Done With Men Forever (Clairmont Series Book 3)

by S. Jane Scheyder

  “Becky! Are you okay?” Maddy cried. “Where’s Burt?”

  “He’s out,” Becky assured her, holding her fire, so to speak, while John approached the oven to assess the damage.

  He had the good sense to turn the oven off, and Becky applauded his quick thinking. He remained calm, crouching down to look through the oven window.

  Maddy urged the boys, already wrapped in blankets, onto the porch to get fresh air, while John put the fire out. She walked back into the kitchen, rubbing her arms. “My alarm didn’t go off - I was supposed to check this two hours ago!”

  “Windows,” Becky suggested, and she and Maddy got busy airing out the house.

  After opening the last window in the sunroom, they returned to the kitchen, shivering.

  “What did I do wrong?” Maddy wondered. “This was supposed to be a fool-proof method.”

  “The pan must have leaked,” Becky replied. “And once that grease gets burning ...” she shook her head.

  “And I invited so many people.”

  Becky tried not to appear too glad that their Thanksgiving party was canceled. “Everyone will be fine. John’s sister or mom can host their family and we can work on cleaning up here. Grace and Tank can take care of each other. People will understand.”

  “I hope so.” Maddy sighed. “I’m going to have to scrub these cupboards and walls and probably wash curtains to get rid of the smell.” She wrinkled her nose and sat down on a bar stool. “And we have guests coming tomorrow!”

  Becky tracked down their coats and wrapped Maddy’s around her shoulders. “We’ll get this cleaned up, Maddy. We’ll crank some music and make it a party.”

  The boys brought Burt back inside and snuggled on one of the couches. “What will we have for dinner?” Blake asked, concerned.

  Maddy made an effort to rally. “We’ll think of something. We might have dinner at your Grandma’s or Aunt Karen’s.”

  “I’ll give Karen a call,” John offered.

  “Okay, everyone get dressed,” Becky directed. “We’ve got a house to clean.”

  ***

  Several hours later, Maddy and Becky finished re-hanging the curtains in the sunroom. They’d spent the morning wiping down the walls on the first floor and airing out the rooms on the second. The next job would be to wipe down all of the kitchen cabinets and wash everything that had been affected by the smoke. Happy Thanksgiving.

  “Do you want more coffee?” Becky asked, rolling her shoulders. She’d been reaching overhead for the last thirty minutes and was ready for a different job.

  “Sounds good. I’m going to run upstairs and check on the boys. Be right back.”

  “Take your time!” Becky called after her. Relieved as she was to avoid certain company, the price she had to pay was pretty steep. They’d be cleaning all day.

  A knock on the kitchen door made her jump. Maybe Otis was stopping by? A shadow crossed the window next to the door and the body that cast it was no eighty-year-old man. Tank. Becky had called Grace earlier, and though her friend wasn’t feeling well, she assured Becky that she’d let her brother know that dinner was canceled.

  Becky opened the door slowly and tried not to scowl. Tank sported nice slacks and a sweater, and carried a bowl and a bottle of wine. He looked less than thrilled that she was the one to greet him.

  “Come on in,” she said, standing out of his way and then shutting the door behind him.

  “Everything alright?” he asked, obviously smelling the residual smoke.

  “Well, we had a turkey issue. I called Grace and she said she’d let you know.” Hopefully that un-invite was fairly clear.

  Tank nodded, looking as uncertain as a man his size could look. He finally set the bowl and bottle down on the counter. “I don’t always have my phone with me. She probably left me a message.”

  “Well, she probably also let you know that she isn’t feeling well.” Run along. Go check on her.

  He actually made eye contact. “Is she okay? What’s wrong?”

  The concern in his eyes was almost touching. Becky fought to stay irritated with him.

  “I’m not really sure. Some kind of head cold, I think. I was going to run some soup over later this afternoon.” Or at least I’m planning to now.

  He nodded. “I’ll give her a call and check in.”

  “So you do have your phone.”

