Payback

by Jonnie Jacobs

“Todd, this is silly. Gordon and I have been together a long time. We have a history together. A daughter.”

  “That’s a reason to batten down the hatches and stop living? You only get one chance at life. Don’t you want more than what you’ve got now?”

  Marta was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. The qualities that were so tantalizing about him now also unnerved her.

  She reached for her purse. “I’m sorry, Todd. I shouldn’t have agreed to have coffee with you. There’s no point. This has got to stop.”

  “Don’t toy with me, Marta. I’m not a thing.”

  “I’m not toying. I’m trying to make you understand. There was never an us and there never will be. There can’t be.”

  He seemed both hurt and angry. “You should think about it.”

  “I have.”

  “I mean really think about it.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Call me, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

  Marta slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door, walking as quickly as she could. She was half-afraid Todd would come after her, but she heard no footsteps behind her. When she reached the door she looked back and saw him still sitting at the table, watching her.

  Chapter 10

  Gordon hated mornings.

  His limbs simply refused to move. No matter how much he intended to get up, he found himself lying there, staring at the ceiling. The day that stretched before him—hell, the weeks and years—seemed to demand far more than he could give.

  On rare occasions, he was eager to spring from the prison of his dreams, only to be confronted moments later by his own sorry image in the bathroom mirror, and the dreariness of the day that awaited him.

  Either way, mornings were hell.

  It hadn’t always been like this. He used to welcome the promise in each new day. In his life. He welcomed what lay ahead.

  How had his existence become so bleak? Oh, he understood his step-by-step descent into the wasteland of his current nontenured position at a second-rate school, but on a deeper, cosmic level, it made no sense at all.

  Marta didn’t get it, even though she claimed she did. She would listen sympathetically when he tried to explain, then proceed to list all the reasons he had to be thankful. As if he’d never considered the matter himself. He had his own list, longer than Marta’s, but it wasn’t enough to banish the gloom from his soul.

  This morning he’d already tried to will himself out of bed twice, only to fall back into a hazy sort of half sleep. Now, he opened his eyes again, glanced again at the bedside clock, and groaned. Gloom or no, he had to get up or he’d be late for his class.

  As he turned onto his side, it dawned on him that maybe his funk wasn’t as all-encompassing as he imagined if he still cared enough to get to class on time. Or maybe it was just easier to go through the motions.

  Howell College frowned on professors—strike that, assistant professors—who didn’t show up for their own classes. The students wouldn’t care whether he was there or not. They didn’t pay much attention even when they were physically present, and there were always a distressing number of them who were not.

  Finally, Gordon propelled himself from the cocoon of his bed and into the bathroom, where he realized he had time for a shower or a shave but not both. He chose the shower.

  The air was still moist from Marta’s shower earlier that morning, and smelled of the apricot-scented body wash he used to find so tantalizing. Now it was nothing more than a familiar household scent, like the lemon dishwashing soap or the slightly musty smell of the front hallway where their winter jackets hung. He wondered, briefly, where all the joy had gone.

  Marta had been in a hurry this morning, up early and scurrying about like a squirrel gathering nuts. Lately, it seemed she was always in a hurry. Unless she wanted to talk. Then she had all the time in the world. She would raise whatever was on her mind obliquely, then become agitated when Gordon failed to grasp what she was trying to say.

  Most recently, it had been his failings as a husband, although she hadn’t spelled it out in so many words.

  “It feels like we’re drifting apart,” she’d told him over dinner last week. “We used to have so much to say to each other.”

  “We’ve been married a long time,” he’d explained. “We don’t need to be always talking.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” And although she’d tried to explain, Gordon knew she was really pointing out the ways in which he fell short.

  He wanted to be a better husband. He really did. But he wasn’t sure how to make that happen. He sometimes felt like he was encased in a suit of armor. It wasn’t a symbol of valor, but a shell. Somewhere inside, he was alive. But stuck in his shell, he was stiff and awkward. And he couldn’t find the words to explain this to Marta.

  Thankfully she had come home the following night from some meeting in Macon all fired up about eighteen-year-old kids aging out of foster care, and Gordon was no longer in the crosshairs. Even then he’d wondered if Marta had been subtly reminding him that there were people with bigger troubles than his own.

  Of course there were. Gordon got that. But it didn’t make his own troubles any less pressing. There was enough grief out there for both him and the hapless foster kids.

  *****

  Only one student showed up for afternoon office hours. Dimitri Dibinski, a foreign exchange student whose intensity unnerved Gordon. When Dimitri finally left, Gordon checked the hallway. Office hours weren’t over for another forty minutes, but when he saw no one waiting, he locked up and called it a day.

  On the way home he stopped by the grocery store. Marta had left him a note that morning.

  I may be late this evening, she’d written. Will you pick up romaine and a tomato for salad, and put the casserole in the oven? It should cook at 350.

  P.S. It’s in the orange pot on the second shelf of the fridge.

  Although he wouldn’t admit it, Gordon enjoyed grocery shopping. As long as he had instructions, the task was simple and straightforward, something he could accomplish, usually successfully. It made him feel useful and needed.

