Still Air

by Freya Barker

  “Anytime you like,” I answer easily, not making a big deal of it. “I’ve got group sessions at the shelter on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, but any other night, just let me know.” I walk ahead to show him out.

  “Saturday?”

  I stop by the front door and turn. “You want to come here on a Saturday night?” I blurt out before catching myself, but Jonas just chuckles sheepishly.

  “Might as well,” he replies. “I’m kinda grounded indefinitely.”

  “Well then, sure thing. Saturday it is. You going to be hungry?” I ask him with a raised eyebrow as I pull open the door for him.

  “Always,” he grins as he slips by me into the cold night.

  The moment I close the door behind him, the sudden silence in my house threatens to swallow me. For something to do, I put away the leftovers and hand-wash the dishes, even though I have a perfectly good dishwasher. I keep my hands busy, but still my mind wanders. Jonas’ visit went better than I could’ve hoped. The fact it didn’t require a lot of prodding on my part to get him talking makes me hopeful of the outcome. And still my heart is heavy. Another boy, another time, and he was not that lucky. Funny, since he should’ve been able to count on me, but I was too mired in my own mess to recognize the one he was in.

  The kitchen spic and span, I turn off the lights and prepare to go to bed. Ridiculous, at only nine thirty, but sleep is an excellent, albeit temporary, cure for depressing thoughts. Yet by the time I slip between my sheets, my mind is wide awake and spinning.

  That’s when I remember I made a promise a couple of days ago and grab my phone from the nightstand, turning the light on.

  I haven’t heard from Dino since he showed up here unannounced earlier in the week. No promises were made of any kind, but I still found myself hoping, more than once, for the phone to ring. I had no problems getting to sleep that night, my body still languid from the thorough and very welcome orgasm he left me with.

  My cheeks burn at the realization I was stark naked in the same kitchen I welcomed his son into tonight. Something so wrong about that, and still it puts a smile on my face. It was nice to let myself go for a moment. Dino’s not a man who would ever willingly hurt me. I know that. Still, it’s hard for me to even imagine what it would be like to have a real relationship with someone like him. I can’t grasp what it could be he sees in me. He’s younger, for one, not by a whole lot but still... He’s married, for another. Granted, he’s separated, but as far as I know, no papers have been signed. Which brings me to my next point, his wife is blonde and tiny, and I’m...well, I’m not. I’m as far from dainty as you can get; tall, big-boned, and graying. Oh, and I’m black. It hasn’t escaped me that we have some fundamental differences, but only because they’re visible. I actually enjoyed the way the paler skin of his hand looked wrapped around my breast. The contrast of his bald head between my dark thighs.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  I drop the phone back on the nightstand. I’ve got myself all worked up now. There’s no way in hell I’m going to call him in this state. I reach over and turn off the light again, when my phone rings.

  “Hello?” I answer without looking, my room dark as the night outside.

  “Were you going to call?”

  Despite my earlier resolve, I find myself smiling when I hear his voice.

  “Just about to,” I lie. “Things went well, Dino. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

  “I know.” He surprises me with his sure answer. “Talked to Jonas already. Told me your curry kicks ass.”

  “It so does,” I boast, my smile bigger now.

  “Are you going to make it again so I can judge for myself?”

  “I might be persuaded.”

  “I’d be happy to put in that effort. I’d start right now, if I wasn’t in a driveway waiting for my daughter to get her ass out here so we can get home.” His deep voice vibrates with barely contained impatience, making me snicker.

  “Be happy to make it for you one time, although I don’t want you to hold back on your persuasive prowess. It’s quite...impressive.”

  The responding growl gives me goosebumps.

  “You’re killing me, woman. I’m calling you tomorrow, when I’m not in a car, my daughter only steps away, with a hard on that I have no chance of getting rid of any time soon.”

  “Night, Dino,” I whisper teasingly, feeling a lot more relaxed.

  “Night, Biscuit.”

  Moments later, with the sound of his voice still in my ear, I easily fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “So can I, Daddy?”

