BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  “Hey,” Frank snaps at me, “who do you think you are, talking to my wife like that?”

  I look down at him, jabbing his finger in my chest, and my blood boils.

  “Move,” I grunt.

  “Now, wait just a minute.”

  He puts his hand on my chest.

  In all honesty, I’m amazed. I smash people twice his size for a living, and here he stands giving me a little push to sit down like I’m an unruly child. Phoebe starts to say something to me, but I’ve already reacted.

  I lift Frank by his belt and toss him in the pool. He lands with a splash, sputtering and thrashing, throwing water every which way.

  “Come on,” I say, turning to Phoebe.

  She gapes at me, open-mouthed. I grab her hand and tug, lifting Carrie from the ground as I do. Heading through the backyard and around the house rather than though, I lead Phoebe along by the hand and carry her daughter back to her car.

  Dazed, Phoebe sits in the driver’s seat.

  “We should go.”

  “You asshole!” Hailey screams, charging around the side of the house.

  “Yeah, we should go,” Phoebe says and starts the car.

  Hailey throws the Red Lobster card at us as Phoebe drives way, her face still slack with shock.

  “You threw Uncle Frank in the pool,” Carrie observes.

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “Good, he’s a jerk.”

  “Carrie!” Phoebe says, finally breaking her silence. She tries to sound angry but laughter bubbles through the words.

  Carrie starts laughing.

  I crack a smile. I can’t help it.

  “She’s never going to speak to me again,” Phoebe sighs.

  “That’s your loss?”

  She snorts.

  “Aunt Hailey is such a bi--”

  “Carrie!”

  “What, she is!”

  “I know, but you don’t have to say it like that. Or talk about her at school. Her twins will hear, understand?”

  “Okay,” Carrie says, dejected.

  Once back at the house, Phoebe steps out of the car and helps Carrie down. I walk inside with them.

  “Can you watch her for a while? I need a shower,” Phoebe says.

  “I’m sure you do,” I say.

  “Head out back,” she says to Carrie.

  As Phoebe heads upstairs, I walk out into her backyard with her daughter. It’s not much, just some grass and two conveniently placed trees, just right for a hammock, and a rickety picket fence with worn paint. Off to my right, there’s a worn charcoal grill. Not a fancy one, just a plain black kettle on three legs. It’s a small, simple, pretty bare backyard.

  Carrie flops down in a green plastic Adirondack chair that sags under her weight until she’s almost on the grass.

  That hammock looks very tempting. I stride over to it slowly, as if it’ll run away if I walk up too fast like a scared deer. The coarse fabric almost doesn’t feel real under my fingers. It’s getting close to sunset on an autumn Sunday. The air is crisp and cool and there’s a light breeze that threatens to turn nippy when the sun goes down. Birds chirp. The scent of cut grass and turning leaves fills my nostrils.

  To my surprise, the hammock holds my weight. I settle into it, surprised by how comfortable it is, more comfortable than it really should be. It pulls me in and holds me there. The ground swings under me, and the leaves over my head rustle.

  I like this.

  My eyes grow lidded. I feel a warmth and softness and open them to find Phoebe climbing into the hammock with me. She’s freshly showered, her hair damp and smelling of lilacs, her skin flushed and warm. She curls up in the hammock with me, pillowed on my chest, her head rising and falling as I breathe.

  I could stay like this a long time.

  Phoebe falls asleep. I wave away the occasional mosquito, a lazy little bastard that’s too cold to fly. A few lightning bugs flicker in the fading light, but the air is peaceful and quiet. Carrie gets up and goes in the house, leaving the back door open an inch or two so it doesn’t lock us out. I can see the TV from the backyard through the kitchen window, and her shadow as she sits to watch, leaving us alone.

  When I wrap my arms around Phoebe, she stirs, hitching her body up to kiss me. Her lips are warm and soft and sweet like she is. She nuzzles her chin into my neck and I bury my face in her hair and breathe deeply.

  This must be what heaven would be like.

