I sighed and picked up the phone, dialing my home number to check my messages.
There was only one. It was from George.
“Wanda.” I could barely make out the voice in the static on the line, but knew who it was. Ice shot through my veins, and I almost dropped the phone as I made out what I could of the rest of the message. “I’m in—static—Kansas. I need to talk to you. You have to—static—listen to me—static—Call me at—static—4-5—static—7-3-9.”
I sat motionless as my answering machine requested I save, forward, or delete the message. Eventually, the machine hung up on me. I realized my breathing was shallow, and I inhaled deep.
Crap. Why the hell was I cowering in hiding from this guy? Why didn’t I just get a gun, go to my own apartment, and let nature take its course?
Well, there were a lot of reasons. I didn’t want to kill anyone. I didn’t want to die.
And the other reason was due home in about an hour.
I dropped the phone to the floor and curled up under the covers, pulling them over my head, the way I did when I was little and was convinced the monsters in my closet would eat me alive if not for the amazing protective powers of bed linens.
***
I woke up to the sound of my door creaking. I pulled the covers down to see Walter standing in the shaft of light at my doorway. His tie was loose, his top shirt buttons were open, and his hair was rumpled on one side as though he’d been resting his head on his hand for a while.
“Hey,” I said, pushing myself up to a sitting position. “What time is it?”
“Nine,” he said softly “I didn’t mean to wake you, but you’ve been passed out for a while. I thought you might be hungry.”
I shook my head. “I had a big lunch.”
He nodded. “Okay.” He smiled and started to shut the door behind him, then opened it up again. “I’ve been working on a case all night, and I need a break. You in the mood for some wine?”
***
“For a while,” Walter said, stretching his legs over his cream-colored leather sofa, “I thought it would get better. That it would be easier to come home and see the pictures, her things. They say it takes about a year. They lie.”
An empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table next to a ceramic bowl filled with grapes. The fire rolled gently in the fireplace. I couldn’t see the clock, but I imagined it to be somewhere near midnight.
“One day I packed all her stuff up in a rental truck and hauled it down to storage. I haven’t been there since.” He took a sip of his wine and then gestured with his glass toward the pictures on the mantel. “Those are mostly of my sister and her kids.”
I nodded, trying to think of an appropriate comment, something that showed my sensitive side. I drew a big fat blank.
Walter looked up on my silence and smiled. My heart lurched in my chest at the sight of him in the firelight, loose tie and rolled-up sleeves giving him that sexy disheveled look. Damn Elizabeth and her damn self-awareness. Let’s talk about your feelings, Wanda. Pjfjft. I took a sip of wine.
“Let’s move on to something more interesting than my sob story,” he said, bringing me back into the moment. He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. “Let’s talk about that day in your apartment.”
“Hmmm?” I said, wincing as a few drops of wine cut through my throat. I choked briefly, then looked up at Walter through misty eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Wrong pipe.”
“Ahhh.” He looked down at his glass, then back at me. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then...”
“No,” I said, recovering. “We can talk about it. I’m just not sure what there is to say.”
His eyes flickered at me. “You’re not?”
“No. I mean, I kissed you, and then I thought we were going to have sex, but you kinda freaked out, and then I grabbed your crotch, and you screamed like a girl—”
“I know what happened,” he said, holding up a hand to shut me up. “Any chance we can wipe that ‘screamed like a girl’ thing off the record?”
I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Fine. Look, we both know what happened. What I want to talk about is...” He paused, huffed a short laugh at whatever was going through his mind, and stared into the fire as he went on. “I just think we should talk about why it happened.”
“You wanna talk about why?”
He met my eye. He was dead serious. “Yeah. Why did you kiss me?”
My throat tightened, and my breathing kicked up a notch. “I don’t know. I thought you were cute, I’d had a few drinks...”
“I see,” he said with a brief nod.
“Dammit,” I said. “I didn’t mean that it was just because I’d been drinking. I meant... ugh!” I slammed my fist down on the sofa cushions. “Why are you asking me this?”
He sat forward, put both of our glasses on the coffee table, and took my hands in his. My entire body buzzed at his touch, and my jury was out on whether I was going to jump him or run screaming from the room.
“I think it’s time we talked about it.” He brought his eyes up to meet mine and smiled his crooked smile. Made of kryptonite, that smile. “I think there’s a thing going on here between us. I just want to make sure it’s mutual before...”
“Before...?” I knew what he was going to say, but I had to draw it out. It had to be on paper before I’d believe it.
He held my gaze. “Before I act on it.”
I dropped my eyes, felt my cheeks blazing. “So you think we’ve got a thing?”
He let go of my hands. “You don’t?”
I shook my head and lied through my stupid lying teeth. “No.”
He looked at me, reading me. He had to know I was lying.
Please, Walter, I thought, cant you just save us both the pain and see through me?
He stood up, picking up our wineglasses. “Okay. My mistake, then.”
