by Lily Zante
My place.
I have no place.
But the money for taking care of Ward is a huge help.
Maybe I can rent a place near the nursing home? It’s a new idea, and I resolve to start looking for my next job around here.
Lunchtime comes and I sit across the table watching my mom but she’s having problems feeding herself. It takes forever for her to lift the spoon from the soup bowl to her mouth, and her hand shakes which in turn spills the soup. I try to hold back, I want to let her do it, but after the fourth time, when she spills half of the soup on her clothes, it becomes too painful for me to watch.
I take over gently, telling her I can help, and I end up feeding my seventy-eight-year-old mom. A thought comes to me, it’s one I’ve been pushing to the back of my mind, but now it’s in front of me and I can’t avoid it. Now, as I feed my mother, I realize that in the space of a year, the woman I have looked up to all my life, the one I have gone to with my problems and whose advice I have sought, whose shoulder I have cried on, this woman has reverted back in age and time. Now she is more childlike than momlike. I have become the caregiver, where once I was cared for.
Once upon a time, I would have cried on her shoulder and told her about all the ills that had befallen me. I would have told her about Dale and how I lost my job. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her how he broke my heart, but now I can’t. She’ll never know. She doesn’t need to know.
It’s not her problem.
It’s mine and it hurts. Not Dale and what he did to me, but the sharp and painful understanding that I don’t have a mom I can go to anymore. I never realized there was a lease on this contract.
When I leave Maplewood, I am heartbroken all over again.
Meeting Jamie turns out to be the highlight of my day. My week even. As I sit across the table from him in a restaurant that is a little too dimly lit for my liking, I see couples everywhere.
Who else would be here on a Saturday night?
I assumed he would pick the local Greek restaurant where we used to get our lunchtime take-outs from at the end of the month in small celebration of getting our paychecks. He’s picked the upscale Italian restaurant where Dale and I came on our last anniversary.
“Why did we come here?” I ask, looking at the Italian menu for the fifth time and I’m still not able to decide what I want. I never could because the food here is so good. Dale used to tell me to order everything. At the Greek place, it would have been a no-brainer. I wish we’d gone there instead, not just because it has no bad memories, but because of the familiarity. There is comfort in older things.
“I thought we’d try somewhere new. Why? Don’t you like it?”
“I came here with Dale not so long ago.”
Jamie looks sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
I shake my head. “Why would you?”
“This place must be full of bad memories.”
I shrug. A lot of places were, in the early days. Being in Ward’s house has been like having a clean slate. It’s a small thing to be grateful for.
“We can go someplace else,” he offers again.
“We can stay here. I’m over him.”
“Are you really over him?” Jamie asks.
“Yes. We’ll stay here.” I can’t avoid places just because Dale and I went there. I have to erase those memories and create new ones.
He clears his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this—” I look up because he sounds so nervous. It’s not like him.
“Saying what?”
“That next time you don’t rush head first into something.”
“Into something?”
“Make a mistake. Go off with the first man you meet.”
I cough out loud, almost choking, because I can’t believe he said that. “Jamie!”
“We’ve been friends a long time,” he says, looking even more nervous than he sounds. “I hate seeing you upset, Mari.”
I look up. I’m not sure why he felt he needed to give me that advice. Jamie is being different around me. Our friendship used to be easygoing. Jokey. We’d talk about work, and the boss, and some up-their-asses difficult customers that we could bitch about out of earshot. Now there are none of those things to talk about.
It feels a little awkward, and it shouldn’t. I get that he’s lonely too ever since he split up with his girlfriend. But he’s also always been there for me. I close my eyes and breathe in.
He’s also right.
I met Dale at a club. We had sex the same night. I barely knew a thing about him. He was rebound sex after I split up with a guy who dumped me days before my birthday. I met him at a restaurant, where we were celebrating a friend’s engagement.
What he’s saying isn’t wrong. He’s simply looking out for me. I ask him if he’s heard back from his girlfriend ever since they split. It was months ago, before Dale and I split. “I don’t want to talk about her,” he says stiffly, then holds up the menu so I can’t see his face.
Ouch.
I understand.
I wouldn’t want to talk about Dale either.
The conversation instead turns to our current person of interest that we have in common. Ward Maddox. “How’s your new role?” I ask him. “What’s the verdict at the end of the first week?”
“He doesn’t talk much. I like that.” Jamie sips from his beer bottle.
“He’s not a man of many words,” I agree.
“But he’s not as weird as you made out.”
“You said his desk setup was weird!”
“I also said writers have a ritual,” says Jamie. “He’s eager to get into shape. He asked me to put him on a meal plan.”
“So that’s why I’m getting notes about what he wants to eat?”
“Notes?” Jamie’s brow creases.
I tell him how we’ve been exchanging information by writing notes, how I’ve been staying out of Ward’s way. How he’s moody and I have no idea why. I tell him what happened after that first day when I returned from our coffee shop visit, after I had been grocery shopping.
“He was mad at you for going out?”