  Finally, she sits up and yawns, and swings her legs around to rise to her feet and stretch, arching her back and her arms over her head. She rocks side to side, to pop her back, and tugs her hoodie down to cover a pale sliver of her stomach.

  I follow her, yawning.

  “I have to get up in the morning,” she says sadly. “Have to go to bed.”

  I nod.

  “What if I stay here tonight?”

  “Alex,” she sighs, “this was technically our second date. I’m not sure I should…” she trails off, the way she always does, rubbing her arms.

  I grab her hips from behind and pull her against me. Her head thumps my chest.

  “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “I need to sleep.”

  “Me, too. I didn’t say let’s fuck. I said why don’t I spend the night.”

  “Like sleep with me. Sleep sleep. Rest.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to go sleep alone, and you don’t want me to leave.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have anything to wear to bed.”

  “Maybe I sleep naked.”

  She laughs. “Go get something to wear,” she says, and pumps her butt back against me. “I’ll be waiting.”

  After she’s inside, I run, hop the fence, and dart into the rental. From upstairs I gather a change of clothes for the morning and something to sleep in tonight, and head back over.

  I grab a towel from Phoebe’s room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Showering.”

  Her house is built on the same pattern as mine. I take a quick shower and wet down my hair, dry, wrap a towel around my waist, and walk into her room. She stares at me and rushes to close the door.

  Phoebe stands at the door and looks over her shoulder, like she’s embarrassed to see me naked. I drop my towel from my body and use it to finish drying myself, standing casually naked in her bedroom.

  Same size as mine, but she has a bigger bed. Good, we need the room. Her furniture is all sensible and sturdy but scuffed and aged, most likely hand-me-downs. The closet doors are open, revealing her simple and straightforward wardrobe and a tall safe. She likes mom jeans.

  Phoebe turns and looks me over. She swallows, hard, and trembles a little until I pull on a pair of sweats and a tank top.

  “I really like watching you get dressed,” she says, absently.

  “Funny. I like watching you get undressed.”

  “I have to tuck Carrie in. I’ll be back. You can, um, you can get in my bed.” Her voice quickens with every word, quivering a little.

  “Isn’t it a little early?”

  She smirks at me.

  Phoebe steps out and I step to the window and push the curtains open. The sun is down now, and the world is growing dark, all the color fading from the trees. I wonder if I should have left some lights on at my place, but it’s not as if I’m worried someone will steal any of that junk. None of it’s mine.

  Something Phoebe says sticks in my head, something about a car. Cars are parked up and down the street. There’s a little orange hatchback idling at the far end of the block. The engine must be running rich, the exhaust is thick and smoky.

  The curtains drop from my hands as Phoebe comes back in.

  “Um,” she says.

  She sheds her shorts and hoodie, and crosses the room in her underwear and a man’s T-shirt, baggy around her slender body. Her panties mold to her ass perfectly. She has the perfect butt, big and just thick enough for her frame with a nice ji
ggle as she walks.

  Phoebe catches me looking and eyes me.

  “You said we were going to sleep.”

  I turn down the blankets and slip into the bed. The sheets are soft and inviting, like their owner. Phoebe lies next to me, and pulls the covers up to her chin.

  “Why are you so nervous?” I ask her.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve shared my bed with anyone. Besides my daughter when she has a bad dream.”

  I roll on my side, wrap my arms around her, and pull Phoebe against me. She molds perfectly to my body, my chin resting on her head as she turns to press her back into my chest.

  I close my eyes and breathe her in, feel her heartbeat through her back. I’ve slept alone my entire life. This will be the first time I’ve had company in bed.

  So I tell her.

  She looks back at me. “What?”

  “I said, I’ve never slept with anyone.”

  “No way.”

  “I’ve been with other women, but I never took them to bed. Or they never took me to bed. I guess you’re the one doing the taking tonight. This is your house.”

  She giggles. “I’m taking you. So hard.”

  For good measure, she wiggles her ass against me.

  “I thought you just wanted to sleep.”

