Adelaide Confused (14 page)

I put the vase back in its
proper place, wondering if perhaps I’d overreacted. No, I decided,
I hadn’t, and I couldn’t live like this. Reed was going to tell me
exactly how he’d taken care of the situation, at which point I’d
decide if he’d done enough. I guess I was going to have to eat my
words, the last being, ‘Shut the fuck up! And don’t ever speak to
me again!’ He’d been about to apologize. I hadn’t been
interested.

I pushed aside the curtain
and opened the window. “If you want to take a break I can get you
something to drink,” I offered.

Lucas spared me the
briefest of glances. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

I left the window open,
like trying to coax a stray cat, hoping he’d climb through instead
of using the ladder. I grabbed some clothes and ran to the
bathroom, cursing when I saw my reflection.

Yesterday I’d done nothing
more than drive home from the motel and fall into bed. My hair was
a knotty mess, my face crusted in dry blood, and the dress ruined.
I slipped it off, changing into a pair of jeans and T-shirt. I ran
a brush through my hair, gave up, and tied it into a ponytail.
Lastly, I washed my face and hands, smoothing away the blood and
leaving behind two ugly gashes. I’d shower later.

I dug my first aid kit out
from under the bathroom sink before hurrying back to the loft.
Lucas was still outside. I pretended to ignore him, choosing to sit
on the floor and patch up my wounds.

My hand was easy enough. I
lathered on some antibiotic ointment and covered the cut with a
band-aid. I was indecisive about my face though. Vanity was not my
personal vice, but even I didn’t want to wear a band-aid on my
cheek for the next week. I used the excuse ‘the cut needed airing
out’ and settled for gingerly rubbing it down with the same
ointment.

I didn’t know if either cut
needed stitches. I knew they were deep, being able to see the pink
flesh inside. But if they stopped bleeding and didn’t get infected
then I didn’t need a doctor. I could live with the scars, but not
without the money a doctor would cost.

Lucas stepped through the
open window. It was large, taking up most of the triangular shaped
wall, he hardly had to stoop. I tried not to look too happy.
“Finished?”

He nodded somewhat aloof as
he stared around the room. I tried to imagine what his impression
might be, attempting to look at my things through a stranger’s
eye.

It was a large bedroom, but
the sloping walls made me feel as though I was in a constant hug.
The wood was dark, almost black. The linen curtains and bed sheets
were light, creamy, matching the rug. I had left over furniture
from Mary, Ben’s wife, an antique armoire, standing mirror, and
trunk. The room felt old, but airy and fresh.

Lucas still hadn’t said
anything. Frustrated that I couldn’t guess what he was thinking by
gauging his emotions, I blurted, “What?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t
look like my bedroom.”

I nearly laughed. “I’m not
surprised.”

He looked at me as if
waiting for more.

“
I’ve seen your kitchen,” I
explained. “It was, well, like a bachelor’s house, I guess. Or at
least the way I imagine a bachelor’s house should look, you know...
bare.”

He moved to the chest of
drawers, eyeing the doodads arranged on top. “You like
perfume.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a
question or a statement. “No, not really. I wouldn’t wear half of
those, they smell like old lady. I like the bottles, they’re
antiques.”

“
Who’s this photographer?”
He wandered around looking at my meager collection.

“
Weegee, he was a
photojournalist, among other things. His photos are black, white,
and gritty, often taken at crime scenes. I try to hang the less
depressing ones in the bedroom.”

“The puzzles?” he questioned, staring at my
stack of boxes.

“They fill the time.”

“You don’t have a TV?”

“No.”

He was silent, and it
became awkward. “You can use the bathroom to wash your hands,” I
offered. “Or I can get you a drink or something.” I couldn’t recall
a time I had ever played hostess, it didn’t come
naturally.

He moved as if he’d just remembered where he
was. “No, I’ll clean up at home.” He left the loft, moving down the
stairs.

I followed him to the front door. “I can
clean your kitchen tomorrow morning.”

“
Fine,” he said, stepping
outside to collect his ladder. I thought he’d take it and leave,
but he turned back before walking around the house. “You can use
mine if you want.”

“
Use your what?”

“My TV.”

“Sterling’s Motel, how may I help you?”

“Did you sleep with him?”

I hung up.

Francesca called back.

“Sterling’s Motel, how may I help you?”

“
Alright, alright, that was
a stupid thing to ask. But how was it?”

“
I barely survived,” I
replied honestly.

“Did you put in a good word for me?”

I struggled to maintain
that honesty. “I did mention you.”

“What did you say?”

“He knows you’re interested.”

“
Do you think he’s going to
ask me out?” she asked breathlessly.

“
I can’t say. We didn’t
discuss it for long, most of the time I was focused on
working.”

“
So you figured out why he
asked you there?”

“
Not quite. I was confused
the entire night. Reed doesn’t really share
information.”

“
You are so lucky,” she
gushed.

In an attempt to change the
subject, I said, “You know my neighbor, the mechanic? Well I’m
seeing him tomorrow.”

“
He asked you
out?”

“
Um, no, it’s not...
like... a date. I’m cleaning his kitchen.”

“WHAT!” Francesca shrieked.

“We have an arrangement,” I said defensively.
“He cleaned my gutters out this morning.”

“That had better be code for something
sexual.”

“
Ew,” I said somewhat
repulsed. “It’s not.”

“
Adelaide,” Francesca said,
matching my disgust. “Men appreciate what they work
for.”

“I’ve heard this speech before.”

“
Alright then, let me
phrase this differently. Do you know why I like men to buy me
things?”

“Is this a trick question?”

She ignored that. “I like
men to buy me things because it defines our relationship. A man
doesn’t buy a woman something expensive unless he’s really
interested. So my question is, did the mechanic clean your gutters
as a romantic gesture, or because he felt a neighborly
obligation?”