  The whole way home from her friend’s house, Gina’s been on about going to the movies on Saturday night. Let me tell you, the fastest way to get rid of an almost painful erection, is your daughter chattering in your ear. Especially when it involves boys. In this case, my princess and her bud, Marcy, have come up with the fabulous plan to double-date—her words, not fucking mine. Double date? She’s way to damn young to any-kind-of-date. I’d been about to tell her that in no uncertain terms too, when I noticed her wide, hopeful smile. Christ. This girl will be the death of me. It’s the biggest, happiest smile I’ve seen in...I can’t even remember how long it’s been.

  Just like that, I swallow my knee-jerk ‘Hell no’ down. Instead ask her calmly to elaborate, my hands clutching, white-knuckled, at the steering wheel. Turns out there’s a whole group going; five girls and two boys. But, according to Gina, since Marcy really likes Nick, and my baby girl really likes some kid named Trip, it’ll be almost like a date. Who the fuck names their kid Trip? What does it even mean? Was he, like, an accident?

  I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact my daughter apparently is hung up on a boy whose name means either his parents are major dopeheads, or he was an oops baby, when Gina nudges me again.

  “I’ll think about it, girl. Okay? Maybe. I want to know how you’ll get there and back, since I’m going to be working, and I’ll want to have a chat with Marcy’s mom.”

  “Okay, so I’m going over to Marcy’s in the afternoon, that way we can finish the project because it’s due on Monday. Then Mrs. Roper said she’d drive us to the movie theater. We’re meeting the others there. Mr. Roper is picking us up after, and then I’m sleeping over at Marcy’s.” My daughter barely even breathes as she rattles off the detailed itinerary. It’s obvious the two girls have planned it out carefully, and I can’t help smile at Gina’s enthusiasm. She, of course, takes it for an answer. “Yay! Thank you, Daddy!”

  “Hold on,” I say sternly, as I pull into our driveway and turn off the engine before turning to her. “Did you hear me agree?”

  “Not yet,” the little smartass fires back, the light still on in her eyes.

  “If Marcy’s parents are on board with these plans, and you are picked up right after the movies let out—and if you clean your room like I’ve asked for weeks now—I’m thinking maybe yes.” The squeals that follow are deafening in the confines of the car, but the kisses she peppers my face with more than make up for it.

  What can I say; I’m a sucker for my little girl’s happiness.

  Inside, I can see from the trail of boots and clothes, Jonas is probably in his room. His jeans are hanging from the railing going up the stairs. I pick up each item as I make my way to the kitchen and dump the lot on the floor in the laundry room beyond. The one thing their mother always did was pick up after them. She didn’t cook much, and in the end she didn’t clean up much either, but she always picked up the kids’ junk. Always a bone of contention with me, and this is why. Seventeen years old, he should be able to clean up after himself.

  I’m still mumbling to myself when I head up the stairs to check in with him. Something I haven’t done enough. I aim to rectify that now. I’m surprised to find his door open.

  “Hey, Bud,” I say from the doorway. Jonas is not behind his computer, gaming, for once. Instead he’s on his bed, arms folded behind his head, watching something on his little TV.r />
  “What’s up?” He sounds his usual, dismissive, ornery self, but I don’t miss the little glance he shoots my way before pretending to be engrossed by whatever the hell he’s watching.

  “Just checking in—saying goodnight. I’m hitting the sack, kid. I’m tired.”

  I barely hear him mumble, “Night,” but it lightens my heart anyway. I turn to walk out and glance back over my shoulder. “By the way, your crap was all over the house. It’s in the laundry room in a pile on the floor. Take care of it.”

  “Whatever,” he says with an uninterested shrug of his shoulders, but the moment I pull my bedroom door closed behind me, I hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs.

  By the time I hit the mattress, I’m smiling; I can hear the sound of the washing machine running downstairs.

  “Francis?”

  I don’t have time for this. The girls at The Skipper have been covering my ass lately as I’m trying to sort our shit out, so today I was determined to get there on time, and I still have to drop Gina off at Marcy’s. Movie and a sleepover. Not a good time for fucking Jeannie to call.

