Seven Wakings Page 10
“You sound hungry.” He rubs the small of my back.
“Starving.”
“Let’s get you fed… then you can tell me why you left, where you went.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. The interior is finished like a Tuscan Villa: hand painted ceramic, teak cabinetry, and arched doorways. I take a seat at the over-sized island.
Joe rustles though the fridge. “We’ve got smoked salmon, brie, olives…”
I hold my stomach. “Do you have anything less grown-up?”
He laughs. “How about pizza?”
“And beer?” I’d kill for a cold one.
He smiles. “Beer? Vanessa Montgomery has champagne taste.” He turns on the oven, then reaches overhead for beer glasses.
“Skip the glass; I like it straight from the bottle.”
He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Beck’s. “I forgot my wife had a truck driver side.”
“I promise to return to snobbery tomorrow.” I clink the neck of his bottle to mine. “Salute.” We take a sip.
He looks at me, leans across the counter, and kisses me soft. My heart aches to be with him forever.
I kiss back. Soft kisses turn more passionate. My body aches for him. He backs me up to the counter, loosens my hair. He runs his hands up the sides of my neck; fingers weave into my silky mane. I feel him aroused as he presses against me. He kisses my neck, kneads my breast. I want to rip off his pants, pull him inside. Skip the foreplay.
I yank off my sweater, unbutton my blouse. He zips down my pants, grabs them at the top, and peels them down with force. I step out; expect him to pull down my lace thong. He leaves it on and lifts me on to the countertop. Spreading my legs, he lowers himself, and teases me through fabric with his mouth. He adds his hands; fingers play me too well.
“I need you.” I unbutton his shirt, move down from the counter. I run my hands over his chest, down his stomach, to his groin. I feel him through his pants.
He looks down. “Why the hell are these still on?”
I laugh and struggle with the button.
“Let me. I feel like I’m going to explode.” He takes off his pants and boxers, then knocks spices off the island. He lifts me up on to the edge of it, then kisses me as he peels off my thong.
I close my eyes, and feel him just outside of me.
Every part of me pulsates. He pulls my body down onto him, slides inside of me. I wrap my legs around his hips, my arms around his neck. He grabs my ass. We move our hips in circles, slow. I kiss my way up his neck, whisper in his ear, “I’m crazy about you.” We look into each other, circle deeper. His breath grows deep into moans. He slows us down, carries me to the love seat in the next room, and sits down with me on top of him. I straddle wider; take him deeper into me. He grabs my waist. I arch my back. We move faster, faster. He pulls off my shirt, takes down the straps of my bra, and takes my breast into his mouth. Faster.
Something deep in my belly opens up. “I’m going to…”
“Me too.” He moans.
Everything in me tightens and then rushes back like tide. I shiver.
The timer goes off on the oven.
Joe smiles. “That was great timing.”
I laugh. “Just a minute longer and the cheese would have scorched.”
“I didn’t mean the pizza. I meant our timing.”
I smile, bite my lip.
He kisses me, and gets up. “I’ve missed this. The sex… being with you. Just the two of us hanging out.” He picks up his boxers, slips them on; then his pants.
It’s an odd conundrum, being jealous that Joe likes to be with his wife. “Me too.” I pull up my bra straps, put on my shirt, and button it as I make my way back to my underwear and pants.
Joe pulls the pizza out of the oven with an oversized spatula, puts it on a wooden cutting board. “I’ll just let it cool.” He brings me my beer and takes a swig of his own.
“You know what I’d like to do for the rest of the night?” I zip up my pants.
“Whatever it is, count me in.” He brushes my cheek.
“After we eat, I want to snuggle in bed and hear about your life; starting with your very first memories. I want to know about every lost tooth, skinned knee, and broken heart.”
“That sounds like a terrible waste of time… knowing all the other things we could be doing in bed.” He smiles.
