Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Landon
The taste of her gets my pulse racing. A heart attack of another sort.
Neither of us breaks the spell or makes a move.
Faces inches apart, her lips still hold my gaze.
Until I notice the rise and fall of her chest. It is hard to ignore.
I settle on the eyes, and all I want is another kiss. No, I want more.
“Landon! Your dog just pissed in the kitchen!”
My father’s report on Barney’s bladder problem bursts the bubble and aggravates my good mood.
“We better go inside,” I say, hoping for a rebuttal.
None comes. The kissie looks as stunned as the kisser. I open the door and she passes in front of me. But as she does, a hand reaches back and touches mine. Zing. It is a pretty innocent gesture, but my cock becomes suddenly attentive. He interprets everything as a call to arms.
“Hi, Ronnie.”
“Hi.”
“I don’t have to ask what you’ve been up to.”
She goes to the couch and touches the shoulder of my father who holds court. The old TV tray next to him holds everything he might need. Glasses, water, cell phone. His left hand lands atop Kim’s, but eyes are on me.
“There’s piss over there by the island somewhere. I saw him lift his leg. And Biscuit may have stepped in it.”
Moving to the said location I spot the puddle and work to clean it up. I check Biscuit’s paws. Dad’s interest returns to Kim who has taken a seat next to him.
“Hello, sweet girl. Welcome back to your favorite asylum.”
“Any place that has a library and bar all in one is alright with me.”
He mustered up a half-hearted grin and an acceptable tone. They do not escape my notice.
“Now why can’t you talk to me with that calm voice?” It is rhetorical, but he answers.
“Because you’re acting like I’m a child. That’s fucking why.”
“How are you really doing?” Kim says, ignoring our side conversation.
“I’ll be fine. I hate relying on everyone though.”
“That isn’t entirely true,” I say, already worn out from the day.
They both pretend not to hear my statement of fact.
“I have been worried about you, Ronnie. I know what a broken bone is about. But to add a heart attack and sprained ankle must have been horrible.”
“Thank you. Landon told me about your accident. You know. It’s no fun.”
“None at all.”
“I’ll be back to my old self eventually. I hate everything right now.”
“You know that’s a side effect of a heart attack? Many people feel a helplessness or have a change in personality. It’s just temporary.”
“Really?” I ask.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Kim adds her encouragement.
“Of course you will. Just be patient with your progress and listen to the physical therapist. That’s important.”
“I’ll try,” he mumbles. Then loud and clear, “But they better know how to talk to me! Otherwise I’ll just do the exercises myself.”
“See. He’s trying to get out of it before it’s started.”
“No I’m not! Quit exaggerating, Landon. Jesus Christ!”
“Let me get the enchiladas heated. I was so excited to see Ronnie and the B Boys, I forgot about our feast!”
“I forgive you excluding me from the list. I’m not insulted at all.”
Raising her eyebrows, Kim addresses my veiled complaint.
“I’m sorry! You were on the other list.”
“Which one is that?” I say, hoping for something playful.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, Dad is quietly listening.
“It’s a secret.” She says it in soft tones, with a finger raised to her luscious lips.
I respond with narrowed eyes and a lift of my chin. Trying to decipher just how meaningful the secret list must be and hoping my name might be the only one written there.
My father watches her face then mine, trying to gauge just when we will self-combust. I know the man.
We both can see this woman is special. There is no need to talk about the effect of being around her.
It is obvious. Like a beautiful fairy from some freakin magical world, she lights up whatever room she occupies.
She isn’t like us. There is no roughness or sharp edges, that I can see. Walking to the bar, I reach for two glasses and set them atop the small counter.
“I’ll make margaritas in celebration of making the list.”
“Great!” Dad says. “Best news of the day.”
It is Kim who responds first, giving me a break from being bad cop.
“You can’t have alcohol! Aren’t you on pain medication?”
“A little.”
She chuckles. “That’s like being a little pregnant. You either are or are not.”
There is no further comment from Ronnie Podesta. What? He didn’t fight her, like he would have me. There was just pissed acceptance. Beats angry rejection any day. Interesting.
“I brought some sugar free root beer,” Kim says cheerfully.
“Whoop dee fuckin’ do.”
There’s sarcasm, but no pushback. And his delivery doesn’t faze her in the least. Kim gets my attention.
“Everything’s in the backseat.”
“I’ll go get it.”
I walk outside to the backseat of the car.
Taking out the fully packed tote and the foil covered casserole dish, I spot the note left on her windshield a few days ago.
