  No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t clean. At least, not inside the house. He didn’t even clean the inside of the RV. Now, the boat or yard or garage, he kept them perfect. This mess would be left for her.

  “Joe, can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Yeah, sure. Sit tight.” Then after a full minute passed, he shouted, “Whoa! You see that, buddy? You got me! Wanna go one more time?” And he started a new game.

  “Joe!”

  “What?”

  “I want to talk to you!”

  “Aw, Jesus,” he said, irritated. He put down his remote game stick and got to his feet. He looked like a monkey, all that black hair covering his legs, chest, belly, his shadowy face, his hair goofy from not being combed. He gave his gym shorts a tug but they slipped right back down, low on his hips. The elastic was giving out and half the time she could see his butt crack; she did not consider it a precious sight. Of course, she’d brought home new gym shorts to at least have decent clean ones on that naked body. They sat on his closet shelf, rejected. “What?” he said, hands on his hips.

  “The house is a wreck.”