As we lie down for the night, Joe puts an arm around me. The moon shines blue light through the window above the bed. I listen to several stories: how he learned to ride a bike in Maritime Park, how he practiced kissing on his arm, how he played tennis and football from grade school to college, and how he went to Fort Benning for Infantry Training. The last thing I hear is: “I’ve only been with four women.”
To which I mumble, “Five if you count me.”
Chapter Eight- Big Issues
I wake to the sound of geese. Or so I think. Actually, I am passing gas. This is no small amount of wind. I could fill a hot air balloon. As I try to open my eyes, I find them crusted shut. Attempting to rub them, I can’t bend my arms; it feels like I’m wearing wrist to shoulder floatation devices. I wonder if my eyes are glued shut. Finally, a peek of light. A TV is mounted high on the wall. I try to prop myself up, but cannot. Looking down, I find that I’m rotund. I don’t mean heavy— as in the Michelin Man— I mean morbidly obese. My mass takes up the entire queen-sized bed.
“Hello?” I call, my voice constricted.
No one responds. I’m in a studio apartment. From my bed I see a sitting area to my right with a plaid loveseat and two blue-velvet recliners, plus a dinette table with a couple of chairs. I wonder why this woman owns them; it’s not like she can get up. The front door is kitty-corner from me. A bathroom is at the foot of my bed. To the right of that, a galley kitchen leads back to the front door. My bed is pushed up to wall of windows on my left. Moving a lace curtain, I look down and see a parking lot. It looks familiar, but I can’t place it. The perspective is off.
Something moves under my bed. I stiffen. If it’s rodents, I’ll find some way to throw myself through this bank of windows. I start to hyperventilate. Mice turn me into a screeching, counter-standing lunatic. I hear scratching, small thuds, hold my breath. A tennis ball rolls from under the bed. In a flash three cats bolt out: one orange and two grey tabbies. I release my breath, feel like an idiot. Of course she would have cats. What else would break up the monotony of this life, and need very little care?
A beeping sound comes from the parking lot. I move the lace curtain and see a Hostess truck back in. The driver gets out, opens the back gate, and puts down a ramp. I want him to unload the contents directly into my mouth. A man comes out of the store to greet him. It’s Vang.
“Oh!”
I’m the curtain lady from above his store. I look around for a phone. One with large numbers— each digit, one inch squared— sits on a card table next to the bed. Usually these phones are for the elderly, with vision problems. I realize my fingers wouldn’t fit into a regular touch-tone. I dial Lynette, who was apparently waiting by the phone; it only rings once.
“It’s Emma.” I’m startled once more by the sound of my voice. It sounds like someone has hands around my throat.
“Kids, it’s your Mom.” I imagine her waving them over. “Where… who are you?”
“You’ve got to see me to believe me.” I try to shift in the bed. “I’m above High’s.”
“The one you go…I mean went to in the morning?” Lynette says, and I hear keys rattle in the background.
“That’s the one.” I wheeze.
“We’ll be right over. We’ve been ready for hours.”
After she hangs up, I look at the clock. It’s just after 11:00 AM. Rolling back and forth to get higher in the bed, I feel exhausted. The fat on my eyelids weighs heavy.
I hear a small knock at the door. Then someone puts a key in the lock, and lets herself in. It’s a young woman.
“Are you all ready to get cle
aned up?” She puts down bags of groceries on the kitchen counter, then snaps on plastic gloves.
I’m mortified. “You’re going to wash me?” Even in my regular body I was modest.
“From tip to toe, just like every other day.” She smiles and seems like the grown version of Dr. Suess’ Cindy Lou Who.
“Maybe we could just skip it today?” I look longingly at the bags of food.
She cocks her head. “Don’t be silly, you know we can’t skip it. You’ll get more bed sores.”
“More?” I try to inspect my body but can’t bend at the waist.
She walks to the sink, fills a bucket with soap and water, and puts it on a card table.
“They’re getting better.” She lifts up the bottom of my gown— which apparently only covers my front— hikes my knees to the stirrup position, and cleans the most private part first.
