Can't Get Enough of Your Love (19 page)

Surprise.

Damn.

I usually like surprises, but today …

Breathe, Lana, breathe.

“Well, uh, Roger, I was just about to do some laundry down at my mama's.” God, I hope Juan Carlos hits every light and stops at every stop sign. Maybe he'll be pulled over for going too slow!

“I can help you. Is the front door open?”

“Um, yeah. I'll be upstairs.”

Freaking out.

Yes.

I'll be upstairs freaking out.

I click off my phone and hear the front door open. I look at the sheets in my arms, and they all smell like Karl! I drag my bad leg behind me to the closet and stuff the sheets inside. Just as I close the closet door, Roger is standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” he says. “What can I carry?”

New plan. “Oh, just some towels from the bathroom”—oh shit, and
three
of them are wet!—”and some dish towels from downstairs. The rest of my laundry is already at Mama's. I just need to pick it all up.”

I watch Roger collect the towels, and he comes out smiling. “I can't believe they're still wet from last night.”

Believe it.

“Um, where are my boxers?”

Oh yeah. Them. “Um, I put them out in the barn.”

He blinks.

“They were wet, and I thought they'd dry off more quickly out there. You wouldn't want me to hang them out on a tree or something for everyone to see, would you?” Please believe me!

“Boxers blowing in the breeze,” he says. “Kinda kinky.”

“I, uh, must have known you were coming back, huh?”

In my sickest, most twisted thoughts, I
never
would have thought up this scenario. Three men are trying to visit in one day, and, it seems, simultaneously. No freaking way.

“I'll take these downstairs.”

He walks down the hall, and I follow behind him—praying.
Oh God, what is about to happen? If You just let me get out of this house, I will owe You big-time. I'll even go to church. I'll even—

“Oops,” Roger says, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “I dropped something.”

He stoops over and comes up with … a fuzzy black ring box. Is that—

“Now, how did that get into my pocket?” He turns to me. “Lana, I didn't go to work at all today.”

“You … didn't?” I can't take my eyes off that box. Please be earrings inside, or a brooch. Brooches are nice. Maybe a charm for a charm bracelet. Or the bracelet itself.

Anything but a ring!

“No. I spent all morning picking this out for you.” He opens the box….

A ring. A diamond ring. A diamond engagement ring.

Oh shit.

“I've been thinking about this moment for a long time, and, well, you practically asked me to ask you to marry me yesterday, and this might not be the right time, but …” He drops to one knee. “Will you marry me, Lana Cole?”

Before I can answer, I hear shouting outside.

And it isn't Mr. Wilson.

Unless Mr. Wilson has suddenly learned to speak Spanish.

And city slang.

Oh … no.

R
oger goes to the door. “Is that your brother?”

Oh God!

I can't move.

Why didn't I hear a car pull up? I should have heard
two
cars pull up!

I look past Roger's head and see Karl and Juan Carlos walking toward the house. Well, they're not exactly walking. More like running. No, more like racing to see who can get to the door first.

Please, please, please, God, wake me up from this nightmare!

Roger turns to me. “What's going on, Lana?”

Find your voice, girl. “Roger, I want you to know that no matter what happens—”

The shouting begins again.

“Your brother sounds pissed. Should I leave?”

“Um, Roger, he's not my—”

I can hear what they're shouting now. Karl is yelling “bitch,” and Juan Carlos is running off in Spanish, and—

Yep.

I'm a bunta.

Roger turns to me, repeating, “What's going on?” When I don't answer, Roger puts the ring box back into his pocket.

Is this where I'm supposed to faint? Maybe I can break a leg and get some sympathy before they arrive. They wouldn't dump me if I'm lying in a heap on the floor, would they? If I had a back door, I'd be stumbling out of here right now!

They're at the door, pounding away, Karl yelling, “Let me in, Peanut!” and Juan Carlos screaming, “Lahhhna!”

“Should I let them in?” Roger asks.

