Look How You Turned Out (11 page)

Marcus stands and pulls me onto my feet and kisses me one soft kiss. I'm smiling at him while I right myself and his hand is on my waist, and his fingers are kneading, and I know I'm soft, and he kisses me again.

"Bedilia," he says softly.

I touch his face, his jaw already growing scruffy as the afternoon has deepened into evening. He's precious to me.

"You should go out first," I whisper.

"I'll see you at home," he says, not sure how to end this beginning, I think.

I nod and give him a little push. He looks back at me a couple of times.

He doesn't go in the dining room, but out the back door. I am in the kitchen, and it's easy to find things to do so I grab a couple of trash bags and enter the dining room. What woman thinks of trash while the fresh glow of stolen love from the man of her dreams still lingers over her like glory?

Me.

In the dining room, Juney is on the Karaoke singing
Born to Be Wild
and flinging his head around. I tie off two big bags of trash and drag these onto the front porch. Coy wants to help, and I say I've got it.

Marcus is coming around the side of the building from the back. I give him the bags to take to the dumpster, and I feel he's glad for the job. He keeps looking at me, and I expect him to throw those bags of trash and grab me and carry me into the sunset, or his truck, with big manly steps. But of course, he doesn't yet realize I'm insatiable for tactile stimulation from any of his body parts including and especially his eyes. And right now? They can see the scenario in my brain.

"Guess we'll have to buy this place now," he says to hide what he can't hide from me, this giddy something.

"Hmmm," I say. I'm not exactly on my smart ass reply game at this moment. But I get it. We christened it before the sale and all.

"I ah," he says, "I'm going by to see Artie as soon as I can pry Juney away."

"Leave him with me," I say. I know I blew Marcus's order to bits. He'll need to make that right as he can, soon as he can.

I understand him. I always have. "Go," I say. "Take care of them both."

"Both?"

"Yeah. Dad…and her."

"She's not back until tomorrow," he says.

"Leave Juney with me. And after work tomorrow, after…her…we'll have dinner."

I'm letting him know…I'm honoring the plan.

I know he'll run tonight. I know he has a lot to think about.

And I want him to. I've been waiting a long time. For him.

Juney and I get home, and I know Marcus will come over and build up the fire outside in our furnace. Juney and I turn on the fireplace in the living room, and we both kick our shoes off pretty soon. He hits the video game while I hit the shower.

I think of our mating session in the closet.

Am I in heat? It makes me laugh to think of myself as this tree frog woman pressed naked on the cold glass of my bedroom window, lights blazing when Marcus comes out of the house to go on his run, and I let out this big shrill horny trill. I think he'd come over, maybe alarmed but how could he resist such a thing.

I'm not afraid of what's started. I feel such a joyful madness and desire to be with him.

After my shower and soft clothes, I check on Juney. He wants to play Life. I groan. "Checkers," I say.

So we do that. I get Fritos, and he gets Cheetoh's and there we are in front of the fire, and I'm letting him kick my ass, and we hear Marcus out back. The motion lights have come on, then we hear the muffled sounds that mean he's feeding the stove and getting ready to run.

He will have talked to Artie. While I'm thinking all this Juney jumps me three times, and I try to look properly shocked so he won't guess how preoccupied I am over his father.

I talk sweaty-Karaoke boy into the shower after our games, and he gets to pick the movie.

Marcus is still in the yard. He's like milking this I think. So I spy a little, and he's in a t-shirt and workout pants and his breath shows in front of his face. I like his hair longer, then I think of her cutting it, and he needs a cut now, but he'll have to go to Litchfield. He is sorting through the wood. I know he likes to put some hardwood in for the night. George Harrison had it right, something in the way he moves. He makes my blood come to a screeching halt and take off backward.

I sneak to the back door, shove my bare feet in my boots and go out there. I give him a wave. It's so cold.

"You're going to freeze," he says that customary thing you say to crazy people who want to look cute while they catch pneumonia.

