Chapter 17

The conversation April and I had replays in my head many times over the few hours left before Sandy and I head off to Tulsa.

She says little Michael is a sweet little boy, but here is a kicker.

“He doesn’t like men,” April said.

Her reasoning for sending the little chap away with a man makes no sense. Based on my parenting skills and knowledge of children, I am afraid the boy’s opinion of men will lessen, certainly not increase.

“Why doesn’t he like men?” I ask.

“He’s not really been around many. They scare him. The only man he’s spent any time with is my father and you know how he is.”

Actually, I didn’t. I seldom spent any time with him during our courtship and marriage. He didn’t like me or think I was good enough for his daughter. I don’t remember him yelling a lot. Drinking a lot, but not yelling.

“Okay, since your son doesn’t like men, why are you sending him with me?”

“Because you’re my only choice,” she admitted. Not the first choice or the obvious pick, but her only one.

“I don’t think it’ll work out.”

“Why?”

“You just said he doesn’t like men,” I tried to remind her. “I’m not much with kids.”

“Yeah, you are,” April insisted. “You just say that because you haven’t had any.”

“I think it’s a bad idea, but I’ll meet the boy…”

“His name is Michael.”

“Yeah, kind of hard to forget that name. But I can’t promise you anything. He won’t, like, freak out will he?”

“Scream and pull his hair, not freak out.”

“Seriously?”

“No, Michael,” she said, smiling. “He just retreats back into a shell.”

Poor kid, I thought. Introversion might be something I could handle as long as there wasn’t anything else.

“There’s one other thing,” April added, as I somehow sensed she would. “Michael has these seizures at times.”

“You’re kidding?” That was obviously not the best thing to say at the moment.

“No, I wouldn’t kid about something like that,” she replied, a little hasty.

“I don’t guess you would,” I responded, sounding like a complete idiot. “What happens when he has one of those seizures?”

“If he takes his medicine, Michael usually won’t have one. But he’s a little boy and forgets if you don’t make him.”

“Is it serious?”

“The doctors say he will grow out of it, but it could be dangerous if he has a seizure and you don’t help him.”

This was a bad idea. It would put a serious crimp in my lifestyle if the little fellow was healthy. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do if the kid starts flopping around like a fish out of water.

So I spent the limited time I had to sleep, thinking about this situation. It seemed like I had just fallen to sleep in my old bed when the alarm clock sounded, that irritating buzz I have always hated. I prefer getting up to the sound of music but the parents have stuck with the same old clock.

I was worn out, had a headache and felt like I could sleep the rest of the day. I showered, went in to make sure the old man was still kicking, and then visited the kitchen.

Mom was sitting at the table in the same nightgown she used to wear when I lived here. It was light blue, faded badly, and needed replaced. She was wearing a blue pair of slippers that also had seen better days.

There was a full pot of coffee on the counter, underneath a modern microwave. Everything else in the kitchen needed updating, aside from the microwave. This one had a popcorn button which was the sole reason my Dad bought that model.

She was reading the newspaper I work for. I was supposed to have a feature on some ninety-year old Indian up in northern Oklahoma that still hunts and fishes. I usually don’t like to read my stories once they are in print, always finding something that should have been changed or added.

We did the good morning thing. I got a full cup of coffee, black, nothing at all to lighten it down. I needed a full dose of caffeine this morning to get me going. Just being around Sandy would help, but so would the coffee.

Mom and I exchanged a little small talk. She got up from the table, handed me the paper and started breakfast.

“Don’t bother making me anything,” I requested. I turned to the sports to see how many mistakes I could find. Usually there are quite a few, something we remind that department of every time there is an argument.

“Oh?” she asked, the only person I know who could make that word a question. “Why’s that?”

“Since I’m going to be here a little longer than I expected, I’m going to Tulsa today and get a few things,” I replied.

She eyed me suspiciously for way longer than I thought was necessary.

“You aren’t going with that Squiggy are you?” she fired at me, way too intense.

“Naw, I’m giving Squiggy the day off today,” I answered, finding it strange that my mother was still trying to influence who I spent my time with.

“Good,” Mom replied, with way too much enthusiasm. “Are you going by yourself?”

This could be a little tricky.

“Naw, Sandy’s going with me.”

Mom wheeled around much faster than I thought was possible.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked. “You do know the girl’s engaged to that football coach?”

“Yes, I know,” I responded. It had been way too long since I had to explain anything to anybody other than prying bosses. “We’re just friends.”

“You better watch out. I don’t think that coach is the type to like other guys hanging around his girlfriend.”

I mumbled something, then left. It was still a little early, but I needed a break. I filled up the old gas tank, outraged that gas was now at $2.03 a gallon.

We were going to meet at Squiggy’s current house, which was little more than a shack. He had said it was okay to park her car there, knowing Trevor would never find it there.

Squiggy appeared to be passed out on the porch with Psycho lying next to him. I started to wake him, but Psycho growled at me. Squiggy had two metal cans out front to burn his trash. Three old trucks were parked here and there, looking like lawn furniture.

Sandy pulled up shortly after I arrived and hopped in my old Ranger. She looked most excellent, wearing a summer dress that was white with pink flowers. Sandy had on a pair of sandals with her hair back in a ponytail.

Luckily, I had dressed fairly nice, so I didn’t feel like a slob. I wore a pair of jeans, a golf shirt and a pair of nice shoes.

