Chapter 13
T he next morning Lainey resumed her fight against poverty by immersing herself in several new orders, including the ones Ian procured for her. The people she contacted had questions. She could tell by the way they said, “Oh, you’re Ian’s friend,” as if wondering her connection to the notoriously lone wolf. Lainey remained demure for once, not bothering to assuage their curiosity and blurt more than she should.
It had been nice, that little break after her breakdown. She slept and rested and cleaned and cleared her head. That was how she knew marrying Dexter was the right thing, because she thought about it with a healthy brain for once. Not like all her other decisions that were usually fueled by emotional impulse and caffeine. Now, for instance, when she was on hour twenty-three of no sleep, would be the wrong time to make any major life decisions. Good thing for her she only had to finish her current order and then she was done.
Eventually she would have to decide how best to use the money Dexter was about to give her. Should she refuel her lagging savings account or buy a chocolate enrober? Having money in the bank was a good idea, obviously, but buying the enrober would save her hours and hours of work, could increase her productivity, probably tenfold. Most of her tedious labor was spent tempering and dipping chocolate. The enrober would take care of both, potentially saving hours of effort. But outside of a vehicle it would be the most expensive thing she would ever buy. Could she justify that when her savings account was running on fumes? These were the times she wished she had someone to ask, a business mentor or friend who would know best how to help her. She thought of calling Murphy and quickly dismissed the idea. Clearly her brother didn’t care, or at least not in the tangible way she wanted him to. She could call her dad but, given his history of bad decision making, he would probably tell her to take the money and buy magic beans.
Dexter came to mind, but she quickly discarded him. I am not here to fix you. Ouch, but point taken. Once again Lainey would have to figure things out on her own with no help. And she would, but not today.
At some point, she assumed it was evening but really had no idea, Dexter knocked.
“Stop knocking,” she yelled.
“You want me to go away?” he said, poking his head around the door.
“No, I want you to stop knocking and walk in. Who does the knock benefit?” She didn’t bother to look up, so engrossed was she in her task of unmolding and packaging tiny chocolate fire engines. She’d found a company that made molds to her specifications, and it had the potential to be life changing, at least from a business perspective.
“Someone who doesn’t want to be shocked by your exposed girly bits,” he said.
“I only make candy in the nude for special events,” she returned.
“Like what?”
“St. Agatha Day, the festival of naked candy,” she said.
“Why do I ask the questions?” Dexter asked. He came into the kitchen and paused a few feet from the table, hovering.
“Now what are you doing?” Lainey asked.
“Trying to figure out how to sit down without getting my clothes dirty,” he said. Everything had smears or drops of chocolate on it.
“Decide right now: clean clothes or marriage in name only plus chocolate.”
With a sigh he pulled out a chair and sat. Lainey arranged a few of the chocolates she’d been working on in a little line and slid them toward him. “Eat them in this order.”
“Or what?”
“They won’t taste right and your mouth will explode. In the bad way.”
“Is there a good way for that to happen?” he asked.
“Try it and see,” she said, resuming her task.
He ate the chocolates in the proper order and had to admit, if only to himself, that there was a bit of a taste explosion. Of course his fingers were also now covered in melty chocolate that hadn’t fully hardened yet. By now he knew where the dishcloths were and helped himself, running it under warm water to try and clean himself off.
When he was reasonably clean, he realized Lainey had finished her project and was now apparently stuck, staring at her finished chocolates.
“Did you run out of gas?” he asked.
“I think maybe my battery unwound,” she said.
“How long have you been up?”
“What year is it?”
He went forward and used the wet cloth to try and clean her, starting with her face and working downward. She blinked sleepily up at him, remaining patiently still like a sticky toddler while he wiped her cheeks and then attempted to clean her hands. When he realized her fingers were coated in too many layers of chocolate, he took her by the wrist and led her to the sink.
“Why no gloves?” he asked.
“Need to feel it to make sure it’s right. Plus they get caked with chocolate. Gross.”
“Indeed, that’s disgusting,” he said dryly, peeling back what had to be ten rings of chocolate from her thumb. It was like age-dating an ancient tree. “Lainey, you have to sleep.”
“Sleep is for the weak,” she returned, suppressing a yawn.
“You are weak,” he reminded her when she swayed a little.
“Oh, then who is staying up for days and working for low pay for?” she asked, unable to suppress the yawn this time.
“The stupid,” he said. “You work so much more efficiently when you’re fresh and well-rested. Scientific studies have proven that…”
He stopped talking because she leaned against him and fell asleep, still standing like a horse, her cheek mashed flat against his sternum, lips puckered and half open. They flapped softly on each exhale like a party noisemaker that lacked enthusiasm for its job.
Why did I come here? he wondered. Why did he willingly subject himself to her calamitous life? He could have gone straight home, eaten supper, and watched TV on his couch. Instead he was playing the role of barn stall to her Mr. Ed. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Instead he bent and swept her into his arms, wincing when something pulled hard in his lower back. He was definitely going to feel this later, and she wasn’t even awake to appreciate his selfless heroics.
He carried her to the couch and plopped down with a grunt, Lainey flopping, her head precariously close to smacking the arm of the couch. Unaware, she curled toward him and nestled. Apparently it came easier to her than to him. He slid an afghan over her and she snuggled impossibly closer.
Dexter looked around for something to do and spied a remote. Every night he came home, sat on the couch, and watched the news. Why? He had no idea. It didn’t affect him or his world to know or understand what was happening in Europe, but there was something secure and settled about knowing anyway. He reached for the remote, inadvertently smashing Lainey beneath him, and turned on the TV. And then stared blankly at snowy fuzz.
