Let Him Cry Pt. 02

"Men! Pigs. Every single one of them," Liv had said, but she'd been laughing.

Unbidden, the rest of that evening long ago flooded back: snuggled together under a blanket in a dorm room that couldn't quite cope with the evening's chill, her back pressed into my chest, Casablanca playing on the iPad propped across from us. I'd watched my favorite movie with my nose pressed into her hair, drinking in the scent that was lavender and rosemary and something that was uniquely Liv, a scent I'd loved, that I would never again be able to—

No! I pulled my mind away. Nothing good lay that direction. Instead, I forced myself to think about Caitlyn's hair — vanilla I think — and the feel of her body against mine. More draped over than nestled into. More cushiony.

I pulled out my phone and texted.

≫ Hi. Can I call or are you with your patient?

≪ Hey. Yes I am but you can call. She's sleeping right now.

"I had a great time last night," I said when she answered.

"Me too. Thank you for dinner."

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out again next weekend. Maybe we could check out whatever band is playing at Maxwell's."

"That would be great."

Of course, that Tuesday it took about two-point-nuthin' seconds for Ruth to size me up, break into a just-ate-the-canary grin, and give me a huge wink.

John caught her expression but misunderstood. "Stop flirting with every pair of pants, Ruth."

She mimed contrition but, after he wandered off shaking his head, she murmured, "I doubt pants were involved at all."

I dodged the shoulder-blow reflexively. "Go nail something, you old bat." The second the words left my mouth, I heard what I'd said. I threw my hands over my ears. "No. Not a single word."

Cackle.

That Friday, about an hour after we'd abandoned the band — what do you expect from something named Blooming Lotus? — and twenty minutes after we ended up in bed, Caitlyn jerked back from where my hand had wandered. "Nuh-uh, no butts!"

"Not a fan?"

"I tried it once with Gregg and ... just no."

"Okay," I said amiably, and we got back to the business at hand.

At our break to recover, she laid her head on my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine, her hands tucked up into her chin. "Gregg was your husband?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"You haven't mentioned him much."

"No."

I didn't know how to take the reticence, so I let it drop. I guess she realized how I might be interpreting things because she answered a question I hadn't asked. "Not like that. I loved him and he loved me. It was good."

"What did he look like? I haven't seen any pictures around the apartment."

"I only kept one." After a second, she sat up and reached for her phone. "This is him."

She lay back down, resting on an elbow so she could look me in the face. She laid her other hand on my chest. I think she'd deduced by now that I had some tactile defensiveness when it came to being touched in any way except active sex, but sometimes she forgot. I let it rest there because I was hoping that we'd be getting back to the active sex thing in short order.

While I looked at the selfie of a guy in cammies leaning against a younger version of the woman next to me, she continued. "I don't dwell on him. It was good while I had it, but he died in Afghanistan. Thinking about it just creates unhappiness, so I don't. It's a part of my life that's over."

Her voice was earnest. "I think you understand what I'm talking about. You loved Olivia; anyone can see that. But now you're in a healing process. Just like with your head and the scar, there'll come a point where the best thing for you is to let things be what they are and move on with your life. It might take a while to get there; you can't rush it. But it's for the best.

"And, I admit, it's hard. My advice, when it happens, is to call someone in your family. My sister stayed with me for a couple of weeks and helped me put that part of my life aside. If none of them are close enough, I'll help you."

She smiled affectionately. "In the meantime, I volunteer to keep you cheery." The smile turned mischievous as her hand slid down across my stomach and kept going. "Would this maybe help keep things cheery?"

I nodded. It would.

She scooted down. "Just remember that first girlfriend's rule."

I chuckled and nodded again.

Around ten o'clock, she gave me a kiss that had me questioning out loud whether I needed to leave just yet. She had to be at a client very early the next morning, so this wasn't an overnighter. She made shooing motions. "Scoot. Next week."

As I turned the car toward home, my thoughts returned to that short conversation. I hadn't paid much attention at the time because my mind was completely occupied with carnal considerations. Now I did. The prospect of letting Liv go in order to move on with my life perturbed me. I mean, it made sense that you couldn't cling to the past, but something about the advice was troubling.

"Do you think much about your husband?" I asked Ruth.

