Trouble Won't Wait

by Autumn Piper

  “Hi Mikey. It’s me, and I’m wantin you. I really need to get my hands on you before the weekend. Call me, kay?”

  Slut.

  * * * *

  The kids want to go sledding after lunch, over by the cemetery. There’s a good sledding hill right across from it, catty-corner from Adam’s house. Some kids also like to slide down the mausoleum in the cemetery, which has to be as bad as my suggestion of a foot race over graves, but since they’re kids, they can get away with it.

  Rachel and Ben take off with their sleds and I promise to join them at the sledding hill after I’ve walked around the neighborhood. The walking sucks today. I’d rather be running in my feather-light running shoes, feeling like I’m making really good time, nearly flying along. My heavy, clompy boots are like concrete pylons keeping me earthbound. I give up on walking and head to the sledding hill.

  Ben and Rachel are just arriving, which I find odd. Ben says Rachel had to go to the bathroom right when they were leaving.

  Hordes of kids slide everywhere; a couple of mommies help little ones on the less steep side of the hill. Squeals of delight mix with the shouting kids feel inclined to do outdoors, bringing a schoolyard cacophony to this usually quiet hillside. The sun has made a belated, though dazzling, appearance, glaring off a gorgeous white canvas behind the milling kids.

  Somehow, Ben talks me into sliding down with him. With my adult weight, we fairly fly–in fact, for a bit after the bump we do fly–down the hill. Kids cheer wildly, thrilled by our speed. God, this is rough on an adult body. But it feels great to be out having fun with the kids.

  Rachel wants a turn with me as well, and soon I’m getting a beastly workout trudging back up the hill to give Jake and the twins turns, also. There are too many of them, and too few of me to keep up.

  I hear kids’ excited yells from the crowd, and see a grown man approaching with a giant plastic toboggan. The man is my very own Adam.

  “Race?” he asks.

  How can I resist the challenge?

  With Jake and Ben piled on the big toboggan, he easily beats me and the twins going down. I cry foul, so the next trip, I get Jake and Rachel, and he gets the scrawny little twins. This race is closer, with me barely in the lead. We hand the sleds over to the kids, taking a breather to judge the next race from the bottom.

  Ben approaches, a strange look on his face, and stands in front of me.

  “Hi, Ben. I’d like you to meet Adam. He’s the man with the–”

  “Treadmill,” Ben finishes. His mouth pops open. “Right? I, um, saw him walking from a house over by the cemetery.”

  I nod while he looks befuddled. “Adam, this is my son Ben.”

  They shake hands. “And that’s my sister Rachel, with the red coat like my Mom’s,” Ben says in the voice he used when he portrayed Lincoln in the school play last February.

  Adam smiles benevolently at Ben. Is there some kind of synergy at work here, something Ben senses as a threat to his family? But he seems positive, not anxious.

  When Ben returns to his sledding, I tell Adam, “He’s not always weird. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, maybe he senses something.”

  “Seems pretty cool to me,” Adam replies.

  Cool? It’s more weird for another adult to describe my preteen son as cool. Alrighty then.

  * * * *

  So Adam and I don’t get a minute of alone time today. We watch the kids sled, captain teams for a colossal snow-ball fight, and then go, wet and worn out, to our respective homes. Ben waves wildly at Adam from the last point up the street where we can see him. Well, Ben seems to like him, and Rachel acts so nervous when he’s near, it’s almost like she has a crush on him.

  Mike is waiting for us when we get home. He helps gather up the kids’ and my wet outerwear, and takes it all to the dryer. Much more helpful than usual. Then he offers to go pick up Chinese for dinner, which we’re all ready for right now. While he’s gone picking up the food, I switch my phone with his on the kitchen counter top, then shower and carefully groom myself, striving to look my best.

  During dinner, the kids regale Mike with stories of sledding, and the nice man who lives by the cemetery with the big sled. Mike pays little attention, however. His eyes seem to be fastened on me.

  I wish I could blush, but I just can’t do it on cue.

  * * * *

  As we’re clearing the table, Mike tells me, “I have to go hunting in the morning before we go to Mom’s for lunch.”

