by Ashlee Price
We sat together in the living room and watched television until, one by one, I saw the lights go out beneath the boys’ doors. It had grown late when Lacy stood, gathering her things. “Well, it sounds like you’re in a good place. Hey, you haven’t opened your gift yet.”
“Don’t go.”
“It’s late, Riker. I need to get some sleep.”
“No, I mean it. Stay with me. It won’t be anything wild, but I need you. Just lie with me, will you?”
“Are you sure?”
The look on my face must’ve said it all. Her face softened and she nodded, bending to turn off the table lamps. I held out my hand and we went into my room, locking the door.
I tossed a shirt of mine to her for an impromptu nightgown. Lacy stood before me and pulled off her clothes slowly. I drank in every inch of her body and was disappointed when she picked up my shirt and buttoned it over herself. We climbed into the bed and I lay my head on her chest, rubbing her nipple through an opening between the buttons. “I missed you.”
“Me, too. I should’ve called before I came tonight.”
“No, I’m glad you didn’t. I would’ve told you that the social worker was here and you probably would’ve refused to come over. Glad you came.”
I kissed her, hard, and clung to her selfishly. I’d really meant it when I said I needed her. I gently kissed her body, exploring every inch with my tongue and my fingers. She was soft and pliant, welcoming my touches and caressing me in return. I was ready to explode when I slid into her. We didn’t need a long buildup; absence had taken care of that. I moved within her, generously slow although it took considerable restraint. I loved everything about us. When I was with her, it was a different world. It was a world I liked. We came together and I rolled to her side, pulling her against me. Her ass fit perfectly against my crotch, and I wrapped my arms around her as we fell asleep. It was a very merry late Christmas.
Chapter 15
Lacy
Winter had set in earnestly, and the gale-force winds off the lake made even running from the house to the car a miserable experience. Having lived in the big city, I’d never felt the desolation that being on the east side of the lake could bring. I looked out my western windows and saw that the waves had frozen in place, like the swirls atop a birthday cake. It seemed devoid of life; no vegetation, no separation between frozen water and the sky at the point of the horizon, and nothing besides the calendar on the wall to indicate that it would ever change. Most people in Michigan coped with the winter by dressing in layers and taking up winter sports. Ski resorts became the seasonal social centers for some, while others chanced the thickness of the ice to drill holes and fish or skim its surface with sailboats fitted with hardened steel blades.
Riker had become a silent entity. Although we texted one another once in a while, the resolution to work on projects separately formed a canyon between us. Although I tried to follow Riker’s advice about finding my own clients, it wasn’t easy. I felt more dependent on Mrs. Pettibone than ever, and my situation threw me into a quasi-depression. I yearned to be with Riker, and yet I knew there were things about him I didn’t understand, and perhaps never would.
I realized he could be highly moody. At night, when there was nothing better to do than throw on extra covers and lie in the darkness thinking, I wondered whether his childhood was responsible for that. I knew he’d lost his father far too early, and that he’d become streetwise as he stripped his life to the bone so he could get through college. I also realized that in order to stay relevant to the boys he wanted so badly to help, he would have to keep that hard-earned street cred. He couldn’t appear too successful, or he wouldn’t be able to reach them. They had to see a logical steppingstone out of the pit in which they currently found themselves. The had to get the idea that their lives were redeemable and they could be happy and respected as Riker was.
These were things I understood, at least in the sense that I could imagine why he was the way he was. Still, under different circumstances, I probably would’ve been afraid of him. His face was dark and foreboding, one that many people would consider scary, although I think that played to his advantage in his work with the boys.
There were things about him I couldn’t understand, though. The man who held me in his arms had a certain vulnerability that he tried very hard to disguise. Maybe I was the only living person who’d seen it. I had no way of knowing. We’d never discussed his past relationships, or mine. It was one of those things we silently agreed to avoid, and while there was nothing in my past to hide, I couldn’t be sure the same was true for him.
Then there was the matter of that locked door and what was behind it. He’d said that he kept things in that upper room that he didn’t want the boys to know about. What kind of things could they be? After all, other than carrying his toolbox, how did he make his money? That house couldn’t have been cheap, and neither was feeding growing boys. Could he be involved in something illegal? Were there drugs or guns or some other illicit things up there? My mind begged me to be careful while my heart begged me to trust him. I felt torn, and the bleakness of the winter only added to it. Maybe it was good that things cooled off a bit so we both could get perspective. All that said, I missed him and I hoped that he missed me.
Melanie was another issue. I knew she wanted Riker, and I knew her feelings toward me bordered on hatred. They were certainly well within the realm of jealousy. Melanie was a woman who wouldn’t stop at anything to get what she wanted. She was resourceful and had no problem lying, or at least twisting the truth, to get the effect she was after. She was young, but she was learning quickly.
The thought of having Melanie inside my world, and Mrs. Pettibone’s interference in my plans for the future, felt like a collar that was getting tighter and tighter. Combine those with the distance between Riker and myself, and I felt both abandoned and under siege. I didn’t know where to turn. All my newly-learned self-confidence was draining out like air from a punctured tire.
