Brian’s television was on downstairs, a cop show by the sounds of it. I knew his schedule by now and was surprised that he was home. He usually went out to supper with Rachel on Wednesday nights. Chinese food in Westville, All-you-Can-Eat buffet. He always brought home an order of egg rolls and heated them up for breakfast on Thursday mornings. The smell made me nauseous. Every Thursday morning. My own schedule was much easier to remember than his, because it was always the same. Weekdays: Work, then home alone. Weekends: Home. Alone. For three straight weeks. And I was sick of it. Sick of being alone.

   But here it was, Wednesday Night, and Brian was home alone, too. So I scribbled out a check, padded my way down the stairs, and knocked on his door. When he opened it up he had a huge smile on his face and I knew why. We’d only exchanged brief nods and a hello every now and again since he’d caught me kicking the shit out of my car, and now: here she is. He looked at the check in my outstretched hand and the smile faded.

   “What’s this?”

   “Half the cable bill.”

   He grabbed it, gave it a once over and said, “This is too much money, Tess.”

   I liked the way my name sounded in his voice.

   “I know what channels we get. That’s half the cost.”

   “You can’t just let me be nice, can you?”

   “Sure I can. As long as you let me pay for half the cable.”

   He rolled his eyes. “Well if you’re gonna make this all about business, then come in here so I can write you a receipt.”

   I stood beside the kitchen table while he disappeared into a room that looked like an office. First time inside his apartment. It looked very much as I had imagined; comfortable, masculine, informal. The walls were white, like mine, and there was no real décor. The furniture looked very functional and inexpensive, like he’d gotten most of it at yard sales and department stores. The place was cluttered with piles of papers and empty bottles and his supper mess. He had eaten two mini pot pies. At least he’d eaten the beef, crust and gravy. The vegetables were pushed to the side of each aluminum plate.

   Loud footsteps.

   “Here you go, ma’am.”

   I pocketed the receipt without even looking at it.

   “I’d feel better about taking your money if I thought you were actually watching the cable. I never hear your television going.”

   “I watch it.”

   “What do you watch?”

   “Stuff.”

   He raised an eyebrow. I knew what he was thinking but didn’t correct him. Better for him to think I spent my free time watching porn than for him to know I’d become addicted to True Hollywood Stories.

   “You like cop shows?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Cool. Stay down here and watch TV with me. This one’s almost over, but--”

   “No, I’d better get back upstairs.” I said it even though it was the real reason I’d come down. Even though he knew it.

   He pulled my check out of his pocket and regarded it with a mournful sigh. “I won’t be able to accept your money till I know for sure that you’re watching the cable. And there’s only one way for me to be sure.”

   I pretended to think about it. “Fine.”

   He smiled and, tackling the big, white elephant head on, said, “I can get you a beer, too, if you think you can control yourself this time.”

   “I’ll do my best.”

   He handed me a bottle and I followed him into the living room. Every surface was coated with a thin layer of dust, the coffee table was littered with newspapers and a half empty coffee cup, and there was a huge pile of unfolded laundry on the floor. It answered that age old question: he was a boxers man.

   I sat down beside him on the couch. The credits were rolling, so he grabbed the remote from the coffee table, muted the television and smiled at me. Apparently this time it was up to me to make sure there were no awkward silences before the next show started. I settled for that old standby: work. He said construction wasn’t his dream job, but he was good at it and he made decent money. Now that he was finally out from under the debts and back taxes his father had left behind he could start saving some money instead of living from check-to-check.

   “But...if they were his debts then why did you pay them off? Even if you did take over his business…isn’t that what bankruptcy is for? Or you could’ve started from scratch.”

   “Nope. Not with his name, and not with his face. Not in this town.”

   “Ah.”

   He had a crew of four guys working for him, because he’d recently hired two new full-time workers. He could have saved more money for himself if he hired only one, of course, but he could afford them both so that’s what he’d done. Because, he said, the local economy was in the shithole. Lots of businesses were still leaving the state. So if you have the opportunity to create a new job then it’s your responsibility to do it.

   “How about you? I hear you’ve been getting lots more work.”

   “Yep.” About half the businesses in town had called in the past week and a half. Because when one beloved cleaning lady dies it creates a demand. And when another moves in--one who never forgets to refill the toilet paper and doesn’t leave streaks on the mirrors--word quickly spreads. Unfortunately it takes awhile for the pay to follow, what with accountants and bookkeepers and office managers who always put the light bill and phone bill ahead of the cleaning lady bill. I wasn’t too worried, though. It was what I’d expected and the money was due to roll in at any time. And in the meantime I still had my savings.

   “Must be a good way to meet new people.”

   “Not really. Just gossipy receptionists and dim-witted file clerks.”

   I realized I’d said the wrong thing even before I saw him wince. Small towns. Gotta love ‘em. Only three weeks in New Mills and I knew all about Brian’s reputation. Gossip was still debating whether he’d been celibate or discreet while Rachel was living with him, but after she moved out, last fall, he was neither. He’d had a go at most of the local girls, those who were single at any rate, including the dim-witted file clerk who worked at the insurance company I cleaned for.

