Look How You Turned Out (9 page)

Myron White pushes through but only because Marcus allows him to. I'm freaked out over what Marcus has said, the intensity in his voice, and I am like the owner of the pit bull telling the mailman he won't bite when I have no idea if he will or not. No idea.

I don't need to be protected from Myron. I never have. But Marcus's unphased by Myron's usual effect. He meant it when he pounded the table and declared he'd better not meet Myron outside of a courtroom.

Myron looks handsome, expensive, thick and fit like usual, dark against the white contrast of his shirt open at his throat, the Native American blood he's so proud of. He wears a black suit that matches his inky hair. There are the bright white teeth Marcus made fun of, but he's not sure, he's eying Marcus.

"I can't believe this," I say, not unfriendly, not friendly, really amazed. He's come all the way to my house?

"Hello Bedilia," he says, he's looking at me, seeing, I'm sure, the damage from exhaustion, suspicious of Marcus, of us here together, of the state of our casual clothes, of our girl-boy-ness, a matched set, the fact we're alone. He sees it, and he'd have to be brain-dead not to feel it.

Marcus is looking at me, restrained, subdued, but on high-alert, watching Myron, watching what I'll do.

I'm about three steps from the bottom stair, and I've stopped there in my sweatshirt and jeans, my socks, my shock.

"Your family…Thanksgiving."

Well, those words are stupid. Myron does what he wants. The White family owns the world and all the people in it. Or at least, they own Chicago. For a few months, they darn near owned me. They definitely have a private plane.

"I had to see you." He looks from me to Marcus. "I know it's rude to just drop in. If we could talk…just for a moment?"

Marcus closes the door and folds his arms like he's not going anywhere.

"Um…right here is fine," I say.

Myron sees how it is, this man I was so intimate with. This man who's sweat dropped onto me as he tried to be patient with my spastic vagina. This man who dressed calmly as he let me go. And I ran.

I am facing them…Chicago and Lowland. What almost was and what almost is. My regret and my redemption.

"Did I…?" Myron points from me to Marcus and back to me. "Are you…?" he does it again.

"This is Marcus," I say.

"Not Artie?" Myron asks, but he already knows. He's rubbing it in.

"I can't believe you came here." I'm repeating.

Myron smiles. "A grand gesture. Is he your brother or your lawyer?" he says, pointing at Marcus this time as if Marcus can't answer for himself.

"What do you want, Myron?"

He spreads his hands, soft, well-manicured, "You left, you don't write…." He shrugs.

"You fired me. The favor, remember?"

"A favor to you. Was it?" he says.

I try to refrain from biting my lip. "Yes."

He points at Marcus again. "This is the one?"

Marcus looks sharply at me.

Yes, Marcus is Neo in the kitchen with the Oracle. He is the one. But I shall deny it, and Myron will see the lie.

"Then you know I'm the one who sent her back here," he says to Marcus. "No bullying." He looks at me, a question, like what did I tell Marcus to rile him so?

Marcus is content not to answer Myron right away. Naturally that puts Myron on-edge enough he takes to playing the small talk harmonica, "Not that she wouldn't have come back on her own…always a smart girl. We are still using some of her ideas. Talk about able to see the big picture…."

"Chatty little dude," Marcus says.

"Did I interrupt…," Myron does the sweeping point again from me to Marcus but I know when Myron's angry, and he is.

I see this isn't as friendly as he is pretending.

"I'll walk you to your car," I say coming the rest of the way down and having to hurry to the mudroom for shoes. Myron protests, saying it is too cold for that.

When I get back, they are having words.

"I drove six hundred miles out of my way…," Myron says.

"You don't have a phone?" Marcus.

"She doesn't take my calls. Doesn't answer my texts. Ignores my emails," he says this looking at me.

"That's what made you think she wanted to see you?" Marcus.

"She forced me to show up. Do you know this woman at all? The queen of passive aggression," Myron says. He loves to taunt. He implies he knows me better. In one way, he does.

"Bedilia," Marcus says, "do you want him out?"