I watched him retreat to the kitchen and listened as he washed the glasses. I stood up and backed away from the sofa, as though my total mess of a life was all the fault of cream-colored leather. I stopped when the frigid window shocked my back, and I froze against it, grateful for the harsh reality of the chilling cold.
Walter returned a minute later and leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the living room from me. He looked good, backlit by the light coming through the kitchen door, a small white towel draped over his shoulder. My breathing went shallow.
He wanted me. He’d put it on paper. And yet there I was, pressing my back against a freezing-cold window, trying to fend off the one thing I really wanted. It’s a good thing I’d been getting chummy with a therapist. I’d never be able to afford all the help I needed if I had to pay for it.
He gave a small smile and I felt a rush. He was seeing through me, doing all the work for me. “Is there something you want to talk about?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He took a step forward. “You seem a little... disturbed.”
“That’s not unusual for me.”
He continued moving toward me, tossing the kitchen towel on the coffee table as he passed. I pushed my back into the glass. A moment later he was standing so close that I could inhale the sweet wine on his breath.
“What’s disturbing you?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He leaned one hand against the window, then pulled it back quickly.
“Jesus, that’s cold.” He put his hands on my shoulders and guided me back to the sofa. He sat next to me, one leg curled toward me, one arm casually draped over the back, his fingers lightly grazing my shoulder and sending snapping currents of electricity down my spine.
“You’re shivering,” he said.
“The window. It was cold.” I stiffened as his hand moved from the sofa to rub my shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked, backing away a little.
“Yes
,” I said. “I mean, no.”
“Wanda, what’s going on here?”
I closed my eyes and let the wine speak.
“I’m afraid you’re going to kiss me.” Oh. God. Take me now. A lightning bolt would be great, but an aneurysm will do.
“And would that be a bad thing?” he asked.
I opened my eyes and let out a stuttering breath. “No.”
He smiled. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I said.
He laughed and reached to push a strand of hair away from my eyes. “You are so... strange.”
“Well, there’s some sweet talk for you.” I gave one of those high-pitched, self-conscious laughs and put my head in my hands. Walter’s hand slid down to my back. I jumped up off the sofa, still hiding my face.
“Wanda?” I heard him get up, felt him take my arms, pulling my hands away from my face. One finger hooked under my chin and lifted it. Our eyes met. My blood was pumping, my breathing erratic. I focused on his eyes, running down my face, over my chin, landing on my lips. “I can’t figure you out.”
“Hang on,” I said. “I’ve got a manual in the trunk of my car.”
He laughed. “I might need that. You practically jump me in your apartment, and now...” He traced one finger down the side of my face. Hoo-wah. “I guess I just don’t understand.”
“Well,” I stammered, “back then, we hardly knew each other. And now...”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. He leaned in closer. “And now what?”
I looked away, trying to concentrate on my feet rather than Walter’s breath fluttering against my cheek. “And now I know you.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, that makes sense.”
I shrugged. “Does to me.”
He nodded, more serious. “Could you pretend I’m a stranger, then? Because if I don’t kiss you soon, I’m going to have to leave the room.”
“Do you always announce when you’re going to kiss someone?” I asked, trying to be funny, but my delivery was thrown off by my shortness of breath.
He shook his head. “No.”
He put his hand in my hair, running his fingers through it and making my body surge with heat. I leaned my face into the warmth of his palm, and he moved closer, his cheek almost touching mine, his breathing rough against my ear.
“I’m going to explode if you don’t say it’s okay for me to kiss you soon,” he said, his voice quiet and raw.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. The words were barely out before his arm snaked around my waist. His lips were soft at first, becoming gradually more insistent as we rode the first wave and surfed it. His eyes were on soft focus when we finally pulled apart.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
My heart was banging around in my chest like a freaked-out parakeet. I gave up the fight. I was a goner. There was no way around it now.
“No,” I said. His face tightened, and he moved away, but I grabbed his tie and pulled him back to me to surf another wave. He tasted fresh and clean, like grapes. He pulled me in tighter this time, mashing our bodies together, his arms and his tongue grappling over me like this was his only chance. My eyes were still closed when he finally pulled away, and it took a moment for me to focus on him and see that he was smiling.
“I won’t scream like a girl this time,” he said, his grin exuberant and boyish, his cheeks flushed.
I laughed, locking my hands behind his neck and leaning my forehead to his, looking up into his eyes, thoughts of blush in a box taking a backseat to the rush of happiness I was finally allowing myself to feel.
“You know,” I said, “it’s been three years since I’ve done this.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a grin. “I hear it’s like riding a bike.”
“No, what I’m saying is, it’s been three years,” I accentuated the last words by tugging on his tie in two short jerks. He laughed and put his hand on my face.
“You’re incredible,” he said.
“Tick-tock, Romeo,” I said. “I’ve got some lost time to make up for.”