  “Have to?” I repeat, as I slam an all-but-empty container in the garbage forcefully enough to send rice spattering into the air. God damn him. On Christmas Eve, no less!

  “I mean, I’m going to. The last time this year. ’Til ten or so.”

  “You should get your gun in the shop, I think.” Is it the last time he’s planning to be with Lana? Ever, or just this year?

  “Why?” His lying brows draw together.

  “You’ve been hunting how many times since Thanksgiving, and haven’t killed a thing?” Except your last shot at our marriage, that is.

  “I’ve been giving away my kills, since nobody likes it around here.”

  “Oh?” I’m trying my best to sound casual here. “What have you been hunting, anyway?”

  Did he suck in his breath? Nervously his hands dive in his pockets. “Waterfowl,” he says quickly, then snatches me against him for a fast kiss I don’t have time to stop. “I love you, baby. Think about that, will ya?” He backs away, hands back in pockets. Is he anxious about whether I’ll think of his love, or his lie?

  Later, when I’m dressing for bed, Mike comes around the corner of my closet. He watches me, hunger in his eyes, and I let him. I move fluidly, making myself an exotic dancer in my mind.

  It’s for a purpose. I’m not being exposed, I’m exploiting his weakness. Since he’s there watching, I put on a little baby-doll nightie with a thin, short robe. I’m playing with fire here. But I will scream if he scares me.

  “Wanta share my surprise from the adult store tomorrow night when we get home?” His voice is gravelly, hope lights his eyes, and I can almost smell his lust, the way his skin heats up when he wants me badly.

  I place my palm on the side of his face, feeling how smooth it is since his shower tonight. He shaved to go “hunting” tomorrow. But no thinking of that right now. “I want to, Mike. I’m just so afraid of being hurt again.”

  “Oh, baby. God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s gathered me into his arms now, like he would if I was sad, or had a terrible day. He holds me as if to protect me from the big, bad world, when in reality nobody has ever hurt me like he has.

  I allow him to do this.

  Indeed, my fool body revels in the feel of his hard, hot, shirtless body against mine. My body is having no trouble with this charade tonight. It’s my mind that keeps tossing out derogatory comments about Mike being slime and the worst kind of louse. I unleash my body, allowing it to ignore my mind, and lean into him.

  He kisses me more tenderly than ever, turning even my mind upside down. I return the kiss, more hungry than he probably remembers. He’s crying, actually crying, he’s so happy to have me back. I feel his hands all over my bottom, and they feel good, really good. He thinks he’s going to take me right here in the closet–it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done the deed in here.

  I bet I know how to put the brakes on.

  When his mouth moves down to my breast, I sigh. “I better let you get to sleep, since you have to get up early to hunt tomorrow.”

  His stupid, guilty head snaps up, and he mutters, “Oh yeah. I’m glad it’s the last time. It’s getting old.” Makes me hope he’s sick of Lana. Oh, I really do.

  I parade past him to the bedroom door.

  “Mandy, baby, I can’t wait for tomorrow night. I love you so much. I’m gonna make you the happiest girl in the world, I swear it.”

  Maybe he’s planning to break it off with Lana. For my part, I’d like to break something off in Lana.
Like a spear.

  * * * *

  Adam’s going to be disappointed when we talk tonight. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow. We have a full day, with going to Mike’s mom’s for late lunch, then we come back to town, and we’re going to Brad’s. Brad’s daughter is here again, and he called Mike today and talked him into our family going over there tomorrow evening.

  Anyway, after I’ve implemented my plan tomorrow night, I will see Adam, he just won’t be expecting it. I know he thinks our rendezvous won’t be until Friday, but I have a little Christmas surprise for him.

  “Hello?” he answers. Who does he think it would be calling from this number?

  “It’s me, silly. Does your back hurt as much as mine does, from sledding?”

  “Killin’ me. Your kids think I was okay?” He’s fishing for a compliment. He knows he was a hit.

  “They talked about you all through dinner.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No, it was fine. I miss you. How many hours?” I know how many. I just like hearing him rattle it off, knowing I’ll be shaving away about forty of them.