“I’m not sure what he was mad about.”
“Asshole.” Jamie looks pissed.
A server stops at our table to take our order but mumbles “I’ll give you some more time,” and shuffles off. It’s just as well seeing that we haven’t yet decided on what we’re going to order.
I tell Jamie how I’ve stayed out of Ward’s way and made myself scarce so that he has no option but to leave me notes.
“He’s pretty normal in our workouts,” Jamie says.
“Maybe it’s just me, then.”
“Some can’t handle strong confident women.”
“I’m a shell of who I used to be.”
Jamie looks surprised.
“That hotel manager dealing diplomatically with customers who broke a vase and didn’t want to pay for the damage? Gone. That woman is gone.”
Jamie knows me well and disappointment wells in his eyes. “It must be difficult for you to hold your tongue.”
“It’s a miracle that I haven’t bitten it off. I’ve had to force myself to hold it in many times.”
“You’re in the wrong job.”
“It pays well, so I can’t complain.” I look at the menu again.
“But it can’t be rewarding?”
“It’s only temporary. What I can’t stand is the way Ward changes. He has mood swings. I can’t handle that.”
“Asshole.”
“You be nice to him and carry on as usual. You don’t have to take on my problems. You said you liked him.”
“That was before I heard what a douche he’d been to you.”
“The money is good. I don’t have that much to do. It’s not a labor-intensive role. It’s lonely, sure, but I get to see you every day …” I smile sweetly at him.
“I brighten your day?” He thumbs at himself, his lips curving out into a smile.
“I
didn’t say that.”
“But you meant it,” says Jamie, grinning. “Can I hear you say it?”
I roll my eyes. “You make my day better. Okay?” I summon the server over because now I’m starving.
Chapter Fifteen
WARD
* * *
Damn. This. Hell.
I hurl my notepad across the room. I pick up my pen and have a good mind to toss that, too.
She’s with him.
I can’t focus.
I can’t think.
I grip my pen even tighter, my knuckles white, my skin taut.
This is insane.
Fucking insane.
It’s none of my business what she does and who she does it with. I shouldn’t give a damn. I shouldn’t waste any thinking time on her, and what she is up to.
But I can’t help myself.
I haven’t had this type of problem in years, because I don’t get into these types of situations.
Rob and his stupid solution to my writer’s block. I love the guy, but this isn’t working. I push out from my chair and stab the digits on my cell phone.
“How long?” I ask, when he picks up.
“What?” Rob’s voice is cool and calm. “How long for what?”
“How long do I need to put up with this farce for?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Me, in Chicago, in this goddamn mansion.”
“You said it was helping you to write.”
“How long?” I growl. I so don’t want to stay here. I’m better now. I’m eating better, I’m on a fitness program. I don’t reach for the box of donuts each time I struggle to get words down.
It is a miracle.
“I would say it’s working, Ward. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It’s working, yeah. So let me come home.” I miss New Orleans. I miss my bed. “I miss Freya’s home cooking.”
“You have a problem with Mari?”
I grind down on my teeth. Trust him to zero in on the problem. “No.”
“The new trainer?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
A knot forms in my stomach. The problem is that I’ve let that housekeeper get under my skin. I’ve seen her in her tight and clingy yoga gear. I’ve seen her smooth naked stomach. I can’t unsee those long thin legs. I can’t help but notice the bow-shaped full lips, or the way her silky chestnut hair cascades around her shoulders when she lets it out of her ponytail in the evenings.
I swallow. “I can’t settle here. It’s the house.”
Rob snorts. “The house? Are you kidding me? Ward, what’s with you?”
I’m distracted is what’s wrong, but it’s none of Rob’s business what my problem is. His solution clearly isn’t working and it’s causing me more grief. And that’s my real bone of contention. “I’ve been here long enough—”
“You can’t come back until the book is done, Ward. The first draft at least. We agreed.”
“We didn’t agree. You said this was what I needed to do—”
“I said I couldn’t babysit you anymore.”
“I’m not falling apart,” I insist.
“You didn’t write for months. You haven’t written. In your line of work, that’s considered a fail, and this year is—”
I grit my teeth together. “I’m not failing. I’m not falling apart. My mom died. I can handle it.”
“You’ve been making good progress ever since you moved. A change is as good as a – uh… what’s the expression?”
I ignore the question. “I’m almost halfway done with the first draft.”
“See, it’s working. You needed a change of place, of people.”
An awkward silence bleeds into the air.
“What’s the real problem, Ward?”
Where do I start? That Mari is avoiding me. That she thinks I’m an asshole. That I care what she thinks. But most of all that she hates me. And why the hell do I even care? “I hate Chicago,” I reply, thinking about how I have done everything to not step outside the door. This city has given me scars I have tried so hard to forget.
“It’s Saturday night, Ward. Take a break. Do something.”
“I was doing something.” I growl. I’ve been trying to write all day, but knowing that Mari has gone out with the trainer seems to have used up most of my thinking power. It’s no use talking to Rob. He won’t understand. “I’ll get the first draft done, and then I’m coming back.”
