by Kelli Walker
“If I ask how you’re doing, are you going to hang up on me?”
“It’s been two years and it still hurts. I’m not sure what else you want me to say about it.”
“You watched your wife wither away, Tee. There’s more than that.”
“There really isn’t,” I said. “She got sick and I pulled myself from the field. She got sicker and I cashed in all the vacation I could. The doctor said she wasn’t getting any better and I took care of her as best as I could. Drank myself stupid on the days she slept all damn day. Then she died and I drank more. You were there. You drank with me.”
“I know,” he said.
“Then I went to work drunk and almost ruined everything and I knew then I needed a change. Two years of drinking and stumbling around at night, bumping into things that smelled like her and unable to clean out her damn closet.”
“I’m sorry, Tee.”
“You’re sorry?” I asked. “Don’t be sorry, Jay. Be angry. That woman was my world. My rock. My fortress. The only person that ever pulled me back from my undercover work. When I came back and was debriefed, she was the one that pulled back the fake layers and ushered me back into the world. She was the one who dropped her entire fucking life so she could help me through that first weekend where I still kept calling myself by my fake fucking name, Jay.”
I raked my hand down my face as silence filled the phone call.
“I couldn’t do my job without her. Every part of my life was soaked in her. So, I tried to drown her out. And I couldn’t. I couldn't function at my workplace and I couldn’t function in the place we called home, so I left. I quit, I packed up, and I left. So when I tell you ‘it still hurts’, Jay? That’s what I fucking mea.”
“Got it,” he said.
I put him on speakerphone and sat it on the mantle. I knew he was still there, listening to me rip and tear into boxes. I ripped the cardboard clear into fucking half and watched the contents spill all over the place. Plates and glassware. Silverware and random books. Knick knacks and desk shit and all the crap I tossed into empty kitchen drawers.
All of it, useless.
The only remnants of the years I spent married to my wife.
“I bet that cardboard’s seen better days.”
I chuckled before I leaned my head back and groaned.
“You keep in touch with me, okay? I’m coming to visit you once you get settled and find yourself a job.”
“I expect nothing less,” I said.
“And Tee?”
“Yep?”
“It’s good to dump. Even if you only do it once every two years. Dump.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Good.”
Jackson hung up the phone and I reached to pluck it off the mantle. I slid it into my back pocket and unloaded the rest of my boxes before I backed my moving trailer into the garage. I unhitched it and closed the garage, keeping my truck out as I headed into the house. I had four more boxes to unpack, then I could take all of the cardboard out to the side of the road.
Within five hours, I was unpacked and had everything put away.
That was how little of my life I carried with me from D.C.
I gathered up all the cardboard and went to go put it on the curb. According to my landlord, trash days were Thursday and recycling was Friday. I dropped everything in my arms and went to go back for another load, but the sound of music blasting down the street caught my ear.
I expected to hear heavy bass, or possibly the sound of a guitar strumming loudly as someone wailed about how they lost their dog. Or how their beer was cold. Or how they missed the good old days.
Instead, I heard the loud sound of violins, trumpets, and cellos.
I stood in my yard and watched a beat-up car pull into the driveway across the street. Isabelle’s house. The engine shut down and two boys got out of it, and they seemed to be bickering with one another. One very tall boy with broad shoulders, ebony skin, and a perfectly-shaved head. The other boy was much shorter than him, plaster-white, and lanky.
“I’m not listening to that music all week.”
“You’re driving, so I control the music.”
“That isn’t how that goes. The driver gets to control the music.”
“Nope. When I’m driving, we listen to your crap.”
“My music’s crap? You listen to flutes and violins all day. I listen to the good shit.”
“I’m telling Mom you cussed.”
“And I’m telling Ma you listen to shitty music.”
“Mom!”
My eyebrows rose as the boys barreled into the house. Mom? Did those boys call Isabelle their mother? The woman didn’t look a day over thirty. And those boys were at least driving age. Fifteen, but probably more like sixteen or seventeen. How the hell was it possible for a thirty-year old woman to have two teenage boys?
Isabelle was very intriguing.
And the more I learned about parts of her life from the sidelines, the more it made me want to interact with her face-to-face.
Without an intermediary present.
Isabelle
“What’s for dinner, Mom?” Dom asked.
“Smells like chicken and dumplings. Please tell me it’s chicken and dumplings, Ma. Yours are the best,” DeShawn said.
“Then you’d be correct,” I said as I stood at the stove. “It’s chicken and dumplings with fresh sweet tea and biscuits.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m gonna be so full once I’m done tonight,” DeShawn said.
“How’d you boys do at school today? Dom? Didn’t you have that physics test?”
“Yeah. It went okay. There was some material I didn’t know had to be studied, so I’m not sure about that portion.”
“That means he’ll get an A-minus instead of an A-plus,” DeShawn said with a grin.
“And what about you?” I asked. “When does lacrosse practice start up?”
“Next week, Ma. Wednesday I think. But I’ll double-check tomorrow.”
“Coach McRally still heading it up?” I asked.