  “You know the cops are looking, right?” is my only response. If not for the fact she’s still the mother of my children, I’d likely have hung up the phone. “What do you want, Jeannie?” I follow up, irritated when she doesn’t react to my words.

  “I’m in trouble.”

  No shit. “Go back to the rehab center, Jeannie. You should never have left in the first place.”

  “I know,” she whines, her voice grating on me. “I just...I had a few things I needed to sort out first.” Right. I’m kind of shocked at the fact I feel nothing, listening to her talk. I’m not even upset, just irritated at the disruption.

  “I don’t care,” I convey rather callously but truthfully. “You had years to sort your stuff out, Jeannie, and I would’ve gladly helped you then, but you chose not to. Not even for our kids. Go back to rehab before the cops find you. You had a sweet deal going but you fucked it up. Again.”

  “I know, I know—I just need a little time...and some money,” she says, finally revealing the true reason for her call.

  “You listen to me,” I snap, suddenly filled with anger. “I have two kids here who need me. Two kids you haven’t even had the decency to call or ask about. Two kids who are struggling to get their feet under them because their mother was, and is, more interested in her next fix, and their father was emotionally unavailable. That is changing. My only responsibility to you is them. My only responsibility, Jeannie. Way I see it, you don’t deserve my time, effort, or money. Not anymore. Go back, Jeannie. For fuck’s sake, think of the kids.” I’m almost yelling by the time I run out of steam.

  “It’s not much...just a few hundred,” she simpers and I’m suddenly exhausted.

  “Not giving you a thing, woman. You had it all. Fuck, I can’t even...” I don’t get to finish my thought when the phone is suddenly jerked from my hand.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again. Leave us alone.” Gina’s wobbly little girl’s voice cuts me deep as she hangs up on her mother. She tosses the phone on the counter and turns immediately into my arms. Over her head, I find Jonas leaning in the doorway, his eyes focused on his sister before they drift up to me.

  “Change the phone number, Dad,” he says in a low voice before turning around. I hear his footsteps pounding up the stairs, while my little girl sobs against my shirt. Christ, she still holds the power to rip into what little balance we manage to find. Maybe Jonas is right, I should change the number. There’s no telling she won’t call and prey on the kids when I’m not here.

  “Love you, Princess,” I mumble into my daughter’s hair.

  “Can you drop me off at Marcy’s now?” she says, still sniffling as she pulls out of my hold, and I reluctantly let her go. I feel I should talk to her, but her body language tells me she’s shutting down. Maybe her friend will be a good distraction.

  “Give me a minute to talk to Jonas and we’ll make tracks. Got your bag packed?” When she nods yes, I suggest she loads it in the car while I say goodbye to her brother.

  Jonas is at his desk when I get upstairs, his door open a crack, something he’s started doing very recently. Before it would always be shut tight.

  “You okay, Son?”

  He swings his chair around to face me. “Not the first time she’s called. I told her to fuck off earlier this week, but yesterday Gina picked up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I try to curb my irritation as I watch him shrug his shoulders. Of course they wouldn’t. She’s their mother, they’ve had plenty of practice dealing with her shit by themselves. I swallow down the lump of guilt stuck in my throat.

  “I’ll get the number changed on Monday,” I promise him. “Give me a call when you get home from Pam’s?” Jonas nods, and before I turn to leave, I add, “And, Bud? Full disclosure from here on in, okay?”

  “Sure,” he easily complies. “But that goes both ways, right? What’s with you and Pam?”

  He takes me by surprise, especially since I don’t have a clear answer myself. All I know is those chocolate eyes, I once thought ice-cold, hide a wealth of passion I’ve just barely had a taste of, and I crave more. Much more.

  “It’s complicated, that’s what it is.”

  Pam

  I don’t know what’s got me so distracted today. Twice already Brenda has had to repeat herself because I was off somewhere in my head. I didn’t sleep that well either; woke up at three to go to the bathroom and spent the rest of the night restlessly rolling around.