  “Sixty-four. You comin’ to see my tree tomorrow?”

  Here goes nothing. “Uh…I have bad news.”

  “What?”

  “We have plans all day and evening.” I hold my breath, hoping he’s not too upset.

  “Oh.”

  Just oh? That’s it? Is he disappointed? I can’t tell.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll find a way to get there by Thursday for sure, okay?”

  “Don’t worry about it, really.” He’s so…not upset.

  “Adam, I…” I love you. No, save it for tomorrow. “I’ll miss you. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. Sleep good, Sloane.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow night too, okay?”

  “If you can’t, I’ll understand.”

  I’m wishing he wouldn’t be so understanding. He’s not putting on a pout. He’s just really unconcerned about whether he sees me tomorrow, it seems.

  It takes a very long time for me to fall asleep, but I can hear Adam there the whole time, dependable and consistent. He must be disappointed. I want him to be.

  No matter, he’ll be happy to see me with my surprise tomorrow night.

  Chapter 15

  Early in the morning, I wake when I hear Mike clubbing around. The big day has finally arrived. I smooth my hair and steal up the stairs in my tiny nightie and robe.

  He’s sitting on the couch tying his shoes, dressed in jeans and sneakers. Not exactly hunting clothes, although I see his hunting stuff nearby. He looks fleetingly at the hunting gear. I’m going for half-asleep, so I pretend not to notice he’s wearing street clothes.

  “Hi, baby. Happy Christmas Eve.” I yawn, swaying my bottom overly much on the way to the kitchen. My endearment should short-circuit his lie-filled mind.

  “Um, hi.” He’s watching me go, I can feel it. He follows me like a puppy into the kitchen, where I pour his coffee into his Thermos for him.

  “Here you go. Don’t want you to get cold and sick.” I hand him the Thermos, and look at him with wide, wanton eyes. I want it to be very hard for him to leave this morning.

  His hand reaches up to my shoulder, where his fingers twist longingly in my hair, while he’s undoubtedly tossing around the idea of staying home.

  “Mandy, I–”

  “Shhh,” I cut him off. “I know, honey, me too. It’ll all be over tonight, okay?”

  I slip my hand inside his shirt, palming those carpenter’s pecs one last time. His eyes close in pleasure at my touch. I hope very much he’ll be thinking of me while he’s with Lana.

  “When will you be back?” I look at him as if I can’t wait, like I’ll be counting down the minutes.

  Mike’s head hangs low. “Should be back by ten.” He leans forward and kisses me long and deep. I return the kiss, then slide my mouth down to his neck, where I spend a little too long in one place, leaving a nice red mark just under his collar. He’s likely enjoying it too much to think of lasting evidence. Before leaving his arms, I make sure a couple of my nicely highlighted blond hairs end up mixed in his dark thatch as I ruffle his hair.

  When I step back, he’s a man destroyed with guilt. I can tell he wants badly to call off his escapade and stay with me. He must regret ever starting it all. Mike loves me, there’s no doubt. I may question every word out of his mouth the rest of our earthly lives, but I won’t ever doubt that he loves me.

  I pat him on the butt with the parting words, “Bag a good one, baby.”

  His head hangs even lower when he walks out the door to the garage. Guilt, baby. Gotta love it. Funny, how he went off and forgot those hunting clothes.

  * * * *

  The kids and I spend the morning getting the rest of the presents ready to take to Mike’s mom’s house. When Mike gets home, he bears flowers and more wrapped gifts for me. Guilt bug has bitten again. I smile gratefully. I am grateful I’m going to be able to throw all of these things back in Mike’s deceitful face soon.

  I’ve been planning to avoid physical contact until he’s bathed, but he seemed equally concerned, slinking off to shower the minute he got home. He’s also brushed his teeth again. Maybe he imagines it’s some way to control how much he’s contaminated our relationship with Lana.

  God, what went on with her this morning? Did he dump her? I’d like to think it would be a terrible blow for her to be dumped, but she is still dating sexy Brad. At least, until tonight she is. I’ll be leaving a passel of broken hearts in that house this evening. Poor Brad. I hope he’s as unattached to Lana as he seems.

