What He Wants

by Jessie Gussman

  He spied the blue piece of paper poking out from under her wallet. It galled him, but he’d have to use her money to buy her groceries. After the bus ticket, he had exactly eleven dollars and thirty-two cents to his name. Gram had given him forty bucks and a short list. He hated it, but he’d taken the money from her too. The last time, he swore.

  Earlier, he’d visited Mrs. Conrad and apologized, which had been an emotional experience for both of them. She’d been so loving and forgiving, he’d felt ashamed of his petty issues with Cassidy. He’d lost ten years, sure, but he hadn’t lost his life or the lives of anyone close to him. Yet, Mrs. Conrad hadn’t seemed bitter or angry or vengeful. He only hoped he could be like her someday.

  After that, he’d gone to the library, been schooled on how to use the internet to apply for jobs, and put his application in various places. He’d even walked to an onsite interview at the local hardware store which was having open interviews all day.

  He had to be honest about serving time—the question had been on all his applications. Tomorrow, he was visiting Mrs. Ford, the lady from the bus, then starting work for Tough until one of the other places called. He needed a cell phone. Apparently everyone had them now.

  It didn’t take long to finish shopping. He dug her driver’s license out and stopped short when he read the address. Cassidy’s place wasn’t that far from where his gram lived—about a ten-minute walk. It surprised him, to be honest.

  There were boarded-up houses and grass growing out of the cracks in the sidewalks. Bricks crumbled from the corner of the apartment building she lived in. There were very few streetlights, and it was dark as he shifted the six bags of groceries and pulled open the door to the apartments. It wasn’t even locked.

  What kind of man had she married?

  Why was she living in a place like this when her picture was splashed all over billboards across the state? He’d seen at least three after he’d noticed the first one on the way home.

  Not to mention there was the fortune that her family had.

  There were definitely some things here that weren’t adding up. He climbed up a second flight of steps, turned right down a dark hall, and stopped in front of apartment #306.

  Using his elbow, he knocked on her door. Frustration balled up inside him. This place was a hellhole, and he couldn’t even tell her about it. He didn’t have the money nor the right to move her out.

  He was about ready to knock again when the door opened. Cassidy stood in the door, still in her fancy blouse and skirt, her hair no longer hanging in her face but pulled severely back into a bun. Tiredness pinched her features, but she had her game face on.

  “Come in.”

  She held out her hands like she was going to take the bags from him, but he ignored her and set them on the counter. They were all hers since he’d pocketed his gram’s list. To get both would have been more than he could carry.

  “I appreciate it. Let me pay you for your time.”

  “No.” He bit his tongue on what he wanted her to do with her money.

  She crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the counter. The scent of exotic flowers wafted in the air. It pulled every good memory from the recesses of his mind. He almost groaned under the onslaught.

  “I really do appreciate this. I’m not sure if I would have made it through. Thankfully, I had four eggs in the fridge. One for each twin, and Jamal ate two.”

  “You haven’t eaten?” She needed to eat. The woman was barely staying upright from exhaustion and hunger, too, probably.

  “No, and unless you picked up a frozen pizza, which was not on my list, I’m not going to. I’m way too tired to cook.”

  He hadn’t picked up a pizza, never even thought about getting anything that wasn’t on her list. He looked around the small apartment, noticing for the first time that it was dim and quiet. “You here by yourself?”

  Her brows furrowed, like his very reasonable question confused her, but she shook her head. “The kids are in bed. There was some kind of special thing at the day care today, and the twins missed their nap. They were as tired as me.”

  “I’ll stay here. Go get yourself something to eat.”

  She sighed. “Too tired.”

  “Gimme your keys. I’ll get something.” Eleven bucks would buy her a salad at the gas station up the road.

  “You haven’t gotten your license back yet.”

  Of course not. He’d woken up in a prison cell yesterday morning. For the last time in his life, hopefully. He held his hand out. “You go, or I’m going for you.”

