Ten Thousand Hours

by Ren Benton

  “Other than the personal satisfaction of fulfilling her lifelong dream.”

  Mase drummed his fingers on the bar. “Someday, you pubes will grow up and join me in the wonderful world of adulting. When that day comes, I’m going to laugh my ass off watching you lose your shit.” His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. “Wife’s bored. I’m invited home.”

  To demonstrate there was no danger of adulthood, Wes made a whipping sound.

  “Damn right.” Mase shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll walk you out, Griff.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t to be trusted with only one supervisor tonight. He didn’t take offense. The pit no longer felt bottomless. There was nothing to tempt him at home, but neither was there any reason not to go now.

  He tucked rent plus a property management fee under his glass and headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He turned back to find Mase and Wes staring at him with open disbelief. He brushed his pockets — phone, wallet, keys. “No.”

  “The hot bartender practically served you her tits.” Wes puckered his lips and held out his arms in a way that would have given him cleavage if his neckline had been lower. “You’re not even going to get her number?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Mase grabbed Wes for support. “Holy shit. He’s been caught.”

  Wes made the whipping sound again.

  Either there had been something in his water, or they were making no sense. “What are you talking about?”

  “Miss Pleasant Company has made you oblivious to other women.”

  Wes had been out of town during the whole Ivy era and knew even less than Mase. “Is that her pageant title, or are her parents assholes about saddling innocent little babies with horrible names? Just saying, friends and family discount.”

  His friends were full-priced assholes. “We’re just having a good time.”

  There hadn’t been another woman since he’d started seeing Ivy, but between work and the curio project, he’d had only two evenings free to play. If he couldn’t play with Ivy, why did everyone — including Ivy — expect him to settle for someone else?

  Mase patted his shoulder. “That’s how it starts, bud. You’re just having a good time, and next thing you know, you’re blubbering through your vows at the altar.”

  “Which is vicariously embarrassing to your manly friends. I don’t want to be a groomsman. In fact, don’t even send me an invitation.”

  If getting the bartender’s number would reassure Mase and Wes that he was in no danger of marrying a woman who didn’t want him to know anything about her other than what an enthusiastic lover she was, he’d get the bartender’s number.

  At least he knew where she worked.

  He leaned against the bar until she was free of customer demands. She tore a sheet from a notepad and pressed it into his palm. “I was hoping you’d be back.”

  He stuffed her number in his wallet and headed over to Toasty’s.

  The best pizza in town never hurt in an emergency.

  A boy answered Ivy’s door, his face pinched with suspicion. “Ivy! There’s a guy at the door with pizza!”

  “I didn’t order—” She came around the corner into the living room being guarded by the boy. A baby rested against her shoulder. She hadn’t yet changed out of her mortuary uniform. Her eyes were rimmed with pink, and mascara had left a gray track down one cheek. “Oh. Hi.”

  The boy continued to barricade the door. “You know this guy?”

  She put her hand on his bony shoulder and tightened her fingers in silent admonition. “It’s okay. This is Griff.”

  “What kind of stupid name — ow.” He shot her a wounded look.

  “Go set the table, please.”

  He abandoned his station to do as he was told. Behind Ivy’s back, he aimed a stare at Griff that was pointed as a spear.

  If someone wanted to hurt Ivy, that scrawny kid would be powerless to stop it, but he would die trying.

  In comparison, bringing her a pizza didn’t seem so heroic.

  She shifted the profusely drooling baby in her arms. “You didn’t have to come.”

  In his experience, both speaking and hearing, those words meant I wish you hadn’t come.

  But he had, and leaving now wouldn’t undo the coming. “It’s just pizza. I should have called to get a head count. I would have brought two.”

  “Do you want to come in?”

  He had to, if only to deliver the food. Her hands were too full to accept it.

  He crossed the threshold, closed the door, and dodged a slimy little hand that made a grab at him. “Should it be leaking that much?”