She looked at me in surprise at the unexpected question. I momentarily feared some smart-alecky response starting, "Why would I think about him when ..." but she didn't go there. She set down her brush and leaned up against the wall.

"It depends on what you mean by much. I think of him from time to time, mostly when I hear certain songs. Sometimes when I see some young, good-looking guy who resembles him."

I waited for the inevitable salacious eyeing or the double entendre, but she surprised me by remaining serious.

"He was a good thing in my life. Why wouldn't I?" That resonated and I almost missed what she said next. "But that was over fifty years ago and lasted only a short while, so I probably don't think about him as much as I do others. Especially the guy I've been with for—" She broke off, clearly calculating. "Wow! I've been with him longer than I was even alive back then."

I looked at her in shock. "You have a boyfriend?"

The grin was back. "Yeah. A woman has needs, you know." She pushed back upright. "A young 'un 'cause I like 'em studly." She winked. "He's sixty-four."

She laughed at my disbelief.

"Don't worry. He knows me, and he knows that when it comes to the boys, I'm all talk. These panties are glued on except for him." She picked up her brush and turned to the next window. "If I was wearing any panties, that is."

I couldn't help myself. I glanced at her butt, relieved to see faint lines through the worn khakis.

Without turning around, she declared, "Made you look!"

"So, how'd it go solo?" I asked Taty as the three members of the Rogers family climbed into the car.

A week ago, Taty had come home from her first day at the coffee shop a little flustered at the hour. She'd said, "Sorry. Let me get dinner started."

"Don't worry about it. I've got ziti in the oven." I raised my eyebrows in a question.

"I go back tomorrow. I'm going to quit the nail salon. She'd like me to work seven to four. That's early, I know, and I can take the bus when—"

"Enough with the bus already!"

I saw a flash of the stubbornness cross her face, but her response was softer than it had been in previous disagreements. Instead of a pointed, "I said I'll take the bus," she smiled and reached to touch my arm, checking herself when she remembered her promise. "Thanks. But it would make me feel better to do it my way."

Oh. Got it. "That's early for the kids to go to school," I said tentatively.

It was her turn to think a moment. "Are you offering to drop them on your way? Bela and I are working on some kind of joint pick up thing."

"Of course."

Now, a week later, it had been her first day where Bela left early.

"A little nervous with just me and a teenager, but it went fine," she replied.

That made me chuckle inside. Bela had been absent from the site for a week while she was training Taty. When she'd appeared after lunch today, I'd asked how things were going.

"I get a little nervous when the only adult is new and the other's a teen, but it's fine."

Now, Taty's echo of Bela was funny, but I kept it off my face. I'd screwed up a tiny bit when I started this whole thing; I didn't want her to think I was checking up.

That Thursday, Caitlyn and I were busy painting upstairs. She'd started coming an odd day here and there when she didn't have a patient. Painting was one of my least favorite jobs, but it was made slightly more palatable by the kiss I stole every time our paths crossed in the room.

We heard a car door slam. Caitlyn peered out the window. "It's Bela."

"That's four days in a row. I thought that was a problem for her."

"She's really unhappy that she won't get her hours in before this place is done."

"How close is she?" I asked.

Caitlyn shrugged.

Later, I went to get my lunch out of the car. On my way back, Bela was sitting on outside steps, pulling a small packet of food out of her purse.

"I didn't think you'd be here today," I said. "I thought your sister worked six days on, three off. Rafi with your parents?"

"Taty's keeping an eye. She said that watching three was no worse than watching two and that I'd helped her out, so she was glad to return the favor."

I couldn't keep the surprise off my face.

She flushed a little before continuing. "I know; I know. But it didn't take me long to notice that her children never showed up dirty or inappropriately dressed, that they played well with Rafi, that they didn't hurt anything. Heck, that they had better manners than Rafi.

"I also noticed that, however much Terrell might be eight and a boy, he still did his homework without complaining and then read to Nia. He even goes around and cleans off the tables sometimes without being asked.

"I realized that maybe, instead of worrying about her working in my shop, I should worry about me not looking bad." She smiled ruefully. "So much for my preconceptions!"

"Well, we're all human."

"She's one of the better decisions anyone ever twisted my arm into making. And it lets me knock off my hours here faster."

