Trouble

by Nadene Seiters

  I realize she must have heard the commotion in my apartment and raise a hand to her. She waves back real small like, grabs her mail, and rushes into her home. Now they’re all going to think I’m psychotic. I wish I could put a sign on my door that says ‘I just lost my best friend, and I’m flipping out, please don’t call the cops’. But that would probably just fuel the rumors.

  When Daisy climbs onto the back of my bike, she puts on the helmet and fists her hands in the front of my shirt again. She doesn’t look forward, which is a sign of ultimate trust to me. I’ve only had one other girl on the back of my bike, and she’s always looked forward, Delilah. Daisy’s heartbeat is rhythmic on my back as I start the bike, the vibration of the engine moving through both of us. I’ll miss it when I put it into storage. Part of me is afraid I’ll never get it out again, afraid that I’ll always see Ronnie’s face when I’m on it.

  The ride to the shop is quick and eventless. I manage to make it through every light and put down the kick stand when I pull up to the curb. Daisy climbs off reluctantly, her fingers slowly uncurling from my shirt. There are little wrinkles on the front, but I don’t mind. She peels off the helmet and secures it on the back of the bike.

  Carl is walking out of the shop just as I get off my bike. He looks down at Daisy first, and I see something akin to appreciation come over his face. The sudden pang of jealousy that overcomes me has me startled and afraid. I must be losing it faster than I thought. Feeling jealous when someone looks at a friend is not right, I never felt jealous over Ronnie. Then again, Ronnie wasn’t a five foot two brunette with perfect breasts and model legs.

  “New client, Caleb?” Carl asks, a smile blooming on his face. I shake my head and put a hand on the small of Daisy’s back, gently claiming her as my own. I don’t realize it looks like that until Carl puts up his hands in surrender and takes a step back. He shoves his key into the shop door and opens it back up, motioning us inside.

  “Caleb says that you need a secretary, someone to answer the phones and do some bookkeeping maybe?” She looks as hopeful as she did this morning. Carl eyes me and quirks an eyebrow.

  Chapter Six

  “Caleb didn’t mention to me I was conducting an interview today,” Carl says calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s puffing up to make himself look bigger, and I recognize the move right away. I shove my hands into my pockets and stare at him, my eyes searching his. I can tell by the glimmer in them he’s going to say yes, but he’s going to put her through the wringer first.

  I want to tell him that he shouldn’t, she’s fragile and hurt. My ultimate fear is that she will realize she has to work for the job, and she’ll resort to what she did to me. She’ll try to give him a blow job or peel off her shirt and show him her assets.

  “I’m sorry, I can come back another time,” she starts, looking at me accusingly and pushing a strand of hair back from her face.

  “No, now is as good as any other time. Come on, I’ll show you the facilities first. If you feel comfortable after that, we’ll look at the front here.” He doesn’t touch her as he walks to the back, Daisy following after him. I settle down in one of the plastic chairs and give them some space. I’m effectively giving myself some space, too.

  I hear Daisy laugh, an airy sound that has me looking up to see what made her do that. I want to be able to do that. Carl’s holding up a tattoo gun in his hands and I wonder if he’s telling her the story about the big, burly man who came in here and cried like a baby during his tattoo. Poor man never finished it, just had one girl’s boob tattooed onto his back and half her face. It was pretty gruesome.

  They walk around the back of the shop for over half an hour, Daisy asking about the different guns and the different inks. She nods when Carl tells her about something and genuinely looks interested. I’m not sure if she’s faking it because she wants the job or she actually does like ink. Suddenly my mouth is watering at the thought of putting ink on her beautiful flesh.

  I’d better call Delilah tonight and get this out of my system before I do something irreversible.

  I pull out my cellphone and scroll through the names in my Contacts, and my thumb hovers over Ronnie’s name. There’s a small icon by his name with his picture, smiling with a beer in his hands. My thumb convulses and hits the number on the screen. I blink a few times as the phone actually rings, and before his voicemail can pick up, I hang up. What the hell was I thinking? He’d answer from the grave?

