Sleeping With the Enemy

by Laurie Breton

  She drove back home and made the call, only to be transferred from department to department faster than a stomach virus. After twenty minutes of telephone tag, she finally reached a live person in the right department, and was promised that the requested materials would be in the mail by tomorrow morning.

  Discouraged, she made herself a slice of toast and a poached egg and sat down with the local newspaper to peruse the want ads. Ten minutes later, thoroughly discouraged, she folded the newspaper back up, stuffed it into the trash, and poured the uneaten egg over it. She didn’t want to be a telephone solicitor or a convenience store attendant. She wasn’t qualified to be a marine biologist, and her car wouldn’t hold up long enough to deliver pizzas. That pretty much took care of the available jobs in Jackson Falls.

  When the phone rang around 12:30, she was staring glumly out the window. The view was fabulous, but if she had to stay here in this house all by herself, day after day, she would probably go postal and kill someone. Desperate for a human voice, she grabbed for the phone like a dehydrated man seeking an oasis.

  It was her new husband. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching,” she said.

  “I have a free period. I just thought I’d check in and see how it’s going.”

  “You don’t even want to know.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She gave him the fifty-cent economy version of her morning. “Your principal,” she said, “is a total incompetent. Somebody should put him in a cage. I’m probably going to have to go back to college for another four years to get a social work license from the state of Maine, and I’ll be reduced to pumping gas down at Mom and Pop’s Variety to keep us in macaroni and Pampers. I believe this is where I’m supposed to ask, ‘And how was your day, dear?’.”

  “Devon’s in my senior honors class.”

  “Really? That sleazy little geek didn’t tell me you were teaching it. Although he did sing your praises ad nauseum. He wanted to make it perfectly clear that you’re the fair-haired boy of Jackson Falls High. How’d it go with Devon?”

  “Mostly she just sat in the back of the room and glared at me. I have to tell you, Rose, this is a conservative backwater school. Dressed the way she is, it won’t be easy for her to blend in.”

  “I figured that. When we walked in this morning, the secretary ran for cover.”

  “That’s Hazel. Whatever you do, don’t insult her. I’ll never get to use the photocopier again.”

  “Hazel wields all the power?”

  “You’d better believe it. She’s been here since God wore diapers. Nothing gets by her, and she never forgets a face. She remembers every kid who’s attended Jackson Falls High in the past forty years, knows who their parents are, and in most cases, their grandparents. I graduated eighteen years ago, and if you asked her right now, I bet she could tell you exactly how many times I got called to the principal’s office during those four years and for what. She’s one of the joys of small-town life.”

  ***

  A half-hour later, Casey showed up at her door with a coffee cake. “I thought you could do with a welcome to the neighborhood,” she said, and Rose burst into tears.

  “It’s not that I’m so happy to see you,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her tee shirt. “It’s just that everything seems to make me cry these days.”

  Casey patted her hand. “Hormones,” she said with authority. “Have a piece of coffee cake. You’ll feel better.”

  Rose heated a kettle of water and found the tea bags in a canister that was clearly labeled TEA. Her new husband had to be the most organized person she’d ever known. How long would it take for him to discover that she’d been hiding under a rock on the day they passed out domestic skills?

  “So,” Casey said, breaking a piece of coffee cake into small bites, “how’s it going?”

  “Oh, it’s going just ducky. I should have a job by Easter at the latest. As long as I don’t aspire to anything more exalted than convenience store attendant.” She leaned her chin on her palm and sighed. “Jesse told me there were plenty of jobs in my field. He lied.”

  “The newspaper’s a lousy place to find a job. I could call Dave Marshall for you. He’s a marriage and family counselor. Maybe he’d know of something.”

  “Friend of yours?”

  “Professional acquaintance. I’ll give him a call.” She sipped her tea. “How’s Luke doing?”

  “Luke,” she said, “is my one ray of sunshine. Thank God he’s that way. If I had two like Devon, I’d probably commit hari-kari.”

  Casey smiled over the rim of her tea cup. “Is she still mad at you?”

  “We’re currently in a state of armed truce. But it isn’t looking good. She’s furious with me for tearing her away from the love of her life. Kyle. God, just his name sets my teeth on edge.”

  “Love is so intense at that age,” Casey said. She squeezed her tea bag between her spoon and the side of her cup. “Come to think of it—” She smiled gamely. “Love’s pretty intense at this age, too. Kind of like a five-alarm fire.” She lay the tea bag on her saucer.

  “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d probably hate you. You make it look so easy.”

  “Make what look so easy?”

  “Love. For me, it’s always been a disaster. I just can’t make myself believe that it’ll work out.”

  “And that,” Casey said, “is the problem. How can love work its magic on you if you don’t believe in it?”

  “It’s all a crock, anyway.”

  “If I were you,” Casey said, wetting her fingertip and picking up the last crumbs of coffee cake, “I’d watch my back. One of these days, when you least expect it, love is going to sneak up and bite you right on the butt.”

  ***

  “Black fingernail polish. Black! And black lipstick. She looked like something out of a horror movie.”

