Cleats in Clay (10 page)

B
OBBY
maneuvered around the stack of mail on the floor as he stepped into the foyer and turned the alarm off. He should be happy about getting home, but the empty house provided no comfort. After dropping the duffel bag into the wing-back chair, he scooped up the mail. He sorted through it and found nothing important. He tossed the mail onto the side table before stepping into the living room.

Without Nathan’s presence to liven it up, the huge house around him felt so vacant and dead. Bobby ignored the upper floor and went around the dining room to the side stairs. He started down the treads that led into the basement den.

Vaguely, he could smell it as he reached the bottom step; that stuffy odor of stale habitation hung heavily in the air. He looked around at the messy room that had been his refuge for the last few months. Obviously the maid hadn’t come down here. Probably not since the early days, after he scolded her for running the vacuum cleaner while he was watching a movie.

Blaring away, the wide-screen TV he’d forgotten to turn off eerily illuminated the room. The coffee table was still littered with wrappers and half-eaten bags of long-stale chips. Lying sideways on the floor, an empty tumbler glass flanked the front of the couch. The white pillow he had dragged from the bedroom now looked all beigey and stained. Its matching comforter didn’t look much better. At the side of the couch, the large trash can overflowed with TV dinner plates and a Bushmills bottle. Even though the liquor had lasted more than a month, the empty whiskey bottle seemed to tease him, telling him what a shit he was. Bobby felt disgusted at the sight. He immediately turned and nearly ran back upstairs.

He stopped in the kitchen. The blinking light on the answering machine advertised seven waiting messages, but he ignored that for now. He headed to the cleaning closet and grabbed some of the large trash bags. If he didn’t get back down there and start cleaning now, he’d lose the gumption to return. He also grabbed a can of scented room deodorizer and entered the doorway to the smelly den.

He sprayed a scenty trail down the stairs and sent a few shots into the room before gathering up all the litter into the trash bags. He turned the TV off when he uncovered the remote amongst the archive of refuse on the coffee table. Once the bags were full, he dragged them back upstairs and tossed them into the city bin outside.

After another trip downstairs to tidy and clean, Bobby deemed the room finally acceptable and returned to the kitchen. He glanced around the huge cooking space. Bobby hated this house now, he decided. He never did
really
like it—the place had always been one of Nathan’s dreams. Nate had been the one to want the big suburban house full of bouncing children.

That should have been a huge red flag that things were terribly wrong
, Bobby realized. A decade ago, when Nate suddenly backed off the idea of getting kids, he should have paid more attention. If he’d delved deeper, maybe Nate would have told him about the aneurism.
Or maybe not. Nate managed to keep his condition a secret for so long. Why would he suddenly spill it?

Bobby shook his head. It didn’t matter anymore. Time to call the Realtor. Well, tomorrow he would—it was too late in the evening to do it now.

