Who You Least Expect

by Lydia Rowan

  “Well, come give your daddy a hug!”

  That statement quickly dampened her budding enthusiasm. She’d come here for just that purpose, but the reality of the trek, of climbing over God knew what to get to the back bedroom that had been her father’s domain and which was increasingly becoming his prison, overwhelmed her.

  “Come on, Ree,” her mother said, using her old childhood endearment that was also her own nickname.

  And then with a deftness and grace that Blakely couldn’t deny even in the midst of the squalor, her mother climbed over one pile and then another, making her way through the front room and back down the hall.

  Blakely paused, needing a moment to tamp down the sudden, insistent urge to flee as she followed suit, stepping where her mother had stepped and resolutely ignoring the squishy mass under her feet. Instead, she focused on her mother’s back. There was a slight curve to her shoulders, but otherwise, she was still the same as she’d always been, tall, proud and beautiful. Her long, thick hair was now threaded through with strands of silver but still hung down her back in a tight braid.

  “It’s a little tricky here, Ree, but just stay close to the wall and you shouldn’t have any trouble,” her mother said as they neared the back room.

  Blakely had the almost manic need to laugh at that statement. No trouble? Each step felt like she was taking her life in her hands.

  Stuff—the other words she could think of to describe it were far too cruel, even for her own mind—filled almost every inch of the hallway, scraping the ceiling in some places and leaving it shrouded in shadows in those few rare spaces that weren’t pitch-black. Blakely’s gaze was pulled to the second-to-last door in the hallway, or rather, the space where the door should have been. Now, the doorway was completely blocked with what looked to be a bookcase, and she thought she saw her high school diploma along with a couple of math team trophies and some other knickknacks. She looked away quickly, unwilling to metaphorically open the door to her past, not that literally opening it was possible.

  Her mother did some kind of twist-jump thing to cover the last bit of space between the end of the hallway and the bedroom door, and somehow she was able to follow, though the precipitous shifting of the “floor” beneath her feet had her heart lurching.

  When she entered the back bedroom, relief had her exhaling a sigh, one that was cut off as she glimpsed her father. If she remembered correctly, they’d brought a recliner back here at some point, so she guessed that was what he sat in. But she couldn’t tell, not through the random piles that seemed to be closing in on him. Once again, she had underestimated her capacity for surprise.

  And for heartbreak.

  Tears, hot and thick, clogged her throat, leaving her speechless. Her daddy sat in a rotting recliner, one leg propped on a mound of something. His trusty TV tray, the legs of which she couldn’t even see for the masses that surrounded it, was piled high with his coffee cup, dishes with the remnants of a meal, five or six prescription bottles, and his remote control.

  But like always, he seemed entirely oblivious; his smile, the undeniable happiness in his eyes, in no way betrayed any discomfort with his surroundings.

  “Ree! Come hug me, sugar!”

  “Hey, Daddy,” she mumbled as she gingerly tiptoed over to his chair.

  When she leaned down, she accidentally dislodged something, though the roaches seemed to be the only ones who minded. But she hugged him, harder than she’d thought she would, harder than she probably should have. Her throat constricted as she held onto his shoulders, the reedy strength that she’d remembered from childhood now a fragility that made her worry that his bones might shatter in her hands. She’d always fretted and whined that it wasn’t fair that she hadn’t been gifted with whatever gene kept her father thin and strong, but there was no trace of the physicality she’d so envied left.

  She slackened her grip and pulled back, noting that the frailness of his shoulders extended to the rest of him, his arms and legs painfully thin-looking though he still had that tiny paunch that had always vexed him, his bony chest heaving with his breaths. She also heard the faint wheeze that rattled with each inhalation, saw the waxy tint of his brown skin, the jaundiced color of his eyes. And there were other things too, things that loosened the tightness in her throat and replaced it with thick anger, things like the lint that knotted in the tight curl of his uncombed hair, the grime caked under his fingernails, the hard-looking, thick skin that covered the bottoms of his feet. All evidence he hadn’t been able to or hadn’t been bothered to bathe in the recent past.

  She let him go.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly when she finally had the ability to talk past the lump in her throat.

  “I just had a little touch of pneumonia,” he said. “But I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  “That’s right,” her mother interjected. “He’s doing real good.”

  Lies, she knew. Anyone with eyes would know that, anyone except her parents. She actually kind of envied their ability to deny reality to the bitter end, even when it almost killed them. That sobering reality loosened her tongue further.

  “Daddy, you’re not doing good! You can’t stay here,” she said, “neither of you can.”

  She looked back at her mother then, a cloud of displeasure weighing on the other woman’s face.

  “Ree, don’t start. We already told you and everybody else that we are just fine.”

  “Mama, this is not fine!”

  Waving her hands with exasperation, Blakely looked around the room wondering, as she often did when dealing with them, whether she was the one with a disease. She hadn’t intended this. Her only desire had been to see her father, maybe redeem her earlier cowardice and then raise the topic of their living conditions, ones that had undeniably played a role in her father’s “touch of pneumonia” and would play a role in the future illnesses and accidents that would befall them.