  “I do. Go to sleep.”

  I close my eyes. Phoebe’s breathing slows and deepens as she grows closer to falling asleep. Her soft breath tickles my wrists, but I like the feeling. It’s soothing. She’s soothing.

  I quickly fall into the deepest, most restful sleep I can remember in my adult life. I wake only once in the night, when I discover Phoebe is gone. Panic grips my chest for a moment before she pads lightly into the room on her bare feet, climbs in the bed without a word, and tucks up in my arms, facing me this time.

  “What happened?”

  “Checking on Carrie. It’s just something I do.”

  She yawns, curls up with me, and closes her eyes.

  Sleep falls on me like a blanket, until a bleating alarm clock shakes me out of it. I rise from the pillow just a bit. Phoebe groans, rolls over, and slaps the clock with her palm.

  “Ugh. Work,” she says.

  I sit up as she slips out of the bed and goes to dress. Laying back in her bed, I watch her for a moment. She has to hop a little to pull on her tight uniform pants.

  “Mom!” Carrie yells.

  I stand. “I’ll get her some breakfast.”

  Phoebe smiles at me warmly. “Thank you.”

  I meet the kid in the hallway. She stares up at me in awe as usual.

  “You stayed with my mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  The look on her face is a mixture between joy and wonder. She hobbles down the stairs with surprising ease. Her foot must be healing.

  In the kitchen, I start butter in a frying pan, throw sausages in a skillet, and start mixing up pancakes.

  Phoebe comes down in full uniform. I can barely tear my eyes off her. She’s so sexy in that outfit. I know if I told her, it would piss her off. She sets her hat on the table and chats with her daughter while I cook breakfast. I could get used to this.

  We eat in silence. I didn’t make them too much. I don’t want Carrie sleeping off pancakes while she does multiplication tables or whatever six-year-old kids do in school. Phoebe sends her off to brush her teeth, leaving us alone in the kitchen.

  “This is something I can get used to,” she says.

  “I’ll move in.”

  She blinks at me. “What?”

  “I don’t have that much stuff. I’ll bring it over.”

  “What about your rent? Didn’t you sign a lease?”

  I shrug. “I don’t care.”

  “Alex,” she says, softly. “What about… when your community service is up, you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  I rest my hand on hers.

  “Maybe. Depends if I have something to stay for.”

  “This is moving so fast,” she says. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Why not? I like you, you like me. We’re good together and the se…”

  She gives me a sharp look, and I cut myself off.

  “It’s good. I like you. I like this.”

  “I’ve lived without a man in my life for years. I don’t know if I can do it. Doesn’t it bother you that I’m a cop?”

  “No. Why would it?”

  She pushes a slice of pancake around her plate with her fork. “Okay. Bring your stuff over.”

  I lean over and kiss her cheek.

  “There’s practice tonight. I have to be there.”

  “Yeah, I’ll probably come too. Carrie is going.”

  “I don’t want her running around on that foot.”

  “Just let her put the uniform on. She likes it.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “Okay. I’m taking her to school. I’ll see you at practice?”

  “Yeah.”

  I walk them to the door and watch Phoebe lift Carrie into her lumbering Tahoe and drive off. I frown as I watch them leave. Something is really off, I just can’t put my finger on it specifically.

  I step down to the front yard and pull the door shut. I lock it with Phoebe’s spare key, head to my house, and start packing. I don’t have much, just some clothes. Once it’s all in a duffel, I haul it back to her place. It’s a short trip.

  As I step out the door of the rental house, I hear a cough and a sputter like something big trying to hack up a hairball.

  Turning, I set my eyes on an orange Volkswagen puttering down the road. Blinking a few times, I frown. Was that the same car as last night?

  Standing on the side yard between the houses, I crane my neck to look through the neighbor’s backyards. The same car is headed slowly up the street behind ours.

  Once in Phoebe’s house, I drop my duffle on her living room floor and stand by the edge of her window, gingerly holding the drapes open with my two fingers, watching.