  She walked around the counter and grabbed her keys off the wall. “I’d like a grilled chicken salad, a fruit and yogurt cup, and a coffee, black, from the Herald’s Gas Station. I’ll leave the door open, and you can just throw it on the counter.”

  “Keep your door locked. I assume your house key is on this ring.” He held up her keys, and she nodded. “I can unlock the door. I’ll set the keys and the food on the counter. No coffee. It’s too late to be drinking that stuff.”

  “I have three briefs to look over and a trial to prepare for tomorrow. If you don’t get the coffee, I’ll brew my own.”

  What briefs? Like underwear? Did she pick the kind she was going to model? A trial? What was she on trial for?

  He opened his mouth to ask, but she seemed to sway a little, and he noticed anew the dark circles under her eyes. “Go lie down. I’ll be back in ten with some food.” Man, he’d like to strangle her husband. He must be a construction worker or truck driver, or maybe he worked the night shift at the paper mill.

  “I’m going to put these groceries away first.”

  “It won’t hurt anything in there to sit out for another ten minutes. Get your butt over to that couch and lie down before you fall down.”

  Her eyes flashed, and she took a step toward him, raising a finger. Something inside of him rose up, pressing him forward to meet her, grabbing her hand, but not in a power grip. His fingers closed gently, forming more of a tender cradle, holding her hand the way he wanted to hold her.

  “I know,” he said in a softer, gentler tone, which mimicked the care of his hand. “I’m a jerk because I tell you what to do. Haven’t forgotten you might have mentioned that a time or two, way back when.” His heart squeezed at the memories. Her eyes closed. He swallowed.

  Her breath blew over his face. It smelled like the soul of the woman he loved. Like hot nights and cold water. Summer sunsets and midnight air. A country song on his radio and the rumble of the truck he’d build from the rails up. Of silky hair blowing across his face and a slender body pressed to his.

  Kiss her.

  She wasn’t his. She was never his.

  “Cassidy,” he breathed around the excruciating ache in his chest. “Please lie down.”

  Her mouth trembled then tightened. Her hand fisted in his. He thought she was going to fight, and he almost welcomed it. There was so much unfinished between them. But she yanked away and stomped to the couch, throwing herself down on it, facing away from him.

  He clenched his jaw until it cracked. Her keys cut into his hand.

  It was better this way. Better with anger between them.

  He left, closing the door and locking it behind him.

  Ten minutes later, he was back. With a slightly wilted chicken salad, a piping hot cup of coffee, and the fruit and yogurt cup. It had taken nine of his eleven dollars, but he’d go without lunch himself to make sure Cassidy was fed.

  She hadn’t moved from the couch. He stood in the doorway, wondering if she was still angry and faking it. But a gentle snore drifted out from the living room, making him smile.

  Moving softly, he emptied the two bags that contained all the cold things on her list into the refrigerator. Then he placed her salad and yogurt on the top shelf in plain sight. He left the coffee and the rest of the groceries on the counter, along with a note scribbled on the back of her grocery list. Salad and yogurt in fridge. -T And he couldn’t help it, he scribbled t
wo more words before walking out the door. If her husband saw it, so what. The man should be taking better care of his woman.

  CASSIDY SHIFTED NISSA on her hip and slammed her car door shut. A lady in khaki pants and a flowered shirt walked across the small parking lot. It looked like the new lady from the adoption agency. Great. Cassidy had been hoping to at least get in the house and get the kids a snack and settled before she showed up, but court had run longer than she’d expected, then Amy at the day care center had pulled her aside to talk about Jamal...

  “Can you grab Nessa’s hand, please,” Cassidy said to Jamal. Nessa always wanted to walk, while Nissa preferred to be carried. She supposed she should be grateful that only one wanted carried.

  Jamal might be having other problems, but she’d always been able to count on him to be an excellent big brother. He spoke in baby talk to Nessa as he led her across the lot.

