by Robyn Carr
“You know, my other best friend Marty—she’s just about insane that her husband won’t shave before getting in bed. You have a lot of hair and whiskers and it doesn’t feel so bad.”
He grinned against her lips. “I do own a razor,” he said. “I’m rationing blades.”
She giggled. “You like that three-day growth,” she accused.
“That’s partly true. It’s kind of antisocial, don’t you think?”
“It is.” Then she kissed him a while longer. And kissed him and kissed him. Mouths open, tongues wild, penetrating, positively erotic kisses that went hard and soft, deep and shallow. “Phew. I haven’t made out like this since high school. I had forgotten how great it feels. Tell me if I’m leading you on, Walt,” she whispered against his lips. “Because this isn’t going one inch further. And if we should stop…”
“Not an inch, huh?”
“For sure not on a beach in the possible presence of dune buggies,” she said. “And I’m pretty sure nowhere else. I’m not looking for anything serious, you know that. But I’m also not a mannequin. I like to feel sweet and cozy like anyone else…and I have to admit, you’ve got kissing down.”
“Even with the whiskers?”
“Maybe especially with the whiskers….”
“It’s okay, Cassie. If you want to, we can make out all night long. I like it, too.”
“You think this is a terrible mistake? I mean, we’re just pals. Buddies. We have so much to talk about, to do together. We’re not, you know…”
“It’s not a mistake,” he said, going after her lips some more. “In fact, I think it’s a great idea.”
Oh, God, Cassie thought. I like him! Really, really like him. It wasn’t just his kissing, which was incredible. It was all of him—his take on life, his tenderness, his simple wisdom, even his stupid, nutty hobby of riding all over the place on a motorcycle. And, of course, making out most of the night didn’t exactly help diminish the strength of her emotions. They had kissed a long while, dozed, awakened to kiss more, slept, awakened to fix up the fire, and before going back to sleep, of course there was more cuddling and kissing. Deep and powerful, soft and sweet.
When she awoke in the early morning, dawn just breaking, with a huge urge to pee, he escorted her to an isolated place behind a big rock, turned his back and kept her safe from Peeping Toms and whatever. He cleaned up their campsite, got them ready to roll, but before they got situated back on the bike he lifted her chin, put a very chaste kiss on her lips and said, “Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Thank you.”
“Walt,” she laughed self-consciously. “If last night was one of your best ever, you’re deprived. Seriously deprived.”
“No,” he said with a smile. “I’m a guy with a glass half-full. I’m optimistic.”
“You shouldn’t get ideas….”
“Come on, Cassie, even you had ideas.” He ran a big hand down her black hair. “We just stuck to kissing. And it was damn good kissing. At least from my perspective.”
Oh, God, she was going nuts. Nuts about him. He was sweet and good and gentle and so frickin’ polite! She hadn’t been out with a man in twelve years who would hold off like that, let her decide, be that much of a gentleman. Never! He was the absolute best!
And it was totally impossible. She’d had many a vision about her life as it would be when it finally shaped up. Her man would be about five-ten to six feet, he’d be well-groomed and polished, he’d make a decent living and have the potential to go as far as possible in his field. A firefighter or paramedic would be just great—solid, clean-cut, doing admirable work…. She’d dated a few of them with no results.
Walt was not like any of her friends. He looked like a social outcast, like he said. She couldn’t imagine how Beth, Julie and Marty would find him. For that matter, she predicted that Billy would think she was out of her mind. And as far as the good living, he was a wrench. He had no potential at all.
Yet, every minute with him was so good….
Is this what Marty went through with Joe? she asked herself. A lovely, seductive man during the courting period, then the second you gave in, he became an unbearable slob who couldn’t care less about your feelings? Walt looked like the kind of guy with so many rough edges that counting on him could be disastrous, totally disappointing.
But her lips were ruby red, her cheeks and chin a little chafed and all that romantic contact put her in a very pleasant frame of mind. She loved riding with him, stopping now and then for views, for food, for conversation. When he finally dropped her off at home and gave her that terrific kiss goodbye, she smiled into his eyes and said she’d had such fun.
