by Trixie More
Derrick shut down the lights, pulled his truck inside and locked up the building. The sun was rising, weak and pale, as he turned to walk home, his thoughts as chilly and dark as the day.
Derrick pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, ignoring the waiting text messages. How the hell was he going to explain this to Debra? At some point in Derrick’s life, he’d stopped spending much time at home. He loved his family, but after David had left for college, something changed. His family’s routines around dinner, his father’s 1950s style meal-time master of the house routine, started to wear thin. When he was young, he believed his mom when she told him that their family’s traditions meant that his father cared deeply for his children and wanted to spend time with them. He thought it said they had this loving family, and in many ways, that was true. Sometime around when he was dating Ashley, his ideas started to change, and he thought the whole big thing was more about his father’s ego than anything else. So, he’d started to just, be late. Skip meals. Stay out. And after a while, nobody seemed to care that he wasn’t there, except Ben, because that was where Derrick began taking his evening meal. He’d be hanging with Ben, at his family’s home on the less “desirable” side of town, and they’d feed him. If he was in the house when the food came to the table, they assumed he’d eat. Ben’s mother, Janice, started planning on him being there. She never mentioned it to Derrick, but he knew it was so, because, well, she didn’t make an extra pot pie by accident, did she?
Ben’s family ate earlier than the Moss family, since Ben’s father, Big George, denoted by the “Big” in front of his name, was an ironworker. He usually pulled into the driveway about four thirty, sweaty, dirty and full of swagger. There was always jeering and trash talking for the person who landed in front of the bowl of salad or vegetables. And then, they’d fall on their food, because well, it was a house full of men, except for Janice. Big George would tell them tales from the job site, George would talk about cars and football and Derrick and Ben would talk about robotics. The last year Derrick participated in First Robotics, his entire surrogate family showed up. Big George, George, Ben and Janice, all cheering and hooting from the sidelines. And there, beside them, was his mother, sister Sophia, who was painfully shy at the time and Grandma Rose. Seven people to watch the competition. Four raising the roof, kicking their chairs to make more noise and shouting at the robots, the other three quietly smiling, clapping politely with Grandma Rose making one big whoop at the end, throwing her small fists in the air. Derrick remembered looking over and seeing George, who leaped out of his chair, legs spread in a V, one fist shoving a hot dog in his pie hole and the other fist-pumping madly in the air.
Now George was getting shuttled off to the hospital, after being used as a punching bag. Something had gone very wrong.
Derrick dialed Debra, and she answered on the first ring.
“Derrick? Derrick, are you with George?” Her voice was breathless, panicked.
“Debra, he’s OK,” he said.
“Thank merciful Jesus,” Debra said and then she started to cry.
By the time Derrick saw the text from Allison, it was hours later. After he’d called Debra, he’d gone inside, woke Ben up and drove him to the hospital. By the time they got there, it was pretty clear George would be released to go home once all the X-rays and tests were done.
Derrick called in sick to work and since he was in the ER, went down and had them check his shoulder. Bruising was still developing, and he felt like he’d pulled every muscle in his neck. From the coloring on his rib cage, the weapon must have been longer than he realized. Going to work was out for a couple of days, to give it a start on healing. He had no desire to take a header off a beam if the thing gave him trouble. While he was waiting for the results, he saw the texts. By now it was nine a.m. The first text was from his sister. A thumbs-up emoji. He sent back a ?. He had no clue what she might have meant. The rest were from Allison.
Hey, let me know you got home, ok? Was the first one.
Followed by an apology
I hope that didn’t offend you. I just got a bad feeling.
Followed by a missed call, all of them hours ago.
His sister replied.
That was hours ago! I meant, thumbs-up for Allison. I like her.
He dialed Allison back.
“Hey,” he said as her sleepy voice answered. He pictured her all snug in her bed, and he wondered what her apartment looked like. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Are you OK?” She sounded concerned, and he found he didn’t mind it.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Didn’t you see my text?” Her voice was tight and bossy. Derrick smiled at the floor.
“Just saw it now,” he said.
“Oh.”
“Your bad feeling?” he asked. “You were right.”
Allison’s voice popped wide awake, and he pictured her sitting up in bed now.
“Oh my God! Where are you? Do you need help? Where’re my boots?”
That last question seemed to be for herself, so he let it go. It was funny to him that Allison would think he might need her. After all, they’d only really known each other for a few months, and they’d just hung out for the first time a couple weeks ago when he’d given her that ride to her dad’s.
“Allison, I’m fine,” he said. He heard her relieved exhale. “I don’t want you to rush anywhere. I’m at the hospital now, but I’m leaving soon.”
“The hospital! Were you in an accident? Are you OK? Maybe you need me to come get you?”
“With what?”
“An Uber, of course!”
“I can call an Uber if I need one, but I have my truck. A friend of mine was robbed last night, and I’m at the hospital with him,” he said.
“Oh,” she said.
“Disappointed?”
“Oh! Are you kidding me? Of course, I’m not. I mean, I’m sorry about your friend …”
He tried again. “Allison, that was a joke. I’m fine. I just felt bad I missed your call, that’s all.”