  The lady from the adoption agency intercepted them on the sidewalk in front of the apartment door. Nessa began to cry when Jamal wouldn’t let her continue up the apartment steps.

  Jamal tried to quiet her by offering her the sippy cup he carried. Over the wailing of the baby, the adoption agency woman held out her hand. “I’m Anne, from Joining Hearts.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Cassidy said and tried to mean it. She wished now she’d cancelled, like she’d been tempted to do when she woke up on the couch at 7:30 this morning still wearing yesterday’s clothes and not a thing prepared for her trial. She’d done a ten-minute speed clean on the apartment, given the kids sugary cereal for breakfast, and rushed them out the door, eating the yogurt and fruit that Torque had dropped off last night after she’d fallen asleep. Despite the rush, she’d been smiling and buoyant because of his teasing comment at the bottom of his note. You snore. It had made her smile all day long, even though it had been a hectic day and wasn’t even close to being done. She still had the sponsor’s meeting after she dealt with Anne.

  “Come on up. I need to get the kids settled a little, and we can talk.”

  “That’s great. I need to observe you with them anyway, so don’t mind me, just do what you normally do.”

  There was no “normal” in her life, but she didn’t bother trying to explain that to Anne. She’d had the twins for two months, and it had been a crazy rocket ride every single day.

  They made it to the apartment, with Cassidy ending up carrying both twins and her briefcase, with the diaper bags slung over her shoulders, up both flights of stairs. Better than a gym workout she supposed, but it would have been more relaxing if Anne hadn’t been following, occasionally looking around and writing in her notebook.

  The stench from her apartment hit her as soon as Jamal unlocked it and pushed the door open. She didn’t need to trip over the bag of garbage, although she did, to realize that she’d emptied the can but hadn’t remembered to make the extra trip back up to the apartment to carry it down this morning.

  That wouldn’t have been too horrible, but after she set Nissa down, Jamal tried to help by offering his sister her sippy cup, but he tripped over the garbage bag and knocked into Nissa, and she stumbled and fell, hitting her head on the corner of the counter.

  A big blue and red knot immediately formed right in the center of her forehead, and her screams were wild and frantic.

  Cassidy’s head pounded in sympathetic pain while she held and soothed Nissa. Worrying that maybe she should take Nissa to the ER just to make sure she didn’t have brain damage, Cassidy took out the chocolate milk that she’d planned for a Saturday afternoon treat and filled Nissa’s sippy cup up with the thick liquid. As soon as she realized it was chocolate milk in her cup, Nissa immediately stopped crying and sucked in blessed quietness.

  Chocolate milk wasn’t going to make her headache go away, but Cassidy poured Jamal and herself a glass anyway.

  She had Nessa’s cup filled up and looked around for her. Dismay surged through her chest as she saw that Nessa had taken the unsupervised opportunity to open her briefcase. Her little bottom perched on the garbage bag while court papers and other documents were scattered around her.

  Apparently, the garbage bag had leaked, and there was a puddle of smelly goo that the papers that had been in her briefcase were now soaking up. Cassidy gasped and jerked around the counter, knocking over her tall glass of cold chocolate milk. Upon reaching the other side, she saw that the milk was streaming off the bar and flowing directly into her opened purse. She yanked her purse out of the flow, sticking her hand in the now-sloppy interior. She pulled out her cell phone, covered in chocolate milk.

  “Don’t turn it on,” Anne said helpfully from where she sat at the kitchen table, her briefcase neatly by her side, her notebook full of handwriting spread open in front of her. She crossed her legs and reached for her bottle of water. “Dry it out first, then try it.”

  “Thanks.” Cassidy blew a hair out of her face. What had happened to the organized intellectual that was always in control? She didn’t even know where to begin. Garbage, papers, phone...at least the twins weren’t crying anymore, even if they were sticky and smelly.