  He looked at her darkly. Becky stood her ground, her arms crossed, not entirely sure why she was picking a fight with him when he’d just found out his sister was sick.

  “She’s probably sleeping now,” Becky conceded, “but if you want to use Maddy’s phone, it’s over there on the counter.”

  “Thanks.”

  They stood there awkwardly, not knowing how not to fight. The stairwell door rattled, then opened, and Parker spilled out into the kitchen.

  “Mr. Tank! Aw, cool! You’re here!” He boldly approached the football player and received a fist bump for his bravery. Becky marveled at the difference in the size of their hands.

  “How you doin’, Parker?” Tank crouched down, still dwarfing his new friend.

  “Good! Our turkey blew up, so we’re having samwiches for dinner. Isn’t that funny?”

  Tank grinned - a rare sight. “Hilarious.”

  “Are you going to help us clean?” Parker asked, as though he’d had anything to do with the cleaning so far.

  “Oh, well ...”

  “No, Parker,” Becky quickly interjected. “Mr. Kimball is very busy.”

  “Who?” Parker looked confused.

  “Mr. Kimball - him,” Becky pointed.

  Parker’s face fell. “We have to wash cupboards,” he grumbled.

  “Bummer,” Tank replied, ruffling Parker’s hair as he stood.

  “I’ll ask if you can stay and eat with us,” Parker offered, his eyes lighting up, again.

  Becky groaned inwardly. Why had Parker come down before she could get rid of Tank? As she tried to think of another way to call Parker off, John came through the door.

  “Hey, Tank. Good to see you.”

  “John.” They shook hands. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s definitely one for the memory books,” John grinned. “I’m sorry we can’t have the meal like we planned, but we’re going to put something together after the clean-up.”

  “I haven’t had a normal Thanksgiving in almost ten years. Wouldn’t know what one looks like.”

  “I invited Mr. Tank to help,” Parker jumped in.

  John smiled. “Well, we could also ask Mr. Tank to come back a little closer to eating time.” He looked up from his son. “Sorry Grace is sick. You’re still more than welcome - I’d enjoy watching football with you.”

  He looked so hopeful, Becky knew her day was doomed.

  “I could stick around and help out.”

  “Are you sure? This isn’t really what we had in mind,” John replied.

  “I’ll check in with Grace. If she’s okay, I’ll stay.” Tank cleared his throat. “Gotta warn you. I’m not much good at watching football.”

  John smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”

  ***

  How Tank ended up with Parker as a cleaning partner, Becky could hardly imagine. He’d offered to wipe down the highest shelves and surfaces, and had made his way from the front of the house into the dining room, with Parker in tow. She tried not to listen to their conversation, but since they were working around the corner, it was hard to ignore them. Becky almost asked them to close the door, but they needed everything open for ventilation.

  The kitchen was just about done; all that remained was to wash the floor. Becky refilled her bucket with warm water and soap and retrieved the mop from the cupboard. Maddy was upstairs closing windows and checking the bedrooms. John was probably building another addition on the house.

  “... and I like to draw like Miss Becky, only now she’s my aunt. I used to call her Betty, ’cuz I didn’t know.”

  Becky stilled. Why couldn�
��t Parker find someone else to talk about? She wasn’t surprised that Tank had no response. She clearly wasn’t one of his favorite subjects.

  “She showed me how to draw animals. She draws so good! And paints. She likes butterflies. Did you ever see her tattoo?”

  Becky dumped half of her bucket’s contents on the floor. Scrambling to contain the water, she swallowed the expletives warring for expression and called out to Parker.

  “Hey Parker, can you give me a hand?” She grabbed some towels from the laundry room and returned to the mess.

  Parker strolled around the corner. “Hi, Aunt Miss Becky! Why are you on the floor?”

  “Well, I was going to wash it anyway, but I spilled some of my water. Can you help me wipe it up?”

  “Sure,” he agreed readily, getting down on all fours with her.