But he's coming, and I hope to wear him like a coat. I don't know if I close the gap or he does, or it's a joint effort. This is risky cause Juney is not known for long showers. But I am held off the ground, and my rubber yard boots are threatening to fall off, and I am against him and kissing him, and it's like kissing ice cream, but the inside of his mouth is so warm.

He tells me shhh, and says what am I doing to him, and he laughs, we laugh. "How was it with Dad?"

"Fine," he says. "He's fine." And he kisses me some more, and yeah much as I love him I don't want to think of Dad right now either.

He's already warming the front of me, "You smell like honey," he says. "How am I going to keep my hands off of you?"

"Bath and Body Works. And don't," I say.

"I don't want to. I want to touch you," he says close to my ear, so close his breath is so warm and the kiss on my neck there, oh boy. He laughs and says to be quiet.

"I want your hands on me. I want them all over," I say, and he squeezes me so hard, and it feels perfect. It's what I need.

We both hear Juney calling my name, and I squirm out of his arms.

I am walking noisily in my boots, and he watches as I peer at him through the narrowing crack in the door. "Go," I say.

"You go," he says standing there breaking my heart with his beauty.

"You," I whisper not wanting to close the door on him.

"What are you guys doing?" Juney says, that thing in his voice kids get when they're around Lovey Dovey. He may not know everything that just went on, but he knows stuff is going on.

Because…it is.

Juney has to give his dad a goodnight kiss. I've always loved watching their affection. Marcus takes this job of fathering very seriously. I think when I see them it makes me think of Dad and me.

They look so much alike, their two heads, Marcus gathering his son in for a hug, and Juney open and reciprocal.

Juney is just starting to get gangly, his wrist bones and ankles, his elbows and knees especially. It's like watching Marcus through all the stages of his development. Juney shows an unguarded unjaded self and I see the tenderness Marcus has layered over with maturity and the reality of living.

We part ways then, and Juney takes my hand and pulls me back into the living room, and I swear I am walking two inches above the floor. He flings me toward the couch, and I go with it and face-plant there.

"Don't move," he commands, and he starts the movie.

I lift my face and look at the television and groan. "Not Mrs. Doubtfire."

"Yeah, it's so funny."

"You just like the smoking boobies," I say, and he cracks up because that's the part he loves.

He's standing there pointing the remote at the television. "Do you like my dad or something?"

"What? Yeah," I say, sitting up and clearing my throat. "You getting your report ready for Artie?"

He doesn't answer, but he's grinning as he lays the remote on the coffee table then dives onto his big bean-bag.

"Still earning that phone or has he upped the ante? Maybe a little deputy uniform just your size…a four-wheeler with a siren?"

He likes that idea. "That would be awesome," he says.

"Officer Juney," I say.

"Officer Stover," he corrects, and the movie begins.

Juney falls asleep in the first twenty minutes of Doubtfire, and I wake him up and get him into my bed. He doesn't protest too much, but I have to promise to watch the rest of the movie for breakfast.

So I'm in the crows nest, and I feel how cold the glass is, and there will be no naked clinging, but it makes me laugh a little. I tried not to spy on Marcus, but you know what they say, 'trying,' is not 'doing.' So I sit at the window like a peeping granny, waiting for him to return from his run.

The streetlight reaches enough that I have a pretty good view, and I don't need to take an extreme measure and get Artie's night vision goggles or anything.

I feel this possession of him, and it's protective. I know people worry about those terms and what they mean in a relationship, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I want every inch of him. Yes, the six point five, and yes it's not a competition with Juney or his job or his personhood, whatever all that means, but I want him.

I think it's the break-up that's worrying me. As of right now, another woman thinks he's hers. That's the thing that's keeping me from sleeping. But I also want him safe. And I'm watching.

If something happened to him, I'm glad he's getting out of it…police work. The pay is lousy. The hours suck. The danger aspect is ridiculous, even here in Lowland. It's him they call when it's beyond them, whatever it is, human, animal, extraterrestrial. It's him they put between themselves and danger.

