“Your Dad and I haven’t, and we’re starving.” Andy set Olivia down. “I was just in the middle of preparing something. You can help me.”
Andy heated the pans, and Olivia and he scrambled a western omelet big enough for two and fried potatoes. Olivia managed to drop not a single vegetable or egg. Her movements came slower, more methodical, showcasing a haughty lack of interest which Andy figured for a sign of her slow recovery.
The kids watched their favorite television shows while Harden and Andy ate at the kitchen counter. Their stout appetites kept their mouths busy, although Andy wondered what they might say with the kids in the next room. Surely Harden’s head must have been clogged with the same images of the two of them together as Andy’s.
After breakfast, Harden offered the kids Pop-Ice. They accepted resignedly, despite the initial enthusiasm that bubbled behind their blue eyes. Harden and Andy sat on the porch swing drinking coffee and watched the kids on the steps slurp their treats. Once washed up and back in front of the television set, Mason and Olivia suggested in low voices after each colorful “back to school” commercial what they wanted or needed before their first day. It would be Olivia’s first time in school without Mason. Mason was attending middle school, almost a teenager.
The day moved ahead like any other. Harden focused on work at the family computer. Andy washed three loads of laundry. Sheets needed a good cleaning. Olivia and Mason played outdoors, swinging or chasing squirrels up trees. With dinner out of the way, Harden and Andy stood shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the pots and pans.
“Where does this serving tray go?” Andy asked.
Harden, his hands submerged in the sudsy water, pointed with his head. “Above the refrigerator.”
Andy stored the tray and said, “I’ll go up and read a story to Olivia before bed.”
The moment Andy closed Olivia’s book about growing pumpkins, Harden stepped into the bedroom. They kissed her good night and made sure Mason was asleep. The television was still buzzing when they returned downstairs. Harden switched the channel to the Chicago Cubs versus the Colorado Rockies. Together, they sat on the sofa, a blue blush from the television spreading around them. Andy wanted to hunker down closer to Harden, but he refrained.
By the seventh inning, Andy stretched his arms and suppressed a yawn. “I guess I better get to bed. My sleep patterns are starting to match yours.”
For the first time since his coming, Andy left Harden sitting up alone, and not the other way around.
Wrestling with his conflicting thoughts, Andy settled into bed with the lights on and read the text Ken had sent him an hour before, one he didn’t want to read in front of Harden: Getting ready for the return?
I can come back? Andy wrote.
Took long enough to reply.
Sorry, was busy.
Ken’s response came several minutes later. Perhaps he wanted to teach Andy a lesson. The text was replete with typos, but Andy deciphered it. Still haven’t caught suspects. All is quiet with your business shut down.
Andy gulped. Was his enterprise through for good? Did he even care anymore?
Maybe I stay longer in case? he wrote with a shaky index finger, surprising himself.
Andy barely breathed, waiting for Ken’s reply. He took another few minutes. Finally, Get back. No need to stay.
He considered Lillian’s awful visit and the family’s struggles to maintain a happy home. Still loose ends here.
You gone three weeks. Pack and leave.
Andy waited, holding the phone in the hollow of his hand, as if expecting it to explode. I’ll let you know, he texted.
See you in a few days, was Ken’s closing response, leaving Andy scant room for dissent.
Andy had always been faithful to Ken. True to all his boyfriends. But he and Ken never officially stated a commitment. Not the kind Andy desired. Officer Ken Millpairs wanted a possession. Andy had allowed him to capture him and keep him as his plaything. Like a yo-yo.
Andy had believed he deserved nothing more.
Now, someone novel and wonderful stood between them. Harden Krane. Their lovemaking had been hot, breathtaking, and Andy delighted in the images. But should they do it again?
He knew he couldn’t stay forever at Burr Oak Farm. It would be impractical. Maybe Ken was right in forcing him to return to Chicago and whatever scraps of a life remained for him there.
He was about to switch off the light and roll over to sleep when the door creaked open. Framed by the door, Harden stood in his sweatpants and bare chest like a little boy wanting one last glass of water before bed.