Only if I can go out. They can stay, though. That's right. I'll just go for a walk. Y'all just stay here and work this thing out without me.

“Lana?”

“Yeah.”

Oh God!

“Lana?”

Damn, I'm beginning to hate my name. “Let them in.” Maybe they'll understand. Maybe they'll be okay with it. Maybe—

I sit in the closest chair. They are all going to be pissed.

So this is how it ends.

This is how paradise crumbles.

The door opens. So much noise, so much shouting. I'm the only one sitting. Suddenly this kitchen isn't as big as it once was.

I need to take control. “Why don't”—my voice is so small!—”why don't y'all sit?”

“What's Mr. Wilson doing here?” Karl shouts, pointing at Roger. Oh no. Karl's upper lip is touching his nose. He's most definitely pissed.

“His name,” I say feebly, “his name is Roger.”

“This is the guy who cuts your grass, right?” Karl demands.

I nod.

“Are you're doing him, too?” Karl shouts.

I have trouble looking any of them in the eye. I hear a chair move. At least Roger is sitting down now, his big ol' goofy feet tapping out a beat on the linoleum.

“I can explain,” I say, my voice shaking. “I can explain everything.”

“Yes,” Juan Carlos hisses, “explain everything.” Juan Carlos's nostrils are flaring. Shit. He's angry, too. “Explain!”

What's to explain that isn't already obvious? I look at Karl. “Karl, what took you so long?”

“What?” Karl says. “You said you were going to explain.”

“Just … just answer my question.” I have to know exactly how badly I've messed all this up.

“Well,” Karl begins, “after meeting with that trucker, I came right back, but I took a wrong turn at that damn tree.”

“I have done that, too,” Juan Carlos says. “She should put a light out there or a sign pointing the right way to her house.”

“Let me finish, all right?” Karl says to Juan Carlos. “So I nearly end up in the pond again, I back up, and by the time I get to that big tree, there's this guy under the hood of his car.”

Right on top of Mr. Wilson's granddaddy.

“The alternator in the Bonneville is bad,” Juan Carlos says.

“It wasn't the alternator, fool,” Karl says. “It's the distributor. My mama had a Bonneville just like that.”

“I am the mechanic here,” Juan Carlos says, “and I know.”

“Whatever, man,” Karl says. “So, we start talking, and I'm like, What are you doing out here, anyway, man? And he tells me about his future
wife
named Lahhh-na who he's taking to meet his mama today. And I tell him, No, her name is Lana, no
ahh
, and she's
my
girlfriend, who might be about to have my baby.”

Roger hasn't spoken. I wish he'd say something. Oh. His ears are wiggling. He's pissed, too. Everybody's mad at me today.

“Anyway, while we're standing there fussing back and forth,” Karl says, “white boy over here rolls by without stopping.”

“I didn't see you,” Roger says. At least he can speak.

“Cuz you were doing sixty at least, yo!”

Roger was in a hurry. He was in a hurry to ask me to marry him, and now he'll be in a hurry to leave.

Karl steps closer to me, and I don't dare look up at him. “So Juan and I decided to go for a walk to see what the hell is going on.”

Silence.

“So, Peanut, what the hell is going on? You pregnant or not?”

“No,” I say.

I hear more than one sigh. Oh, that's comforting.

“And,” Juan Carlos says, his voice filling with rage, “you have been seeing these two … these two men when you have not been seeing me?”

“Yes.” I raise my eyes to look at Roger briefly. He's in that chair, but he's already gone, his jaw set, his eyes glazed over, those ears of his wiggling.

“How long has this been going on, Peanut?” Karl asks.

“What did you call her?” Juan Carlos asks.

“It's her nickname, Juan,” Karl says. “She must not have told you that, either. Evidently, she only tells a man what he wants to hear.” Karl squats in front of me. “How long, Lana?”

I stare at his chin. “About five months … with Juan Carlos, and about two months with Roger.”

Karl sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “Damn! Shit! You're good. You played us all.” He stands. “I never would have believed it.” He turns to Juan Carlos. “It's the quiet ones every damn time, yo. Never hook up with a shy girl, damn.”

