Vulnerable (3 page)

            The house smelled like a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant as soon as he opened the door and got a whiff. That smell burned its way down to Michael’s gut:
That means Millie’s home!

            Michael rushed through the doorway and, sure enough, there stood Millie, bending in front of the oven and peering inside to check on whatever dish she was preparing for dinner. Her hair was sticking to her face and her usual plastered smile was upside down, which was the least of Michael’s worries.

            He stepped closer to her and cleared his throat to make himself known. Millie whipped around so quickly that she smacked the top of her head on the oven’s slick handle.

            “
OUCH!”
she shouted. Her hand plopped onto the spot that had just made the unpleasant acquaintance of the oven’s handle. She rubbed it briskly, winced, and greeted Michael as though she had no greater pleasure in the world, “Michael! It’s so good to see you! What have you been up to today?” This greatly caught Michael off guard.

            “I—uh—j-just went sightseeing,” he replied, dazed. Millie had turned back around to check on what looked like some sort of taco casserole, while still rubbing the back of her head.

            “Sightseeing?” she asked without looking back, “There’s nothing really to see besides the lake and the mountains. Did you go on a hike or something?”

            “No,” he replied. She turned around and closed the oven door.

            She heaved a gusty sigh and propped her fists on her hipbones, and then finally met Michael’s eyes for the first time since the evening before, “No? Oh that’s strange…what could you have possibly done all day around here? The town’s not too big.” This made Michael think: What
did
he do all day? His eyes glanced at the clock, which just made him even more confused and seemingly absent-minded. She was right. There was little to do in the town and yet he had somehow spent a whole day in it. What had he done other than run into those nasty degenerates at the farmer’s market? Did he seriously spend all day just…
thinking?

           
Millie cocked her head a bit and waved her hand over Michael’s range of vision as though to break him out of a trance. Well, whatever it was, it worked. He blinked a few times and realized that he probably
did
spend all day thinking.
Great
, he thought,
all day I thought and didn’t even write. The publishers are sure going to be happy with me…the novel needs to be done in two weeks…

            “I’m losin’ you again,” Millie laughed, turning around to check on the casserole again.

            “Sorry,” Michael laughed back before continuing, “Why do you keep checking it? I’m sure a couple minutes won’t really make any difference.” He laughed as though he were joking but was sincerely curious.

            “Oh, I broke the oven a few weeks back and now it’s always on 550 degrees,” she peered through the oven door again, “along with it went the oven light too.”

            “Why don’t you just call up Mrs. Withersworth and ask her to get someone to fix it?”

            Millie shook her head. “I couldn’t bear doing that; she’s done so much for me already. I don’t have an actual job and still have to finish my degree…she pays me enough to get by to take care of this place as well as letting me live in it and letting me eat whatever I want… I couldn’t bear to let her know I failed.” Her eyes saddened and Michael could see them glistening against the heat radiating out of the oven. “What if she found someone more capable of running this place and I couldn’t work with the youth anymore? What if I had to move back with…” she clapped her hand over her mouth and looked as though she were about to puke.

            “Millie? Are you okay?” Michael asked. He glided over to her and clasped his hands on both of her slender arms. She was shaking slightly and Michael could hear her rapidly breathing. “Millie…” he whispered, “What’s going on?” This seemed to break her out of whatever state she was in. She turned her head to look straight at him.

            “What are you talking about?” she asked with the straightest face Michael had ever seen a human form. It gave him the creeps and he felt his eyes widen as his eyebrows furrowed.

            “Wha—,” he began but was cut off by the smoke alarm going off.

            “Oh dang it!” Millie booed under her breath as she flapped a hand through the billowing smoke. She took a heat pad and pulled out the charcoal block that once was a developing casserole. She slammed it onto the top of the stove with a cacophonous clatter. “Well,” she sighed, “I guess we should go out to eat tonight, huh?” she turned her head and smiled. Michael’s spirits rose.

            “Absolutely,” he replied, “Let’s go out to dinner.”

·
       
 

            “So what’s it like being a novelist?” Millie asked Michael with a mouth full of before-dinner salad.

            “It’s all right,” he replied. His fork was having a jousting match with a grape tomato on his plate, but all the tomato seemed to want to do was roll away. “I mean, I started because I loved it, but… now I kind of have to do it… and ever since…” his fork stabbed the grape tomato and his heart stopped. He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. His heart began to beat again. This caught Millie’s interest, and before she could ask any questions, he answered the only one she had been curious to get an answer to. “Ever since my wife died, I’ve found it hard to express myself in what I write.” The busy restaurant became no less chaotic, but to the two of them, the air became still and silent—a ghostly calm.

            “I—I’m so sorry to hear that,” Millie said morosely. Her voice sounded sincere but her eyes sparkled as if Michael had just invited her into the biggest party of their senior year.