“To my knowledge. But we got this new assistant coach, too. Don’t know his name. Just know he’s gonna be new to the team.”
“Well I’m sure you’ll make him feel welcome,” I said. “Now, who’s hungry?”
“Me!” the boys exclaimed.
As usual, I made way too much for dinner. Feeding two very hungry boys always made for big meals, but I always managed to end up with leftovers. Which was great for any other meal, because DeShawn would take the leftovers to school. But chicken and dumplings was a hard dish to pack up and carry to school. I sat and listened as the boys recounted their days to me. Boring teachers and annoying homework assignments and already fretting over college. I loved moments like this. When we all sat as a family and I got to really take a good, hard look at them. I still wasn’t sure how I ended up with two fabulous sons. They were well-rounded and well-behaved. Polite, when they weren’t fighting with one another.
All of us had come a long way.
I was proud of the family I’d created.
“Ma? You okay?” DeShawn asked.
“Yeah. Oh yeah,” I said. “Just figuring out what in the world I can do with these leftovers.”
“Especially since Dee doesn’t take them to school,” Dom said. “Otherwise you could just tape the crockpot shut and give it to him.”
I giggled as we all began to clear our plates.
“What about that new guy across the road?” DeShawn asked.
“What about him?” I asked.
“He might like chicken and dumplings.”
“Yeah! We could take the leftovers over there to him,” Dom said. “We saw him earlier when we came home. He was dumping ripped up cardboard on the sidewalk.”
“Probably boxes he was breaking down after unpacking,” I said.
“I don’t know. They looked pretty mangled,” Dom said.
“What? You don’t have enough to study and critique, so now you’re c
ritiquing some dude’s cardboard on the side of the road?” DeShawn asked.
“Cut it out, you two. I haven’t had my wine yet,” I said.
“Hard day at work, Ma?” DeShawn asked.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said with a smile. “But yes, I think we should take this leftover food to him. And hopefully he’s got someone else in that house, because there’s enough here to feed a small army.”
“Can I come with you?” Dom asked.
“Of course you can. We can all introduce ourselves to the new neighbor while secretly taking a peek into his home,” I said.
“Already trying to judge him on his decorating, Ma?” DeShawn asked.
“What can I say? It’s my career. Now help me pack this stuff up, boys.”
I searched for a massive tupperware container and dumped the chicken and dumplings into it. I had Dom pour a small pitcher of sweet tea and I tasked DeShawn with packing up the rest of the biscuits. Then, we all started across the street. Nighttime had fallen on our small country town, and the crickets and fireflies were out full-stop. It was my favorite time of the year in this place. When the world came alive again during that transition from spring to summer. It wasn’t too humid and the nights didn’t get too cold. Perfect for rocking on the porch and sipping wine.
I drew most of my inspiration from the dark.
Dom and DeShawn both knocked on the man’s door. I stood there with a very hot tupperware container wrapped in a towel so my hands didn’t burn. I heard shuffling behind the door before something fell to the floor, then cursing emanated from behind the door.
The boys looked over at me and I tried not to start laughing.
The door whipped open and I went to go speak. But once my eyes met his, I forgot how to move my jaw. I hadn’t gotten the full impression of just how tall he was from across the road, but now that I was staring at his chest I had a very good idea. My eyes panned up his sweaty chest, taking in how his shirt clung to his broad form. His muscles were lean and I could see them pulsing underneath his shirt. His arms bulged at the hems of his sleeves, forcing my eyes to take in his sculpted musculature. I needed to say something. I needed to make words go somehow. But as my eyes panned up to his, all I could focus on was his smell.
His sweet, musky smell.
“So uh, we’re from across the road. Ma?” DeShawn asked.
I felt his elbow in my side and it ripped me from my trance.
“Tristan, right?” I asked.
“You know him, Mom?” Dom asked.
“We’ve briefly met,” Tristan said.
His voice sent shockwaves up the backs of my thighs.
“So, I have a habit of making way too much for dinner for my growing boys,” I said. “So I figured we’d bring you some and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
Good job. A coherent sentence that didn’t make me seem like a bumbling idiot.
“It smells good,” Tristan said.
“Chicken and dumplings, homemade biscuits, and sweet tea,” Dom said. “It’s my favorite meal Mom makes.”
“I like her fried chicken more,” DeShawn said. “But that’s because she double-fries it.”
“Double-fries it?” Tristan asked.
“I coat it twice before deep-frying it instead of only once,” I said.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
His brown eyes had speckles of other colors. A hint of gray. A splash of yellow. Even a tinted ring of green around his iris. A kaleidoscope of colors that kept me entranced as I held the container of food out for him. And when he took it from my hands, our fingers grazed.
My muscles contracted with the electricity coursing through my system.
“Well, these are my boys, Dominique and DeShawn,” I said.
“Tristan,” he said. “If you didn’t already catch that.”
“And I’m Isabelle. You know, in case you didn’t remember.”
“I’m good with names when it counts,” he said.
“So, um… how’s the move going? Do you need any help with anything?” I asked.
“Nope. Got it under control,” he said. “You guys want to come in? Set the rest of the stuff down?”