  “He’s teething.” Ivy corralled that slimy little hand and kissed it. “It’s like having something in your eye. The irritation produces extra juice.”

  The baby’s plump legs went rigid. “Ju?”

  Ivy grimaced at her slip. “I don’t have any, sport.”

  Griff seized the opportunity to be useful. “I can run to the st—”

  She gave a tight shake of her head.

  “It’s no problem.”

  “It’s concentrated sugar. Bad for their teeth. Bad for their attitudes. Fills up their stomachs with nonnutritive calories so they won’t eat and instills cravings so all they want to put in their mouths is more sugar.” A deep breath reeled her back from the edge of a full-blown tirade. She calmly concluded, “They don’t get it in my house.”

  The backpacks, lunch boxes, and little shoes strewn about made the place look like their house. Her emergency must have something to do with the infestation of children.

  A woman who knew about teething and the evils of juice obviously cared about kids, so he probably shouldn’t refer to them as an infestation within her hearing.

  The bright, round eyes watching him over Ivy’s shoulder discouraged him from admiring her butt as she led the way to the kitchen.

  He saw immediately why she lusted after his cabinets. These old houses originally had country kitchens with simple inset panels on the doors. Probably sometime in the Seventies, a former owner had “modernized” by replacing the doors with plain sheets of painted plywood. They’d probably been the color of guacamole at that time. The antique blue on the base cabinets and butter yellow on the uppers seemed more like Ivy’s touch to make the space less institutional.

  The kitchen was spacious but poorly laid out. One door led outside, another to a walk-in pantry and laundry room, and the placement broke the counter space into slivers of scuffed Formica at the edges of the sink and stove.

  Two little girls ran around a circular table at one end of the room. The bigger one paused to say, “Hi.”

  The littler one, who was about the right height to hit her head on table edges, hid behind the bigger one.

  Ivy said, “This is my friend Griff. These are my sister’s kids.”

  Relief unfurled in his chest. He’d been afraid they belonged to Ivy. I have four kids was too big a blank to leave unfilled beyond the first date.

  “Let me guess.” He pointed at them in turn, smallest to largest. “Prickly Pear, Chrysanthemum, Snapdragon, and Nettle.”

  The baby was indifferent. The girls giggled.

  The boy’s glare darkened. “Not even close.”

  “Blake.” That one word contained a wealth of meaning. I love you. We’ve been through something, so I’ll cut you some slack. But I have had just about enough shit for one day, so do not test me again with attitude.

  Griff wasn’t the only one who got the message. Blake yanked open the silverware drawer to complete the task he’d been assigned earlier.

  “You’ve met Blake. This is Cole.” She bounced the baby, then nodded toward each of the girls — big first, then little. “And Heather and Lily. Will you stay for dinner?”

  He knew the invitation was polite and he should get out. It wasn’t like he relished being flayed alive by a kid’s hostile stare or having slimy little hands on him. Bu
t if he stayed, he could do the dishes, take out the trash, something to help out in a situation where he was otherwise unnecessary. “If you have room for one more.”

  “Plenty, if you don’t mind standing room only.”

  Three chairs and a high chair surrounded the table. A fourth chair was half hidden in the pantry, presumably to aid in the reaching of high shelves. He didn’t envision that one making it to the table often because Ivy would spend meals serving and cleaning up after the kids.

  Four of them. And he’d been freaking out about one. What a wimp.

  A covered saucepan and a skillet full of green beans occupied the stove. “I ruined your dinner plans.”

  “That’s fair. I ruined yours.” She slid the baby into the high chair. “It’s just chicken and rice. It will keep until tomorrow.”

  Blake waved a handful of silverware. “There are only four forks.”

  Griff could solve that problem. “I don’t need one.”

  Lily spoke for the first time. “Eat your vegables. Is the rules.”