  But she’d been overcome, the words springing from her lips as if of their own volition. Countless times before, she’d screamed until her throat was dry, cried until no more tears would come, threatened, done absolutely everything she could to get through to them, but she always failed. And based on the glance that passed between them, today would be no exception. And again it was her fault.

  She’d known this, knew that confronting them would only push them closer together, further strengthen the already titanium-strong and so far unbreakable bond that tied them to each other—and to their stuff.

  Their dedication might have been enviable if it hadn’t destroyed her life once, made her fear for her future now, made her wonder if she’d inherited this gene, made her wonder if she’d end up like this, the obvious difference being that she’d be alone in her squalor while they at least always had each other.

  The betrayal in the two gazes that pinned her made her want to slink away in shame. Though she knew she wasn’t wrong, that sting burned her down to her core. Even though she was right, she’d still managed to screw this up.

  “Fine,” she said, giving in as she always had. “But I don’t think Adult Protective Services and the health department will be so easily swayed. What are you going to do if someone in this town comes to their senses and calls the authorities on you? They already took the cats. You have to know it’s just a matter of time!”

  She looked between them, searching for some glimmer of understanding, but she found none. That didn’t stop her, though. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? You’ll have sixty days to clean up, or they will condemn this place. And then where will you go? You’ll be left homeless!” she exclaimed.

  Her father swatted away the words like they were one of the gnats circling the room.

  “I own this property outright,” he said.

  “Taxes are paid,” her mother interjected.

  “And last time I checked, this was America. No one will be leaving me homeless,” he said, his voice brimming with the conviction of the righteous.<
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  Her mother’s strident nod only added to the effect. They were always ready to go to war, together, against the city, the state, their only child…and today, she had been defeated.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice quiet, low, and timid.

  And so it went. They hadn’t even done much; this round of vehement denial couldn’t touch what had happened in the past, the guilt, the manipulation, the use of her love to keep her in line. She didn’t even think they were consciously aware of how difficult this was for her, how much seeing them like this hurt her. But it didn’t matter; it never had and she didn’t think it ever would. Some part of her, maybe the little girl who still loved her parents, or the grown woman who was consumed by guilt at the way she’d treated them, was unwilling to risk hurting them more, even though she knew things had to change. But today was not that day, so, as always, she folded.

  They saw it too. She could tell because her father’s smile returned as if it hadn’t left and her mother nodded again, this time with approval.

  “Come sit,” her father said, nodding at some indistinct area to his left.

  “I’m fine,” she responded, and after a beat, he launched into a fairy tale about how he was going to repair his cars and sell them, just as soon as…

  ••••

  Too many hours later, Blakely finally made it back to her car, hungry and exhausted beyond belief. Her mother had practically begged her to stay for dinner, but she’d refused. She couldn’t contemplate a scenario where food from that house would enter her body, felt her stomach churn at the thought of clearing off a spot and sitting among the mountains of refuse to break bread with those flawed people who, despite everything, she loved. Another wash of shame rushed over her at that thought. And again, she was assailed by the utter confusion her parents created. She loved them with a fierceness that sometimes shocked her with its intensity, but yet being with them brought her to her knees.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She’d finally figured that out, but she didn’t know how to change it, how to change them, how to change herself.

  A fresh round of tears sprang up, and this time, she didn’t try to stop them. They ran down her face freely as she cut the duct tape wrapped around her ankles and then her wrists. Uncaring that she stood on the road, she removed her boots, then her jeans, shirt, and hat. After quickly dressing in the change of clothes she’d brought, she placed the discarded items in a large trash bag and taped it closed with duct tape. She then put that bag inside another and taped it closed as well. She’d once thought her behavior was excessive, but the last time she’d been here, ten years ago, a thirty-minute visit had turned into a three-month flea infestation in her Seattle apartment, and she was unwilling to risk that again.

  What she’d do with the items, she hadn’t yet determined, but this gave her some measure of comfort. She wished something else would. As she drove back to her house, the scenery failing to make an impact on the return trip, her melancholy and anxiety only increased. The prospect of spending time in her own home was more disquieting than it should have been, and she racked her brain for an alternative.

  Verna was away in California visiting with Joe’s family. She briefly considered calling Matt, but he was far too close to the past and besides, he’d take one look at her and all the things she wanted to ignore would come spilling out. As a fresh wave of tears flowed, she was struck by inspiration.

  A quick shower and she knew exactly where she’d be headed.

  Chapter Six

  Once she got home, she changed into a pair of denim capris and a sleeveless silk top and headed out. Doing so risked running into some random townsperson or old acquaintance that she had no inclination to talk to, but the alternative was staying home and mopping the kitchen floor again, and she wasn’t in the mood. If she kept her demeanor especially cold, she’d probably cut most idle chatter off at the pass, and if any of the particularly brave townspeople were feeling talky, she wasn’t above running.