“Feels weird to sleep alone all of the sudden,” he said.
Andy, his heart rasping in his ears, sat upright. “I was thinking the same. But what if the kids need something in the middle of the night and they can’t find you? Especially Olivia?”
“They ought to be okay.”
Against his better judgment, Andy said, “Go back to your room. I’ll follow you up in a minute.”
He combed his hair and, for a second time, brushed his teeth, then slinked to Harden’s room and carefully locked the door behind him. The minute he turned around, Harden flung off the bedcovers and revealed his nakedness. Andy slipped off his nylon shorts and, without vacillating, took Harden into his mouth.
Harden grunted and murmured words of passion. Andy stopped and gazed up at him.
“Careful not to make too much noise,” he said.
“We have thick country walls,” Harden said, guiding Andy’s lips back onto him.
Andy resisted. “What if they see the light under the door and think you’re awake?”
“We’ll turn it off.”
Andy held him from reaching for the table lamp. “I hate sex in the dark.” He scurried into the bathroom, grabbed a towel from the holder, and stuffed it under the door like a draft snake. “There, that should work,” he whispered, skulking back to bed.
Harden pulled Andy tight against him. Affection, comingled with lust and need, drew Andy deeper into Harden’s arms. But also anger lured him. In a sense, he sought vengeance against Lillian. Andy saw in Harden a prize of sorts (he always credited his sister for making quite a catch while vacationing in Cancun), and Lillian had forsaken that trophy. Her and Harden’s portrait sat on the bureau behind them. Andy wanted to rescue Harden from her stupid selfishness.
They used what remained of the suntan lotion, and soon moonlight slitting through the curtains’ small opening reminded them they needed sleep. The upcoming day was Monday, and Harden wanted to get to work extra early to make up for the Monday he had missed last week.
They slept after showering and arose before the sun peeked above the cornfields. While Harden dressed, Andy tiptoed downstairs and started on breakfast. Ahead of the kids stampeding to the kitchen, Harden ate and rushed off for work. Andy left the dishes for Kamila and absconded to his basement bedroom, where he lay on the bed and stared toward the ceiling, his mind occupied with what he and Harden were embarking upon.
Kamila entered the house above, and the kids’ voices seeped through the ceiling, mingling with the sound of the kitchen’s small television set, which Olivia switched on automatically each morning. Much of life at Burr Oak Farm continued unchanged. He dressed and made the long ascent up the stairs to meet Kamila’s harsh glare.
But when Kamila looked at him, her wide brown eyes suggested something else. Fear and sadness oozed from her pupils. The fine lines around her mouth appeared deeper and filled with shadows. The kids were out of sight, and she looked to be about to carry a basket of fruit to the porch. Andy knew the instant he saw her that she sensed drastic events had happened to the family during the weekend.
He feared she might read his mind and see what he’d been picturing almost without ceasing: him and Harden naked and thrashing about the house, powerless to overcome their need for each other. He understood news traveled fast in small towns, like the women during the corn roast had implied. But how on
earth would anyone know about him and Harden? And so soon?
Kamila set the fruit basket on the side porch where the sun shone and returned to the kitchen at the same time Olivia raced downstairs, her hair, back in the familiar ponytails, bouncing above her shoulders.
“Where’s Daddy? Kamila said he’d already gone before she got here.”
“That’s right. He left early for work,” Andy said. “With me here he felt comfortable letting you get some sleep.”
“Do you want to push me on the swing?”
“In a little while, sweetheart.” Andy kept an eye on Kamila, who’d begun to finish clearing the kitchen table. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll be out in a bit. See if you can reach the tips of your sneakers to the line of the roof.”
Kamila began wiping the cleared table with a damp rag, but she seemed to lack focus. Andy switched off the television, which had been on low, showcasing a parade of singing and dancing cartoon animals.
“Tell me, Andy,” she said, addressing him by name for the first time, “what has happened here? I know something. I was afraid to ask the children.”