  As much as she wished for a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough, a super-sized order of cheese fries, and a big chocolate milkshake, it wasn’t happening. Not until at least ten o’ clock tonight. She had six more hours to survive until then. She rinsed her hands off, rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse, and grabbed a new garbage bag, promising herself a meltdown. Later.

  Chapter 6

  Torque walked up the hill to Mrs. Angelina Ford’s house after spending the morning in Tough’s garage. Tough wasn’t a big talker—the opposite of Turbo—but he had himself a good setup and a nice little business. He was kind to pay Torque to help, but his shop wasn’t busy enough to support two mechanics. That much had been obvious this morning. Not to mention that Tough’s customers were gasoline engines and body work. Not diesel.

  After Torque kept the promise he made on the bus to visit Mrs. Ford’s garage for lunch today, he was going back to the library to apply for more positions. He couldn’t take advantage of Tough without at least trying to get a real job.

  Torque slowed down as he crested the hill and the house and garage came into sight. Wow. They’d done some major upgrades after he’d gone to prison. The dinky garage was now a large, two-bay building big enough to pull two full-sized tractor trailers into. The paved lot around it would easily hold twenty rigs. The garage sat off to the side at the bottom of a wide, well-maintained lawn.

  And the house... Torque vaguely remembered a small ranch, not this huge brick mansion, with a towering center and full windows from top to bottom flanked by two slightly shorter wings on each side. Flaming orange sugar maple trees lined the curved drive to the house.

  He stopped and stared. This was the right place, he was sure of it. The lady on the bus, Mrs. Ford, hadn’t seemed like a pretentious woman. Hardy stock. A straight-talker. This spread looked like it belonged to a congresswoman from California, not to a diesel mechanic’s widow. The man must have done one hen of a business.

  Tempted to do a U-turn and take himself right back down the drive, back to the level of people with whom he belonged, Torque walked the rest of the way up, had a small argument with himself about whether he should go to the front door or to the back, followed the path to the back, and knocked on a door that looked like it might lead to the servant’s quarters.

  Mrs. Ford herself answered. “Watched you walk up the drive, sonny. Where’s your car?”

  “State’s supposed to be sending my license renewal.” His old truck, the one from the accident, had been hauled off and probably sold to pay the towing and yard fee. He’d be walking to work until he made enough to buy something he could build.

  “Tyke has an old pickup you can use.”

  “Thanks. I’ll think about it.” He didn’t want to take advantage of an older lady. He also didn’t want charity.

  Mrs. Ford smiled, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Let’s go l
ook at the garage. Then we’ll come back up and eat lunch. Hungry?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She let him to the side where she had a side-by-side ATV parked. “You drive.” She pointed her cane at him before pulling herself into the passenger side and tucking her dress around her legs.

  They spent twenty minutes touring the garage that looked like Tyke had just walked out yesterday and it was simply waiting for his return. Fully equipped with all the tools he’d used to do all the diesel repairs, Mrs. Ford explained that no one had touched a thing in the three years that he’d been gone.

  “I couldn’t stand to do anything with his stuff. He’d been so proud when he finally had enough money to build himself the garage of his dreams. Of course, that was after he’d built the house of mine.” Her cheeks pinked, although her eyes grew sad. “I spent a lot of time down here, just sitting with him, keeping him company, quilting.” Her voice trailed off like the memories had taken over her thoughts. She shook her head. “Finally, just a few months ago, I decided it was long past time for me to do something here, but I hadn’t gotten around to actually doing it. Then I met you.”

  Torque walked through the big, empty bays and office and parts room, looking but not saying much, and Mrs. Ford didn’t press him.

  Back at the house, she led him into the dining room, and they sat together, eating soup and salad.

  “A couple people have approached me in the past about renting it, but I just wasn’t ready. I’d been thinking about selling the house, moving somewhere a little smaller, renting the garage, different things for a while now, then you sat next to me on that bus, and I had a little voice whisper in my ear that you were the one.”