“Oh…I … wasn’t quite prepared for…” She mops my privies with a rag, sets it aside, dries me with a Shamwow!, and sprinkles me with baby powder.
“Now, we are going to flip you.” She rocks me by my shoulder and hip, and then gives one big heave-ho. On my side, the sheet sticks to the skin on my back like a band-aid. Peeling it off, she braces me with her forearm and washes everything I can’t see with a new rag. After, drying, she lowers me to the face-up position, and sets used towels aside.
“Here’s a fresh cloth for your face and hands.” She wrings out a white washcloth, puts it in my right hand.
I force my arms to bend and wash my eyes first; I feel like I’m removing sea salt. Dipping the cloth again I round my face and ears, then move under my chin. My neck is the size of a playground ball. I suddenly understand how someone could eat themselves to death. This fat is strangling me.
Moving to my feet, she cleans between toes— dusts them with more powder. I try to dip the cloth to wash my hands, but drop it into the bucket by mistake.
“All done?” She puts a dollop of toothpaste on an electric brush. “Open wide,” she says, and scours every tooth. She’s working up a sweat.
I feel like Mr. Ed.
“Spit.” She holds up a cup. As she pours the waste into the sink and rinses the cup she says, “I still can’t believe that lady was killed right outside your building. It’s lucky I was on the stairs or I could have been a goner too.”
She could be a witness. “Did you see anything?”
“Just like I told you before, a black sedan sped away and the driver threw something out of the car… into the sewer over there.” She points toward a drain in the curb across from the parking lot.
“Have you told the police?”
She cocks her head. “I left a message last week… from here. Don’t you remember?”
“Did anyone follow up?”
She looks confused. “We talked to him together.”
I can’t think of a way to ask her who it was, what we said, what the officer did.
Without warning she removes my arms from the front of the gown and hoists my breasts— each the size and shape of a cow’s head— onto my shoulders, and washes underneath. “Almost done,” she chirps, swallowed by a cloud of powder.
“Fine, fine,” I say, as if I’m fine…fine.
Relocating and covering my breasts, she washes between every roll on my stomach. I note six major ones. She drapes my front with a fresh gown.
“Did you see the driver?” I check the gown, make sure I’m covered.
“The windows were tinted, but I bet it was a man.” She puts a fresh sheet on me and tucks it under the foot of my bed.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because there was an NRA sticker on the back window.”
My mind searches for anyone who belongs to the National Rifle Association. Half the police force comes to mind.
“Oops… we forgot your armpits.” She slips my arms out of the gown, but keeps my body covered. “Up-see-daisy,” she says.
“Lift my arms?” All I can think about is food.
“As high as the sky.” She gives an example by pretending to tickle the ceiling.
I can practically hear her whistling while she cleans the dust bunnies under my arms.
Lynette walks in.
With arms raised, I look at her sideways. “I love you more than you could ever possibly know.”
“Yes…me too.” Lynette smiles. “The kids are downstairs getting a treat.”
“Hello.” The young woman puts my arms back in the gown, tidies the sheet, and snaps off her gloves. “I’m Jennie, Sharon’s day nurse.”
Lynette shakes her hand. “I’m…Sharon’s sister.”
“I didn’t realize she had family.” Jennie goes to the sink to pour out the bucket and wash her hands.
I hear the kids running up the stairs.
Mac comes in first. “Whoa!” is the only word he can muster.
Jennie gives him a mini-scowl, purses her lips.
Kate covers her mouth, stifles a smile.
“And these are my children…Sharon’s niece and nephew.” Lynette says my name slow so the kids will catch it. Resentment stabs me when she claims my children as her own. Even though she was saying it for show, soon it’ll be true.
“Hello, Aunt Sharon.” Mac smiles at me.
“I’ll just let myself out.” Jennie picks up the bags of groceries and puts them on the table next to my bed, as she has seemingly done thousands of times before.
“Thank you, Jennie.” Lynette pokes through the bags of processed goods. “From now on, would you mind bringing just healthy food— no matter how much my sister protests? Sharon is going to start taking better care of herself.”