  * * * *

  One more holiday to-do with this family of fools. Adam is right: Mike is an imbecile, but he comes by it honestly. His entire family is such a bunch of dysfunctional rednecks, they don’t even get half the redneck jokes.

  One day I will find them funny, but today I’m impatient to be finished with them. A particularly crusty round of racist jokes is in progress, and I just can’t take it today, so I’m taking some of the kids’ gifts out to the Durango.

  Growing up in a town where I personally knew only three black kids my entire academic career, I have a very hard time understanding how these people can have any personal dislike for African Americans. Yet they’ve always got derogatory jokes about them.

  When my kids were small, we’d get home from this house, and they’d run around repeating “nigger” for days. The word was actually used that much in jokes during a meal! Now, the Hispanics are entirely different. Again, growing up there were very few of them, and anyone who spoke Spanish was as great a novelty as someone who could sign for the deaf.

  These days, however, a great many Latinos live around here, and Mike’s snow-white, blue-collar, redneck family doesn’t tell jokes about them. No, they feel threatened by their new dark neighbors, so when complaining about Hispanics, they say rotten, despicable things. But since it’s a holiday and they want things to be happy, the Lawsons are keeping things light and concentrating on black jokes.

  And here I am, sitting in my back seat, watching big wet snowflakes come down all around. It’s snowing so hard I can’t see the neighbor’s house, though it’s only a couple of acres away. I’m anxious for today to be over. Ready for tonight. Even for tomorrow. One last day before my kids go off on vacation with their Grandma to the warmth of Arizona, and my husband packs a suitcase and moves his lying ass out here to his mom’s house.

  Mike and his mom seem to have made up since Thanksgiving, but then, they always do. Things will be smoothed over by mutual excuses, neither will forgive the other, but they’ll each move forward carrying a load of disrespect for the other that’s a little heavier than before. There is love in Mike’s family, but it gets overshadowed by the taking care of number one mentality. Maybe that’s how Mike could keep getting his rocks off with Lana while still working me, trying to win me back.

  Mike’s heading my way now, probably wondering if I’m coming bac
k inside. I wish I wasn’t.

  He spies me in the back seat and climbs in beside me. “Hey, baby. Watcha doin’?” He knows I hate the racial slurs and that’s why I left. “Thinkin’ about tonight?”

  Ah, tonight. Yes, yes I am. “Mmm-hmm.”

  He snakes his arm around me, and starts groping for my breast. At least he’s warm beside me. Years gone past, this would have been romantic, cuddled in the back seat, like we’re all alone in the world, watching the pretty snow fall. I resist the urge to curl my lip at his touch. In another minute, he’s going to kiss me.

  “Mike?”

  “Mmm?” his hot lips murmur against my ear.

  “Did you get anything this morning, hunting?”

  His mouth stops moving, and so does the breath from it.

  I wait stoically for his answer.

  “No, I… Well, my heart wasn’t in it, I guess. I’m over it.”

  “Mike, promise me you’re all done cheating?”

  “Baby, I told you I was. I won’t make that mistake again, I swear it. I love you so much. I know if I lost you, I’d regret it the rest of my life.” He’s turned in the seat now, facing me. His warm, Polo-smelling hands cradle the sides of my face as he speaks earnestly. “I wanta renew our vows, okay? We’ll have a big party, and in front of everybody, we’ll get married again. I can’t take back what I did, but I promise never to do it again. Will you marry me again? I wanta go inside and tell everybody. I want the whole world to know how much we love each other, okay?”

  I’m almost feeling bad right now. Almost. Except I know that even this very morning, he went off to do the dirty with a woman whose vagina sees more visitors than our town museum does.

  “Your family would just laugh at us, you know how they are.” Like the least supportive family in the nation.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He’s deflated, but still happy about the renewed us.

  We go back inside to eat our KFC. Yes, they have fried chicken on Christmas Eve. I can’t guess where this tradition came from, but for many years I’ve been sorely tempted to suggest there’s a black ancestor back down the Lawson family tree. I might do it this year, for the sheer hell of it.