Me and Mom Fall for Spencer (20 page)

“Sarah,” Spencer says, taking my hand,
“Lucky is your favorite.”

I gasp a little. He can read my mind.

“You waited for him. Why didn’t you just
take him first?”
 
He’s looking at me,
really looking like he does. “You don’t act on it…what you want. You do what
you think is best,” he says, still looking.

“Ned was the most adoptable,” I say. “He
was the most likely to see he could live on his own. So we had to take Ned
first
cause
the others follow him.”

“Babe,” Spencer whispers, hugging me
close.

“Lucky had to come out last because he’s
the strongest.”

“Lucky is like you,” Spencer says.

“Why? I don’t know what I do. Maybe if I
did, I could understand.”

He puts his hand on my face and strokes
my cheek. “You’re pure,” he says.

“I’m not pure,” I say. I reject that. It
scares me that he thinks so highly. I have to tell him about phase one. He’s in
it.

“Sarah…you sell yourself short. You’re the
most caring person I’ve ever met.”

I think of what I said to Mom just last
night…especially about getting off her ass…did I say that? I hope I only
thought it. And some of the stuff I’ve done to
Leeanne
over the years. And Horny, don’t get me started. And Aaron…well he deserves it.
Horny too.
And being trapped with
Leeanne
…who
could blame me? And Mom…she’s no picnic.
But pure?

“You’re kind,” he says again, a smile so
warm it feels like grace.

I lick my lips and he looks there and he
laughs a little. “Should I kiss you now?”

“If you want,” I say all raspy.

And he does.

But here’s what I know. You don’t let go
of Spencer Gundry.

They haven’t let go of him.

Me and Mom Fall for
Spencer

Chapter Twenty-Nine

That same evening I am in my room, in my
underwear, working for Aaron. When my eyes need a rest I go downstairs for an
apple.

I enter the living room and turn on a
light and Mom is sitting there. She loves to sit in the dark and something
about it always bugs me.

“I don’t know what you’re doing with all
these dogs, Sarah,” she says.

Spencer has Ned and Dusty and I have
Lucky.

“Are you staying home?” I say. I know
she is as she’s in her robe and pajamas.

I am on a break from Spencer. He’s
noticed I need one. I can’t help it. I have to process and I have to work. I
want him, feel pulled in the direction of his house but I’m trying to ignore
it.

“Sit down, Sarah.”

I sit on the edge of the green chair.

“We had words last night,” she says. “I
was…out of line maybe?”

I shrug. “Yes.”

“I guess things are changing so fast,”
she says.

I tighten up a little
cause
it is fast and I don’t want to talk about that.

I am staring at her.

“I’ve been thinking of moving out,” she
says.

I sit straighter. “You can’t.”

“Oh really?”

“Where would you go? You’ve always lived
here. It’s your home.”

She is shaking her head. She’s
threatened this before, and it’s probably just a threat, but it always gets me
going, worries me.

“My home,” she folds her arms and looks
off, snorts. “Maybe I’m tired.”

“Mom….”

“Maybe I’m tired of living in his
window,” she says.

“He doesn’t look out his window,” I say.
His chair isn’t positioned to face it, not anymore. He’s turned that chair
sideways and he has to crane his neck to look.

“Maybe I’m tired of looking in yours!” She’s
not holding a drink, but she’s had one.
Or more.

“Stop looking,” I say back sternly.

We sit there for a full minute, not
saying a word.

“Are you coming to church in the
morning?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. I wasn’t, but I will now.

“Is…he?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” I didn’t
ask.

Lucky comes in to the living room and
lies down by my chair.

“What are you going to do with all these
animals?”

“It’s just
Lucky
,”
I say. He hears his name and puts his head on my leg.

“
Jace
…is
married,” she says.

I can’t imagine someone actually made
vows to the pirate, but I stopped being surprised by older peoples’ love
triangles and octagons and trapezoids a long time ago. Mom and Horny have
over-exposed me to all of it.

“Hope you were safe. That guy….”

“Oh you judge me?”

“Mom,” I say, ready to bolt.

“I know you think it’s different for you,
but we’re all looking for love, Sarah.”

I didn’t know she was looking for love. I
thought she was looking for a drink and a dance and a good time.

“Would you get married again?” I say.

She runs her hand over the sash on her
robe. “I don’t know.
Right guy?
Who
knows.
We’ve got a cute guy moved into the rental. Maybe I’ll go for him.”

She looks at me and has this face, like
up my ass or something.

“Mom. “
If I say a flat out no she’ll go for it. I do not want A. R. in this house. “Are
you moving?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Money is the thing. She doesn’t make
enough. I can’t support her in another place. I don’t want to do that. “Move in
with Christine?”

“Huh. Aaron White has done that.”

I’m mad.
“For real?”
That’s an obscene commute.

She smirks and flips her sash around.