  Tank appeared at the door of the dining room. “Everything okay?”

  Becky refused to look up at him. She wiped at the floor like she was saving lives. “We’re fine.”

  She could feel him watching her, probably imagining where her tattoo was. She quickly sat back on her heels, hoping her flushed face could be blamed on the cleaning. “Are you done in the dining room?”

  He was fighting a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She scowled at him. “Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ ” She looked back at Parker who was sliding all over the floor with his towel. “I think I’ve got it, Parker. Why don’t you help Mr. Kimball, again?”

  “Why do you call him that?” Parker asked.

  Becky got back to work, wiping up the rest of the water. “Because that’s his name.”

  “His name is Tank. Like an army tank!” Parker said, his eyes lighting up at the connection. This time, Tank did grin, and Becky quickly looked away. Those two were a dangerous combination.

  “Well, why don’t you go show him some of your cars and trucks?”

  “I don’t have my toys here, but, hey! I can show him our hideout! Come on!”

  Parker grabbed Tank’s hand and pulled him toward the kitchen stairwell. “You gotta see this! You won’t fit, but you can look. It’s so cool!”

  Becky bit back a smile as the giant followed the little elf up to the secret hide-out that the boys played in whenever they came to the house. Maddy had discovered a tiny room off one of the closets, accessible through a sliding door under the shelf. How she ever found it was beyond Becky, but the boys were enthralled with the space. Maddy had gone in herself the first time she showed it to them. Becky shuddered at the thought.

  At least they were out of her hair for a while. If Parker decided to share any more secrets, she didn’t have to hear him do it.

  ***

  “What are those big chunks in the red stuff?” Parker asked as the cleaning crew finally stopped and gathered around to eat.

  John leaned down and said something quietly in his ear, and Parker rephrased his question.

  “What kind of fruit salad is this, Mr. Tank?”

  Tank smiled. The kid was growing on him. “It has strawberries and pineapples and cranberries and some jello and nuts. That about covers it,” he answered.

  “Oh, nuts!” Parker wrinkled his nose, and John cleared his throat. “I’ll just pick ’em out!” Parker decided, trying to maneuver the serving spoon from his less than ideal angle at the island in the kitchen.

  Maddy reached over to help him load his plate, and Blake and Otis followed. Becky tailed Otis, and John, the polite host, waited for Tank to jump in line. He had no choice but to stand next to Becky and her tattoo, which had taken much more of his mental energy than it should have throughout the day.

  They helped themselves to a simple meal of sandwiches on Otis’s homemade rolls, Becky’s potatoes, and Tank’s mystery fruit dish. No one seemed bothered by the fact that it was a rather untypical Thanksgiving meal. Even Maddy, who was initially apologetic, seemed to accept the fact that this was not a meal that would grace a magazine cover.

  The football game was about to begin, and the plan was to eat in the large and comfortable sunroom. It was Tank’s favorite part of the house - very contemporary compared to the Victorian decor that decked out the rest of the inn. He wasn’t comfortable in any of those rooms; always felt like he was going to knock something over and break it. This room, with its view of the ocean, big fireplace and comfortable furniture was a place he could relax in.

  The mood was upbeat and casual. Tank liked casual. Tank liked food. It was the football part that concerned him. Why had he agreed to share this day with virtual strangers?

  He had checked in on Grace, who was happy to stay at home and get over her cold. She insisted that she didn’t want company, but he did notice that Becky had put a plate together for her and was planning to deliver it. Apparently, John’s mother, sister, and niece had decided to have a small celebration at his mother’s house, saving their family gathering for the following day. That suited Tank just fine. He wasn’t crazy about crowds, at least the ones he had to share a room with. Otis was good company, and Tank was glad when he arrived toward the end of the cleaning-fest. He was now comfortably settled in a recliner with his food.