“I would not believe it, either,” Juan Carlos says. “And Lana is not so shy.”

Roger says nothing.

Karl whistles “MF” under his breath. “And I'm almost out of gas.”

So am I. I've been running on empty for the past five minutes.

“I can't even escape this fucking nightmare,” Karl whispers. “Peanut, you got any gas left in that barn?”

I nod.

“I'm out.” In two steps, he's out of the house, the door slamming behind him.

One down, two to go.

Roger rises from his chair. “You need a ride, Juan?” His voice is so gravelly.

I hear Juan Carlos breathing rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I need a ride to my car.”

“I can take you,” Roger says.

“Bunta,” Juan Carlos spits at me, and the two of them leave together, this time without a slam.

I'm alone.

Shit.

Eight months' work gone in five miserable minutes.

A moment later, I hear shouting again and stumble to the door, expecting to see three men beating the shit out of each other. Instead, I see Roger leaning out of his window waving Karl to his truck. Karl waves my gas can in the air. He wants no part of them. I can't blame any of them for not wanting any part of me. Juan gets out and puts his hand on Karl's shoulder. Karl shrugs it off and steps back. Roger gets out. He's saying something … they're nodding … they all look my way.

It's not one of the best moments in my life.

Karl puts the gas can on the bed of Roger's truck and climbs in after it. Juan gets in the front passenger seat, and Roger is the only one standing and looking my way.

“Go on,” I say, and the tears start to fall. “Go on.”

Roger gets in, the truck rolls forward, and the red glow of the taillights vanish into the darkness.

They're gone.

Gone.

No friends.

No benefits.

I'm alone.

In five freaking minutes.

I
need more toilet paper.

I've already finished off my only box of Kleenex, and I'm down to one roll of Angel Soft. My pillow has become a sponge. It's just me and Jenny sitting on a bed without sheets in a yellow room while Roger's boxers get “smoked” in the barn.

I guess this is as bad as bad gets.

My phone rings. It's Izzie.

No. I was wrong.

This
is as bad as bad gets.

The hits just keep coming.

I let it ring five times before answering. “Yes?”

“Why weren't you at work today, Lana?”

This will teach me to ditch work for three men and a bad ankle. “I hurt my ankle, remember?”

“That's all? No man or men involved?”

I don't need this. Not now. And from the happy tone of her voice, I'll bet Izzie already knows something went terribly wrong. “Izzie, I don't want any more drama tonight, okay?”

“Did something happen?”

Do I tell her? Do I tell anybody? Would anyone believe it? I can't tell the witch who tried to take my man … the man who is no longer mine. Hmm. “Remember what you were saying about how it could all end?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it all ended in just five minutes.”

Silence.

“All three of them were just here, Izzie.”

“All at once?”

“Yeah.”

More silence. I bet she's doing a church-lady dance or something.

“And they're all gone now?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Lana, are you all right?”

More tears and not nearly enough toilet paper. I need more pillows on this bed. “Of course I'm not all right, Izzie.” I may never be all right again.

“How bad was it?”

I do my best to describe the mess, but I know I'm leaving something out. Oh yeah. “Girl, Roger even asked me to marry him tonight.”

“He didn't!”

“He had the box and had just proposed when all hell broke loose.”

“You didn't give him an answer, did you?”

“I didn't have time!”

“Well, it's lucky it all ended when it did, then.”

A few of my tears dry up quickly. “Lucky? How am I lucky? I've just gotten dumped by three men at the same time.”

“It was bound to happen. You can't have too much of a good thing. What goes around comes around.”

I ignore her and her stupid sayings. “I had all three of them in the palm of my hand, and they all slipped through my fingers. I never should have listened to you.”

“Hey now, don't blame me. It was a disaster
you
created, not me.”

She's right, of course, but I have to be pissed at someone. “But I took
your
advice. I forced the issue. I backed them all into a corner with those damn tests of yours….”