Lainey, who must have come to when he smashed her, reached over her head and handed him a second remote.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Mmm,” she garbled.
“Does this count as my affectionate gesture for the day?” he asked, thinking it should count double if the pain in his back was any indication.
“Nuh-uh. This is just good manners.” She poked his belly. “Do something else. Something sweet.” The lip twitch was a good sign that she was enjoying his misery. And yet his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it petted her head. Mostly it began as a way to get the stray hairs out of her eyes. How did that not drive her crazy? It made him itchy to be near it.
But when she made a little mewling sound of sleepy delight, his hand kept up its routine, long after the hairs were smoothed away from her face. Her hand crept out and tugged the hem of his shirt, wrapping it in her fist, and then she was out again.
You can stop petting her now, he reminded himself. But somehow he didn’t. He smoothed his palm over her hair with a sudden understanding of why pets lowered blood pressure because, despite the daily dose of horror on the nightly news, Dexter felt calm and, dare he admit, happy.
T he next day at work, Dexter saved the news as long as possible. Eventually he broke it to them.
“I’m taking the afternoon off.”
Eight scowling Russian eyes looked up at him with so much accusation it was as if he’d announced he kicked their puppy down the stairs.
“What? Why? Where are you going?” Yuri demanded.
“Is other job. He is leaving us for other job,” Maxim declared, thumping his fist on the table with a bang that made it rattle.
“Who are they? We will put curse on them,” Andrei said.
“We should call Sonya. She knows all the good curses,” Ivan agreed.
“It’s not another job. It’s an afternoon off. I take time off occasionally,” Dexter said.
“Not since vacation two years ago,” Yuri said. “Also that reminds me I have three hours of community service to finish.”
Two years ago when Dexter took his last vacation, the brothers decided to stage a shirtless exhibition-wrestling match in the park in the middle of winter. Dexter had no idea how they accidentally destroyed a one-of-a-kind bronze statue, nor did he ever want to know. It haunted him enough that he hadn’t taken off time since.
“I have to take the afternoon off. Lainey and I are getting our marriage license today.”
Now they stared at him in a different way, one that was somehow more disconcerting than the overblown histrionics. “What?” he snapped when all of them remained unnervingly silent.
“Marriage license. Is big deal, Dexter,” Yuri said.
Dexter shrugged. “It’s a necessity for marriage. I’m getting married. I told you this.”
“Yes, but then it was so…theoretical. Now is getting real. Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Andrei piped in.
Dexter never enjoyed it when they tried to be the grownup in the relationship. He had gotten used to being the human Russian wrangler. He shook his shoulders, trying to toss off their concern. “It’s fine. We’re ready. We’ve settled everything.”
“Settled…what?” Maxim drawled.
“The way it’s going to be. We have a contract that spells out our expectations so things don’t get messy.”
“Is woman. Things will always be messy,” Ivan said. The others nodded.
“It’s not like that,” Dexter said, trying hard to tamp down his annoyance.
“Not like what? What do you really know about this woman? Other than strange love of cherries in jar,” Yuri said.
“Also good kisser,” Andrei added helpfully, pointing at his brothers who nodded.
“Pretty,” Maxim added helpfully.
“Not as pretty as Sonya,” Ivan inserted loyally. The brothers nodded their furious agreement, darting glances in case their sister was somewhere nearby listening and waiting to put curses on them. Knowing Sonya, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
“It’s not like that. Lainey’s nice and she’s going into this with her eyes wide open. It’s not like she’s going to hoodwink me and steal my kidneys.”
They blinked at him. “Is that American wedding custom?”
“No, it’s that old urban legend. You know, the guy goes to the party, gets drunk, and wakes up the next morning in a bathtub of ice without his kidneys.”
“Why would party people steal his kidneys?” Yuri asked, still clearly believing this was some hidden facet of American life he hadn’t yet discovered.
“They were med school students who sold his kidneys on the black market for a lot of money,” Dexter explained.
The brothers perked up. “Kidneys sell for lots of money?”
Dexter jutted a finger, encompassing all of them. “Do not steal or sell any kidneys. And because I know how your minds work, this includes all other organs in the body.”
“What if they’re not in the body when we find them?” Ivan asked, raising his hand.
“No,” Dexter said. “No trafficking body parts of any kind. It’s the kind of illegal that will get you deported.”
They deflated and sat back. The brothers had a line: good clean fun that would earn a slap on the wrist and bad enough to get them sent back to Russia. That seemed to be the only line they respected, that and their insane sister.
“What about a ring?” Ivan asked.
“You can sell a ring, if you find it. Not if you steal it,” Dexter said, reaching for his coat.
Yuri tossed a coaster at him. It was marble and pinged painfully off his ribcage. “Not our ring, bestolkovyy . Your ring with girl.”
“We’re not getting rings because, again, it’s not a real marriage,” Dexter said.
They all did the silent staring thing again. He was really starting to hate that.
“What?” he asked, teeth gritted.
“We’re beginning to wonder if you actually are the smart one,” Ivan said.
“Dexter, women always want ring,” Andrei said, nodding. “Take it from us, we have sister.”
Dexter didn’t point out that their sister actually would sell someone’s kidney for jewelry. Not all women were like that, surely. Not about something that didn’t even count. “It’s not a real marriage.”
“Why did you say it like that? With syl lab les all slan ted?” Maxim demanded.
“Must be nervous American thing,” Yuri said, deftly catching the coaster when Dexter tossed it at his head on his way out of the room.