  He would have solved that problem by eating green beans with his fingers, but Ivy had a more adult solution. “I’ll wash another fork. Eat up before it gets cold.”

  Given his chewing limitations, the baby received rice with tiny shreds of chicken. Ivy passed out slices of pizza to the other kids and green beans all around. For every vegetable Heather picked off her pizza, Ivy put an extra green bean on her plate.

  If Griff had been in charge, he wouldn’t have thought about their vegetable intake beyond bringing them a plain pepperoni pie because what kid wanted pizza ruined with vegetables?

  Blake didn’t complain about them as he ate. Lily picked off the peppers, but unlike her sister, she popped them in her mouth and munched before moving on to give the onions the same treatment, systematically denuding the pizza down to the crust.

  Ivy took all of this deviant eating behavior in stride. She made rules about ju and vegables, and those big brown eyes of hers ensured everyone fell in line to do her bidding.

  She handed Griff a paper towel. “Toasty’s tends to get drippy.”

  “I know.” What he didn’t know was why he’d had to travel two thousand miles to find her when he knew her parents and frequented the same sports hangout and hole-in-the-wall pizza joint. “Hold still.”

  He cupped her chin and wiped the black smudges off her cheeks as well as he could with a dry paper towel.

  She looked at the amount of grime he managed to remove and closed her eyes to block out the implications regarding her appearance. “Super.”

  “I learned another of your dirty little secrets.” He let suspense build for five seconds. “You really work as a chimneysweep.”

  Finally, a small smile found a home on her lips. “Part time. Between funerals.”

  They ate the green beans — accented with flecks of sun-dried tomato, garlic, and oregano — out of the skillet. He speared the last few and offered his fork to Ivy, since she had only listlessly nibbled at her pizza while she made sure the kids had enough to eat. She opened her mouth to accept, and he felt for the first time that day he’d done something worthwhile.

  Cole had his fill of nutritional tyranny. His rice-speckled fists banged on the tray of his high chair. “Ju! Ju! Ju!”

  Blake told him, “Ivy doesn’t have juice.”

  Lily looked up from scraping the sauce off her crust with a fork. “Juice?”

  Heather took the dietary despot’s side. “No juice!”

  Ivy sighed as the civil unrest escalated. “It takes five years to train each one I won’t give in, and one poorly chosen simile to cause a setback.”

  The decibel level climbed. Five years of this? Griff would give in. Their teeth could be the dentist’s problem, and as far as he could ascertain, their attitudes weren’t that great without juice. He’d have juice on tap and a full-time juicetender on staff to dispense it.

  He was going to be a shitty uncle. Parenting was out of the question.

  The volume increased another notch, and Ivy pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Guys, please.”

  “Am I an agitating influence?” It wouldn’t be the first time.

  She gave him that now-familiar apologetic look. “It’s been a dramatic day. We could all use an early bedtime.”

  All five of them looked wiped out beyond the hour. Blake, in particular, wouldn’t wind down as long as Griff’s intrusion continued, so staying to help with cleanup would do more harm than good. “I’ll get out of your hair so you can get them settled.”

  She accompanied him to the stoop. “I’m sorry. Thank you for dinner.”

  He was convinced her mechanical apology was a reflex instilled by someone she’d been required to pacify — probably the same asshole who taught her she was an embarrassment. He never wanted to hear it again unless she’d actually wronged him. “What are you sorry for?”

  She crossed her arms over her middle and looked down at her bare toes. “Ruining your evening? Twice?”

  Few of his adventures ended as envisioned beforehand. If broken bones protruding from his skin didn’t ruin the experience, being a bystander at the launch of a juice war didn’t stand a chance.

  He’d looked forward all day to seeing her. He was seeing her now. The changes in course required to achieve his objective meant nothing to him.

  Did he want more? Of course. Was he going to whine about being deprived when she was frazzled and exhausted? Fuck no.

  A thumb under her jaw coaxed her shadowed eyes to meet his. “We’ll do better next time.”