I've grown up this way, but I never take it for granted that Dad will come home, that he will. Dad tells me I'm overthinking, that the future isn't guaranteed for anyone, and you be as safe as you can be and the rest is faith, but how many nights did I sit in the window waiting for him? It was Marcus with him that finally calmed me down. The two of them seemed like a force of strength, impenetrable.

Then here he comes, he jogs to his walkway and stops. He walks up the sidewalk and looks over his shoulder at the house, this window maybe.

I don't wave. He can't see me.

I go to my bed and sit slowly. In a few hours, he'll tell her. He'll let her know. He's mine.

My phone buzzes then.

"You up?" him

"Am now." Me

"Wanted to say goodnight."

"Liar."

"What?"

"You really want to say goodnight?"

It's a few extra seconds before my phone buzzes with a reply. "No. But I am anyway."

"Such a good boy."

"Yeah? I'm that good?"

"Artie's little deputy."

"Works for me."

"Nobody says that anymore."

"You're so hip."

"Hips. Now there' a conversation."

"I like…love your hips baby."

It's a few extra seconds before I buzz his phone with a reply. "Specifics."

"Send me a picture." him

I stare at my lap. I'm wearing Yoga pants. I've never done this. I snap a shot of my lap, basically. It's so boring. Then I get an idea. I quietly hurry downstairs and get my volleyball and basketball from the mudroom. I take off the pants and stuff both balls in them and lay them on the coffee table like a big lop-sided behind bending over the table. I set on the floor behind them and snap an eye-level shot. It comes out perfect. I tag the picture, 'come and get it' for lack of a better idea. I am cracking myself up here.

I send it off, and I'm giddy waiting. Every Christmas of my life has been spent in this room, all of my childish anticipation for all of those gifts, so much excitement it could pulverize an elephant, but nothing comes close to what I'm feeling as I wait.

It's a few seconds, then it buzzes.

"Marry me."

When I don't answer right away, he texts, "Where's your big balls now?"

I don't answer. I think he's joking. After all, we were joking, and I texted my homemade booty, and he joke-texted 'marry me.'

"Meet me in the street." him

I shake the balls out of my pants, odd I know and put them on and go to the mudroom and stick my feet in my boots again and put on Artie's big jacket.

I hurry outside, and he's halfway down his walk, and we meet in the middle of the road. His hands slide into the open sides of the coat, and he's not wearing any protective weather stuff, just his t-shirt still damp from his run.

"Are you joking?" I ask right away. "You are, right?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Was it a joke?" me

"Do you want it to be?"

"Oh no, buddy. You are so going out on a limb on this one."

"Just trying to get a reaction," he says.

"Like…hysterical…or what?"

"Is it such a bad idea?"

"You were joking, right? You don't use that as a test run."

"What if I didn't?"

"Just a joke, right?"

"What if it wasn't?"

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Not going out on a limb."

"I was softening you up."

"For what?"

"To the idea. By using it in a…light way."

"Bull Marcus."

"Bull Marcus what? You would never think of marrying me? Have you thought of it?"

"You and Ron Weasley," I say.

He moves his face closer to me, stares at my mouth. "You don't have a shot with Ron. But I'm right here."

The kiss…is unfair. Nothing else matters now. He turns me in his big hands and pushes me toward the house. "Go inside. Go to bed."

I keep walking. I don't wave or anything I just go in. I kick off the boots and drop the coat and do this zombie walk to my phone. I take it upstairs.

I go in the crow's nest and shut the door. Then I peel off…everything. It is dark in this room, just dark enough. I hold the phone overhead and look up and take the shot. I don't quite like it. I take my hair out of the braid and fix it around me so it covers my bralessness. Then I lean against the wall and extend my arm and click it. I review the shot. It shows to just below my belly button, obviously bare, but my hair covering the tennis balls on my chest. And I have managed, by accident to look…innocent.

I tag it, 'look how I turned out.' Then I hit send.