"I'm glad that it all worked."

She looked up at me, startled. "Did you plan this?"

I didn't respond to that beyond a smile; I just got up and headed back inside.

"Do I take that as a yes?"

I kept walking, shrugging.

"Matt!"

I jumped slightly in surprise when the wadded paper bag hit my back, but I refused to turn and acknowledge the giggle that followed, or the laughing, "Be a jerk then, payaso."

Plan it? Nope. Consider it a possibility? Yes, actually I had. Their needs were so obviously complementary, how not? So, even though I had no idea what she'd just called me, I assumed it was in fun and kept walking.

"What was that about?" Caitlyn asked when I dropped down beside her to eat.

"Oh, nothing. A friend of mine works for her and we were just joking around."

"Mmm."

Disaster struck at the build that weekend. Some idiot left stuff perched on the edge of a scaffold. John bumped the uprights moving some materials and a cordless drill from six feet up caught him squarely on the head. He went down like a rock.

"Get Caitlyn now!" I ordered a frozen teenager. "Don't touch him!" I instructed another who was reaching. "We don't know what's up with his neck." She looked startled and backed away. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 while kneeling to make sure blood wasn't gushing. It wasn't, but it was oozing steadily. I was glad when Caitlyn came up at a run.

Twenty minutes later, I watched the ambulance pull out of the driveway. Caitlyn went with it. "Call me when you know anything," I had told her.

I looked around at the uncertain faces. "Ruth. How about you take the inside people and keep going on the painting?" She nodded.

I turned to one of the other guys. "Think you can poly a floor?" It was what I had been doing. He looked uncertain. "Paint roller, dip in tray, roll, repeat until everything's shiny. I've already done the edges. Just don't paint yourself into a corner," I said, smiling. He smiled back and nodded.

"Okay, outside people" — John had been wrangling them — "let's go finish the damn siding and trim."

I turned to the person I suspected had left the stuff up there. "Could you make a quick check to get everything loose off the scaffolds, please?"

When Bela showed up later, I heard her getting the scoop from one of the others. She came over to where I was working.

"I feel terrible," she said. "It's my house."

"He'll be fine."

"I hope! Anyway" — she snapped a salute — "reporting for duty, jefe."

"So now I'm the chief, huh, not an old man?"

"Never hurts to flatter the male ego."

I sighed dramatically, ignored the smirk, and gave her an assignment.

Caitlyn phoned just before we called it a day. "He's okay. A concussion. I don't have to explain what that means to you. His wife's here and will get him home. Are you home yet?"

"No. We kept working. Winter is coming." She groaned, and I laughed at her. She'd already told me how addicted she had been to the show. "Seriously though, people gave up their Saturday. It seemed stupid to have that be for nothing. Bela needs her hours; kids need their community service credits; we need to get the exterior done. So, I just shuffled things along."

Sunday afternoon, I wondered how John was faring. I'm sure his wife is taking good care of him, I thought. I'll call tomorrow to see if we're on for Tuesday.

At the next timeout, I listened to the voice that had been distracting me.

"He's your friend now, Matt," it said. I barely had time to pull my attention away from the commentator's voice when it continued. "Just sayin'."

I thought about that. He was. Then I thought about the friends who I couldn't even tell you what they were doing now because I'd lost touch. I pulled out my phone.

"It's Matt."

"What's up?"

Well, I didn't even have to ask. The mournful tone of his voice said it all. "Am I interrupting?"

"No. My wife took the kid over to her parents' so I'd have some quiet. Just watching the game."

"Hey! Didn't they warn you about TV?"

"Caitlyn said the very same thing when she called."

"I'm sure she did," I said with a laugh, remembering my own frustration with her proactive approach to advice. "I didn't listen either. Look, I know you can't have a beer — sucks to be you — but want some company for the game?"

"Hell yeah!"

"So, I'm off the work site for a few weeks," he said at halftime. There was a world of meaning in the tone of his voice.

"And ...?"

"And I know Bela's already fretting."

"We can continue working."

He was shaking his head — gingerly, he was learning just like I had — before I finished the sentence. "Nope. Insurance won't allow it. An Abode person has to be there. It's a thing."