I knew I had to take a stand and move in a positive direction. I couldn’t afford to while away the winter without doing something to grow my business. It was everything I had—it was my reputation and my livelihood.
I’d made a decision to distance myself from Mrs. Pettibone, but I wasn’t ready yet. I still hadn’t completed the list of referrals she’d given me. I’d become almost phobic about approaching them, as though each one was another nail in my personal coffin of freedom denied, but I couldn’t help myself. It was a steady source of income, the only one I had at the moment. I promised myself I would give it six more months. I would use that time to follow up on the rest of the list, and meanwhile I would begin advertising on my own to find other clients. I knew they were out there. I’d been lazy about looking for them, and paradoxically I knew it was because of Riker. He’d put the idea in my head, but the time I spent with him or thinking about him was time I should’ve been using to build the business.
It was a Wednesday morning, and Melanie was late. I was in a sour mood, not having slept well the night before as the New Year’s bills began to arrive. There was a propane tank to be filled, the winter taxes were due, I needed a set of snow tires, and I’d have to hire an accountant to do my upcoming income taxes. It was a lot to handle at a time when my income had dropped off and I no longer had referrals coming from Riker.
Winter is traditionally a slow time of the year in the design business. People are hunkered down until spring when the flowers and the warmer air encourage them to throw open windows and do a spring remodel. It was yet one more thing I needed to learn and to plan for. I’d written a small ad for basement makeovers, since much of the state retreated below ground to big flat-screen televisions, built-in bars and leather sofas where they could watch basketball or old black-and-white movies and not see the ever-present white ice that blew past their windows. I’d placed it in the newspaper several weeks ago, but had only gotten two phone inquiries so far. I had an appointment with one of those for
later in the week; other than that, I had little to do. I was feeling low and overwhelmed by the expenses.
The door opened. “Sorry I’m late, but the road drifted over and I had to come around the other way,” apologized Melanie. To my shock; apologies from Melanie were few and far between and generally intended to manipulate you rather than express remorse.
As I thought about that, I started wondering why I was even keeping her on the payroll. She was not fulfilling her promises of bringing in more business; she seemed more intent on using up whatever resources I had on hand. In that moment, I felt particularly used. I was paying for the degree that would allow her to compete with me while she played solitaire on her laptop and waited for the phone to ring.
I’m not sure what brought me to that point, but when I reached it, it was sudden and there was no going back. “That’s no problem, Melanie, we need to talk.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and that just added to my resolve.
“Remember when I hired you and you promised to use your connections to bring us business?”
“Yeah.” I could tell this was going to be one of those kinds of conversations.
“I was going through the books and tracking referrals last night. I realized that almost all of the business I’ve done came from Mrs. Pettibone’s referrals. The rest was word-of-mouth from those clients and a few from advertising. I didn’t find anything there that came directly from you.”
I waited for her to say something, whether it was an apology, an excuse, or more hopefully, a plan for how to resolve the issue. She sat on the kitchen stool, sipping my coffee and staring at me blankly. It was one of those “in your face” looks. It became apparent in that moment that she had no intention of helping me to grow the business.
“I saw Riker in town last night,” she said in a sing-song tone, changing the subject. “Yeah, we were down at Rafe’s place, having a few beers and shooting some pool.”
I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach. Why was Melanie spending time with him when I couldn’t? I didn’t want to ask whether they’d shot pool together, or whether he had invited her, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to know. I didn’t respond, and she took that as an invitation to continue.
“Funny, though. He never once asked about you. Did you two have a fight or something?”
I was torn between the desire to pick her brain and the reluctance to share the details my personal life with someone who so desperately wanted to ruin it. I walked toward the coffee pot, slowly pulling a mug from the cupboard to fill. It bought me a few seconds’ time with my back turned to her as I regained my composure.
“Maybe he figures our relationship is something he doesn’t discuss with others.” It was the best thing I could think to say.
“Huh. I guess appearances speak for themselves. If you two were in a good place, you would’ve been there with him, I’m thinking.”
“Let’s get back to what we were talking about, or at least what I wanted to talk about. What sort of plans do you have to bring in customers?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t had a chance; you’ve kept me too busy painting cabinets. Riker looked really hot last night, though. He was wearing these skintight jeans that made me want to bury my face in his ass. Black leather jacket, this cool wool scarf around his neck, yeah, it was obvious he was shopping.”
“Stop it. You know how I feel about him, Melanie. Why are you doing this?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, is it bothering you? I didn’t mean it to, honest. I just thought you should know what he’s up to. I mean, it looks to me like your whole social life is based on him, and I get the idea you think it’s the same for him. Just didn’t want you to get caught unaware, that’s all.”
I clicked my tongue and turned away from her, hoping she couldn’t see the tears on my cheeks. I headed to my bedroom, closing the door against her. I wanted a few minutes to compose myself, so I changed my clothes and touched up my makeup. I came out of the room. “I’m going out for a while. Why don’t you spend some time on that phone and see if you can round up some business?”