The first time, it was like we were starving, all nibbling and biting and rushing toward the finish. The second time, it was slower, rhythmic, deliberate. We didn’t bump into the coffee table once that time. The third time was more exploratory, less explosive, and afterward we fell into a mingled clump on the floor, catching our breath and grazing our fingers over each other.
After a while, Walter got up to nudge the fire back into a full blaze. He pulled the blanket off the sofa, spooning his naked body behind mine on the rug, snuggling his face into the back of my neck.
“That was fun,” he said, his words running together as his breath started to even out.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I said, my eyes half-closed.
“I love you,” he whispered, and his breathing tapered into a light snore.
My eyes flew open.
I knew he hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t have meant it. It was probably just something he said. Maybe it was a residual habit from when Maggie was alive, and he was just too tired to realize he’d said it to me.
But I realized it. I watched the fire and tried to reason the tears away, but they kept coming, anyway. Had he not said it, I might have stayed. But the severity of the stab that came from hearing those words, murmured in a sleep-driven exhale, was an indication that it was way past time to get out. There were other places where I could hide from George. If I stayed with Walter, I’d be gambling more than I could afford to lose.
I crawled out from under his arms, and he rolled over onto his back but didn’t wake up. Once I was dressed, I pulled the blanket up to cover his chest. I kneeled over him and kissed him lightly, giving him one last chance to wake up and pull me back. He didn’t. I watched him sleep for a little while and then went to my room to gather my things. I put his key on the kitchen counter and closed the door behind me. I sobbed quietly as I walked to my car, then got behind the wheel and lost six hours driving through the winding roads of Hastings.
At nine that morning, my eyes red and my heart tired, I showed up at Elizabeth’s doorstep. Without a word, she led me to the small apartment above her garage, and I fell onto the bed and slept for the next twelve hours.
***
The knocking woke me up. I glanced at the clock on the wall: 9:17.
“Come in,” I mumbled in a hoarse whisper. A second later Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of my bed holding out a mug of hot chocolate.
“With marshmallows,” she said. I sat up and took the mug, sipping quietly, my mind still emerging from the fog.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asked after a few minutes. “I’m a great fucking shrink.”
I smiled and shook my head. “I just think it’s best that I get out now, you know, before it goes too far.”
She nodded. “Went too far, huh?”
I mustered up a cynical laugh and said, “Yep.”
She took a sip of her cocoa, and her eyes traveled the small room in a quick sweep. “Sorry about this place. My ex-mother-in-law designed it. Yellow walls.” She shuddered. “Ugh.”
I hadn’t given the room more than a glance when I came in. It was large and open, with one door leading out to the landing and stairs and another door leading to the bathroom. The bed was a double, sitting in the corner. The floor was hardwood, with a large woven rug covering the middle. There was a desk under the window, a dresser in the opposite comer from the bed, and a freestanding wardrobe. Everything a girl hiding from her psycho ex-husband needed.
“I like it,” I said finally. “How much is the rent?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Nothing, unless you decide you want to stay for good. We can take it day by day.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She patted my leg and got up, putting a set of keys on the desk. “You can share the kitchen and living room with us. Come on down anytime. The kids are excited to meet you tomorrow.” I nodded. Elizabeth disappeared, the sound of her footsteps getting lighter and lighter
as she made her way down. I fell back on the bed, watching the lights from passing cars swish across the ceiling until I fell asleep again.
***
I stayed in the apartment for three days, coming out only to run to the store for bottled water and oranges, which was pretty much what I lived on. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. Elizabeth seemed to sense this, and she left me alone.
I found a notebook and a pen in the desk drawer, and I wrote furiously in it. I wrote about how every Christmas my father and I would stay up late and watch The Philadelphia Story together. I wrote about my mother and me trying to sew a costume for Halloween when I was twelve and failing miserably. I wrote about Miss Maria’s School of Dance, remembering how Miss Maria—who was actually a Hungarian refugee named Magda—would cup my chin in her rough hands and say in her thick voice, “Nevah have I seen a child so happy as dees vun.” She was right. I had been a happy kid. No reason not to be. My parents had a good marriage. I was an only child. I got everything I needed, and Dad taught me the value of working for the extras, like designer jeans and boom boxes. I’d had every advantage. So how had I ended up here? How had I gone from the graceful little girl doing pirouettes for Miss Maria to the graceless tumbling witness in Pencil Face’s School of Crappy Cross-Examination?
Beat the hell out of me. My teachers seemed to think I had a great life in the bag, based on how they nagged me all through high school. You have so much potential, Wanda. What are you going to be when you grow up, Wanda? A smart kid like you can do whatever she wants, Wanda.
Only I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I was good in science and math. Fair to middling in social studies. Excelled in English. And yet, for all that, I never knew what I really wanted. I still didn’t know. So why were all those people always cheering me on, sure I would master whatever I set my mind to do? I asked my English teacher Mrs. Knickie that question when I beat out Annie McGee, the valedictorian, for Most Likely to Succeed.
Time Off for Good Behavior Page 10