She drove over to Julie’s to pick up Steve and when Julie asked her how it was, she said, “It was terrific. We had great seafood, he packed Duraflames so we’d have a fire all night, it was peaceful and…and I think maybe I’m a camper, after all.”
“Is he nice?” Julie asked.
“Oh, Jules, he’s very nice. But unfortunately, he’s just not my type.”
“Is that windburn on your face?”
Cassie touched her tender cheeks. “Uh-huh. Maybe some sun.”
“You look kind of…healthy. Or something.”
“Do I?” she asked. “Well, it gets pretty windy and sunny out there, on a bike for two days.” And beside the fire, she thought. Kissing and cuddling with a whiskery man all night. A man she was sorry wasn’t going to be around much longer.
Billy came home from the fire department in the middle of the afternoon. He went to the kitchen and threw some forms on the counter, then sat down at the table. He could hear Jules in the bedroom with Clint and Stephie—it sounded as if they were just getting up from quiet time or naps or something. There was the sound of small children’s laughter and his wife snuggling them, singing little songs, laughing and tickling. Obviously there was some bed jumping going on—that would be Clint. Billy’s shoulders shook with laughter. He was a live wire.
The sounds of his wife and children brought a sentimental ache to his throat. She complained about all these crazy surprise pregnancies and he didn’t blame her, but she was so good with the kids, the family. It was as if she was born to do this. Even in the hardest of times, she nurtured and cared for them as though they were the only things that mattered in her life. It wasn’t as if he had much of an impact; he was hardly around. It was all her, and she was amazing. So strong and beautiful and wise.
He’d just come from a two-hour meeting with the financial counselor and wanted to talk to Julie before going back to work. The guy had declared her a genius—said it looked as though she’d kept the wolf from the door a couple of years longer than should have been possible. It must have been like carrying a hundred-pound boulder on her back every day. She deserved so much better….
“Daddy!” Stephie screamed when she saw him, racing into his arms. “Daddy!”
It almost brought tears to his eyes, the way they loved him. He wasn’t sure he deserved this kind of adoration from his kids. What had he done for them lately?
“What are you doing home?” Julie asked, coming from the bedroom with her arms full of kids’ dirty clothes.
He gave Stephie a loud smack on the cheek and let her climb down, sending her off with a gentle whack on the butt. She ran into the family room and bounded over the back of the old sofa. Billy put his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands in front of him and, head lowered, he said, “I have to talk to you, Jules.”
“Jeez,” she said, looking at him in worried confusion. “You get fired or something?”
He straightened. “Get rid of that laundry and come here a minute, baby.”
She dumped the clothes in the laundry room and went to him. He pushed a chair out from the table with his foot and she sat, facing him.
“I just met with a debt counselor,” he said. “I’m sorry, baby. It looks like we’re at the end of the line. It’s not good news.”
“What?” she asked in a frightened br
eath.
“What we knew, but just couldn’t face. We can’t pay the bills. We’re probably going to have to file for bankruptcy.”
Tears gathered in her eyes in spite of her wish to stay calm. Her tears were more for his situation than hers; she knew how this would make him feel around the guys. “Oh, Billy. Just tell me what he said.”
“Well, he said you were incredible, for one thing.” He smiled a small smile. “He doesn’t know how you managed for so long. The bottom line looked the same when he added and subtracted as it did when I ran the numbers. There isn’t enough income to cover everything. And on top of that, even when you did manage to pay a little something on all the bills, there wasn’t anything left. Not anything.”
She pursed her lips. “Are we going to lose the house?” she asked in a whisper.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The two things that can’t be touched are the house and the pension, such as it is. Jules, I’m sorry. This is my fault. If I’d done this sooner, maybe—”
“Stop it,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I was in charge of bills—I could’ve gone to some debt counselor. I thought we had.”