  My eyes are stinging, and my throat is thick with emotion by the time Carl and Daisy come back out from the back. He leans over the computer, but his eyes are on me when he puts his hand on the mouse. I look away from his gaze and down at my phone as if nothing has happened. But Ronnie’s face is still on the screen, staring back at me as if nothing ever happened. As if he didn’t end up in the grill of an eighteen wheeler.

  I turn off the phone and continue to stare at the black screen. Is that what he saw, a horrible, black darkness? My breathing is increasing, and I feel my heartbeat pound in my neck, throbbing with life that shouldn’t exist. I should have died instead of him; he had a lot more to live for. His parents still loved him; he had his whole life ahead of him. He was a much more talented artist than I ever will be.

  “Caleb?” I hear Daisy’s voice over the roaring in my ears and look up to see her standing in front of me. She must have said my name a few times now. Her hand comes down, and just her fingertips brush against my cheek. I close my eyes against the contact and shiver under her touch.

  “Be here tomorrow at seven, Daisy. I’ll have to spend a few days training you. When you get your I.D. and Social Security card, I’ll set you up on payroll. But until then, cash under the table.” Carl retreats to the back. He’s never been good with emotion, and I never asked him how he felt about Ronnie’s death. I’m thankful he’s never looked at me with blame.

  “Are you ready?” She asks, stuffing her hands into her pockets. I stand up without looking at her and pull my keys out of my pocket. Daisy puts a hand on mine when I go to open the door and looks at me hard in the face. Someone who’s upset should not drive a motor vehicle, much less a bike, but I’m her only ride home. Unless she wants to get in a taxi again.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her roughly, opening the door and getting on the bike. She turns around to say goodbye to Carl and walks down the steps after me. I watch her until she’s almost to the bike and then I face forward. I don’t know what my face looks like, but it’s probably not good. I make sure she has on her helmet and start the bike.

  Carl watches me pull away from the curb, and I’m sure he sees Daisy lean forward to rest her cheek on my back and her hands on my stomach. Her fingers grip into my shirt again and I concentrate on the feeling. It’s like an anchor that keeps me from driving too fast, too recklessly. It’s a reminder that I have a passenger on the back that could get hurt, too.

  The sun is almost setting by the time we get back to my apartment. I park the bike and decide I’ll make a trip to the storage unit this weekend to get my car. It’ll be a lot safer than driving around in the dark on a bike when it’s getting cold. I don’t have much to eat but leftover pizza from the night before, and it looks like that’s what Daisy had for lunch.

  “Chinese?” I ask her, sorting through the delivery menus hanging on my fridge. I pull one out of the stack and toss it to her.

  “I don’t like Chinese,” she looks pale suddenly, and I see a bead of sweat pop up on her forehead. I frown and retract the menu, pulling out a sandwich shop one instead. What’s up with Chinese food that makes her look like she’s going to puke?

  “Hoagies, then.” I shrug and decide on my usual, an Italian with the works.

  “Uh, ham and cheese,” she says without looking at the menu. I make the call, and we settle down on the couch to wait for our food. The doorbell rings and I go to it with cash in hand, but instead of the delivery guy standing there it’s one of my neighbors.

  “Mrs. Feistergeist,” I greet the
woman who saw me this morning and gave me the strange look. She tries to peek around me, and I block her view. What’s with her?

  “Caleb, I’ve seen that girl here for a few days. If she’s living here, you have to pay more rent! You’re not special,” she wags a bony finger at me, and I frown down at her. I know that. I just haven’t gotten around to telling the landlord yet.

  “I know, Mrs. Feistergeist. She’s just staying here for a little while, not living here. I’ll speak with the landlord tomorrow.” She gives me a disapproving look, and I sigh, this is not over.

  “You’d better not be sleeping with her! It’s a sin, Caleb Jacobs!” I know my face turns red. She’s seen Delilah leaving in the wee hours of the morning I’m sure. Now I know why she’s given me evil glares after the woman left, she’s been holding in her opinion of me for a while now. That’s what you get for living in an apartment complex.