Andy clenched his fists by his sides, worked the spit in his mouth. Kamila needed to be told something. Housekeepers deserved at least a partial truth. She almost fell backward, her dark eyes wide and her mouth puckered, when he recounted Lillian’s appearance. In an instant, Kamila dropped into the nearest chair and raised the hand holding the rag to her chin.
“That vještica!” she said in a fierce whisper. “Why she do that to the children again? Why?”
Andy said, “I don’t know, Kamila. The need to see them. But she only harms them, knowing she can’t stay here in her condition.”
Kamila let go of the rag and lowered her hand to her lap. Certain now that Kamila had detected only the ugliness of Lillian’s visit, Andy sat across from her.
“Was she on the drugs?” she asked.
Andy nodded. “I’ve seen enough of it to know.”
“And Mr. Krane? I did not see him this morning. Is he in bad way like last time?”
Andy shuffled his feet under the table. The somber gesture set off a sheath of quiet over the kitchen. No words were needed for him to describe the ugly details of that Friday evening.
“He’s coping better,” he said, staring at the tabletop. “He was bad off at first, but now… he’s fine.”
“That is good.”
The sound of Olivia swinging screeched in a steady and sober rhythm. Andy lifted his gaze to Kamila’s glum expression. She eyed him back.
“You are her brother,” she stated through thin lips.
Unsure what she’d meant, Andy said, “Yes, I am her brother.”
Kamila kept her vacant brown eyes on him. Andy supposed Kamila’s dislike for Lillian and the troubles she’d caused the household might have incited her suspicions. That was why she had shadowed Andy and the kids around the countryside. She had worried that brother and sister shared similarities beyond physical appearance. Andy had wondered about that himself at times.
He wanted to turn from her steady gaze, but he chose to keep his head poised so that he might absorb the full brunt of her scrutiny.
Her eyes wide and glistening, she said, “Then as her brother, you suffer the loss like Mr. Krane and the children.”
Andy’s heart sank. He had not expected her to utter such a statement, for her to comprehend so completely. He’d assumed she associated him with Lillian and blamed him and the entire Wingal family for the bad things that had befallen the Kranes. Now he understood. If the stories of Kamila losing her family during the war were true, then she’d recognize his agony too.
From across the table, he expressed himself with a soft smile and nod. They got up and went about their day, no longer flashing each other grimaces.
Chapter 24
HARDEN sat at his desk, compiling more excruciating reports for ethanol investors. Although the effort came smooth enough, considering, his mind kept returning to one matter: Andy. The more he pondered what had happened between them, the more an odd peace of mind lifted his spirits.
Shouldn’t I be freaking out?
If Andy had asked him, point blank, his opinion about their weekend together, Harden might have told him: “Made me feel grounded to connect with someone I know and trust. Sometimes I’m so busy earning a wage and parenting, I forget I’m a man with needs.”
And Harden certainly hadn’t felt like the frumpy, supercilious dad while Andy had knelt before him and….
Andy had advised him not to think too hard on what they had done. Perhaps he was right. Their sexual venture had happened, and Harden had taken pleasure in it. (Was their weekend together any worse than when he’d brought home that woman from Dubuque and had had sex with her on the same bed he had with Andy?) Just let it be. Let it exist. Don’t stew over it. Whether you enjoyed it or not.
He almost didn’t care about altering the ethanol reports to look more favorable above what the research revealed. The office was a place to earn a buck, and hardworking men and women did what they were told while they dreamed of home.
The back of Harden’s mind clamped on nothing more than Burr Oak Farm and his loved ones who waited for him there—including Andy.
Nothing in life proved better.
“Hi there.” Arty popped his head into Harden’s office. “Hadn’t seen you come in. How are you this morning?”
Harden smiled, tried to act casual. “Got in kinda early,” he said, wincing from the fresh cigarette stench wafting off Arty.
“You seem in good spirits.”
“Really? I guess I am.”