“No, we went to the bank. Twice. And twice they fixed us up with more loans to pay the bills we couldn’t afford to pay in the first place.”
“When is this going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “He said we’re not there yet, but it looks like that could happen soon. We have to go back. We have to fill out a little paperwork, meet with him together, and he’ll get in touch with all the creditors to see if they want to offer us any kind of compromise. He generally doesn’t do that unless it’s almost too late. He said usually if he can see a way we can budget, scrimp a little and make it, he can help us set up a payment schedule that will get us out of trouble. But we’re way past that. At this point, he either strikes some deals with everyone we owe, or we file. It’s that simple.”
“And then?”
“We live on cash. We’ll be able to keep up with necessities, like food and clothes, the kids’ stuff. But it’ll take seven years to recover our credit rating.”
“Seven years,” she repeated. “That’s not forever….”
“It’s gonna seem like it. Both our cars are ready to fall apart, and there’s no way to get a new car loan. It’s not going to be easy.” He grabbed her hand and held it in both of his. “At least we’re done paying bills….”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s got everything,” he said with a shrug. “He pulled a couple hundred bucks out of his drawer—a hundred for me, a hundred for you. You have to buy food the rest of the week, I have to put twenty-five in the grocery fund at the firehouse and I’ll keep gas in the cars, then he’ll duke us again until this is resolved. We’ll have to give it back, of course—as soon as this gets settled he’ll take it out of our bills. Right now what he needs is for us to each fill out this form. Then we go back on Thursday. You have to be real careful on the form, Jules—you can’t forget anything.”
“What kind of form?”
“Costs. Expenses. You do the household list—everything from food and clothes to incidentals, like snacks and drinks for Jeffy’s team. Everything—co-pays for the doctor and pharmacy, field trips, anything. And on your list, don’t put down the cheapest you can get by. He says he can’t do much with that—you’ve been getting by so cheap, there’s no room to cut anything. You write down your usual expenditures at the regular price. Real food—no cereal for dinner. You don’t have to buy filets, but write up a reasonable list. Then if you manage to save money, you’ll have a little extra to roll over to the next month. Can you do that in two days?”
“Sure,” she said. “It’s not going to be easy. I’m not sure I even know everything. I’m always scrounging a couple of bucks here, a couple there—”
“Put McDonald’s twice a month on your list,” he said. “I’m sick of my kids being told no to everything. It’s all they hear—no. When they do get something, it comes from my mom or yours.” He ran a hand through his hair. “God, I let you down, Jules. I always told you it was going to be all right. You must have wanted to hit me in the head with a brick!”
Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She hated seeing him like this. It was easier struggling and juggling, being furious with him for his damn optimism, than to look at his eyes right now, filled with regret and shame.
“It’s still going to be all right,” she said, “because we’re in this together. Right?” He didn’t say anything and with a hiccup of emotion, she said, “We’re still in this together, aren’t we, Billy?”
He pulled her hand into his again and kissed the palm. “I made an appointment for a vasectomy a week from Friday. You have to come with me to the doctor—sign off. I’ll get a local. I can drive myself.”
“You’re not going to drive yourself. God.”
He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “If we ever get out of this mess, I swear to God I’ll never let anything like this happen to you again, Jules. I let you down. I let the kids down.” He wiped at an eye.
“Will you stop this!” she said loudly, standing. “You have to stop it! Now!”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his beautiful eyebrows furrowed.
“Billy, people do this all the time—our families aren’t going to let us starve, for God’s sake! Movie stars and professional athletes are filing for bankruptcy every day! It makes headlines and they get through it! Beth said a surgeon she knew filed for bankruptcy and stayed in his mansion of a house, operated every day just like usual!”
“Yeah, I know, but I thought if I could just work a little harder, make it a little longer….”
“Right now I don’t care about anything, except that you straighten your back and take it like a man!” she said loudly. “If this is how it is, it is. What we have in this family has never been about money!”