  “I’m not, and if I was, it would be none of your business,” I pause, “ma’am.” I add, making her turn beet red in the face. She’s about to say something else when I take a step back and gently close the door until there’s just a slit enough for me to see through. “I have to get going now, Mrs. Feistergeist, we’re having a Jell-O wrestling match in the tub!” Her eyes about bulge out of her head and I realize that I might kill her if I don’t stop. So I close the door gently but firmly, and turn to see Daisy holding giggles back with her hand.

  “Jell-O’s too sticky,” she complains, putting her feet up on the table. I settle down next to her and put a pillow between the two of us to keep a visible boundary up.

  “All the better,” I tell her, picking up the remote and ignoring the fact that Mrs. Feistergeist is probably trying to peek through my windows right now. The doorbell rings about ten minutes later and this time I look out the small window at the top before I open the door.

  I pay the delivery guy, tip him, and we eat sandwiches on the couch while we watch television. She wrinkles her nose when I put some mushrooms from a can on my sandwich before I eat it. Good, I have a deterrent from her attempting to kiss me, mushrooms.

  We’re up until about nine thirty before I shuffle back to bed. I have to stumble around in the dark since I broke my lamp, but I manage to get everything pulled off and flop into bed on top of the covers. Sleep seems to be teasing me tonight. I’m almost asleep when the slightest sound of Daisy shifting on the couch has me waking up. It’s like every nerve ending on my body is now attuned to the noises she’s making.

  If she hadn’t cried this morning, if I had gone out and made eggs myself instead of her, I wouldn’t feel this way. But sometimes events happen, and we’re helpless to go back and correct them. Now when I look at her, I see the determination on her face and fear in her eyes. Daisy is more complex than I originally thought, and every smart guy likes a puzzle. I just have to keep reminding myself that I won’t sleep with her, no matter how insane it drives me.

  I need a friend, not a fuck buddy, and that’s what she needs, too.

  ***

  I’m on my motorcycle again, but the roar of the engine sounds off. When I look down I see that it’s Ronnie’s face under my hands, and he’s trying to scream against my fingers tightening their grip. I release my hand and go flying backwards off the bike made of Ronnie’s flesh and bones, mangled beyond recognition and repair. He’s screaming as he plummets into the grill of the truck, and I hear the sound of the Jake brake too late.

  “Caleb!” This time when I open my eyes and reach out to grab her wrist she pulls her hands away quickly. She dances out of my reach, and I see that she’s shaking, her eyes wide. She’s on her knees, and I’m not on my bed. I’m on the floor, my ass hurts, and I’ve come completely undone from the sheets. I’m lying on the floor in my underwear like a five year old that fell out of bed.

  I roll over and try to get the images from the nightmare to go away, but Ronnie’s misshapen body keeps coming back and I end up dry heaving on the ground next to me. Daisy scrambles over to me and puts a hand on my back, rubbing up and down my spine like she’s feeling every vertebra. When I’m finally done dry heaving I sit with my back against the bed and stare at the wall ahead of me.

  “Do you want to talk about it now?” She asks her eyes weary. She leans her back against my bed on the floor and stares at the wall like I am.

  “No,” I whisper roughly, trying to get the images to disappear. “Do you want to talk about yours?” She’s not fooling me. Her hair is a mess; her eyes are starting to become bloodshot. She may fall asleep sometime early in the morning, but she’s not sleeping through the night entirely. I know how she feels.

  “No,” she whispers back at me just as roughly, her hands ball into fists in her lap. I haul myself to my feet first and reach out a hand to help her up off the floor. That morning I make the eggs while she showers first.

  She takes a long time in the shower and by the time she gets out the bathroom is sticky and humid. I let the door hang open for fifteen minutes before I grab my own shower. Daisy has the dishes in the dishwasher before I get out of the bathroom. She’s sitting on the couch reading a new paper with a cup of coffee in one hand.

  “What’re you doing?” I ask her as I get my own cup of coffee from the kitchen. She has a job, why read the paper?