  Tank pulled a chair next to Otis, leaving the large, comfortable couches for the family. He knew he’d end up prowling during the game, and didn’t want to disturb people by jumping up every few minutes. He watched the pre-game show, all the while imagining what was going on in the locker room. He knew just where he’d be sitting, fully padded, arms resting on his knees and head down, focusing his mind on the job that lay before him.

  The players started running onto the field and Tank’s heart twisted into a painful knot. He thought he could handle this; even thought the company might help, but he wanted nothing more than to clear the room and throw a fit. He took a deep breath. If he walked out now, everyone would feel sorry for him; then he’d really be angry. He forced down another bite of Becky’s stupid potatoes. Maybe if he focused on his present source of irritation, he’d be distracted from the past.

  The present source was snuggled next to Blake on the couch. She whispered something to him and he grinned. Now there was a kid Tank understood. He got a kick out of Parker, but he got Blake; the older, responsible brother, who took everything a bit too seriously while his brother had all the fun. He remembered being serious as a kid, and Grace was always his lighthearted counterpart. He’d wanted to be more like her, but just didn’t know how. Then she married that jerk, who pretty much wiped out her joy. Tank found himself clenching his fists. He’d never liked Jim, and while he was sorry to see his sister go through a divorce, he was glad that Jim was out of her life. Tank would make certain he stayed out.

  He took another bite of the potatoes and tried not to like them, but they were really pretty good. He noticed that he was cleaning his plate a lot faster than everyone else. He’d have to slow down. No point in scaring these folks.

  Looking back up at the screen, he watched the kick-off, and the game began. After that, there was no thought of potatoes or food or Grace and her love life. Football was everything, playing or not. He put his plate on the floor, leaned his elbows on his knees, and helplessly watched the game.

  ***

  Becky finished her food, fighting the urge to ask Tank for his fruit salad recipe. It’s not like they needed to make small talk; she’d just find it online. Besides, he was so focused on the game, he wouldn’t notice her if she sat in his lap and slapped him. Not that that was an image taking shape in her mind.

  She turned toward the game. She liked football well enough, she just didn’t have the opportunity to watch it very often. Following the general flow of the game was no problem, but she usually got distracted comparing the body types of the players, and trying to figure out how they were really built under all those pads. Now that she had a real life example in the same room with her, her perspective on the players changed dramatically.

  She knew football players were big, just not that big. She tried to imagine a whole line of Tanks, furthe
r enlarged by all of their pads, charging at another line of Tanks in pads. How did they survive the carnage? She peeked at him from behind the pillow she was holding. He was riveted, of course, his foot tapping madly as he watched each play unfold. She tried to imagine him out there, doing what the guys on TV were doing.

  It wasn’t a stretch. He’d fit right in. The mind-blowing part was just how much weight was being thrown around that field, just so someone could move a bit of pigskin from one end to the other.

  Silly game.

  Maddy got up and started gathering the plates, and Becky followed.

  “Please, relax. I’m happy to clean up,” Maddy said.

  “Thanks. I think I’ll run this meal over to Grace and check on her,” Becky replied.

  “Sounds good. Say ‘hello’ for us.”

  Becky contemplated asking Tank if he had any kind of message for his sister, but one look at him convinced her that Grace didn’t exist in his world, and wouldn’t, at least until half-time. She threw on her coat and left.

  ***

  Half-time had come and gone and Tank finally settled down a bit as he watched the end of the game. Slowly, but surely, the world around him came back into focus: Otis nodding off in his chair, Parker and Blake playing a game of checkers on the floor, Maddy curled up in a corner of the couch next to John, her computer open on her lap. John was the only one really watching the game with Tank, but he occasionally leaned over and whispered something to Maddy. She’d smile and nudge him with her knee.

  Tank looked away. He didn’t need the world to come into that sharp a focus. At least he didn’t want to flip the tables, anymore; that much was good. He’d paced a bit and threw his hands up in disgust on occasion, but for the most part, he’d behaved. It was probably a good thing that he had an audience for his first Thanksgiving game on the other side of the television screen. There was no telling what he might have done on his own.