He stared at her a long moment and very quietly, very sadly, said, “And that’s for goddamn sure.”
Eight
Marty got home from the shop at six, her arms full of groceries and Joe’s uniform pants from the dry cleaner, her legs aching after a long day on her feet. She could hear Jason whacking around toys in his room, but all else was quiet. Joe might be lying down in the bedroom. There was a disturbing smell in the house; she wrinkled her nose. Then she put down her groceries and separated them, putting some in the refrigerator, some in the cupboards, leaving out the meat, potatoes and green beans. She flipped on the oven, sniffing again. She’d have to figure out that smell; they didn’t have a dog.
She mixed up a meat loaf and put it on a baking sheet. She got the potatoes peeled and boiling, snipped the ends off the beans and put them in the vegetable steamer. Then she started picking up—dishes, toys, clothes, shoes, newspapers, pillows from the sofa. As she was putting things away, she found Joe in the room that passed for his office. The smell was stronger. It couldn’t have gotten this bad, she thought. “I’m home,” she said.
He turned away from the computer and grinned at her. “Hey, babe. First preseason game on tonight!”
“Joe, do you smell like shit?”
He sniffed at himself. “Me and Jase—we composted around the trees and flower beds. Fall’s here. I washed my hands.”
“Joe,” she said earnestly, “you have to wash more than your hands. Shower before dinner. We shouldn’t have to eat with that smell!”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, brushing her off. “There’s a game starting in less than an hour….” He turned back to the computer.
“It won’t take fifteen minutes,” she informed him.
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“What are you doing?”
“Fantasy football—it starts in a couple of weeks. I’m boning up. I’m going to kill it this year.”
She pursed her lips and left. She went and kissed her boy, gathered up dirty clothes—Joe’s off the floor—and threw in a load of laundry. Whi
le dinner was finishing up, she ran the vacuum around the family room to suck up crumbs from bread and chips, dusted some of the wood, used glass cleaner to get the fingerprints off the patio doors, kitchen appliances and her bathroom fixtures. Joe was still at the computer. She put plates out on the table, transferred laundry. When dinner was ready, she called Jason and Joe. She was whipping the potatoes when Joe entered the kitchen, came up behind her as she worked, slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck with his scratchy beard. The smell was horrible! She wasn’t sure she could eat dinner with him without getting sick. “You look real sexy tonight, babe,” he said. “You have a good day?”
“Until I came home,” she answered coolly.
“What?” he asked, backing up.
She turned around and faced him. “You haven’t heard me the first hundred times, Joe. I don’t think you’ll hear me the next hundred. But I’ll try once more. Your hygiene, Joe. You stink. You smell of compost and sweat. You need a shower before you sit down at the table with me.”
He sniffed each armpit. “What are you talking about?”
She shook her head in disgust and put the food out while he stood there, staring at her as if she was out of her mind.
When the food was on the table, Joe got himself a TV tray, loaded up his plate and headed for the family room. He sat in front of his big screen. The game wasn’t on yet. It was the pregame show, which he could have seen from the table—his place was strategically positioned. She didn’t rag on him; he smelled of manure and sour grass clippings. The family room was a good place for him, though not nearly far enough away.
Jason wanted a tray, too, like Dad, but Marty made him stay at the table. She helped him with his meat loaf and beans—the mashed potatoes went fast. She glanced at her watch as the dryer buzzed that there were clothes ready to fold. Seven-twenty. And she thought, I can’t do this. I just can’t do this anymore. Work all day, clean and cook all night, lie next to a husband whose stench was so bad it was nauseating. It wasn’t like coming home to no one; it was like coming home to a bigger problem than she’d have if she was single. The house had an aroma of meat loaf and compost; Joe sat on the couch, engrossed in his football and nothing domestic had been done all day long. He’d gotten off work this morning and Jason had been sent to his Grandma’s till noon so Joe could get some sleep. The rest of the day had been dedicated to yard work, foraging for food, entertaining himself and getting all juiced up for football.