  Jesse paused with the door of the teacher’s lounge half open. “You think the daughter’s something,” Hazel Palmer said in her acid-washed voice, “you should get a load of the mother. She pranced into Lamoreau’s office, brassy as a new tack. Bright orange hair, probably straight out of a bottle. Bangle bracelets and earrings that looked laughable on a woman her age. And get this—no bra. Boobs jiggling all over the place under that white tee shirt. I thought Lamoreau’d keel over right on the spot.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Alice Lowery said in her quavering voice, “what Jesse could be thinking, taking up with the likes of her.”

  “He’s a man,” Hazel said flatly. “They’re all alike. All of ‘em, after just one thing.”

  Jesse opened the door the rest of the way and let it shut behind him with a bang. “Afternoon, ladies,” he said pleasantly as he passed them on his way to the refrigerator. Alice had the grace to blush, but Hazel just squared her shoulders and held her ground with the tenacity of a bulldog. He opened the refrigerator door and retrieved the apple he’d left there this morning. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He leaned against the refrigerator, rubbed his apple on his sleeve, and took a big bite.

  Alice’s open mouth clamped abruptly shut. She was nearing retirement age, and everybody at Jackson Falls High knew about the bottle she kept in her left-hand bottom desk drawer. She put a hand to her mouth, then turned and fled the scene of the crime, probably headed straight for the comfort of her friend Jim Beam.

  Jesse stood his ground, facing off against the battle-ax. Hazel knew he’d heard their comments, and the knowledge quivered in the air between them. Finally, with a perceptible sniff, Hazel raised her chin in a clear gesture of dismissal and marched out the door. It slammed shut behind her, and Jesse held back a grin. Never, not if she lived to be a hundred, would Hazel admit that she’d backed down. Her version of the story would never coincide with his. But Jesse recognized the truth when he saw it. He’d just done battle with the dragon lady, and he’d won.

  ***

  She spent the afternoon puttering, unpacking boxes of household items and photograp
hs, sorting the last twenty years of her life into three piles: one to keep, one to toss, and one to give to Goodwill. The job was physically and emotionally demanding, and she paused every so often to gaze out the window at a stunning view of that blue band of river winding off into the distance. Beyond the meadow, to the south, grew a stand of fir trees so impenetrable that she imagined no light could possibly infiltrate that dense forest. From somewhere beyond the trees, a small power boat putted into view. The captain cut the motor, picked up his fishing road, and cast it into the deepest part of the channel.

  The way the light fell on the boat, the soft wash of water against its hull, made her fingers itch to hold a brush and commit the scene to canvas. It had been so long since she’d given up painting that the depth of her need still took her by surprise. After that first art history class, Rose had taken a couple of studio art courses, and for a time, she’d immersed herself in working with line and form and color. It had been a passion, and her teachers had praised her work, told her that she had talent. But Eddie had been so uptight about the expense and the hours she was putting into it that after a time, she’d given it up. By then, giving it up had been a little bit like cutting off an arm, but she’d told herself that there was no room in her busy life for something as frivolous as slapping paints on canvas. She had responsibilities, a husband to take care of, a family to raise. Painting just wasn’t as important as those things were.

  But her soul had continued to yearn. In the few days she’d been in Jackson Falls, she’d caught herself numerous times admiring the line of a barn roof, the play of light and shadow upon the grass of the town common, the early morning sky as the sun rose in a fiery ball over the river. This place was a painter’s paradise that called to the artist in her. Maybe it was time she heeded the call, gave something back to herself. Maybe it was time she set up a studio, bought paints and canvas, and found out if she still had any talent.

  At precisely three p.m., the big yellow school bus stopped in front of the house, and the kids got off. Devon walked with her head hung low, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, her feet raising tiny dust clouds every time they touched ground. Already proficient with the crutches, Luke passed her, his book bag swinging from his shoulder. Mikey followed at a more sedate pace, eyeing Devon suspiciously without getting too close.

  “Man, I’m starved,” Luke said, holding the door open with a crutch. “I have to get you to sign a permission slip so I can go on a field trip for history class.”

  Devon flashed her brother a look of utter contempt and passed Rose without speaking. She stomped up the stairs and slammed the door of her room. “Hello to you, too,” Rose said.

  “She’s just mad,” Luke said, “because she’s got Jesse for Honors English. Personally, I think it’s pretty funny.”

  “You would. Mikey, how was your day?”

  “Okay.” He stood just inside the kitchen door, his books held loosely at his hip, watching Luke and Rose as though they were exotic zoo animals.

  “You guys want a sandwich?”

  “Sure.” Mikey dropped his books on the table and stepped cautiously into the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” Luke said, “but I got stuff to do, so make mine to go.”

  She made Luke a whopping peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He marched off, sandwich in hand, his book bag slung over his shoulder. With amazing agility, he managed to maneuver himself, crutches and all, up the stairs to the second floor.

  And she was alone with her stepson. “Peanut butter and jelly?” she said.

  Mikey hovered just out of range. “Just jelly. I don’t like peanut butter.”

  She made the sandwich thick, the way Luke liked them, then poured Mikey a tall glass of milk and sat down at the table with him. “I hear you play football,” she said.