  Jamie wasn’t yet home so he put the groceries away, changed into his sweats, and went out to the garage. His 1967 Mustang needed a lot of work to reach classic car status. Work and money. Gordon didn’t mind the work, but unless he won the lottery, he’d never be able to afford the kind of restoration he would have liked.

  He’d started the project when his professional life in Boston had gone to hell. The injustice of a groundless accusation legitimized by political correctness and big money had come close to sending him off the deep end, but he’d been saved by a chance encounter with a neighbor selling an old Mustang—a car Gordon had lusted after since he was a teen. Buying it made no sense at all, but Gordon’s life right then made no sense either. Better to buy an old car that needed work than to go around smashing windows or screaming from rooftops.

  Although Gordon knew nothing about cars, he’d taken to the task of rebuilding the Mustang with an enthusiasm he didn’t know he had. The work took his mind off his troubles and gave him an excuse to shut himself away where no one would bother him. It had been a surprisingly satisfying decision.

  Now, he worked intently, installing pistons and new rings until his head began to hurt from the fumes. He opened the garage door to air the place out, then went back to work.

  A male voice called “Hi,” and Gordon looked up to see a man walking up the driveway toward him. The man was nicely dressed in dark slacks and a black leather jacket. He was younger than Gordon, and carried himself with the sort of casual self-confidence Gordon never seemed able to master.

  “You live here?” the man asked.

  Gordon nodded. Not a salesman, he hoped.

  “How’s the neighborhood?”

  “The neighborhood?”

  “Sorry, let me back up. I sometimes jump to the point a little too quickly.” The man offered Gordon an abashed grin. “I was looking at that house down t
he street, the one that’s for sale. I’m wondering what you think of the neighborhood.”

  Gordon hadn’t actually given the question much thought. In the two years since they’d moved here, he’d met only a handful of neighbors. They were nice enough but he didn’t really know them well. That was why he hadn’t wanted to go to the party last week when Marta was out of town.

  “It seems fine,” he said. “I’m probably not the best person to ask, though. My wife and daughter are the social members of the family.”

  “You’ve raised a family here then? How are the schools?”

  “We just moved in a couple of years ago, but the high school seems good. How old are your kids?”

  The man chuckled. “I don’t have any yet. I’m working on finding a wife first.”

  The guy wasn’t married but he was concerned about the neighborhood and schools? Gordon imagined he had a bit of a control issue. Or maybe he was simply concerned with property values.

  “Hey,” the man said, “that’s an awesome car. What is it, a ’70?”

  Gordon brightened. “A ’67. It needs a lot of work still.”

  “It’s great you can do it yourself. I’ve always dreamed about rebuilding a car but I don’t have the know-how.”

  “I didn’t either when I started. It’s kind of learn-as-you-go for me. You want to see the engine?”

  Gordon wasn’t sure how long they talked. It was mostly about cars. The man asked intelligent questions and actually listened to Gordon’s responses. Gordon was enjoying himself for the first time in a long time.

  “Say,” he said finally. “Why don’t you come in and have a beer. I need to put some stuff in the oven. My wife will be home soon and you can ask her about the neighbors.”

  “Sure, if I’m not imposing.”

  Gordon wiped his hands on the rag he kept handy, then led his new friend into the kitchen. Jamie had come home without his noticing and was standing in front of the fridge with the door open.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said without taking her eyes off the contents of the fridge.

  “Hi, honey. I brought a friend. This fellow is thinking about buying the house down the street that’s for sale.” He went to the sink to wash his hands. “This is my daughter, Jamie,” he explained over his shoulder. “I’m Gordon, by the way.”

  “Hi, Jamie.” The stranger gave her a friendly nod. “I’m Todd.”

  Chapter 11

  Marta pulled into the driveway, happy to finally be home from work. It had been a long, hectic day, and she was exhausted. The lights were on inside the house, which gave her hope that Gordon had remembered to put dinner in the oven. She was looking forward to doing nothing but changing out of her work clothes, pouring herself a glass of wine, and vegging out for the evening.

  The welcoming aroma of cooking food greeted her as she entered the house, along with the low buzz of conversation from the kitchen. A neighbor? One of Gordon’s colleagues? Maybe a friend of Jamie’s, although Marta thought it unlikely that Jamie and her friend would be hanging out in the kitchen with Gordon. Damn! She was in no mood to play hostess.

  As she hung up her coat, she thought about bypassing the kitchen and heading directly upstairs, but curiosity and conscience won out. She headed toward the kitchen.

  As she neared the door, she heard Gordon announce, “Ah, here she is now.”

  At first she thought she was looking at a heartwarming scene. Father, daughter, and visitor seated around the kitchen table, having a friendly conversation. Each of the adults had a bottle of beer in front of him, her daughter, a soda.

  But it took her only an instant longer to recognize the visitor at the table, schmoozing so easily with Gordon and Jamie, was none other than Todd.

  The picture was so wrong all she could do was stare.

  Gordon made the introductions but Marta wasn’t listening. Her head was spinning.