Something about the way he said it led me to believe he had more than just Bela's disappointment on his mind. I waited. When he didn't go on, I raised an eyebrow, but he still didn't say anything. Finally, I prompted, "And ...?"

He looked over at me and shrugged. "Workers' comp is only sixty-seven percent of wages in this state. Madison's pregnant with our second."

"And she's not on maternity leave, I take it?"

"She's been a stay-at-home mom since our first was born."

"Shit!" I got up to get another beer for me and a V8 — "some Worcestershire and heavy on the Tabasco" — for him. When I came back, I picked up the remote and muted the TV. "Have you told work about this, yet?"

He shook his head again. "No. I'll call tomorrow."

"Don't tell them until the medical bills arrive. You're not required to file a comp claim immediately." I smiled at his puzzled expression. "Just show up Tuesday."

I held up a hand as he started to protest. "I know all about concussions, remember? Show up and park yourself in a chair. Bring that nasty stuff you're drinking and watch Netflix all day or just nap. Nothing is going on that I can't handle."

He stared, speechless, for a second.

The John of the second half was a lot more relaxed, though he still winced every time he forgot himself and cheered.

"Can I stay?"

"There are kids just down the hall. Why don't we go to your place?"

Caitlyn had invited herself over to dinner. It started with her smart-ass "another helpless male in the kitchen." Okay, so I let some grilled cheese get a tiny bit overdone. Come on, I was distracted.

"Besides," I had added, "these cheap aluminum pans you have ... how about some good cookware?"

"Oh, so now it's the pan's fault that you can't cook?"

"I can cook. I'll have you know there are plenty of things."

"Name one!"

"Chicken Marengo."

"I don't know what that is, but" — she talked right over my attempt to explain — "I'll be over Friday to try it out."

"My place isn't exactly ideal for an intimate evening. Kids and ..." I said after a second, trailing off with a "you know" shrug.

"Not every time we get together has to be to satisfy your lust. Six o'clock. I'll bring wine. White okay?"

Now, apparently, we had a bit of a pot versus kettle situation. "Whose lust were you talking about the other day?" I asked.

She ignored the gibe. "The kids will be in bed soon. I'll leave early in the morning before they get up. Tatyanna's a big girl and can deal."

"Mmm." I gathered up her wine glass. "More?" At her nod, I walked over to the kitchen and poured us both another. Handing her hers, I said, "You're right; she's a big girl. But I need to check about the kids for my peace of mind." I walked to the back where Taty had discreetly vanished.

"It's your place, Matt," Taty said.

"With kids living in it," I answered firmly. "Level with me. Caitlyn has a place of her own if this is a concern."

The head tipped. "They'll be fine. They won't think anything of it."

"Keep thinking that about Terrell, Ms. Naïve," I teased.

"He's eight!"

"Exactly." I relented at the look on her face. "I'm just teasing, but probably not by more than a year or two." At her wide eyes, "Remind me to tell you about third grade someday."

I turned to leave and then swung back. "You two didn't seem to hit it off," I said, lowering my voice. I had caught the brittle edge that crept in throughout dinner. "Did she say something that upset you?"

Her voice quieted to the same level as mine. "You should go pay attention to her. I think she has a problem with me."

I frowned. "I don't ... I don't think she's that way, Taty."

She burst out laughing. "No, you idiot, not my skin color. My gender. She's not happy you're living with another woman."

I couldn't resist. It was so seldom that I got an opening for a little payback with Taty. "I bet especially one I've seen naked."

She froze in surprise. I saw the faintest darkening, which I took to be a blush. I grinned. "She probably wonders," I continued, "who I think looks better. That's an interesting question ..." I said as I turned and left. That I got out of the room and was able to shut the door behind me without a peep, I counted as a major victory.

"Okay," I told Caitlyn when I rejoined her in the living room. She smiled complacently and patted the sofa next to her.

Sometime later, she observed, "That's a nice picture of Olivia."

I glanced at it. For almost a year I hadn't been able to do that. Now, it wasn't quite as bad, though I still avoided it. "Mmm. Yeah."

"You have another on the nightstand on the other side from where you sleep."

I looked at her in surprise.

"I was here for a couple of days as your nurse. Remember? And I was in your room a few times those nights, checking on you."