“Sure, oh, sure. No worries on that,” Allison said. “Of course you don’t need me to get you.”
Did she sound a little hurt? Lord, this woman was going to be a lot of work, and the next thing he had to say was going to come out all wrong, he just knew it.
“Look, I’m thinking I’m not going to be coming over on Sunday,” he began, by Sunday he bet his shoulder was going to hurt like a bitch.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. When she started speaking again, she was back to her all business self. “Look, I’ve only got an hour before I have to open the shop. Tell your friend I hope he’s all right.”
A lot of work. More work than any woman he’d ever dated. The worst part was, she seemed to know it, expected to be too much work. The fact he was proving her expectation right was killing him. Why had he let her think he might love her? Because he was a moron, that’s why. Derrick tried again.
“Hey, I got a little banged up, and I just want to have time to recoup. I promise we’ll hang out, just not Sunday.” God. Now he sounded like a complete ass. He almost hoped she ghosted him.
He was going to ghost her. Allison just knew it. Why hadn’t she left him alone? Why couldn’t she just have left it with him stopping by the shop, them being friends? It had been companionable, right? Marley and Derrick acted like brother and sister. Having his big, gorgeous body, taking up more space in the kitchen than physically possible, all of that had been wonderful, if she told herself the truth.
Allison tossed her phone onto the bed. Why in heaven’s name had she sent that text? He was a grown man, and she was not the kind of woman who stayed up worrying about whether a person got home OK. She never did that shit. Allison plunked herself back down on the mattress, sitting on the bed like a person in shock. The answer that came to her was uncomfortable and real. She’d sent the text for herself, not for him. He’d said maybe I do, letting the promise of the L word hang suspended as if it was the thr
eat of rain, and she’d been like a desiccated weed in cracked and dry clay—eager for every drop. She’d wanted to hear it.
Allison flopped back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. There were cobwebs up there around the ceiling fan. And the blades were dusty. Inside her, the worst truth was rising now, like a disgusting, shameful bit of dirt, right out of her own soul. She’d lied to him. She’d never once in her life had a premonition. She hadn’t seen the fire that killed Ringer coming, she hadn’t suspected her mother was leaving and she sure as hell hadn’t seen her father’s senility creeping in like an infestation. Last night there had been no bad feeling, no suspicion. Quite simply, she’d missed him. That L word hung in her mind like a sparkling oasis, and she’d sent the text. Let me know you got home OK.
Allison flopped her wrist over her eyes, shutting out the site of all the cleaning she needed to do in her room. She hadn’t really given a flying shit about Derrick, had she? She’d sent the text because she wanted him to tell her how wonderful she was and how much he loved her. Dimwit. And then, in a fit of fear, worried that he wouldn’t respond or that he’d think her clingy or stalker girlish, she’d made up the excuse for the text, I had a bad feeling. Ugh. Bad feeling was right. She’d had a bad feeling that he might not actually love her. Well duh. In all honesty, the texts should have read, Please tell me you love me. Followed by, Oh no! I’m so insecure about everything, I just want to suck that text back.
Truthfully? Allison was the one who’d started it with the whole “tell me you love me” not-such-a-joke and Derrick had understood. He’d pulled over, showing her first, so she would believe it when he told her. Allison blinked and made herself get up. As for fooling him into thinking she wasn’t insecure? Even if he believed the lie of a text, he still knew she was insecure after the way she’d just handled their phone conversation.
The insight into her own behavior was pretty bitter. No one wants to admit that they’re selfish, she thought. The day was underway, and she had work to do, always work to be done. Allison’s Kitchen waited for no man. Giving a half smile at that, she headed out to the kitchen, hesitating for only a heartbeat as her mind gave her one more for the road: he’d dodged around her maximum bitchiness yesterday, and last night, he’d took the threat of love and made it his own. Her heart thundered. She had work to do if she was going to be a match for him.
Dorothy was long gone, she’d left before eight, so Allison started herself a pot of coffee, took a shower and ran a pick through her hair. While she had her coffee, she wrote lists of things that came to her mind, items to pick up at the store, random tasks, calls to make. Today, there was nobody scheduled for the middle shift with her dad, four to midnight, so she would have to go get him and bring him to the store. It was getting harder to manage. Uber rides were expensive, and Allison no longer felt comfortable with sending one to pick him up and bring him to her. She worried that he might forget why he was in the car, and he might ask the driver to go somewhere different. So, she was going out and riding in with him, using mass transit to defray the cost and adding hours to her day. Soon she would have to just have him with her when the shop was closed and bring him back when the week started again. And after that? She just didn’t know. She would have to sell his home, move him closer to her, or get a bigger place. If she had to find assisted living for him, she wasn’t sure how they would pay for it.
Dropping her pen to the table, Allison covered her face with her palms. How had this happened? Her insides clenched. Too much honesty in one day was going to kill her. She forced herself to keep going and look the real question in the eye. The bleak future blinked back at her. What if he had to be put in a home? The images rose fast and frightening. Rows of wheelchair-bound figures lined up before a cluttered, understaffed nursing station, cheap linoleum flooring dully reflecting back the overhead fluorescent lighting, the smell of incontinence and abandonment thick in the air. She felt tears threaten. She tried to imagine herself, bending over, hugging her father and then walking away, leaving him behind, slumped in a chair.