The blinking light of the answering machine beckoned him. Bobby went over and hit the button to play the messages.
“Good morning, this is Schmidt and Murdock—” Delete.
“I’m with Schmitt and Murdock—” Delete.
“Schmitt and Murdock calling—” Delete.
“Bobby, call me,” the female voice demanded in an almost angry tone. Lorainne hadn’t bothered to identify herself, but of course she didn’t have to. She knew Bobby would recognize the voice of Nathan’s mother.
Shithead
, he cursed himself. He hadn’t called her back when she left a message last month. Or the month before.
“I’m with Schmitt and Murdock—” Delete.
Dial tone. Delete.
“Schmitt and Murdock call—” Delete.
“No more messages,” the machine announced.
Drumming his fingers on the counter, Bobby tried to decide who to call first. He’d promised Odis he’d call him as soon as he got home, and he’d already neglected that. Yet Lorainne had sounded so pissed. Maybe he better call her before it got too late. He nodded as he dragged out the phone list.
Call Lorainne first. Texas is in a different time zone anyway; that can wait longer.
He dialed the number. “Hello?” her terse voice answered.
“Hi, Lorainne. You left a message?”
“Yes I did, Bobby,” she answered sharply. “Many messages. Many, many messages.”
“Okay, sorry, I’m calling back now—”
“Lunch tomorrow. You be here. Noon,” she told him crisply.
“Okay, I will,” Bobby agreed, hoping nothing else came up in the meantime.
She hung up without saying good-bye.
Bobby felt stunned. Lorainne had every right to be mad at him, since he
had
been kind of ducking her. Hopefully he could smooth things out over lunch.
Time to call Odis. Bobby didn’t want to do it standing in the kitchen, so he went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. Before the door closed, he grabbed a second one. Then he went upstairs.
He stood in the doorway of the master bedroom a moment. That room just seemed haunted, though, so he went farther down the hall to a spare room. Sitting down on the bed, he fished out Odis’s business card and stared at it. The thoughts that kept plaguing him on the airplane resurfaced. Odis had turned so clingy right before Bobby left, which kind of worried him. He kept having doubts.
Maybe those feelings in Texas were just a drug-induced euphoria? Or was it more?
He finally dialed Odis’s house phone.
Bobby opened a beer and took two big swallows while the phone rang in his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Odis, it’s Bobby.”
“Heya, stud,” he almost cheered. “Made it home finally?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“Well, you’re
so
right, you know. I just feel like I’m an invader camping out in Nathan’s house. I’m calling a Realtor tomorrow.” “Good first step.”
“And I’m having lunch with Nate’s mother tomorrow.” “Prob’ly a good thing too.”
“So what about you? Anything exciting happen after I left?”
“Um, well, sorta….” Odis hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell Bobby about Tuck’s confession. Or the kiss.
“What? What happened?”
“Well, I ran into Tuck when I went back to the B and B to get your stuff. He ended up coming over here and hanging out a bit.”
“Oh, Tucker? The other guy you had a crush on?” Bobby felt a strange pang of jealousy at the thought.
“Yeah. He was kinda hoppin’ mad, though, that I didn’t call him while ya was here.”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting him. Well, hope you got everything smoothed over.”
“I think so. He didn’t seem mad when he left.”
Just hurt as all fuck
. But Odis didn’t say that.
“What about the studio? Get anything done today?”
“Just piddled around a little, ordered more supplies. Prob’ly get on it tomorrow.”
“That’s good.” Bobby stifled a yawn. “Sorry, Odis, I’m kinda beat. Maybe I should go to bed and call you tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, trying not to sound disappointed.
Bobby heard the tone, though. “What?”
“Well, that just sounded kinda impersonal….”
“And what were you expecting, phone sex?”
“Oh Lordy, no. I don’t think I’d even know how ta do that.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know, stud. Just say g’night and go to bed.”
“Okay, good night and go to bed,” Bobby teased.
Odis chuckled. “G’night.”
Bobby put the phone back on the cradle as another yawn crept up on him. He didn’t even bother to take off his clothes. After turning off the nightstand lamp, he stretched out on the bed and fell asleep.
B
RIGHT
sunlight burned Bobby’s face and rudely woke him up. He sat up, noticing he had forgotten to close the window drapes the night before, and this room faced the east.
Oh well, got things to do anyway.
He crawled off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom while his mind hashed over the to-do list for the day.
After his first cup of coffee, he called the Realtor. Not knowing what Lorainne might have planned for the little lunch visit, he set up a late appointment at four thirty. Next, he called the lawyer’s office that had been hounding him about suing the commission. He explained about the settlement offer, and they agreed to meet with him the next morning to square up details.
Then his cell phone beeped the “low battery” tone. Bobby went upstairs to the master bedroom. For some reason, he felt like an intruder as he walked very gingerly through the room to the dresser, with a silly fear of stirring up ghosts. He could almost feel Nathan’s dead presence hovering around the room and the thought made his skin crawl. He found the charger, yanked the power cord from the wall, and nearly ran out the door and back to the spare bedroom he had staked out the night before. He set up the charger on the nightstand and plugged in the cell phone. He grabbed the empty beer bottle and the one still unopened before wandering downstairs again.
After eating a toaster waffle and downing another cup of coffee, Bobby stretched and felt more human.
Maybe I should go to the sun room and get a workout before the lunch date.