She’s tucked it in the center console. Makes me smile like an idiot.
I’m taking it as a good sign, regardless of the fact she most likely just forgot to toss the thing. I like thinking she kept it.
If I ever write another one it will be more worthy of saving. I better start thinking now, because writing more than a sentence to a woman is not a strong suit of mine. It is no suit at all. Moon, June, loon, goon. Hell.
Climbing the steps, I am greeted by her holding the door open so I can pass. But I linger at the open door instead.
“Thanks. What is all this stuff?”
“We couldn’t just have enchiladas. I brought salad fixings and strawberries and grapes for dessert.”
“I think there’s some crème fraiche in the refrigerator. We could put it over the fruit,” Dad says.
“Sure. If you want,” Kim says. “But I’m watching my weight. The cheesy enchiladas are enough of a cheat for me. But you two go ahead.”
The look on my father’s face says it all. He hears my mother’s voice gently suggesting a better way to go. He wants to disregard the truth but knows where the truth lies. So I put my two cents in to the mix.
“We don’t need crème. I don’t. And the nutritionist at the hospital said you don’t either, Dad. You just had a heart attack. Things need to change.”
The scowl on his face proceeds the sharp comeback saved just for me.
“I don’t need you to tell me. I know perfectly well I need to adjust my diet a little.”
The sound effect that follows after a few beats says more.
“Humph.”
Kim takes the casserole dish and moves to the kitchen with me right behind.
“That’s good, Ronnie. I don’t think we have to be crazy strict about our goals. Probably if you cut down on the soda and I didn’t eat so much bread, we’d be golden. Hey! Let’s start a club!”
“What are you talking about?” There’s a hint of disgust, and he doesn’t care to hide it.
Kim is ignoring whatever he throws at her.
“My friends and I would do that when we wanted to get into our bikinis. We would start in April with a goal for the summer. And we’d give ourselves rewards for every five pounds lost. It was fun.”
Dad’s face wears disgust proudly. As in he doesn’t try to hide how he feels. It is there for anyone to see.
“Doesn’t sound fun at all to me. I don’t give a shit about looking good in my trunks.”
It is the first thing my dad has said in the voice he speaks to me with. It doesn’t faze her.
“Okay. But what about all the work you have to do around here? That requires a strong, vital man. Wouldn’t it be easier if you were a little lighter? Less junk under the hood? I know I have too much junk in the trunk.”
That makes him laugh. It is punctuated by the jiggling belly. As for me, it only makes a naked image of her ass appear in my mind. There’s nothing at all wrong with its size or shape.
“Alright. We can give it a shot. Just don’t start lecturing me. Either one of you. I’ll lean in. Cut out a few things to start with. Like crème on berries. Shit.”
When I look at her face there is not a satisfied look. She goes about her business. Clever girl. She did it without making him feel worse than he does.
Dad’s cell sounds.
“Hand me the iPad. Your sister is FaceTiming us.” His fingers wiggle, impatiently calling his personal butler to the job.
“I’ll get the meal going. Don’t mind me,” Kim says.
Passing the iPad, I take a seat in the chair next to the couch.
When he touches the screen, Stacy’s smiling face appears, along with my niece and two nephews.
Three under seven-year-olds, squirming to stay in frame.
One year old William takes center stage atop her lap.
He’s red faced and fussing. He looks like he’s taking a shit.
“Hi, Dad! Oh!”
The voice breaks with emotion. She starts to tear up and her kids haven’t missed the reaction. The two stare at their mother with that look kids get when a grown-up shows fear or sadness. It scares them.
“Hello everybody!” Dad says.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Kendra asks.
“Your mommy is a crybaby. Nothing’s wrong! I’m fine. See.”
Dad flexes one bicep and pretends he is as strong as he was five years ago. It works on the children who think of my father as a larger-than-life character.
“Hello, brother! You look good, Landon!”
“Thanks, sis. You too.”
“What have you been taking? Give me some. I look like hell.” She chuckles.
“Hey, guys! Good to see you all. And Stacy, you look beautiful.”
“The spit up on my clothes is a nice touch, don’t you think? Rick, hand me that.”
Another face appears in frame and a hand passes a Kleenex. Stacy takes it and wipes the snotty nose of her youngest child, who must have just passed a turd. Now he looks spent.
“Hey, brother,” I say to my brother-in-law.
He hands Stacy a bottle and she angles baby Will for the meal.
“How you doin, Dad?” Rick says. “Bet you’re glad to be back home.”
“Yeah. I never want to be back in that place again. Made me feel like I was a hundred years old.”