I didn’t wait to hear her answer, but went out the door, grabbing the broom to sweep the snow off my car. I’d barely made it out of the driveway when I remembered what she’d said about the road being blocked. I knew which direction she generally came from, so I chose the opposite. To my surprise, it was blocked. Just out of curiosity, I went in the other direction and saw that the road was open. In fact there was a fresh set of tire tracks in the newly fallen snow. They looked like they could be from her car, so I followed them.
The lake was very good at blowing snow to cover tracks, but hers stayed clear until the corner where I normally turned to go to Riker’s house. I fought the poison of my imagination. There were a thousand places she could have gone, I told myself. I drove to Riker’s house and saw the melt-off where a car had been parked for quite a while, perhaps even overnight. You could see a thin layer of melted snow that matched the length of the car directly in front of his house. It was just now beginning to be blown closed again.
“He wouldn’t do that,” I said to myself. And yet someone had parked there overnight—and it wasn’t Riker. He drove a truck and it sat high off the road. The pattern would’ve been different. None of the boys who lived with him had cars. No, it had been someone else. I reasoned that if it had been Melanie, she would’ve come out and said so, but maybe she wasn’t quite ready for that confrontation. I knew I was letting my imagination run away with me, but I began crying again. Why am I being so damned emotional?
The roads opened up to clear pavement once I reached the highway. I sped up, wanting to feel unfettered in a life that was anything but. I drove twenty miles to a town that had a large home improvement store. I went inside and talked to the manager, asking if they had a referral list for customers wanting professional help. He nodded and handed me a clipboard with columns. In the left column was the name of the company or craftsperson; in the right, their address and phone number.
Three names above the line where I put my information was Riker’s name. Another punch in the stomach. Since we’d separated our professional lives, of course he had to go and find new customers for himself. It just took me by surprise to see it there in writing. Tears still in my eyes, I handed the manager back the clipboard and asked if he knew of any other places I could register. I didn’t want people in Chesterton to know I’d gotten that desperate. At least they would think I was desperate, not realizing that I was just trying to vanquish Mrs. Pettibone from my life. He shook his head and wished me well as I left the store. I drove home. Melanie’s car was not in the drive.
I found her note on the counter. It read, “Went out to find some customers.”
Had she really, or had she gone to his house? I refused to leave and drive by again. What would happen, would happen.
Melanie never called, even though I left a voicemail for her twice. The next day she called in sick. “I left you two messages yesterday,” I couldn’t stop from saying.
“Yeah, about that… Nothing turned up. I guess I must’ve caught something. I’m heading back to bed, and if I don’t show up tomorrow either, you’ll know why.” She disconnected the line before I could ask any more questions. Recalling her invasive comments of yesterday, my tortured mind twisted every word she’d spoken into multiple meanings. My cell phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Lacy, this is Mrs. Pettibone. I trust you’re taking care of the matter we discussed?” I knew she was referring to Riker.
“Yes ma’am, I haven’t seen him.”
“Very good. I’m going to Palm Beach for a week, leaving tonight. My maid is also going with me. I’d like you to come by the house and look after the cat. You’ll find her food and the litter scoop in the mud room behind the kitchen. We’ll talk when I get back.”
She disconnected, and I stood there with the phone in my hand, my mouth dropped open. When had I become her lackey?
This was unthinkable. Between Melanie and her, I felt like walking out over the lake until the ice cracked beneath my feet. I’d waited so long to be my own woman, to be free of obligations and to build my own life, and just look at me. I started crying again, feeling as though I was out of options and unsure what to do next. Rather than leave the world for good, I decided to hide and retreated to my room for a long nap.
I woke to find that the sun had set while I’d been asleep. I pulled myself from the bed, feeling that sluggish, achy feeling you get when you sleep in the middle of the day. I even felt nauseous, so I went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. My entire life was a mess, and I’d brought it on myself. I sat down to the table and opened my laptop, checking my calendar to see what upcoming appointments I had. I was crying again, and the TV didn’t help.
I wanted so badly to call Riker and ask him to come over and put his arms around me, to lie in bed next to me and tell me everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t do that. There was Mrs. Pettibone and the viper gossip, Melanie. I had no idea whether Melanie was truly sick, and there was a dread in my stomach telling me not to check.
It’s probably just my time of the month, I thought to myself. I’d always been emotional around that time, and irregular; sometimes I even skipped a month. The doctors said it was just the way my body behaved and not to worry about it. I’d begun to keep track of my cycles on my calendar, and now I looked at my records so I could count how long it had been. I realized with shock that it had been more than two months, and I had one of those “aha” moments of recognition that make you hold your breath.
I shot down to the town south of us where I never shopped. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me. I bought the little tube and went home. According to the box, I had to wait for morning to come. I was up at six AM, my hands shaking as I saturated the stick. When the pink “+” came up, I had only to turn around to vomit into the toilet.