  The curtain twitched, and a forbidding face peered out the living room window.

  Propriety suddenly foremost in his mind, Griff confined his kiss to her forehead. “Call me when you want to redeem your raincheck.”

  Ivy watched Griff drive away. Then her knees folded in slow motion to deposit her butt on the top step.

  He’d kissed her on the forehead.

  In eight days, she’d been demoted from sex goddess to object of pity.

  Blake came outside and sat beside her. “I put Cole in his crib and told the girls to brush their teeth.”

  She smoothed his hair with her hand. Almost time for a trip to the barbershop with Grandpa. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll do the dishes, too.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Her fingers palpated his scalp with exaggerated care. “This head feels in need of a pillow.”

  “I can clean up,” he insisted. “I can do laundry. I can cook a little. I can babysit.”

  “I know you can, and I appreciate your help.” Without him, she wouldn’t have enough hands to perform all the tasks his smaller siblings demanded. He didn’t have to defend his competence to her, ever. “But that’s adult stuff and you’re a kid. That’s not your job.”

  He twisted away from her and scooted to the end of the step. “Why don’t you want us?”

  Her breath locked in her chest. Her voice escaped through a narrow tunnel clogged with emotion. “I love you. Of course I want you.”

  “Not on Monday.”

  She had been so concerned about how Holly’s feelings of neglect would manifest to affect the children, she hadn’t considered the effect of her own actions on them. “Honey, I had plans. I was on my way out the door when your mom called.”

  “You could have canceled.”

  They always came in second place to their mother’s social life. Until Monday, they’d been able to rely on Ivy putting them first.

  She didn’t expect Blake to accept her excuse — she couldn’t anymore, either — but he deserved some form of explanation. “It’s rude to break a commitment unless it’s an emergency.”

  And rude of your mother to assume I exist only to serve her.

  But she was careful not to badmouth Holly to her kids. Blake already understood more than he should. Heather was beginning to. Ivy had even seen Lily solemnly watching other moms at daycare, as if comparing them to hers and cataloging the differences, even
if four was too young to make value judgments.

  They didn’t need their aunt throwing more poison on their opinions. “What happened Monday?”

  “She trashed the house. I put the littles in my room so they wouldn’t get hit with something. I said I wished we could live with you, and she said you didn’t want us.”

  “Your mom” — lies — “gets mad when her feelings are hurt and says things she knows will hurt back.” Ivy was torn between admiration of his bravery in standing up to his mother and the weary inclination to advise him to stay in his room until Holly’s tantrums burned out rather than waste his breath. “You’re my favorite people. I bought this house so I would have plenty of room for you.”

  His voice was high and strained. “Then why can’t we live here?”

  Because your mom won’t give up the pawns she uses to get her way.

  She wiped the moisture gathering on her lashes. She wasn’t allowed to be hopeless. She had to be strong for them. “I’ll talk to your mom. It will be okay.”

  He put his face to his knees to hide his doubt but didn’t move further away when she reached out to rub his back. The cave of his body muffled his words. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I felt better as soon as I knew you were safe.” She had never told a bigger lie — as long as she lived, she would never forget the terror of not knowing where he was, whether he was safe, if she would ever find him — but she would not have him blaming himself for her mistake. “I’m going to give you a key so you can let yourself in if you have to, but as soon as I can get to the store, I’m going to get you a phone, too, so you can call me and wait until I come get you.”

  “She’ll take it.”

  Ivy knew all about Holly’s thieving tendencies. If it was worth anything, she sold it; if not, she destroyed it. No one was allowed to have something Holly didn’t.

  “You’ll have to hide it.” She hated to encourage dishonesty, but Holly called for desperate measures.

  “The key, too, or she’ll let herself in and rob you like she did at Gran’s.”

  “You know about that, huh?”

  “She had to tell us why we’re not allowed at Gran’s house anymore.”