  The same car rolls down the block.

  I burst through the door at full tilt, leap from the porch to the front walk, and sprint across the yard. The driver in the orange hatchback jams on the brakes as I run out in front of her.

  I freeze right in front of her car as she comes to a screeching stop.

  It’s her. She throws her door open and steps out, running towards me.

  “Alex!” she yells.

  “Stay back,” I snarl. “I had enough of you the last time, you crazy bitch. What do you want?”

  “I had to make sure you were okay after that awful woman hurt you. Why are you in her house? Do you need my help?”

  “Your help? Lady, you’re insane. I don’t know you. We’re not friends.”

  This woman stands in the street with her matted hair, grimy clothes, and sick, weird look in her eyes. I feel bad for her in a way, but I’m wary, too. I wanted to get a restraining order, but Lou said it would be terrible for my image or some shit like that.

  “Sarah, get back in your car and leave. I don’t want you here.”

  “You’re just saying that. Why are you saying crazy things?”

  She edges closer, a wild look in her eyes.

  “I told you the last time, if you started following me again I would call the police.”

  She grins, her eyes unfocused and dreamy.

  “Alex, it’s okay. I can cut that thing off your leg and get you out of here. You’re not safe.”

  This isn’t going well.

  I try to calm her. Talk to her like I would a snarling dog I chance to meet on the street.

  “It’s okay,” I say, holding out my hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m fine, everything’s fine. You can go home now, Sarah.”

  “Why don’t you just come with me right now?”

  “I can’t do that. I’m staying here and you’re going to leave. Get in your car.”

  She edges closer, forcing me to back up in the middle of the street. I can’t put my hands on a woman, so what am I going
to do if she won’t leave?

  I pull out my phone and dial Phoebe.

  It rings a few times, and she answers.

  “What is it?”

  “Orange hatchback.”

  She goes quiet on the other end. “I’m on my way.”

  “Who was that?” Sarah says, fidgeting and plucking at her oversized cardigan. “Who did you call?”

  “I called the police, Sarah. You can’t be here.”

  “Did you call her? Why would you?”

  “Just stay calm. I called for help, that’s all. We just need to stay calm.”

  Phoebe must have gone tear-assing through town to get here. Her Tahoe comes screeching up short behind Sarah’s car and she leaps out, leaving the door open behind her.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Go away,” Sarah moans at her. “It’s your fault he’s stuck here! Go away!”

  She sounds crazier with every syllable. Her hand sinks into her pocket.

  “Hands up,” Phoebe snaps. She’s fast. Her gun appears in her hands in a blink, held low but ready to be raised.

  “I said put your hands up over your head and keep them where I can see them. You’re under arrest.”

  “For what?” Sarah yells, walking toward her. “What? What are you arresting me for, you bitch?”

  Sarah’s hand flicks out of her sweater and a long, thin knife snaps open in her hand. I move before I can even think, crossing the distance to lock my arms around her before she reaches Phoebe.

  I grab at her wrist, but Sarah is slippery and quick, and the blade rakes over my forearm.

  “Holy shit!” I yelp, as my arm goes slick with blood from hand to elbow.

  “Alex!” Phoebe screams.

  Sarah turns back to her.

  Ignoring the pain, I wrench the knife out of her hand and push her against the car. Phoebe holsters her gun and grabs Sarah’s wrists, twisting them roughly behind her back to snap handcuffs on her.

  “Pressure,” she yells at me, her voice cracking. “Get your shirt off, wrap it around your arm, and put pressure on the wound.”

  I stare at her blankly and blink, then at my wounded arm. There’s a gash at least six inches long running down the back of my forearm, gushing blood. It’s dripping on my shoes.

  “Fucking do it!” Phoebe screams.

  I snap myself out of it, yank my shirt over my head, and wrap it tightly around my arm. I grit my teeth from the pain as I clamp down on the cut with my hand. It hurts like a motherfucker. I didn’t even feel it until a moment ago. Must have been the adrenaline.