  Focused on the destination she had in mind, she tried to fall into the bubbling excitement that was pushing at the lump of nerves lodged in her gut. She hadn’t been to this place in a long while and was looking forward to seeing it again. When she turned left on Maple, she stopped short as she saw a familiar form. Her gaze clashed with his, and he lifted the corner of his mouth.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” Cody said, blue eyes taking her in with a quick once-over that gave her a flush that had nothing to do with the evening heat. This was a troubling development. As wired as she was, she knew she was in no frame of mind to deal with Cody and the emotions he stirred. Sure, they had a chemistry that she wanted to explore, but there was more to him, a depth that made her want to trust him, open up, and she had too much baggage for emotional entanglements. She should have stayed home and mopped, maybe scrubbed the bathtubs while she was at it.

  “Sommers. Hello,” she said.

  She’d intended the words to be brisk, frosty, but they were anything but, the low-voiced words revealing that she wasn’t nearly as detached as she pretended.

  “Ms. Bishop.”

  He nodded and came two steps closer and though her mind said move, her feet stayed firmly rooted. When he was just close enough to touch, Cody stopped and looked down at her. She loved his physique and couldn’t stop herself from admiring it as they stood on the sidewalk, watching each other, neither saying a word. He was tall, but not so tall that she, who was rather on the short side, felt dwarfed. Muscular but not bulky and she could easily imagine the feel of him in her arms, solid and warm and strong, could easily imagine the feel of being in his, knowing he would make her feel safe.

  As she pictured herself and Cody in an embrace, everything else flew from her mind and she felt the telltale tingle in her nipples, the first skitter of arousal following after it. She’d said she didn’t like to play games, and she very seldom went against her word, but if he could stir her this way in the middle of the sidewalk, he was definitely worth an exception.

  “You up for a walk?” she asked.

  ••••

  The flare of arousal in her eyes was unmistakable, and Cody clenched his hands to keep from reaching out for her right where they stood. Instead, he nodded, intrigued by the prospect of seeing more of this side of her. They strolled at a leisurely pace, seeming to be headed out of downtown.

  “I think you’re warming up to me, Ms. Bishop,” he said after a few moments.

  “Why would you think a thing like that?”

  The sharpness in her voice drew his gaze, and when his eyes clashed with hers, she smiled wryly, a look of triumph on her face that revealed she’d one-upped him.

  “Just kidding,” she said. “And besides, if Matt and Joe call you a friend, that’s good enough for me.”

  He’d have to hug Poole the next time he saw him.

  “So where are we headed, new friend?”

  “To the most beautiful place in the world.”

  Now she really had his interest.

  “You don’t strike me as the type to throw around accolades, so this place must be something,” he said.

  “I’m not and it is. I’ve been to a lot of beautiful places but none even compare to this one, at least to my eye.” She glanced over at him. “Consider yourself lucky. Not many people see this, especially not with a personal escort.”

  “I do. So tell me about these places you’ve seen,” he said as they continued to walk, the heat of the afternoon still present but not stifling and the terrain shifting as they began moving toward the woods.

  “I haven’t done much leisure travel, but I’ve been all over for work. The West Coast, Europe, South America, Asia,” she said. “You must have been all over, too.”

  “Yeah, though I rarely get much leisure either. So jungles, deserts, an occasional wetland. You know, the usual,” he said.

  “But you like it, your work?”

  “I love it. Wouldn’t do anything else.”

  “An
d how did you end up in the Navy?”

  “I have five older sisters, and I needed to go somewhere they wouldn’t follow.” He laughed at her curious look. “Army or Air Force, and they would have signed up with me. But three of them get viciously seasick and the other two wouldn’t go anywhere without them, so Navy it was.”

  “Would they really have followed you?” she asked incredulously.

  “Hey, doubt me if you want, but now that I’ve settled and might be here for a while, don’t be surprised if the whole Sommers crew, kids and husbands and all, decide they want to come down South.”

  She laughed. “They must really love you.”

  “They do. My parents died in a car accident when I was two, so I was raised by a sister committee and all of them take their role as my surrogate mother very seriously.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your parents,” she said quietly, her face taking on a sadness that he hadn’t expected.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago, and besides, I have my sisters.”

  She smiled tightly. “I’m jealous,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It’s just me, but I’ve always wanted brothers and sisters. It would have been great to have built-in friends when I was a kid. Someone to help—”

  She cut off abruptly, and he didn’t probe the matter, her suddenly withdrawn expression keeping him from pushing the issue.

  “Well, it could get pretty rowdy at times and to this day, at least three of them are always arguing about something, but we’re tight, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. And you, what do you do?” he asked, shifting topics.

  “I’m an accountant and actuary,” she said.

  “That sounds…mathematical,” he said, to which she laughed out loud.

  “We can’t all be SEALs,” she said around her giggles, which were light, bubbly little sounds that he wouldn’t have expected but that he now thought were perfect.

  “So true. So do you like it?”