“What about you? Things are obviously
progressing. Think you can trust him?” she says.

I feel the gates moving into place. She’s
not getting in. Not through me.

“He’s a good person,” I say.

“Oh,” she
says,
exaggerated lift of her chin. “They all are in the first five minutes,
darlin
’.”

I’m not going to argue. Mom comes in
knowing everything. She’s not a listener.

“Guess this day was coming,” she sighs.

“What day?”

“
You wanting
me
out.
Wanting your own way.”

“I never said that. Is that why you’re
talking about moving?”

“Well you can’t live over there, can
you?
Although you’ve been spending enough time over there.
Even the night?
Come on. All these years you can’t set
foot in the place and now you’re practically living there.”

“Do you want me out of here?”

“I know this might come as a complete
shock, Sarah, but if you were over there maybe I could think of getting serious
with someone.”

“I haven’t kept you
from…,”

“Don’t even start that crap.
You know as well as I do you’ve been slow to get out there.”

“Get out where Mom? I live here. I pay
to live here. I pay for almost everything.”

I have never used this in an argument. I
have never even said this in passing. I have never wanted to say it, or planned
to say it. It doesn’t feel good to say it either. I hate that it’s come out of
my mouth and I hate the shame I see in her face. I guess I mostly just hate
myself.

“Well,” she says looking anywhere but at
me, “I guess, since you pay for everything, you’ll be relieved when I’m not
here anymore.”

“Mom, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, no. You see it as yours. I’m sure
I’m in the way. But what about all the equity we put into it over the years?”
Now she does look at me. Her eyes are blazing.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s both of ours.
It always has been.”

“Oh, my equity doesn’t matter? You’re
the only one with equity?”

When I took over the house payment it
was three months in arrears and ready to get auctioned for taxes. Any equity
had been harvested as soon as they invented the home equity loan.

But I don’t say this.

Spencer called me pure. But when does
‘pure,’ become ‘doormat?’

Me and Mom Fall for
Spencer

Chapter Thirty

I am at his door. The dogs send up a
howl and Lucky is agitated. I hear Spencer’s stern voice dealing with the dogs.
He opens the door and his eyes take in all the crap I carry.

He stands back and I enter. “I…,” I
start to say but there’s no finish so I’m standing there.

“You have a fight?”

He knows.

“You look upset, Sarah.”

“Mom.
We…have been fighting.”

That’s the thing. It’s been like this.

I go to the couch and drop my things and
just look at him.

“Well you can stay here,” he says. “You
know that.
Mi casa
…and
all.”

I nod. It’s very kind. I have so many
homes—Merle and Pearlie,
Cyro
, even
Leeanne
would take me in, now here…Spencer. I’m very
blessed. And the dogs, it’s a three-way, noses, tails, huff-puff.

“Ned,” Spencer says sharply.

Wouldn’t you know Ned is the worst now
that he’s loved? Love just makes us crazy…and no love?
Crazier.

“I sure don’t have any answers,” I say
like we’ve been talking about something that makes sense.

He laughs a little. “No answers? I
thought you were the answer.”

I have to laugh. I hope his eyes are
wide open.

He is close, then closer. “Need an egg
sandwich?” His brows…he lifts them, and the eyes…well you laugh. It’s all you
can do. There’s never, at any time, anything subtle about his face. If he’s
sultry you die for the handsome, if he smiles better get your sunglasses, if
he’s silly, you have to laugh even if you’re worried about your mother and if
he’s sad, your own heart remembers all the things it’s sad about. He breaks you
wide open anyway you go. Well he does me. He reflects humanity in the most
beautiful way. He’s an exaggeration…of everything.

Here’s what’s funny. He makes me the egg
sandwich and I sit in his kitchen and wait while he cooks, same unwashed pan he
used for himself earlier. “Want cheese?” he asks because he has sliced sharp
cheddar, the best kind for egg sandwiches, he told me earlier in Big-Mart. But
that’s not what’s funny, but this is--I’ve done this before, here.
So many times before.
This house was my refuge. That is the
thing…not church. That’s for Marie.
But this house.
Not
pastor Stanley.
But Frieda.
This was the place I would
come.
Before Merle.
Before
Cyro
.
Before
Leeanne
.
Before Spencer.
It was Frieda. And I wouldn’t have to
say what was happening at home. I never had to say. I would slip in the
unlocked door, go to the couch where she sat, even then, head back, mouth open
snoring while her stories were on, her black metal TV tray holding her jelly
doughnuts and her medicine, her cold cup of pale coffee I never understood the
need for.

I would sit next to her, put her arm
over me, her wing and me a little chicken who didn’t make a peep if she could
help it, but who snuggled up to her side.

It was always that way as if God himself
had set this place aside for me.