"Marcus please…it's alright," I say tiredly.

"Really, Bedilia?" he says to us both.

"Your family…your mother…," I say.

"I'm only passing through," Myron says. " A cup of coffee at least?"

I lead him back to the kitchen. I know it's foolhardy to take him deeper in. But he's come all this way and short of allowing him and Marcus to get into it when he tries to remove him, I figure it's better to end this now. We go in the kitchen.

Marcus comes too. I go to the machine that makes one cup at a time and fill the reservoir and fire it up. Marcus has his hand on my back. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

I nod as he drags his hand away. He's in the mudroom fumbling around for a coat. I'm leaning against the counter, arms folded, waiting for the coffee. Myron is seated at the table looking around the room, at the beams overhead and the modest but functional space. "Very quaint," he says, a grin.

I hear Marcus go out.

"Why are you doing this?" I say. "We had it out in Chicago, remember? I'm fired."

He stands and comes closer. He doesn't round the table, but he will. "I miss you."

I'm shaking my head. "Don't."

"I'm here to see if you've come to your senses," he takes another step around.

"Yes. Thank you." I hear the coffee maker heat the water, and I turn to get a cup off the hook, and he's behind me. I jump and put space between us. "Cut it out."

He smiles. A thousand watts. "You don't miss me? We had some great times."

"Yeah, it was peachy. I'm moving on."

"That's not wise. Almost six figures and benefits? You're out of your mind."

"You told me not to come back unless I chose you. So it's you, six figures and benefits. I'm not coming back." I push him out of my way and make the coffee.

"You make it sound tawdry and you know it wasn't. I'm the only one telling you the truth here. You think I gave up on us? Guys like him, this is all they want, a cracker-box house, the football game and some fried chicken. Is that all you want for yourself? The only thing he'll be really good at is putting a kid in you once every couple of years. He won't be so pretty once he starts losing his hair and growing his belly. You're clinging to what you know. Didn't I show you some good times, show you there was more? I asked you to marry me, Bedilia."

"That's it. You can't believe I turned you down," I say waiting for the cup to finish being filled.

"For this?" he looks around. "Come on."

I take his cup to the table, round it, sit across from where he stands.

He pulls out the chair and drops. "You're scared of the future. You ran back here like a little rabbit. If it was Mom and my sister, I talked to them. They'll behave. Mothers are like that, no one is good enough for their sons. And I've had a lot of women that want what I'm offering you."

I hear Marcus's ax take a clean whack against the wood. "Offering. It sounds like…a package."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I don't know. Probably nothing. I'm just the wrong girl."

"Are you…with him? Can you?"

"You did not go there."

"Of course, I did. We were never free from him. He was in your head so deep."

"Is THAT why you're here? You want to know if I can have sex with him? So you can what…be exonerated…for what?" I push back my chair.

"Bedilia wait," he reaches across the table and grabs my wrist. "You're taken with this guy, and he's like a body-guard. Is that what you want? He's got some hold on you. I can see what a domineering ass he is. If you need help…if you'd come back…see that therapist…."

I put up my hand. "Look, I bear you no ill will. You can take that coffee with you. I have more cups."

"I'm sorry. You look so tired, baby. In Chicago…you glowed."

"Don't call me that. It's over. I'm sure your family is waiting for you. All those miles…you really can't afford to fall in somewhere."

He grins but I see the sad, like Artie must have seen in me, heard in me, in Marcus. "We'll start over. Pull yourself together and come back to Chicago, Bedilia."

"I'm not coming back," I say.

"You don't feel anything for me…for us?"

The back door has opened, and I feel the cold air.

"First of the year," he says. "Don't say never. Your apartment is empty."

I don't walk him to the door. I hear him let himself out.

Marcus walks into the kitchen. "What's first of the year? Your apartment?"

There is a deep throbbing pain building over my eyebrows. "I need to lie down," I say. I get up, holding my head together.