I can tell Lynette is irritated. In her work, the only clients she loses patience with are the “enablers.” She calls them the passive abusers; people who, “Act like they’re taking care of you. Meanwhile they’re helping you kill yourself.”
Lynette clenches her jaw. “Even if she says she doesn’t have a sister.”
“Yes Ma’am.” Jennie closes the door on her way out.
I reach for a box of Hostess Ho-Ho’s. Lynette slaps my hand.
“This is an interesting look for you.” Kate pulls a dinette chair up to the bed. Mac sits on the narrow space of mattress that I don’t consume.
I rub his back, am grateful to have them all here. “I’ve never thought about being in a body this big. I feel like a waterbed.”
Lynette squeezes my arm, forces a smile.
I touch my stomach. “Makes me yearn for the days when I was just bloated.”
Mac laughs. “And could see your own feet.”
I give him a playful nudge. “Okay… fill me in on what’s happening with the kids.”
Lynette pulls up a chair and sits down. “Archer received signed statements from the six families. He also asked who they initially reported the disappearances to; about half said a woman and half a man.”
I try to move up in bed, but am landlocked. Mac scoots behind me and pushes my torso up with his feet. Lynette and Kate stuff pillows behind my back. “Did he find out which officer was assigned to these girls?”
Lynette makes eye contact with me. “Mike Dupree.”
I try to control my anger; should have known he’d be in on this. Without thinking I mutter, “That fucker!”
“Whoa… look at Mom dropping the f-bomb,” Kate says.
“I think this warrants the f-bomb. I said it too when I found out.” Lynette gets up, opens the fridge, and is notably disgusted by its contents. “Who assigns officers to cases?”
My mind starts spinning. The chief headed out and left that to Kim. “Oh shit.”
They look at me with: “What now?” expressions.
“Kim was in charge of the assignments.” I start sweating, and fan the sheet.
“The woman Mike’s dating?” It takes Lynette a second. “Oh no.”
Kate looks at Mac and then me. “What are we missing?”
“Kim and Mike aren’t just ‘together’ they’re working
together… to cover up the kidnappings.”
“Why would they do that?” Kate sneezes, rubs her eyes.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Lynette sets a glass of ice water on a coaster next to me. “Mike’s been a police officer for a long time, right? Why would he turn?”
I need to think. “Vanessa’s collecting kids and Mike and Kim are covering it up. What’s their connection to her?” I dab my forehead with the sheet, realize I’m sweating in places I’ve never had before.
“And what’s happening in four days?” Mac says.
“They still need another girl.” Kate looks concerned. “A lot of my friends have little sisters.”
Mac jumps off the bed. “ You should use me as bait.” He shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “I get mistaken for a girl all the time.”
His words float in the air like a toxin. My brain pulls away from its skull. Everything that remains of my spirit shrinks into a terrified walnut in my belly. “Not this,” I silently say to Mother. “I will not sacrifice my own son.” Worlds away, I’m pulled back, at warp speed, by Lynette’s voice.
“Oh… ha, ha, ha. Very funny! Who’s the little jokester?” Lynette says.
Mac stands his ground. “I can’t just abandon Anna. Think about it… there’s no faster way of finding those kids than if I’m taken there.”
I watch the sun dance in layers of blond, my innocent little lamb. “You don’t understand what you’re suggesting, Mac. We don’t even know what’s happening to them. Do I need to remind you that they’re capable of murder?”
Kate sneezes and gets up to grab a tissue.
“I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,” Lynette says. “This is not an option. Period, end of story.”
Mac gets distracted by the cats, goes to play with them.
“You know… he’s naïve enough to do something like that.” Kate blows her nose.
I feel physically ill, change the subject. “What did Archer say about investigating Vanessa?”
“They don’t have enough evidence to do a formal investigation, but Archer said that he would keep her on his radar.” Lynette picks up my glass, encourages me to drink. “Whatever that means.”