“I’m rather surprised. I mean, well… I heard that….” Arty gazed at the carpet. “I heard about Lilly’s coming back.”
Harden snorted. “That didn’t take long to get around. I’m used to her games. It’s over. She’s gone again.”
“Mason and Olivia are doing well?”
“Better. They stayed with Lance over the weekend, if you haven’t already learned.”
“Her brother is still with you at the farm? He didn’t leave with Lilly?”
“Of course not. They have nothing to do with each other. Without Andrew, the situation might have been worse, for me and the kids.”
“He’s been there a while.”
“I don’t know how I’ve gotten along without him. He’s a godsend.”
Arty forced a smile. “Well, I’m glad everyone’s fine. Just wanted to say hello and see that you’re doing okay. Lots of work today. You know Mondays.”
“Unfortunately, Mondays and I are far too familiar with each other. See you later, Arty. And thanks for the concern.”
Arty’s head vanished, and Harden snickered under his breath. He had every reason to praise Andy to Arty Ficklemeyer. He’d spoken the truth. Lillian’s impromptu visit had brought him to his knees. Without Andy, Harden would most likely still be a broken man.
He settled, trying to concentrate on work. He didn’t believe the nonsense about ethanol, yet work was work, and he squared the proposal on his desk, inhaled, and hunkered down.
The long morning progressed. By eleven o’clock, coffee lured him to the kitchenette. He made himself a single serve Vanilla Roast, savoring a moment away from his desk. When he lifted the steaming mug to his lips, Lucinda Jamison walked in, carrying her signature jasmine scent.
She wore a beige blouse, opened to her cleavage, and slick black slacks that fitted tight through her hips and thighs and fanned out over the pumps that clicked against the thin Berber carpet. Yes, he found her sexy. He’d even imagined them in bed a few times. But something felt lacking. What was it?
She’s too easy. I prefer a challenge.
That was what had attracted him to a wild woman like Lillian. And ultimately, to her brother, who exhibited a profound understanding of life—and love. Had he really seen their weekend coming like Andy had said?
Don’t think about it, Andy’s voice chimed in his mind, or the enjoyment might fade.
“How was your weekend?” Lucinda asked cheerfully.
“Very nice, thanks,” he said, suppressing the heat building under his collar. “And yours?”
“Not bad. I sat home, mostly. It’s that time of year. Summer’s winding down and I’m no longer sure what to do. Looking forward to cooler weather.”
Lucinda seemed to have come to the kitchenette for no good purpose. She didn’t make coffee or rummage through one of Marshall’s two refrigerators searching for something to eat. Instead, she stood by the doorway, posing with a strange solicitous expression.
Arty or someone had probably tipped her off about Lilly’s coming back, for no reason but to provoke her to swoon over him in his “time of need.” Harden swallowed his resentment and tweaked a smile.
“I guess we’re all getting antsy for the autumn and school to start up,” he said.
“That’s probably it.”
“It’s been a long, hot summer.”
“Certainly has.”
He was acting too haughty. Normally, he stood on a stage with his colleagues, gregarious and prone to laugh, at times even with Lucinda. They might assume he was fibbing about his ex-wife’s visit not bothering him. He wasn’t, of course. If they had seen him Friday night or Saturday during the day, they would have been correct. At that time, he’d been certain he’d suffered a catastrophic setback, like the last times Lillian had showed up unannounced. But after Saturday night…. Everything seemed different now.
He turned from Lucinda and allowed his gaze to wander out the small window. The cornfield across the road, bright and green, merged into a blurry radiance, a watercolor painted by an invisible yet grand hand, and solely for Harden’s enjoyment.
Lucinda shifted behind him. He swung back, smiled at her.
“Sorry, Lucinda. Guess I’m daydreaming.” He sipped his coffee, held the mug with both hands before his chest. “Mondays are like that.”
“I can understand, Harden,” Lucinda said, her voice soft.
Harden nodded, his lips tight. “I better get back to my desk. Big pile of work waiting for me.”
“Sure, Harden.”
The South Side Tour Guide Page 19