“Sure,” DeShawn said.
“Sounds good to me,” Dom said.
I figured no longer talking would be a better route to take than the words that were coming out of my mouth. So I merely nodded and followed my boys inside. Tristan shut the door behind us and I could feel his gaze lingering on me. My eyes panned around the house. It was small. Quaint. Two stories, with a small fenced-in backyard and a dainty wrap-around porch. Not the kind of house I’d see a man the size of Tristan in, but the darkness of the house suited him somehow.
There wasn’t much natural light, and the walls were coated in dusky colors.
“So, any tips?” Tristan asked.
I jumped at the sound of his voice.
“You good, Ma?” DeShawn asked.
It had been a very long time since I’d been around a man I felt so drawn to. I still wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Just looking around,” I said.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Tristan said. “You’re the decorator, right?”
“Oh, Mom’s more than that,” Dom said. “She’s a woodworker. She decorates with the things she makes you.”
“Really?” Tristan asked.
“She sells her pieces online,” DeShawn said. “Her shed’s out back of our house.”
“Impressive.”
I blushed at his compliment. I chanced another glance up towards his face and saw a small grin trickle across his features. It sent butterflies flapping through my stomach. My heart surged and adrenaline rushed through my veins. My automatic response was to run for the hills. To get away from him as fast as I could. But there was a kindness to his eyes. A gentle nature I hadn’t seen in people around this town in a while. A sadness behind his gaze I understood all too well.
If I ran from him, I wouldn’t know what made us such kindred spirits.
At least, that was what it felt like. It felt like I was looking at someone who understood my heartache.
“Since Ma’s not saying anything-- which is real unlike her-- I will,” DeShawn said. “You need a lot of shit.”
“DeShawn,” I scolded. “What have I told you about that language?”
“It’s true, Mom,” Dom said. “He needs a lot of stuff. Like a T.V. stand.”
“And a kitchen table with chairs,” DeShawn said.
“And a bookcase. Do you have books?” Dom asked.
“Not everyone has a library stashed in their closet, Dom.”
“And not everyone feels the need to hit people in sports, Dee.”
“Hey, that’s how I work out my aggression. What do you do? Sit around and listen to flutes?”
“Boys,” I said sternly. “Can it.”
Tristan chuckled and the sound melted over my body.
“I actually do need a few things,” he said. “I didn’t come with much.”
“Well, I can help you if you’d like it,” I said.
“I would. What kind of pieces do you make?” he asked.
“Oh we don’t have to bother with that right now. You can make an appointment with me or go find them online or something. I-- I mean, ‘we’-- just wanted to bring over dinner for you. Welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Then you might as well stay and talk,” he said. “What do you specialize in?”
“All sorts of things,” Dom said. “Though people mostly order that palette furniture from her.”
“I hate that stuff,” I said.
“Good. I do, too. I don’t think the wood’s going to be sturdy enough for someone like me,” Tristan said.
He had that right. Even with the lean muscle that pulled tautly over his body, he had a lot of it with how tall he was.
Warmth began to pool between my legs just thinking about it and panic seized my heart.
Deep breaths. My boys
are with me.
“Mom? You sure you’re okay?” Dom asked.
“I’m fine, boys. Just tired. Today was very long,” I said. “To answer your question, Tristan, I make an array of pieces. I just finished a dining room table with four chairs for a customer, and before that I had an order for twenty wooden picture frames for a small wedding party. It just depends on what you want. I take orders on a case-by-case basis, unless you want to order online.”
“What’s your website?” Tristan asked.
“Izzy Carpenter dot com,” DeShawn said.
“Then I’ll make sure to check it out tonight,” Tristan said.
“If you want to make an appointment with her, you can do that through her website, too,” Dom said.
“Okay, walking billboards. We’ve taken up enough of our new neighbor’s time,” I said.
“It’s fine. They’re welcome anytime. Front door’s always open,” Tristan said.
“Well mine’s always locked and the security system is always armed,” I said.
“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever hear it go off,” he said.
My eyes whipped up to his and I saw something rise in his stare. His grin was overshadowed by something else. Something fiercer. Darker. More questionable. I didn’t know what to make of it, but suddenly I felt nervous. The panic I was trying to abate in my heart was slowly trickling through my veins. I felt conflicted. Torn between my evolutionary urges and my past history with men. I nodded my head and cleared my throat, forcing my eyes over to my boys.
“You guys ready to go?” I asked. “You boys need to clean up for bed.”
“Can we stay up longer tonight?” DeShawn asked.
“Yeah. There’s a movie coming on tonight we want to watch,” Dom said.
“What movie?” Tristan asked.
“The Expendables. The first one. You seen it?” DeShawn asked.
“Can’t say I have.”
“You haven't seen it?” Dom said. “It’s great. There’s three of them, and they’re all awesome. The second one has Chuck Norris in it.”
“One of those action movies that has all of the action movie actors in it?” Tristan asked.
“Oh yeah. And it’s filled with explosions,” DeShawn said. “Can we stay up and watch it, Ma?”