He doesn't follow right away. I'm on the bed for a few seconds of shocked floating before he enters. He sets a bottle of water on the nightstand. "Here," he says nudging me. He has two Ibuprofens in his hand.

I sit up and take them. "Thanks."

I lay back down, and he helps cover me.

"That moron upset you," he says.

I don't open my eyes. "I'm fine."

"I'll…be right across the street," he says.

Without looking, I reach up and grab a handful of his shirt. I pull enough he gets the hint.

He takes my hand, loosens the hold. "Bedilia…try to sleep. I'm right over there."

Now I do open my eyes. "What's the matter?"

He's shaking his head. "Unfinished business, like we said before. You need to rest, and I do too."

"We were resting. It was perfect."

He smiles a little. "I need a run. I've got laundry. I don't have a Lamborghini, but I do have a sink full of dirty dishes and some bills to pay."

"Don't do this," I say lifting up on my hand. "Don't you dare compare yourself to him or something."

He smirks. "Yeah. I'm not. He's a rich jerk. But…I'm not your rabbit hole…or your turtle shell, Bedilia. That's not who you are either. I want to be. I'm just wicked enough to fall into that. There's no one I'd rather scrape up on the rebound."

My eyebrows lift up to my hairline. "Stop. Don't say anymore you are…wrong."

"Yeah. I'm not sure. We both need to sleep. I'm…slowing the freight train down. I'm hitting the brake. For everyone's sake."

I think I'll just ignore everything and everyone. Is it possible to ignore Marcus? I'm going to try. I'm going to clear my head and think of nothing but white fuzz. I'm so tired.

Just when I'm entering nirvana, my eyes pop open. "What the heck does that mean…put the brakes on?" I whisper.

And I'm not your rabbit hole, I'm not your turtle shell? I said that in love asshole. I was feeling loved and safe because of you. Jack ass!

If my head didn't hurt so much, I'd throw open the window and scream toward his house.

But I lay there, certain any hope of sleep is now ruined.

When I wake up, it's three hours later, which makes it ten in the morning. I feel like total crap. My first thought might be Marcus but my second is Artie. Then Juney. Myron barely registers.

I know I've been away from Artie for too long. I frantically check my phone, but no one has called. Well, Myron has texted, but I'm not reading those.

I strip and get in the shower, but I'm moving slower than I need to. The hot water is wonderful, but it also depresses me.

Back in my room I braid my wet hair and get dressed. I go in Artie's room and throw together a bag. Once I'm in the truck and pulling out of the driveway I note that Marcus's truck is gone. Well, I already noted that from the crow's nest, but now it's official.

My heart barely thumps. The holidays can be such a downer. And I'd had such high hopes. Wasn't it just yesterday Marcus and I were cooking, Juney was in the living room. Dad was at work. We were like a family.

This would be a great time to have a mother. I have heard other girls complain about their moms, but this would be a great time to have one. I know it's lame to feel this now after all this time of her being otherwise occupied, and maybe if I really had a mom she would be so obnoxious I wouldn't tell her a thing, but my fantasy mom would be about perfect right now.

If I had her, I would ask her, what the heck do I do now?

I know what Ranita would do. She'd wrap herself in cellophane probably, stuff a fat dubee and be ready to rumble the minute she got Marcus to herself.

Well, I don't know for sure. My fantasy mom would hold me while I cried and tell me I was too good for all of them. Then she'd take me to Hawaii all expenses paid while I "healed."

There has to be someone in the middle. I know there is, and I go there. Billy's. I know they want to monitor Artie's salt, but a slice of pumpkin pie can do a lot for a man.

I go around to the kitchen door because she has the front locked for the holiday.

The kitchen is warm and smells great. I'm a little regretful cause those turkeys I smell are the ones we brined.

"How's it going?" I say.

She's standing at the stove, an industrial sized pan of onions and celery, chopped by Marcus, are browning there. "My favorite smell in the kitchen," she says.

"Yeah," I agree. Then I just think, go for it. "So you and Dad?"

