More often than expected, my own eyes are drawn to the screen, wondering if this really is the kind of life Grumbler is immersed in. I’m particularly intrigued by the fictional sergeant-at-arms, even though my Grumbler is nothing like him. My Grumbler? The claim in my head surprises me.
Realising I couldn’t sit around all day binge-watching a series, I leave them to it, and get on with the chores I’d neglected all week, and then again when I spent yesterday trying to help Alicia come to terms with what had happened. I’m just walking in with a basket of laundry, grimacing slightly when I see a sex scene going on, but having to admire the way the buttocks of the male star flex. I come to an abrupt halt.
“Do you like your girlfriends to be virgins?”
While he hadn’t noticed me, I see Wrangler’s eyebrows rise so high they almost meet his hairline. I’m about to step in and call this inappropriate conversation to a halt, when Wrangler’s face forms a more normal expression.
“An honest answer?” When my daughter nods, he complies. “No. Never been with one, never had a yearning to. Oh, if the girl was right, I probably wouldn’t mind if she was, but I’d much rather be with women who know the score.” He leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Look, I know what went down with Owen, and I won’t say anything other than he was one-hundred-percent wrong, misleading you the way he did. But if a virgin expects a dinner, flowers, and an expensive hotel room, then most guys would probably run a mile.”
“The girl wouldn’t be worth it?” Alicia challenges him.
“Put it this way, I prefer my women less high maintenance.” He softens his words with a wink.
Glancing at my daughter, I can see her calculating what that might mean. I put the laundry in the washer, then return to the living room, sitting on the couch beside her.
“What have I missed?” I say, brightly, turning my attention to the television. My action and words having the desired effect of bringing that particular conversation to a close.
I make some lunch, start the preparation for dinner, doing enough for three even though Wrangler can’t commit to staying. The pair finish one season, then start another.
It’s late afternoon when I hear the loud sound of a motorcycle coming up the road. It seems my ears are attuned to the sound as I’m certain it signals Grumbler is about to arrive.
Wrangler goes to open the door, gesturing me back, even though I’m sure he knows who’s going to be outside.
I want to laugh as I get an insight into how Grumbler got his name—the way he treats the young prospect so at odds with how gentle he is with me and Alicia. It doesn’t worry me, I know it’s just a way of testing Wrangler knows his place.
I stay back, listening, while he and Alicia discuss the programme she’s gotten engrossed in. I think he’s being careful as he’s waiting for Wrangler to leave.
I’m right. As soon as the door closes behind the prospect, Grumbler gets to his feet. His eyes are on mine when he addresses my daughter.
“Got to talk to your mom, okay?”
Alicia waves her hand dismissively.
I retreat to the kitchen area, Grumbler following me.
“Any progress?” I ask quietly.
He leans back against the countertop and bows his head, then raises his eyes which I realise look weary. “You don’t need to worry about Owen anymore.”
Maybe it’s just what we’ve been watching on television, but I gasp in a breath. “What have you done, Grumbler?” My voice sounds tense. Was it only this morning I told him to kill a man? That was just my mother’s anger talking. I don’t really want a man dead. Hurt, maybe, in jail, certainly. But not breathing? I hold my breath, hoping Grumbler hadn’t taken my words at face value.
His expression hardens a little, then he shakes his head. “All you need know is that Alicia will never be seeing him again.”
I jump to the only explanation I think I can accept. “He’s left San Diego?”
Grumbler breathes in deeply. “Yeah.”
How does he know he’ll stay away? “You can’t promise that. He could come back.”
“He won’t, baby. Believe me.”
Again, the question occurs to me, what has he done? “Did you hurt him?”
Grumbler pushes away from the countertop, crowding me. I take a step back, and his chest pushes up against mine. His face is as fierce as I’ve ever seen it, and I realise I’m being addressed by the sergeant-at-arms. The strange thing is, it doesn’t scare me.
“What he did to Alicia was the tip of the iceberg, Mary.” His mouth opens and closes, then he shakes his head, as if there’s more he wants to tell me.
“What do you mean?”
Grumbler rolls back his head on his shoulders, his mouth opens, then closes. When he speaks, his voice is hard. “It’s club business, and you won’t be told anything of it for your own safety.”
“Again, what do you mean?” I bristle that he’s not sharing details with me.
He sighs deeply. “If he’s reported missing, if somehow Alicia’s linked to him, it’s best you answer with a clear conscience. That way you can’t hold back anything you might know. You’ll just have to accept you’ll never know what’s happened to him.”
“You expect the cops to turn up?”
“Highly unlikely, but someone might crawl out of the woodwork to raise questions. Alicia did model with him. She might be asked what she knows.”
That worries me. “What if she tells them about… Well, Friday?”
“That could have given him a good reason to get out of Dodge. It was statutory rape, however willing she was.” Pleading eyes meet mine. “Please don’t ask me more, babe.”
As he steps back, I take hold of his hands, turning them over carefully. Grumbler cocks an eyebrow at me. There’s more,