I slip off Spencer’s stool and go in the
living room and I look at that wall, the one with the boxes of books still
sitting there, a million tales already told and holding, but none of them the
one I know, the best seller in my head, always showing at movie-
plex
two. I look at those boxes and they are slowly going
away, and it’s her legs I remember, akimbo I think they call it, spread, bent. I
see red.

My Frieda.

His hand on my arm.
“Your sandwich is ready,” he says.

I follow him into the kitchen.

Me and Mom Fall for
Spencer

Chapter Thirty-One

“Do you want hot sauce on that?” he asks
me going to the pantry.

I shake my head. I don’t want anything.
To eat.
But I need the focus.
The
kindness.
That’s all. That’s everything.

“You were staring at my boxes again,” he
says setting the bottle before me.

Not at them, through them. But I don’t
say. I like his long fingers on the bottle, the sensitivity in his touch…the
musician…the listener…runner of baths…
petter
of dogs.

“You think I’m a slob. I’m going to
order shelves from
Ikea
. I was going to ask if you’d
let me borrow your laptop and your connection. You could help me pick them out.
I know you have a lot of important stuff on there…your machine.
The formula for world peace.”

“I do have that. Stop killing. All
killing,” I say.

He laughs. “Let’s see, Cain didn’t mean
to kill Abel, did he?”

“Yes,” I say. “He meant it.”

“Pre-meditated? No shit?”

“Yes.
Hated Abel’s
guts.
Jealous.”

Merle again.
One of mine and
Leeanne’s
fights.
Jealousy leads to murder.
Got it.
But I had it
before…before Merle. I mean the lesson.

“I forgot that,” Spencer says, leaning
on the island where I eat my sandwich.

I can’t forget. But I can be different. I
can set my routine, be vigilant, be committed,
be
kind. I can do so much.

So I pick at the crust on my sandwich.

“Sullivan, don’t make me feed you,” he
says, sweet smile. It’s in his voice
too
--the smile. “If
you’re worried about her you could call. Tell her goodnight.”

It sounds reasonable. But she’s not
reasonable.

I clear my throat, “When Merle and
Pearlie move….”

“They’re moving?”

“When they do…I think
Leeanne
will go. I think she’ll move to be with her
uncles
.”

“Okay. Is that okay?”

I look at him. “If people can’t change, they
die.
Inside.
And outside.”

He blinks. “Oh. Okay. Yeah that’s
possible. You think
Leeanne
might die? She looked
pretty healthy….”

“I think she has to change, to live.”

His eyes have narrow, and his mouth
loses its curve.
“Yeah.”

“And Merle is taking Pearlie to Florida.
They…have this daughter.”

“Hey, I’m jealous. Not that I’ll kill
them or anything.”

I refuse to smile. “
Cyro
…he
needs me.”

“He needs a new leg. That thing he
straps on when he’s being good
Cyro
? It’s a mummy.”

I do kind of smile. “What?”

“It’s like a mummy’s leg. It’s Boris
Karloff or something. Dude, get current, you know? What’s the deal there?”

Spencer retrieves his new dishrag, also
Big-Mart, and starts to wipe down the island. “If I lost a leg I wouldn’t be
strapping the old Model-T on, you know? I’d have the most super-duper,
aero-dynamic, spring loaded piece of titanium. What is with that guy?”

“Did you tell him?”

“Sort of.
He said that thing—‘paint my walls tell me what kind of leg, blah-blah.’ His
go-to is asshole. Nah, he’s a good guy.” He’s scrubbing with two hands now,
like he’s a galley-hand and this is the ship’s nasty spit-ridden floor. It’s
pretty well gleaming in here.

I take a bite of the sandwich.

“Hey there’s a new guy next-door,” he
says. His back is to me as he rinses the rag, shakes it out.

“Did you meet him?” I say.

“Yeah.
No name, just initials. Pretentious shit maybe. But hey, it’s a rental made out
of saltines and duct-tape so give us a name like
Arnie
Rabbit or something. He said he met you.”

“You talked about me?”

“No. He said he’d met my neighbor and I
said okay. That was about it.” He’s smirking at me. “You want to hear it?” He
walks around the island to where I sit. “Yeah, he said, ‘hey, who’s the lucky
guy banging that girl with the cute little,’” he looks at my boobs and grunts,
“’and
the
,’” he gets close enough to drag his hand
down my back and pat my butt as it’s bulging on top of the stool a little.

I sit up straight.

“Sorry,” he says, not at all sorry.

“Yeah, I got that vibe from him,” I say,
and I drop my head some while I pick apart the sandwich and take another bite. Now
I am trying not to smile.

“Sarah,” he says pushing my hair over my
shoulder. “Sarah Marie.”

I won’t look at him. I almost have my
nose in my plate and I’m shoveling in bites with my fingers but I start
laughing.

He is behind me and puts his arm around
me and he’s laughing against my hair. “Him I may kill,” he says.