   Her name was Ashley. She was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and very cute. Curly blonde hair and clear green eyes, just like I’d always wanted. She had been nursing a crush on Brian since she was in junior high school with Rachel, so spending a night with him was something she’d dreamt about for ages. Then morning came and she realized that, to him, it was nothing. No big deal, just like all the rest of them. She still wasn’t over him, and she wasn’t smart enough to keep everyone in town from knowing it.

   He grunted a response that I couldn’t quite make out, then turned the volume up on the television. Typical cop show. Brutal murder. Investigation. Forensics. Reluctant witnesses. Irritated lieutenant, just get the job done. It was probably very interesting, but I tuned out after the first commercial. The mess in his living room was too distracting. I tried not to stare at the coffee table, but even a dramatic shoot out and the subsequent arrest of a murderous drug dealer failed to hold my attention above the six separate sections of newspaper strewn across the surface of the table. I sat up straighter. Crossed my legs. Picked at my socks; dug my nails into my foot to keep it from bouncing. I was finally rescued by another commercial break. Brian, apparently oblivious to my distress, hopped up off the couch.

   “Be right back.” Then he strolled into the bathroom.

  The door shut.

   I leapt up, gathered the bottles and coffee mug, then padded my way into the kitchen. On my way through I grabbed the pie plates and fork and quietly deposited everything in the sink.

   The toilet flushed.

   I skidded back to the living room, collected the newspapers, folded them quickly and shoved them into the empty magazine rack beside the couch.

   The door opened.

   I sat, cross legged once more, out of breath, waiting for his return. Instead he headed into the kitchen and hollered over his shoulder, “Want another beer?”

   I swallowed and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll take one more.”

   He came back just in time for the show to start, sat down beside me, and handed me the bottle. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He surveyed the coffee table without a word, then stared straight ahead at the television.

   The vicious, drug dealing killer was convicted. Life in prison, no possibility of parole. Dramatic music. Cue credits. That was my cue to leave, but I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to be upstairs alone. Didn’t want to be where he wasn’t. So I asked about Rachel. About why he was home on a Wednesday instead of eating Chinese food with her. He smiled. It was a big one and I knew why. I knew his schedule. Then he said:

   “Oh, she’s pissed at me. She thinks I’m butting into her life too much.”

   I laughed. “Are you?”

   He wasn’t amused. Someone needed to butt in, he said, because she was screwing up her life. The usual stuff. Sleeping around. Drinking. Smoking pot. She was smart but she was working a dead end job instead of trying to Make Something Of Herself. He’d tried to get her to go to college or at least a technical school, but she didn’t take anything seriously.

   “She’s still young. Just let her get it out of her system. She’ll be fine in a couple years.”

   I waited for him to ask if I was speaking from experience, and the answer, of course, would have been yes I am. Instead he told me a story. It was the same one Laura had already told me, but his was the DVD version, complete with the deleted scenes.

   “I thought my mom was wrong at first, because my father stuck around for a long time. Well, technically, anyway. He wasn’t really around much and I took care of stuff. I made sure Rach did her homework and took her bath and ate her breakfast and all that shit. But he was still…there. So it was easy to pretend that everything was okay. Then this one Friday night when I was sixteen I stayed out wicked late with my girlfriend. I didn’t get home until way after midnight ’cause...”

   He stopped and gave an embarrassed grin.

   “Anyway, I knew as soon as I pulled in that he wasn’t home, because his car was gone, but I figured that he at least got a babysitter or brought Rachel someplace where someone would watch her. But when I walked in…she was there. The school bus dropped her off at three and she was alone that whole time. She was just sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge.”

   He was staring at the wall, but he was looking at a frightened ten year old girl. Shaking his head, like he was seeing it for the first time. Like he was still shocked by it.

   “My father was out, God knows where, and she was home by herself. In the middle of the night. And...she looked up at me as I walked in the door, with these big, big eyes. She was so tired and I could tell she was scared, but she was trying so hard not to let me know it. And all she said was, ‘I’m kinda hungry, Brian.’ Because the only thing in the fridge was pickles and ketchup.” He rolled his eyes. “And plenty of beer. ’Cause my mom was right. Even if he was there, my father was never gonna be the Dad. He wasn’t even man enough to make sure there was fucking food in the house. So I had to do it instead. I had take care of her. And she hasn’t been the same since then. She hasn’t been...right. And once he really left it got even worse, because she thought he was gonna come back. For a long time. She kept waiting for him to, even though I told her he was gone for good. And once she did realize it…well, anyway. I gotta keep an eye on her, Tess. Can you understand that?”

   I just nodded and smiled kindly, because what can you say to that? He smiled back and it was almost real. Except for the eyes. They were filled with something that went even deeper than sadness and I wanted to reach for him. To hold his hand. Maybe even hold him, because it was what he needed. But I knew what it would probably lead to. And I couldn’t bear having to hear him say no. Not again. So I stood up and told him that I should probably get going. He nodded and said he was glad I’d come down. Said we should do it again sometime. Soon. And I said that sounded like a good idea.

   An hour later I was lying in bed, restless, just like every night. But this time I wasn’t thinking about Van Dyke brown. Not about naked showers or warm, calloused hands. I was thinking about my brother. And I wondered how often Kim looked into his eyes…and saw the same things I’d seen in Brian’s.

Chapter 6

Chapter 8

Table of Contents

rj-keller.com

© 2007 R.J. Keller - All rights in this book are reserved by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.