  He took a long swig of milk that left him with a white moustache. “Yeah. We usually practice after school on Mondays, but Coach was out sick today, so they canceled practice.”

  He was slender for a football player, built more for speed than strength. “Quarterback?” she guessed, and he looked at her in surprise.

  “How’d you know?”

  “You look like you could run fast. A smart coach takes advantage of his men’s talents.”

  With eyes that were as deep and unreadable as his father’s, he studied her, from her face down to her still-flat abdomen, then back up to her face. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

  “As long as it’s healthy,” she said, “it doesn’t matter to me. I already have one of each.”

  “I always thought I might like to have a sister. Then again, if they’re all like Devon, I’m not so sure about that. I think she hates my dad.”

  “She doesn’t dislike him personally. He’s just the most obvious target to blame for her life being turned upside down. Give her time. We threw you kids into this situation without allowing you time to adjust. I’m really sorry about that.”

  “You couldn’t help it,” he said, “under the circumstances.”

  “How come you sound so grown-up?”

  He flashed her a shy grin. “Aunt Casey says I have an old soul.” He set down his milk glass. “Dad’s thrilled about the baby. I don’t know when I’ve seen him so excited.”

  Rose blinked, picturing in her mind the quiet, unflappable stranger who was her husband. “How can you tell?”

  Mikey grinned. “Trust me. He’s excited. And he likes you a lot. I mean he really, really likes you a lot. Not like Mrs. Delacroix.”

  Her heart skittered a bit. “Who’s Mrs. Delacroix?”

  “His old girlfriend. She was the high school librarian, but she moved away. She wore her hair up in a tight little bun on top of her head, and she always had this sour look on her face. I don’t think she liked kids.”

  “Really,” she said, intrigued in spite of herself. “How long did your dad go out with her?”

  “About a year. But I don’t think he really liked her all that much. He didn’t seem to mind too much when she moved away.”

  A half-hour later, just as Jesse was coming through the door, Casey’s friend Dave Marshall called. “Thank you so much for calling,” Rose said into the phone as she waggled her fingers at Jesse. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  Marshall chuckled. “I was fascinated. Casey left a message on my voice mail painting a picture of you that was just short of sainthood.”

  Rose rolled her eyes in embarrassment. “She would.”

  “I may have something for you. Lighthouse is looking for a new counselor. It sounds like it’s right up your alley.”

  “What’s Lighthouse?”

  “It’s a privately-funded agency that works with women who’ve been victims of domestic violence. They offer counseling services, education and training, help their clients find jobs, housing, child care, that kind of thing. With your MSW and your background experience, you’re just what they’re looking for. I’m on their board of directors. If you’re interested, I can mention you to Jim Davidson. He’s the agency director.”

  It was all she could do to keep herself from jumping up and down. “I’m interested. I’m definitely interested.”

  “Great. I’ll give Jim a call tomorrow.”

  “Dr. Marshall, you are a life-saver. I was halfway to needing Prozac.”

  “It’s Dave. And I’m glad to help out. Give Casey my regards.”

  She hung up the phone and did a quick-stepping little dance around the kitchen. “Yes!” she said.

  Jesse leaned against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand. “Does this mean you found a job?”

  “Maybe. I should know more in a day or two.”

  He glanced upstairs. “How goes the cold war with Devon?”

  “Still frigid. I didn’t even rate a greeting when she came through the door.”

  He crossed his arms. “She spent an hour in my classroom without even acknowledging that she’d ever met me.”

  “I hope you gave her a whopper of a homework as
signment.”

  It took its time, the smile she’d already discovered she had to tease out of him. It began at the right-hand corner of his mouth, spread to the left side, then worked its way up to his eyes. “I did,” he said. “A ten-page essay detailing the pros and cons of the death penalty. They have to take a stand on the issue and defend their choice. The paper’s due in one week.”

  “Wow. You play hardball, don’t you?”

  “These kids are all seniors, all honors students. They can handle it. And they need some idea of what college will be like. My freshman year was rough. Nobody prepared me for what it would be like. I don’t want them to have to go through what I did.”

  Softly, she said, “You really care about these kids, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t be teaching if I didn’t.” He walked to the coffee maker at the other end of the kitchen. Caught in a ray of afternoon sunshine that turned his hair to silver, he lifted the pot and refilled his cup. His back to her, he said, “You made quite an impression at Jackson Falls High.”

  “I bet.”

  He turned, coffee in hand. “They’re already talking about you in the teacher’s lounge. I’ve probably lost my photocopying privileges for all time.”

  “What happened?”

  “I caught a couple of our local busybodies singing your praises. Alice turned red as a lobster and headed for the hills, but Hazel was a little more brazen. She stood right there and stared me down.”

  Rose put a hand to her mouth in gleeful horror. “What did you say?”

  “Not a word. Neither one of us did. But I won the contest.”

  Her smile faded. “I’ve really made a mess of your life, haven’t I?”

  He moved slowly, long-limbed and lanky, across the room to her. “I don’t know as I’d put it quite that way.”