"Me and dad what?" she smiles while she stirs. She's dressed up, purple shirt. Looks nice. Her hair is pulled into a bun.

She doesn't like loose-haired cooks or kitchen workers or waitresses. I should know. "Tie it up," she used to say to me when I worked here. Well, she only had to say it once. Smartest waitress she ever had. That's what she said about me.

"You and dad," I'm rolling my hand. I'm a little afraid of her answer. I mean…it's my dad.

"You find out about Benny and Coy?"

"What about them," I say while the room swims. Those are her two grown sons.

"They're Artie's," she says with this gleam, this smile.

She has me for a minute, then she's laughing.

They're a couple of perverts. Well, they were in high school. They're okay now but I had to put up with those two all the time I worked here. "Not funny," I say.

"You don't want a couple of brothers?" she cackles.

"Please," I say.

"Yeah, those two…early grave for me," she says moving to the giant stainless refrigerator. She takes out one of the pumpkin pies. "I had to make two babies with that bastard from upriver."

Yeah, it's a sad story. Teresa's an overcomer.

"Speaking of that," I say moving to the big work table where she's slicing pie for Artie, "that guy Myron White showed up from Chicago."

She looks at me as she lifts the slice into a plastic wedge. "Oh. He want you to come back?"

"I'm not going back. It was…well, Marcus was there."

We stare at each other a few seconds. "Okay."

"First off…you've heard of Operation Love Boat?"

"The television show?

"Okay, no, forget that. I mean…I came home pretty well knowing…I even left, for that matter, left for Chicago knowing I was in love with…Marcus Stover."

"Yeah," she urges me on. She's not running out screaming so I'm encouraged.

"You can't tell Dad."

She laughs a little. "I can't un-tell him either, but sure."

"What…what do you mean…un-tell."

"Can't take away what he's already figured out."

"Dad has figured what out…that I love Marcus?"

"That Marcus loves you."

I can't seem to grasp this, but I can. I do.

"Dad believes that Marcus loves me?"

"Yes," she says like she's talking to a lunatic.

"Why? I mean…on what grounds?"

She laughs, she shrugs, she puts a lid on the pie. "Your dad notices things," she says.

"He was always careful," I repeat this as I've heard Marcus say it several times.

"When you left…not so careful."

"How so?"

Teresa shrugs. "He wasn't so good. Artie could see it, that's all."

"Thing is…Marcus was there, early this morning when Myron showed up."

"Oh, fudge. Did he kick his ass or something?"

She used fudge and ass very closely there, but I make myself move on.

"Why would he?"

"Well, you love him, and he's there at the house. Then the other one comes, and your dad told me that you said that other guy fired you, and Artie was all wound up saying Marcus slapped the table or something he was so mad."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. Dad told you that?"

"Sure. And about conflict of interest. He didn't like that. Oh, and doing you a favor to fire you."

Dad's mouth is even bigger than I thought, but he's been telling the town my life story for…ever.

"So Marcus was just…." I nod, looking at the shelves of pots and pans and canned food. I don't know how to explain it.

"He says we have to wait. He's got to talk to Dad and break up with…."

"Jessica," Teresa fills in.

I look at her. Of course, she knows.

"Yeah."

"She has claws that one."

"Fake probably," I say.

"They still hurt. Maybe worse."

"Gee. That's encouraging."

"Wear something pretty. He'll come around."

I stare at her. It can't be that easy. This isn't the fifties…or sixties. Or seventies, I can't tell on Teresa with her dark skin.

"You young people worry about everything. It's not that complicated."

"It is for me," I say softly. I take a big breath. "I have a condition. I…can't have sex like a normal person."

Her eyes get big. "You don't have a…?" She makes a circle with thumb and pointer.

Even technology has offered me nothing as innocent and simultaneously raunchy.

"I have one," I say. "It's like very touchy."

"Most are," she says mischievously, and I catch the howling groan I nearly spill.

"What if I can't do it? What if I finally get there with Marcus and I can't do it?"

She smiles. "Practice makes perfect." She’s like a cat on the purr.