  “Do you think I’m getting too old for this?” I ask a question that bubbles up out of nowhere. She looks at me curiously as we work side by side at the kitchen counter, prepping dinner for tonight. We often cook larger quantities on the weekend so we have leftovers going into the week, although I have plans to take some of the jambalaya we’re making home for Jonas tonight.

  Now that the question is out there, I find I’m actually curious to see what she thinks. Brenda is only ten or so years younger than I am but seems far more on the ball than I’ve been recently.

  “No, I don’t,” she says with conviction. “But what I do think is that you could probably stand to delegate a bit more, focus on areas you want to focus on, and leave the daily running of the shelter to Doris and myself. You don’t live here anymore and yet you seem to be here every day of the week.”

  Doris is our latest, and youngest, addition to the team. She’s qualified, if not overqualified for this job, with a bachelor’s in psychology and a master’s in social work. On top of that, she has experience with battered women, having worked as a social worker at Maine Medical Center. She was adamant she wanted to focus on working with women in a more long-term setting than what she’d been used to at the hospital. I’d been hesitant, but Brenda had a good feeling about her. She’d been dead on. Doris has been phenomenal. I know between her and Brenda, my girls would be in the best possible hands. Still, stepping back means more than reducing my workload. It means losing my usefulness and that looms like a dark black hole. I’ve made the shelter—and my girls—my life, my purpose.

  “What if you focused on counseling? One-on-one, I mean? Like you do with Sarah? We’ve always done the group sessions, and I don’t suggest to give those up, but perhaps it would be an idea to take on some other patients. Not just focus on abuse victims.”

  I nod, because I’ve thought of that. Considered that perhaps part of the reason I’ve never really moved on myself is because everything I hear and see every single day, keeps me mired in my own past. My mind skips to Jonas, who I’m scheduled to see at seven tonight at my place. Even Maria, who may be an abuse victim, but she’s also a young girl, with her life still ahead of her. Kids like that, they still have time to make different choices, to change the course of their lives without being burdened with the weight of all the years wasted, like some of us are.

  I have to swallow hard, because it’s difficult; admitting I�
�ve perhaps burned myself out.

  “You make a good point.” I make an effort to smile. “I like the idea of a small private practice. Something I can do until I’m old and gray.”

  Brenda raises an eyebrow and pointedly looks at my freshly shorn, short head of silver-laced hair. “You’ve got half of that down already.” She waggles her index finger at my head. “When are you gonna put some color in that fuzz of yours? You’re way too young for that.”

  “When hell freezes over,” I fire back, yanking on her thick braid for good measure. “And you can kiss my dimpled cheeks for even suggesting it.” I slap my own ass to illustrate.

  “Pass,” she deadpans, a distasteful grimace on her face and I burst out laughing. God, that feels good. I don’t hold back and apparently it’s infectious, since soon Brenda follows suit. Before long the two of us are leaning on the counter, laughing uproariously, when the kitchen door opens and a few heads poke through the gap. The looks on the faces of Maria and Marianne only incite our hilarity.

  Still on a bit of an endorphin high from the silly bout of giggles in the shelter’s kitchen, I pull into my own driveway. With the knowledge Jonas will be here in less than thirty minutes, it’s a little easier to walk into the dark, lonely house and flick on lights as I go. I transfer the contents of the large container into a covered baking dish and pop it in the oven to keep warm.

  I’ve barely changed into comfy clothes when the doorbell rings. Like the first time, Jonas follows me into the kitchen, but this time he seems a bit more animated as he dramatically sniffs the air.

  “Smells good. What are we having?”

  I chuckle as I pull open the oven and he settles himself without invitation on one of the stools at the kitchen island. I like that he’s apparently comfortable enough, or hungry enough, to do so.

  “Hope you like shrimp?” I ask, as I pull down two large bowls from the cupboard.

  “Yup.”

  “Good, ‘cause it’s sausage and shrimp jambalaya. You better have a steel-lined stomach, because I’ve added some extra heat.”