  “This guy knows his cars,” Gordon said.

  “How nice.” Marta’s skin prickled, and anger simmered inside her. Had he told Gordon about their night in Minneapolis? Would he? Why else was he here?

  “Todd is interested in buying the house down the street,” Gordon said. “He was asking about the neighborhood.”

  Marta forced herself to breathe. “Is that so?” She was amazed her voice sounded so normal. “It’s actually not a very nice house. The layout is odd and it needs a ton of work.”

  Gordon shot her a critical look. “That’s for him to decide, isn’t it?”

  “Are you from around here?” Marta asked Todd. It was as close as she could come to “Why are you here?” without sounding like an idiot.

  Todd shook his head. “I’m thinking of relocating.”

  “It’s a sucky town. I’d think twice if I were you.”

  Gordon gave up with the nasty looks and jumped in. “It’s not so bad. I thought you—”

  “Yes it is,” Jamie volunteered. “I hate living here.”

  Todd chuckled, turning his amused blue eyes toward Marta. “Your daughter has been giving me an earful for the past half-hour or so.”

  Marta fought the urge to find the nearest heavy object and bash him with it. “Nice to have met you,” she said icily. “Tom, is it?”

  Gordon corrected her before Todd had a chance.

  “In any case, please excuse me, I have things to take care of. Gordon, why don’t you show your guest out while I change.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Gordon said. “He’s staying for dinner.”

  Marta had turned to head upstairs. Now she abruptly turned back. “He’s what?”

  “I invited him. There’s plenty of food. And I thought that would give you a chance to answer some of his questions about the town.”

  Marta was dumbfounded. Gordon was one of the least outgoing people she knew. That he’d invite a practical stranger to stay for dinner was beyond belief.

  “I’m awfully tired tonight,” she protested. “Maybe another time.”

  Gordon started to argue, but Todd raised his palms in acquiescence. “I understand perfectly. I didn’t mean to intrude on your evening. Your husband and I were talking and then your delightful daughter joined us, and I lost track of time.”

  “Please stay,” Gordon said. “I apologize for my—”

  “I appreciate the invitation but I need to be going anyway.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Marta offered. “That way I can answer any questions you have. About the ‘neighborhood.’”

  Todd shook Gordon’s hand. “Thanks for the beer.” He took Jamie’s hand next and leaned in closer. “I loved the incident with your history teacher. You’ve got a real gift for storytelling.”

  Jamie blushed. It was all Marta could do to keep from kicking Todd right then and there. She followed him out onto the porch and closed the door behind her.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  Marta crossed her arms. “Don’t you dare come here again. You need to leave me alone. Leave my family alone. Do you hear me? You’ve crossed the line, Todd.”

  “I love the way you get so fired up about things.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  His fingertips grazed the back of her neck. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m deadly serious.”

  “About what? Invading my life and harassing me?”

  “You won’t answer my texts. You won’t take my calls. I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

  Marta drew in a breath. “I don’t want you to reach me,” she said emphatically.

  “Why won’t you give me a chance?”

  “A chance to destroy my family? What are you doing?”

  “I wanted to see you. I want to know all about you.”

  My God, what had she done? “This has got to stop!”

  He brushed his thumb across her lips. “See you soon,” he said, and whistled his way down the stairs.

  Marta stood on the porch, shaking with anger until h
e’d driven away. Then she took a deep breath to calm herself.

  When she got back inside, Gordon was steaming. “What’s gotten into you, Marta? You were downright rude.”

  “I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. I don’t feel like sharing my evening with a stranger.”

  “This is my house, too, you know. If I invite a friend for dinner, the least you can do is be civil.”

  “A friend? You just met the guy.”

  “Yeah, and we hit it off. Besides, he just might be our neighbor someday.”

  Jamie was still at the table, listening in. “Way to go, Mom. You’re always telling Dad he needs to be more outgoing, and then you chase his friend out of here.”

  “I didn’t chase—”

  “You did too. You were like . . . like a mad dog.”

  Marta heard the reproach in her daughter’s voice and mentally stepped back. Finding Todd in her house terrified her, but they were right. She had been rude. Intentionally and desperately rude. Todd was the last person in the world she wanted mixing with her family.

  But they knew nothing of what brought her to that point, and she hoped they never would.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t very nice. I guess my day was even more stressful than I’d thought.” She gave Gordon a kiss on the cheek. “If he ends up buying the house down the street, we’ll invite him for dinner and I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”

  *****

  The next morning Marta tried to redeem herself in the eyes of her family. Slowing her usual pace, she fixed a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. She counted on the aroma of cooking bacon to get Gordon out of bed in time to eat it.

  “What’s this?” he asked, shuffling into the kitchen. “A peace offering?”

  “You might say that.”

  Gordon laughed. It was a wonderful sound Marta hadn’t heard from her husband in a long time.

  “Can I hold out for orange juice, too?”

  “We don’t have any. I guess I could run to the store.”

  “No, this is fine. Very nice, in fact.” He patted her shoulder, then piled his plate with eggs and two strips of bacon.