  “Crosswords,” she shouts back, and I put my head around the corner to the living room and frown at her. Is she serious? After a few second, she idly picks up the pen and scribbles something in the paper. I shrug one shoulder and go back to making my coffee.

  By the time she’s finished with the crossword and I’m done with my coffee, it’s time for us to go to work. She’s wearing another pair of black jeans with different flats and a white, button up blouse. I can see the outline of the white bra she’s wearing underneath. I’m not being a gentleman when I let her walk ahead of me out the door, I just can’t resist watching her walk down the sidewalk in flats towards the motorcycle.

  She takes a second to pull up her hair into a loose bun and puts the helmet on her head, then pats the seat in front of her. I manage to pull myself together, lock my apartment door, and slide onto the bike in front of her. The ride to work is quick as always, but there’s an instant where I hear a truck horn and almost jump off my moving motorcycle. But Daisy’s hands kinked in my shirt keep me grounded.

  When I pull up to the shop, I let her get off first. I sit on my bike as she stands on the sidewalk to shake out her hair. Her face is flushed from the ride, and she looks like she enjoyed herself. Carl ruins the moment by walking out the door and shouting my name. “Caleb!” He shouts, his voice disapproving.

  I hop off the bike and pocket my keys. It’s not until we’re up the steps and I’m opening the door for her that I realize I’ve had my hand on the small of her back this entire time. I quickly pull it back like it’s on fire and shove it into my pocket. I’m saved by Carl’s angry voice from the back.

  “You were supposed to leave Marie’s drawing up front yesterday and forgot, kid!” I leave Daisy up front and hurry to the back. Marie’s a huge client of Carl’s, in more than one way. If I screwed this up, she might come barreling in and murder me on the spot.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Carl!” I apologize to him, pulling it out of a file from my desk. It’s missing a few shades, and I sit down to fix it. I have it done in ten minutes and hand it to my boss, his nostrils flaring. He calms down when he sees it, and I see a smile spread over his face.

  “Genius, kid,” he tells me, clapping me on the back and heading to his own office to call his client. I sigh with relief and pull out a few more drawings that I have to finish. One of them is a motorcycle, but I leave that one for last. I skip lunch, working on a skull with trees protruding out the mouth. I’m not sure what it symbolizes for the client, but I’m hoping I nail the concept.

  “Wow,” her voice over my shoulder has me jumping and I immediately withdraw the pencil from the paper before I ruin the drawing. “Sorry!” She tells me, but Daisy’s eyes are glued to the piec
e of paper on the desk. For some reason, I don’t want her to see it. I shove it into a folder and put that into my desk.

  “It’s closing time,” she informs me, one hand on her hip and her face curious as she looks at the half finished motorcycle. I grab all of my paperwork and straighten it, putting each piece of paper back into its correlating folder.

  “I’ll be out in a sec,” I tell her, dismissing her from my work area. I don’t why, but having Daisy look at my drawings is like splaying open my chest to show her my beating, dying heart.

  The ride home is eventless, except for when I watch her get on the bike and off the bike. I probably look like a predator, staring at her like that, but I can’t help it. She puts the helmet on the bike, and when I lead her to the door I don’t bother trying to pull my hand away from the small of her back. It’s like I’m glued to her. The past few days have torn me open and left me wounded and vulnerable. I can only hope that Daisy won’t take advantage of that.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m back on my own bike, but it’s like I’m being slid right off it as I ride along. I don’t bother fighting it this time and let the handles slide out from under my hands. I’m flying backwards, and I can see myself as if I’m in front of me. At the last second, I see the headlights flash on and the Jake brake roars in the night. My eyes open wide in terror and just before I slam into the grill –

  “Caleb!” Again, I’m woken up by Daisy in the wee hours of the morning. This time it’s a little past two in the morning, and she’s wearing nothing but her neon green underwear and a matching bra with one of my white shirts thrown over it.

  “Why do you wear my shirts?” I grumble, putting my hands over my face.

  “What?” She asks, her voice groggy from sleep. I open my eyes and fist my right hand in my shirt that she’s wearing. I pull her down so that she’s inches from my face.