Nothing moved. From what I could see.Which wasn’t much when Carl dropped on top of me, forcing me face down flat onthe bad, big callused hands palming my ass.
“Wow,” he said.
“Yeah, wow,” I echoed, raising my headreal fast to check that door. And saw nothing. Nothing at all.
Chapter3
When I was in middle school we’d beenassigned to grow something for Science class. We were to start in the springand tend our crop until the end of school. I’d tried strawberries. I’d seenthem growing small and wild all over our property and figured it would be aneasy A. The strawberry plants I planted were barren and dry. A dry rotted,churlish yellowish green color that made me pucker my mouth in a frown wheneverI saw them. My “crop” had been two hard berries, small as marbles and just ashard. A sickly whitish green color, I had received a C- on my project. And Ithink the teacher was being nice.
I dreamt that night, after possiblyseeing Gil spy on us, of standing in a field of strawberries. Lush and red, asbrazen and whorish as the brightest red lipstick they made me just as happy. Ifilled my sweater, that I had scooped up to form a makeshift apron.
“Quite a harvest, Jenny,” Gil said.
I turned to him, laughing, happy. Redjuices staining my pale sweater and my white fingers. The juice, when I lickedit from my fingers, was sweet and sharp--they tasted like summer. “I know! Ican’t believe it.”
He hugged me then. A nice, secure hugthat made me feel loved and safe. The wind blew the dark, sweet scent of ripeberries in my face and I sighed. “Sometimes crops need to be tended a long timebefore they yield the sweetest fruit.”
Somehow that seemed important and Ilooked at him. My face turned to Gil and the sun, both warming me. But he bentquickly, his favorite ball cap obscuring his face from my view as he bent andstarted to pluck ripe, wanton strawberries and dropped them in my makeshiftsling. Berry juice stained my top and my fingers, my torso and I felt itrunning in a wet river down my belly. Soon it would stain my jeans. And whenGil finally looked up from where he knelt in the field, his hands brimming withred orbs, I willed him to bend his mouth to me and lick the trailing juice frommy skin.
When I opened my eyes, Aerosmithsmiled down at me from a poster and my heart pounded like I’d been caughthaving sex in the back seat of the car. I grabbed a pillow, pulled it tight tome, my heart in my ears and my throat and I realized after taking a deepbreath--in my pussy.
I sucked in a shaky breath andturning, put my hand out for Carl. He wasn’t there. His jeans were gone fromthe floor and his duffel was open, spilling out colorful guts made of band teesand flannels for chilly weather. “Carl?” I whispered, but I said it softly sono one would hear. I really didn’t want anyone to answer me.
I heard the kitchen cabinet thudbeneath me and I sat up, my knees weak and watery like I was recovering from aflu instead of a mildly dirty dream about my father. Stepfather. “Eitheror. Tomato, tom-ah-to,” I said to myself and then laughed at the sound of myown brittle voice. “Just a dream, Jen. NO. Big. Deal.” I pulled on little whitesocks and a robe. It was June but the nights still got chilly and so did thefloor.
I snuck down the steps like I’d donesomething wrong, listening so hard for the sound of voices my ears rang.Nothing. I heard a radio and Mr. Miller’s old French bull dog Daisy barking herdamn head off. I heard what I was pretty sure was the garbage truck and I heardthe coffee grinder. I did not hear voices. Maybe Gil had run out for something.Maybe he was outside. Maybe Carl was outside. Maybe he’d run off with a metermaid. I snorted, covered my nose and mumbled. “Or maybe you could waltz yourfool ass into the room and find out where everyone is, genius.”
“Who you talking to?” Gil asked frombehind me. I hadn’t seen him squatting down to get in the lower cabinet and Ijumped about a foot, clutching my heart and shrieking like some exotic bird.
“Jesus Christ on a crutch, Gil!” Iyelled, my fear turning sharply to anger because no one likes to nearly wetthemselves first thing in the morning.
“Sorry, kid,” he laughed goodnaturedly and I could tell by his grin he wasn’t sorry at all. “I was gettingthe filters and I guess you missed my big ugly self over here.”
“You’re not ugly,” I saidautomatically but then flushed hot when I remembered my dream. He kissed me onthe forehead the way he had for the last eighteen years and I smiled. “Where’sCarl?”
His face clouded over for just a pulsebeat and I wondered if it was anger I saw. Or just worry. Or something else. “Isent him down to Erick Urban to see about helping out with some landscapingstuff. I remembered that Erick just got a contract to do a few small memorialparks for the schools and he could use a little grunt work laying stone.Figured if Carl went down an introduced himself he could get an in with theboys. And Erick’s brother Ken owns the bar that might want a little musicaltalent come the weekends in the near future.
I kissed Gil on his stubbly cheek and said, “Thanks.” I meant it too. We’d befucked without a little help here and there. A good word or three.
“No problem, kiddo. Coffee?”
“God, yes. I’d sell my soul forcaffeine,” I said, grabbing a mug and holding it out.
“Don’t sell that soul for anything.”
“Just kidding. Listen…”I hopped up the counter mostly because my mother always had a fit when anyonesat on them. But Gil sat on them just as much as me and it had been a littlething we shared. She abhorred asses on the counter, we looked at