            He shrugged and plopped the tomato into his mouth. Millie’s long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked slowly, thinking, and then asking softly the question that everybody always wants to know in a situation like this but always lacks the courage: “What happened?”

            Michael had been expecting this question and had prepared a quick and easy answer: “Childbirth,” he replied, “She died giving birth to our first and only child.” Millie blinked again and opened her mouth to ask another question, but Michael answered that one before she could utter a syllable. “He died too.” Her face drained of color.

            “I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “Truly, I am—,”

            “Really, it’s all right…” Michael’s thoughts trailed into a memory of his wife hitting him over the head with a plastic baseball bat in rage because he’d forgotten to take out the garbage before company came over. He always felt a singe of guilt well up inside when he remembered her like this, but he couldn’t ignore her abusive and crazy tendencies because they were ninety-five percent of their marriage.

            He swallowed hard when he looked up because it made him feel even guiltier. How could this beautiful, intelligent woman that he’s known less than two days make him feel so great when his late wife had just left him scarred with eternal guilt? He was sure that he was losing it; maybe one of those baseball bat incidents left him a little loopy.

            Millie looked deeply at him and reached her hand to intertwine with his. His heart leapt to his throat and he was about to ask her more about herself before she asked the strangest question he had ever been asked: “Can you feel her sometimes?” This certainly caught him off-guard.

            “What?” he asked with his voice filled with vacancy.

            She blushed, “When you miss her and need her… can you
feel
her?”

            Michael laughed uncomfortably and fidgeted—he could feel his fingers twitching awkwardly. “N-No, I don’t think so.” She blinked slowly again and looked down.

            “I can feel…” Michael heard Millie whisper to herself.

            “Wha—,”

            “So have you decided on a main course yet?” came the husky voice of the brawny waiter.

            “Oh,” Millie snapped back into the moment at the restaurant, as opposed to the one swimming around in her head, “I’ll have the… uh… chef’s special… the one with avocados and pico de gallo.” She smiled up innocently, completely oblivious to the fact that the waiter had been hitting on her since they first arrived.

            “And for you?” he sighed, extremely less interested in taking Michael’s order.

            “Uh… yes… I’ll have… the same… I suppose.” The waiter looked at him blandly before rolling his eyes and taking the menus away. He didn’t leave without winking at Millie though, and this burned a fire in Michael’s chest. Why should it, though? He’s not dating her or anything. I mean, he just met her yesterday for heaven’s sake. No one could like someone that instantly… could they?

            “I have a question…” Millie asked in a nervous voice, “How… was your relationship with your wife?” Michael’s eyebrows nearly ascended into his hairline at the question. How forward! How… intriguing… to ask… such a question…

            “She… was… abusive…” were the only words Michael could utter. There was thick awkwardness in the quiet air before Millie gave a follow-up question.

            “Well then… why do you find it hard to write?”

            Michael’s eyes flickered with annoyance for the first time at the angelic figure before him. “What?”

            “I’m sorry, I—,”

            “Do you know what it’s like to lose someone you love? No matter how abusive—,”

            “I SAID I’M SORRY!” She cried out, a tear streaming defiantly from her right eye. Everyone turned to stare into her face, including the brawny waiter that was standing close by. Her lip was quivering and Michael looked vacantly at her masked eyes. What was she hiding?

            “I—I’m so—It’s all right… I… uh…”

            “Is this guy botherin’ you?” The waiter asked foully. He must have shuffled his bulky body over there at the speed of light to get there so fast. Michael rolled his eyes. Who did that guy think he was? Every other college wrestler/failed football player in the country?

            “N-No, I’m sorry, it was my fault—I overreacted. Everything’s fine.” She swiped the loose tear from her cheek and clasped her hands together, looking up at the Neanderthal with a falsified smile marked across her soft-featured face.

            They spent the rest of the night awkwardly talking about the weather and things like that, but occasionally got to some fun topics like movies and books, which made Michael see the human side in Millie, making him admire her even greater. The hint of intrigue never left his mind, though; if anything, it just grew the more he spent time with her. What was her story? Why was she here?

            “I can’t believe you never saw that movie,” Millie laughed, swinging her arms by her side as they made their way to the parking lot, “It’s a classic.”

            “Yeah,” Michael laughed. “So,” he started a new, heavier topic, “It’s my turn to ask a question.

            “Shoot.”

            “Have you ever been in love?”

            Her face didn’t seem to shift and her body language remained relaxed. Whatever she was hiding, it couldn't have been romantic.

            “Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve found anyone right for me quite yet…”

            “I see… So do you have any cool friends around here?”

            “Uh-uh! It’s my turn!” Millie laughed, shoving his arm playfully as he played with his keys.

            “All right, all right,” he laughed back. She placed a finger on her lips and rolled her eyes to the glowing silvery moon. Her mind was streaming with thoughts and questions.