“Then you can.”
I hang up, annoyed. I’m stifled, being in here all day long. Back home I would go for a walk, not every day, but a few times a week. I’ve become slow and sluggish here. The workouts help.
I run my hand over my stomach. It’s becoming flatter. My muscle memory is beginning to kick in. With continued effort and persistence, I feel confident I can start to regain some of my original body shape.
I glance at my watch. She’s still not back.
Screw this.
Rob says I can’t return until the first draft is done. That’s a challenge. He’s thrown down the gauntlet. I’ll get this first draft done faster than he thinks.
Chapter Sixteen
MARI
* * *
The following day, I don’t see Ward or hear from him. There are no notes on the kitchen island when I come downstairs in the morning.
By late afternoon I still haven’t heard from him, and his lunch has gone untouched in the fridge.
It’s the weekend and I don’t clean his desk or do any tidying up because it’s my time off. He’s asked for me to leave him some food if I can, otherwise it’s not a problem. I’ve been good and have left him food whenever I’ve gone to see my mom.
Even now, while we’re in the middle of our disagreement, I still endeavor to make sure he has food and drink. He’s still my boss and it’s only because of him that I’m able to pay for my mom’s nursing home and treatment.
I have a heart.
I’m not all stone-cold bitch.
I tiptoe towards his study, open the door and peer in. Two lamps are lit, one on his desk and one on the side table near the fire. He’s lying on the couch, on his side, fast asleep.
I step inside quiet as a mouse.
The room is a mess. Papers are everywhere. The floor is littered with plates and bags. The donut boxes are back.
He’s had a binge session. A junk food fiesta.
The room smells. I don’t know where to start. The sight of the messy table makes me itch. I feel the need to tidy it, and clear the floor, and open the windows.
I fight back the urge to spring clean this hovel. I tiptoe over to the couch. Ward looks peaceful when he’s asleep. His brows aren’t pushed together, and there are no lines on his forehead. No tightened jaw.
He seems almost … sweet.
Calm.
Gentle.
He looks a little thinner, too. I peer closer. He’s trimmed his beard. The thick growth is gone and it was definitely there when we argued last time. Now there is a light dusting of hair on his face.
He looks almost sexy.
I hold my breath as he shifts further on his side, so that he’s almost face down on the couch cushion. I look around for a blanket, or a throw, but find nothing. There’s no ottoman either. I can’t stand here staring at him. I can’t tidy up the room either for fear that he might wake up. Then he’d blame me for interrupting his sleep, and then we’d get into another disagreement.
I also can’t leave him to freeze.
Slipping back to my room, I grab a blanket and rush back, hoping he hasn’t woken up; I’d hate for him to see me do something nice for him.
But he’s still asleep when I return.
I drape the blanket over him gently and pray he doesn’t wake up.
WARD
* * *
There’s a knock on the door. I rub my eyes, and wince as I turn. Another knock follows and before I can answer, Mari sticks her head around.
&
nbsp; “Jamie’s here. You overslept.”
“What?” What day is it?
“Jamie, he’s here,” she hisses.
It can’t be. I was writing. I’ve been writing. I’ve lost track of time. “What day is it?”
She peers at me. “Monday,” she says slowly, as if I’m an idiot. “Did you sleep here again last night?”
I sit up. A rancid odor reaches my nostrils, making me want to gag. I must stink. Fuck. She can probably smell me. I don’t make a pretty sight either. I run my hand through my hair and find knots.
“Coffee,” I say, wanting her to go, not wanting her to smell my two-day-old sweat. I’ve spent the entire weekend here. Once Rob gave me that ultimatum, I worked like a fiend. I’ve slept here both nights.
“I need to shower. Can he wait?”
“I’ll tell him, and I’ll have your coffee ready.”
She leaves before I have the chance to say anything. I get up, planting my feet on the floor. Where the hell did this blanket come from? I slept here for two nights and I didn’t leave the room much. Not to shower. Not to work. Not to seek her out.
I scarfed the entire box of donuts I’d ordered, and I worked my way through a mountain of junk food.
But I got lots of writing done. If this is what it takes, then this is what I have to do. Without doubt, and without intending to, I’ve given Mari and her trainer friend plenty more fodder to laugh at me about.
To hell with them.
I need to shower, and then have coffee, and then do a class with Jamie.
Back in my room I lather myself all over, and feel the grime and sweat wash away. My body feels different. It’s not so loose. Not so soft. My arms feel bigger. I like the weightlifting program Jamie has me on. I run my hand over my belly and prod a couple of fingers in it. It’s not as jelly-ish as it was before, but it’s not hard, like steel, either. Standing next to Jamie, I would still feel like a rhino.
Is she sleeping with him?
I wash the shampoo out of my hair, try to unravel the knots I find. I need to get this cut. Need to spruce myself up.
I didn’t have a blanket in the study.