“Neighborly obligation?” I echoed.

“
I just don’t want you to
get your hopes up, Adelaide. You may be misinterpreting
things.”

“
Francesca, our ideas
concerning relationships are bound to differ,” I excused. “We
aren’t looking for the same things.”

“It’s not about our views so much as
experience. And how much do you really have?”

Feeling like total shit, I said, “Someone’s
just pulled up, I’ve got to go.” I hung up before she could
protest.

I would have liked to say
that Francesca didn’t know the first thing about a real
relationship. But I couldn’t use that as an excuse because, well,
neither did I. Lucas was the first man to catch my eye since the
accident. I wanted to think the attraction was mutual, but I
couldn’t say that either. And the more I thought about it, the more
I thought Francesca had a point. Unfortunately that wasn’t the only
thing I found troubling about the phone call.

I was finding it harder not
to lie to Francesca. Even the truths I told felt like lies. I
blamed Reed Wallace, totally and completely. Before he came around
my empathy wasn’t an issue. Francesca knew I had a few fits, we
just didn’t talk about it. But now the empathy was more of a
secret, and I was actively keeping it from her. And if that wasn’t
bad enough, Reed was ruining the rest. Francesca was becoming equal
parts obsession and jealousy.

Maybe I should just tell
her. I imagined multiple scenarios, different wording, but I could
never picture her reaction, and therefore remained
reluctant.

Brooding didn’t help my
mood any, so I went looking for Ben, a suitable diversion. I
guessed right, he hadn’t left yet. I found him puttering around the
picnic table.

He hadn’t seen me
approaching. I watched as he took aim and threw. The sparrow hopped
forward, barely avoiding the hit.

“What are you doing?”

Leaning back to look at me,
he said, “What’s it look like? I’m feeding the birds.”

“It looks more like a game of darts. And
what’s this?” I grabbed the box from his hands.

“Bread crumbs.”

“Croutons!”

He snatched the box back,
rooting around inside. I remained silent as he went through the
process once more, taking aim before he pitched. This time he
doinked the little creature right in the head. It fluttered its
wings, but stayed grounded just long enough to seize its
treat.

“Oh sheesh,” I muttered.

“
What’s got you so
uptight?” Ben asked, before shoving a few croutons in his
mouth.

I shrugged, noticing his
melancholia was gone. He was feeling slightly amused at the moment,
no doubt at the bird’s expense. “I guess I’m having boy problems,”
I said lamely.

He munched a few more, dusting off his shirt.
“I didn’t think you were the type.”

“
Neither did I.” He offered
me the box and I ate a few before halfheartedly throwing some at—I
mean to—the few birds that had gathered. “What’s got you...” I
stumbled over the words. “...nearly cheerful?”

He scowled at the personal
question, but wasn’t angry. It was his turn to shrug. “I’ve been
doing old people things. It started out as a joke, I guess, but
I’ve managed to entertain myself. Today I’m feeding the birds bread
crumbs—”

“
Croutons,” I cut in to
correct.

“—
tomorrow, hell, who
knows, maybe I’ll play bingo.”

“Or chess in the park,” I suggested.

“Nah, I never learned how to play.”

“
Me neither, way too
hard.”

I stayed out under the big
oak with Ben for a while. It was nice. I was feeling slightly
better by the time I went back to the office.

Ben had been living in the
past. All it took was the decision to move forward and already he
was feeling better. When would I do the same? When would I give up
hiding? When would I give up merely surviving and really start to
live?

Stephen breezed into the
office while I was sorting through the mail. “How was the party?”
he asked, plunking his backpack down behind the counter.

The ghost filtered through
the door, a murky mass come to hover. It was the first time I’d
seen him since the torture incident, and if we’d been alone, I
would have thanked him. I couldn’t remember ever being this
grateful to a person, let alone a dead one.

“So how was it?” Stephen repeated, assuming I
hadn’t heard.

“
The food was good.” He was
feeling unsettled, so I didn’t beat around the bush. “What’s
wrong?”

He sighed in relief.
Apparently whatever it was, he wanted to talk about it. “It’s about
the money Mr. Wallace gave me.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“
I don’t feel good taking
it. I mean, just because he’s rich doesn’t mean I should take
advantage. I mean, all I did was cover a few hours. I stay late
most nights anyway. It was—”

“
Stephen,” I cut in,
unwilling to hear any more of his moralizing babble. “Mr. Wallace
loses more money while sneezing than what he gave you last
night.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

I huffed. “Whatever, it
doesn’t matter anyway. My point is, it’s all Reed’s
fault.”

He cocked his head,
simultaneously sliding his glasses back into place. “How do you
figure?”

“
You didn’t take advantage.
I did. I was in the position to take advantage because I had
something Reed wanted and was willing to pay for. And do you know
who put me in that position?”

“Mr. Wallace?”

“
Mr. Wallace,” I agreed.
“So you see, he only has himself to blame. Not that he does,
because as you’ve said, he’s rich and has no doubt already
forgotten about the measly three hundred dollars.”

Stephen stopped feeling
guilty.

I threw the keys at him. “Now go away.”

He did.

The ghost drifted over,
seeping behind the counter. He wasn’t his usual light mist or
fluffy cloud; today he was like a moving shadow. I didn’t know what
to think about it, but since his emotions were normal I didn’t
worry.

He came to settle behind
me, giving the impression that he was peeping over my shoulder. I
squirmed a bit and finally spit it out. “Thank you,” I all but
yelled.

I knew he couldn’t answer,
but I waited for a response all the same, and when it didn’t come I
went back to sorting through the mail. I did my best to ignore his
hovering, but my gratitude was beginning to wear thin and feel
heavy like a burden.