“You look good,” I commented, wishing I had said nice instead.

“Thank you,” she replied, while checking out my attire. “So do you.”

She had already made my day. I took the side roads out of town.

“How come you’re not taking the highway?” she asked.

“I figured Trevor might be out riding around,” I answered.

“He’ll be at the gym watching film of last night’s game all day.”

“He’s got a stronger stomach than I do.”

It was almost like old days. We talked constantly, laughed and were good friends again, despite the years we spent apart.

Once we arrived in Tulsa, I stopped at some fancy place to eat. I had never been there before, of course, since the food didn’t arrive in less than five minutes. Some people at work said it was good so I thought Sandy might like it.

I wasn’t all that impressed, neither was Sandy. Even the waiter was a snob. The food was too small and cost too much. I’d rather have a Whopper any day.

After leaving the restaurant, we went to Woodland Hills Mall off of 71st Street. I seldom came here, but figured Sandy would enjoy it. She did, spending a lot of time looking at stuff I had no interest in viewing. But I was a good boy, showing interest and commenting on the boring stuff she was browsing.

We spent over two hours in the mall before deciding that was long enough. As we got in the Ranger, I could barely see her over the bags of stuff she had bought.

“Where would you like to go now?” I asked.

“I don’t care,” she answered. “Why don’t you show me where you live?”

That would work for me. I had to stop by and pick up a few things anyway, and we were close by. My apartment is gated, another way of keeping out the riffraff. I entered the code and the gate rose, allowing me to pass through.

A lot of fancy cars and trucks are in the parking lot. The old Ranger is a little out of place, but I don’t care. My apartment is near the back, as far away from the pool and its noise as possible. I park and we get out. My place is upstairs so we climb the stairs.

The neighbor downstairs is very nosey and I see him looking out his door to see who I am with. I wave and he shrinks back inside, disappointed that he had been caught.

My apartment is somewhat clean, I am relieved to discover. I doubt Sandy would care, but it would be a little embarrassing if there were dirty drawers scattered everywhere. My place is fairly small, just a living room, small area for a table to eat on, a kitchen not big enough for two people, two bedrooms and one bath.

I give her the grand tour, one that lasts almost a minute. I had forgotten that the bed wasn’t made. I’m the type of person who could care less if the bed is made since I’ll just be sleeping in it again, but do try to make it when company is coming over.

As we enter the bedroom, I scurry over to at least make the bed presentable. She laughs at my antics.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about the bed,” she answers.

I do, though, finish it off and turn around. Sandy is right behind me. I can barely stand up. The light is on in the hall, but I failed to turn it on in the bedroom so it is fairly dark.

“Is that better?” I ask.

She shrugs, smiling at me and looking at my eyes. Sandy edges closer, not that I thought it was possible.

All the nerves are starting to get fired up. I don’t know what her plans are, but they seem to be much different than I expected.

She puts both hands on my chest and leans her head against me. I am so stunned that I don’t know what to do or say. Her hands slowly come up to my head. She turns to face me and pulls my head down. Her eyes have a look I have only seen once, back when we were together on the dock so many years ago.

We come closer together. Our lips are on a collision course. I close my eyes and await the contact. I can smell her perfume and hear her breathing. I can’t wait anymore and close the distance. Just as our lips meet, my cell phone rings, scaring me bad enough that I jump.

Sandy smiles, then steps back. I move forward, not the least bit concerned with a phone at the current moment.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” she asks.

I shake my head vigorously. I put my hands behind our head and draw her close. The ringer goes off again. She puts her hands on my chest, slowing my progress.

“Just see who it is,” she insists. “It might be your mother.”

I had forgotten about having a sick father at home, that an ex-wife wanted me to care for a small, sick boy, along with all the other worries and wants.

I close my eyes, hoping it is a wrong number or work. My cell phone is in a case attached to my belt. The phone rings again before I can get it open. It seems like I’m operating in slow motion. I flip the phone open and look at the number.

It is the same number that woke me up a couple of nights ago. I flip the phone open and hit the send button, wishing cell phones had never been invented.

“Hello,” I mutter.

“Michael, where are you?” Mom asks. She is almost frantic.

“I’m still in Tulsa. What’s wrong?”

“You need to come. Your father’s not doing very good and keeps asking for you.”

That figures. The old man spent many years trying to mess things up for me, and still is.

“Okay, I’ll head home.”

“Good…” she pauses for a few seconds. “Uh, Michael, that football coach has called two times looking for you.”

That was the least of my worries right now.

“Bye, Mom.”

I hang up before she can say anything. I look at Sandy and see a sadness I had never seen on her face before.

I sit down on the bed. She joins me and puts her head on my shoulder.

“We need to go,” I say, four of the hardest words I have ever said.

“I know,” Sandy responds.

I stand up and help her up. We start walking out of the bedroom. I am at the door when Sandy stops me.

“Mikey, hold on just a second” she says.

“What is it?” I ask while turning around.

“Just once,” Sandy says and comes toward me. She throws her arms around me. As our lips meet, there is a loud pounding from the front door. It sounds like whoever is out there is trying to knock the door off its hinges.

We look at each other, knowing this is not good. I had not told her that Trevor was looking for us, but can tell from her look that she suspects the same thing.

I have to get to the door before it is broken down. I let go of her and rush to the door. As I turn the handle, the door is shaken so violently that it creaks.

This can’t be good, I think, as I throw the door open.

Chapter 18