In the House of Spite Ch. 05

Homemade waffles with honey and strawberries. A cup of yogurt with chopped nuts. Bacon and sausage. A glass of milk and a cup of water. Pearl couldn't find a tray, so she picked up a metal baking pan and covered it with a clean towel. The beverages were put on a plate.

Upstairs, she made sure everything was set up well for Darren, even took his temperature, and then she went to let the dogs back in the house.

Work went on mostly as normal, aside from occasionally checking in on her new charge. When the comforter was finally clean and dry, she folded it up and put it away. She put a thinner blanket on Darren; she was afraid he'd overheat.

Pearl told Darren in the sweetest, most concerned tone that she had to go shopping for a little while, but she'd be back soon, and to text her if anything was wrong. She felt very nervous as she drove off to town, but she needed to go. Food, tissues, and medicine were on her list.

Back at the house, she checked in with Mr. B. He was okay, if exhausted and in need of a nap. Fine, but first he took a pill or two. Then Pearl did more cleaning and tidying. Pearl thought of Darren the whole time. What was he going to do when she left? What if he woke up in the middle of the night and fell again?! His parents shouldn't go anywhere near him. They were old, too vulnerable to influenza. His sister had a newborn baby. If she got the flu, then she could end up giving it to the baby.

What the hell was Darren supposed to do?

When she served Mr. B his lunch, his tired eyes slowly rolled up to her face, and he asked, "Are you okay?"

The worry must've been obvious on her face.

So, Pearl forced a smile and said everything was fine.

The point where she needed to clock out came, but she didn't immediately go up to Darren to ask for the cash. The space between her eyebrows was wrinkled. Her bottom lip was taken up by her teeth.

For two whole minutes she stood in the kitchen, struggling with her stupid fucking pride.

Then she called her father. Daddy was less romantic and more sensible than Mama. She needed advice.

"Little Bit," that what he called her sometimes, "everyone knows you're good people. You're scrappy but you're sweet, and you're a grown woman. As long as you're not hurting anybody, you do what you want to do. You don't need anyone to tell you what you're doing is okay, because you decide if it's okay. That man trusts you, and you trust him. So you come on and pack your stuff. Just give me a hug before you leave."

It was so ... freeing to hear him say that. She even laughed after she hung up.

Back in the bedroom, she asked for her pay. She personally handed Darren his wallet, and he gave the required cash to her. She didn't leave him, though. Not right then.

Pouty and almost sad, Pearl knelt down beside the bed, put her lower arms on the mattress, and gazed up at Darren's understandably puzzled and tired face. Mushy and corny, as if she was about to beg him for something, she said, "I think you need someone to stay here for a while."

After he blew his nose and tossed his tissue into one of the emergency buckets, Darren said, "Huh? Do you think so?"

Her butt wiggled. "Someone needs to stay here and nurse you."

One of his thick eyebrows rose. "Mm hmmmmm."

"If you don't mind," Pearl said as she folded her arms, "if it wouldn't be inconvenient for you, I could sleep on the couch until you're all better."

In defiance of his illness, Darren smirked at her. There was still a glowing bit of charcoal in his heart. "Wouldn't that be inappropriate?"

"Maybe, but these are extenuating circumstances."

He leaned back on the stack of pillows Pearl had set up some time ago. "Alright. Do what you want. I know you aren't going to stab me in my bed."

Odd, Pearl's body felt almost weightless as she got up.

Everything was going to be fine.

***

She woke up to Baby Blue licking her hand.

She'd slept on the couch, wearing her softest old blue jeans and a smooth top with long sleeves. It was almost like torture for her. She was too spoiled rotten to comfortably sleep in anything but a bed. But there wasn't much to do about it. The spare rooms didn't have any beds. The only bed was Darren's, and she wasn't about to snuggle with a horribly ill man.

Hell, even if he wasn't ill and she was staying at his house for some other reason, Pearl still wouldn't get in that damn bed.

At least there was a spare bathroom.

She changed her clothes and brushed her teeth. Then she went to feed the dogs and get breakfast ready. This time around, she'd get to have some of it. Since she absolutely loved homemade waffles, she made them again, except with banana slices and hot syrup. There were also hash browns, sausage patties, and scrambled eggs. Orange juice too.

In the bedroom, Darren was still asleep. He was hugging one of his pillows, even chewing on it.

Big baby.

He lived like Gunner and slept like Baby Blue.

Pearl was glad she wasn't his sleeping companion. She'd never get any sleep! She hated being touched, breathed on, or contacted at all while she was trying to sleep. Cuddles were lovely on just about any other occasion, though.

Imitating her mother's voice from back when she'd wake Pearl up for school, this little woman spoke gently and nudged one of Darren's shoulders. "Darren," she practically sung his name, "time to get up."

His nostrils expanded and contracted. The food's aroma was definitely enticing him. His eyes flitted around behind the lids. Then he finally woke up and pushed himself into a sitting position. Pearl patted the top of his head and said, "Good morning." She put his makeshift tray on his lap, then the orange juice on the nightstand. "You want the dogs to come visit you after you eat?"

"That would be nice."

It was indeed nice. Gunner mostly snuggled in Darren's lap. Baby Blue spent a few minutes trying to figure out why Daddy wasn't up and ready to go do something. After a few sniffs in the air, though, the Pit Bull seemed to figure it out. Daddy was sick. Daddy needed to rest.

Another big baby.

Later that night, Pearl helped Darren put moisturizing oil in his scalp. He said his mother had made him do that every day when he was a kid. Pearl liked listening to him go on about how his mama was obsessed with hair care. She'd even spent a good portion of her marriage braiding other people's hair for varying fees.

Eventually Pearl told him that her own mother used to style people's hair a lot too. Once, in the 2000s, Mama had put the most obvious streaks and waves in her hair for picture day at school. Added to that was the thick layer of makeup. Her Mama did not believe in restricting her girl from makeup. Even at the age of five years old, on picture day Pearl went to school with a face several shades darker than her hands, with red lips and purple eyelids.

"I've heard that people up north think southerners are backwards and prudish," Pearl said as she closed the bottle of oil. "But in my experience it's pretty much the opposite. My parents don't even see the point of school dress codes."

She heard Darren explain how when he was a kid, lots of teachers gave him crap over his hair. After she washed her hands, Pearl walked back to him and said she imagined his mother rose some serious hell over that. He confirmed it. She wouldn't have let him leave the house if she thought her son didn't look right.

Their mothers were truly quite similar. Protective and insistent, gentle yet fierce, and not afraid to scream.

Darren asked her if she wouldn't mind hanging out with him a few minutes before bed. Why not? She set up a lamp and folding table. There, she put down a coloring book and some colored pencils. He didn't say much about it, but he did give her a curious look.

Pearl just let him talk to her while she colored in dresses and plants. He liked to talk about animals and weather, movies and food, and even the prices of certain products. Pearl hated most movies nowadays, at least the mainstream ones. She was the type of person to point out why a story was absolute garbage and explain to you for hours about how it could've been done better.

He mostly laughed at her pointlessly vigorous statements.

The medicines kicked in a bit too hard, and he soon fell asleep in the middle of a sentence.

Pearl tucked him in.

***