“No fuckin’ way,” she whispered to the empty kitchen.
If that future was the beast coming for them, it would have to go through her.
Despite her fears for her father and Allison’s worries about her business, her thoughts kept returning to Derrick, drawn back to him again and again.
She wondered what might have sent him to the hospital and if he might be injured. While she got ready for work, she tried to put herself in his shoes. After taking her to meet his family and handling her drama, he’d left her about ten p.m. or so. It had been about nine a.m. when he’d called her. Did that mean he still hadn’t slept? Meanwhile, she’d had a full eight hours. And his friend apparently had been injured. Had Derrick been hurt, too? He’d said he was banged up. What did that mean? There was no reason on the planet to wonder why he might be thinking he needed rest. At the very least, he wasn’t going to work today.
Allison locked up the apartment and headed to work. By ten thirty, she had the shop open and was prepping the food for the day. The next time Allison looked up, it was mid-afternoon, and an idea was forming of what she should do for Derrick. He was always stopping by the shop, uninvited, and then just doing whatever he noticed that she needed. So, if she wanted to communicate to him how much she appreciated him, then she might start by doing for him, what he did for her.
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. The only problem was that she didn’t actually know where Derrick lived. And there was the problem of her father. She called the service and asked them to work the four to midnight shift. They were able to find someone she trusted to do it. She also called her father and spoke to him. To her surprise, he sounded glad that he wouldn’t have to get ready, ride into Manhattan and stay at her shop. Allison felt pretty good by the time she hung up. Next step, find Derrick’s address.
She wandered next door to Mastrelo’s to find out if they would give her his address. She wanted to cook him dinner and drop it by his apartment. Inside, Mastrelo’s was soothing and welcoming. Rose was behind the counter, writing something in an old notebook.
“Rose?”
“Hmm?” Rose asked, not looking up.
“I, um, was wondering if you could give me Derrick’s address?”
At that, Rose looked up and seemed to see Allison for the first time. “Oh? Cookie! Hello, love. That’s right, I remember you said you hadn’t been to his place.” Rose’s face looked kind. “Don’t you think you should be asking Derrick this question?”
Allison flushed. She hadn’t wanted to ask him. Rose’s friendly face gave her courage though.
“Yes, I wanted to surprise him, but that might be too much of a surprise.” She took her phone out of her pocket and looked at it. “Just ask him?”
Rose nodded.
“Can I ask you something?”
“As long as it’s not for his address, sure.”
“I want to apologize for last night.”
“For what?”
“For talking to Dr. Moss that way.”
Rose put her work aside, stood up straighter and looked at Allison. “I think having you there for dinner last night was just what this family needed. Somebody needed to put Spencer straight about the way he talks to Derrick and the way he treats Sophia. Besides, I think Angelo fell in love with you just a little last night. He’s the only one who would have told Spencer, and for years I haven’t let him. I didn’t want to start trouble between our daughter and her husband, or risk being cut out of our grandchildren’s lives, so I never let Angelo or myself say anything to Spencer.” She gave a rueful half smile. “I think just about everyone except Spencer wanted to cheer for you.”
“So you and I are OK?” she asked.
“Yes, cookie, you and I are just fine.” Rose put her reading glasses back on. “I still won’t give you his address though.”
Allison smiled. She felt a little better. Turning her attention to the phone in her hand,
she thought, be brave.
Hi, how are you feeling?
She sent the text, parked her butt on a stool and waited. Rose glanced at her, smiled, and drew her a beer. She set the glass on the bar. Allison fiddled with her phone while she waited. After five, enormously long, minutes, little bubbles appeared and then finally:
Fine. You OK?
Allison let out a breath and smiled.
I’m fine. I made you some dinner. Can I bring it over?
She waited to see what he would say. She could imagine his smile, the way he would know that she was reaching because his place was so far from the shop.
Are you sure you want to do that?
And finally, she let herself just tell him the truth, using the same words he’d said when he drove her father home.
I would love to.
Allison waited, and then he told her OK, she asked for his address and wonder of wonders, he gave it to her.
I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m at the shop now.
Allison put her phone away, took another gulp of her beer and left most of it on the bar. Time to tell Marley she was closing the shop again. “Thanks, Rose, I’m heading over there now.”
Rose looked up and gave her a smile. “I knew you would be, cookie.”
Chapter 13
Derrick wasn’t sure what to make of the text. She’d made him dinner? When did that shit start? She’d been upset when he’d canceled their non-date on Sunday, so he hadn’t expected to hear from her again. His mind went back to yesterday in the kitchen when she’d pushed him up against the refrigerator and basically straddled him. That had been an epic moment in his life. Her cheeks pink, her eyes wide and dark, as she planted her boots on either side of his legs and just sat herself down on his lap. He couldn’t remember ever having been so ready for a woman, so intensely interested in whatever she was going to do next. He wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally arrived.