A
S HE
stepped onto the Prices’ porch just a hair before noon, Bobby tried to shake the sense of nervousness that suddenly inhabited his intestines.
Chill out, it’s just Lorainne
, he kept telling himself as he pushed the doorbell button and waited. He was afraid she would chew him out royally, and of course he deserved every word of it.

Lorainne Price opened the door and just stood in the threshold as she closed her house robe more tightly with the belt.
Bobby couldn’t believe how worn-out she appeared. Her skeletal face looked withered away. At least twenty pounds had fallen off her, and those lost pounds showed so dramatically on her thin and once healthy frame. Dingy gray hair sagged from her head and clung like limp seaweed around her face. “Lorainne?”
“Come in, then, since you actually showed up,” she said in a resigned tone as she moved aside and allowed Bobby entrance. She clutched the robe closer to her.
Stepping inside, Bobby caught the whiff of a familiar odor, the same stale smell from the basement. He suddenly felt like such a dipshit. He should have known Lorainne would be hurting as much as he was; he was just too stupid to think. He followed her into the living room. “I’m sorry. I should have called sooner.”
“Might have been nice,” she said while dropping onto the couch and retrieving a bar glass half-full of pale yellow liquid from the side table.
Bobby sat farther down the couch. He looked over the robe she wore. “We aren’t going out for lunch?”
“This is it,” she announced, offering up her glass. “Bar’s over there. Get your own.”
“Maybe later.” Bobby felt completely lost for words as he glanced over. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that might offer comfort for this woman.
She looked over at him. “You should sell that fucking business.”
“Oh?” Bobby replied, taken aback by her harshness. “I was going to talk to you about that, thought maybe you might want it—”
“
Why
the fuck would I want it? After it killed my husband
and
my son? Dump the shitty thing.”
Oh, fuck me.
Bobby’s guts wrenched with ten times more guilt. He’d forgotten about Frank. Well, not forgotten, exactly—he was never really close to Nathan’s dad—but of course Lorraine….
Oh, fuck me with a splintery stick.
“That foreman guy, Jacob, Jason, whatever… Nate was always bragging on him doing such a good job. Sell it to him.”
“Well, he prob’ly won’t have the cash for that.”
Lorraine looked over at him with a sneer. “
Prob’ly
? When did you turn into a hick?”
“Oh, well, I just got back from Texas.”
“Don’t worry about Jameson. I’ll give him the money. He can take a big raise and pay me back over time.” She downed the remaining liquid and placed the empty glass against her cheek. “What the
hell
were you doing in Texas?”
“Um….” Bobby wasn’t sure how to answer that. He didn’t want to say anything that might provoke Lorraine more. “Well, I’ve been getting postcards,” he started.
Lorraine stiffened. “You too? I thought
you
were behind it somehow. What kind of sick shit is this?”
“I didn’t know you got some too.”
“Yes. From some asshole in New York.”
“That’s where mine were postmarked from.”
“Well, find out who the fuck is sending them and stop it. I don’t find it
at all
amusing.”
Bobby shook his head. “I tried to track it down, never did find out.”
“Well, try
harder
.” She wobbled a bit as she pulled herself to her feet. “And send that Johnson guy over here. We’ll sell him the business.”
“Okay,” Bobby agreed as he stood up also. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is.” She walked toward the bar. “You can let yourself out.”
“You sure you don’t want to, maybe, go out for some food?”
Lorraine turned and glared with him, a don’t-fuck-with-me look smoldering in her eyes. “Just let yourself out.”
Once he reached the hall, Bobby almost ran back to the front door, but the weight of guilt in his guts kept him moving slow. She obviously needed some help, but he doubted anything he or anybody else did would actually do any good. Not until Lorraine herself decided it was time to move on. He hoped that would happen soon.