Sassafras, Part 27

Joan


I looked at him, and knew I didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t make any sense, and I knew it. If I found out a man was an ex-con in New York I would have run away screaming. Why was I even thinking about letting him stay? Was I so desperate for a man that even a prison record didn’t bother me? Maybe it was a mistake, but I let him stay. We went inside and I started rummaging around in the kitchen. "I don't know what we're going to have," I said. "I went to the nursing home where my mom is this afternoon and it depressed me so much I forgot all about inviting you over."

"We could go out if you want," he said. "Or we could just order a pizza or something."

"I don't feel much like going out tonight. Maybe a pizza would be a good idea. You're probably lucky I forgot you were coming. I'm a horrible cook." I was glad he suggested we could just order a pizza. I lived on take-out and delivery in New York. The only things I ever cooked at home were coffee and microwave popcorn. I finally found the phone book under the couch and called a couple of pizza places until I found one that delivered to Sassafras.

After I got off the phone I went to the bathroom. I was a mess. I fixed my make-up and brushed the tangles out of my hair. What was I doing, I wondered while I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I had been absolutely furious when Sara told me he was an ex-con, and now I was worried about my make-up. I should be in there keeping an eye on him. When I went back in the living room he was looking at the computer, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to decide if it was worth stealing. I couldn't get over the fact that he was an ex-con. I kept telling myself ex, ex, he's an ex-con. That doesn't mean he's a hardened criminal. He walked around the living room, looking at all the pictures on the wall. He asked me about a picture of me hanging over the TV, and I ended up talking about work again. It seemed like that was the only thing I was comfortable talking about.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked. "I think there is some beer in the fridge."

"Sure," he said. I went in the kitchen and got a couple of beers, then came back and sat down next to him on the couch. When I turned and handed him one I noticed a dark bruise on his temple.

“What happened to you? Did I do that to you?” I asked and reached up to touch it but he pulled away.

“You didn’t do it, Slugger,” he said. “It’s nothing, just a little bruise.”

“Hold still,” I said and held his chin in one hand while I ran my fingers around the edge of the bruise. It wasn’t very big, but swollen and tender. “Let me get some ice for that,” I said and went back in the kitchen. I put some ice in a sandwich bag and wrapped a washcloth around it, then sat down next to him, tucking my feet up under my skirt. “What happened?” I asked and pressed the ice pack to his temple.

“Oh, that feels good,” he said. “It’s nothing. Sneider wanted to show a hold to the rookie, Thompson, and decided to demonstrate on me. I decided to show Thompson how to get out of the hold, but we both fell down and I hit my head on a desk.” He closed his eyes for a minute, then looked over at me. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I don’t know. A little.”

“I really thought you knew. You even wrote Bowling Green in your little book.”

“What little book?”

“That calendar in your purse. You started taking notes last night.”

“What?” I handed him the icepack and walked into the kitchen. I pulled my planner out of my purse and flipped through it, “Oh my God,” I gasped, reading things I didn’t even remember writing. “Oh, shit.” I looked over at him and snapped it shut. “You didn’t read this, did you?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Oh, no.” I opened it and flipped through it again. How could I have written all this? How could I have let him read it? “Oh my God. I’m so embarrassed. You read this? All of it?”

“I especially liked the parts you underlined,” he teased.

I looked back down at it, looking at how much I had underlined. “Oh, my, God,” I repeated, holding my hand up to my face. “Rick, I didn’t…. I mean, I don’t… Oh, shit.”

“Are you going to just stand in the kitchen cussing like a sailor all night, or are you going to come back here and sit down?”

I started walking back into the living room, but stopped about halfway. “Rick, I don’t want you to think I usually act like I did last night. I don’t know what happened. I never act like that.”

“I know you don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I could tell by the things you said, the things you did.”

“What do you mean? What did I say? What did I do?”

“Well, you said you don’t usually go around kissing strange men. That was a pretty good clue. Come here and sit down and I’ll tell you all about last night.”

I stood there for another minute before I had the courage to start walking again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know all about last night. “That’s another way I can tell you’re not a real party girl,” he said when I sat down.

“What do you mean?”

“If you were the kind of woman who goes around picking up men in bars you wouldn’t be sitting all the way over there hugging the armrest.”

“It’s comfortable here,” I said. “There’s something to lean up against.”

“You could lean up against me. You did last night.” I remembered leaning against him last night. It felt so nice, so right. He slid over next to me. “Is it still comfortable over here?”

“Yes, fine,” I said, but I wasn’t comfortable at all anymore. His arm was lying across the back of the couch now, his hand resting right in back of my shoulder. I remembered feeling his arm around me, how strong his arm felt, how warm his hand was. I looked down at my planner and thought about all the things I wrote about him in it. And he read it. My God, I just wanted to die. “So, did I do anything embarrassing last night? Besides write all this?”

“Well, I wasn’t embarrassed,” he said. “I was kind of surprised when you got up on the pool table and started dancing, and then when you started playing the piano and singing show tunes people started staring.”

“I was dancing on the pool table!” I was horrified, but I didn’t remember that at all. “Wait a minute, I don’t know how to play the piano. Hey, there isn’t even a piano at Tanner’s!” He was looking at me and smiling like he just won the lottery. “You’re making fun of me now, aren’t you?” I asked and thumped him on the forehead with my planner. Unfortunately, his reflexes were better than I anticipated and he pulled it out of my hand.

“Give that back to me,” I demanded and tried to grab it, but he held it just out of reach. “That’s mine! Give it back,” I insisted and leaned over him to try and get it.

“Okay, okay, you can have it back,” he said, but when he gave it to me I felt something cold and wet crunch under my knee. I squealed and jumped even farther across him. The ice pack was scattered all across the cushion. I lost my balance, but I felt his arms reach for me, holding me up. I realized I had wrapped my arms around his shoulders, my planner lying forgotten on the floor.

I felt his arms move, and instead of being frozen in mid-leap I was suddenly just sitting in his lap, like it happened all the time. At first I was too surprised to move. He looked at me like he was waiting to see what I was going to do next. Hell if I knew. I might not have still been in mid-leap, but I was still frozen. Just more comfortable. That was the first thing I really noticed, how comfortable it felt. My left arm was draped over his shoulder still, and his arms were wrapped loosely around my waist. My right arm had fallen off his shoulder, and my hand was resting on his chest. I was still nervous, but then I thought of what Maria said. Even though there was no way I was rubbing his belly like a German Shepard, just thinking about it made me relax a little.

It was strange, but knowing he was an ex-con was actually a relief. He wasn’t perfect. I remembered the first thing that I thought of when Maria asked about him was those statues at the museum, each one up on a pedestal, perfect and untouchable, but he was just a normal man, with flaws and bad habits and insecurities of his own. I noticed his nose was a little crooked, and wondered if he had been in an accident, or maybe a fight in prison like in the movies. He had gray hair that I never noticed, too, just a little sprinkled here and there, and tiny wrinkles around the corners of his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. I wondered how old he was.