The Family Man

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
DreamCloud
DreamCloud
7,606 Followers

***

My house was small, and the yard tiny. Even so, the lawn was the one reason I missed having a man around. Men seem to enjoy firing up the mower, trimming bushes, and planting trees. I hated chewing up part of my weekend taking care of the lawn. Mowing wasn't as bad as edge trimming which I tended to skip every other week. I would avoid it all year if the neighbors weren't so fastidious about it. Not having the worst lawn on the block was my only goal. A few weeds and a couple of skipped trims were acceptable. There was always someone else who let theirs go enough to make me look like a decent neighbor.

Todd Brindleson wasn't one of the slackers. I had no idea what he did for a living, but he spent all his free time nurturing his landscaping. He had a special red baseball cap he only wore when he was gardening. It was logo'd with some company name that I didn't recognize, but it always announced that he was spending time outside. Today, he was on his knees giving his grass perfect edges as I ran the mower as quickly as possible over my grass. I had full intention of skipping the edging, so Maria and I had time to roam the mall. We wouldn't buy anything, but we bonded happily.

"Lawn is looking good," Todd called to me. I was pulling out the blower to get the clippings off the cement. I looked up and tried not to look disappointed that he was walking over.

"Yours looks a lot better," I said, hoping that's all he wanted to talk about. It wasn't, and he approached closer. A conversation with Mr. Perfect wasn't in my plans.

"Still having trouble with the Ex?" I cringed at his forwardness, embarrassed that he was letting me know that the whole neighborhood was aware. Police cars always attract attention.

"I'm sorry about that," I said, hoping that the blower in my hands would give him a clue that I had work to do.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Todd said, "it isn't your fault he's an asshole." I let the blower drop to my side. It was good to hear someone voice how I saw things.

"Thank you, Todd."

"I only caught the tail end of it, otherwise I would come over," Todd continued. "He was in quite a drunken rage."

"He doesn't have a lot of control anymore," I admitted. "The restraining order doesn't even slow him down."

"Eric sure slowed him down," Todd said with a chuckle.

"Eric?"

"Our new neighbor, Eric Papirius" Todd said, pointing two doors down from mine. I knew the house had sold, but I hadn't met the new neighbors yet. "Eric tossed him against the wall," Todd was demonstrating with his hands, "and wrenched his arms behind him. It only took him a moment to haul the bum to his car." Todd's smile was growing. "Tossed him in the back seat and then drove off with him."

"What?"

"You didn't see it? It looked very efficient like he was trained or something. He told me he worked for an import-export company, but it may be a cover." I looked at Todd like he was crazy. "You know, like 007."

"I thought the police sirens scared Jake off."

"He was scared alright, but not by sirens," Todd chuckled again. He was impressed by what had happened. A man's man handling the situation.

"He drove off with him?"

"Probably beat the crap of out him," Todd added, punching at the air. It didn't make any sense. Pulling Jake away from the door was one thing, but driving him away seemed excessive for someone you didn't even know.

"I guess I should thank him," I said with little conviction. What do you say to a person you don't know who prevented a disaster? He obviously wasn't overly concerned with my or Maria's well being since he hadn't checked in to see if we were all right. Todd was still smiling about his new hero. "Jake was pretty drunk. I'm grateful, but I doubt it took too great an effort," I added, trying to lessen Eric's prowess in Todd's eyes.

"I don't know. Your ex is a big guy," Todd said. Eric is probably just as large. Todd, on the other hand, was small and thin. Maybe he was living vicariously through Eric, a way of compensating for his own fears. At least we had the fear in common.

"Either way, I have to thank him," I said, more to convince myself than to respond to Todd. Being the damsel in distress was never my favorite pastime. It didn't seem to matter that I was in real distress at the time. "Is he home?" I asked, stalling.

"Not sure," Todd replied.

"Maybe his wife then," I said, putting the blower down and beginning to head down the driveway. Might as well get it over with.

"Not married. I believe he's a widower."

I slowed, wondering if knocking on Eric's door was wise. It would be preferable for Eric to be married. It made things easier if there was a wife wall between him and myself. A wife could enforce the rules, limit the necessary interaction. A couple thank-yous and the trading of fake future 'will get together soon.' A bachelor might take me up on an offer of dinner. The last thing I needed right now was a man around my house.

A few more uncertain steps, then I forced my uncomfortableness away. Another form of fear that needed to beaten back. I gripped an invisible baseball bat and moved to Eric's house with conviction.

Chapter 4

Before my courage fled, I rang Eric's doorbell. Involuntarily, I stepped back when the door began to open, realizing I needed more space between him and me.

"Yes?" Eric said, looking at me like I was an annoyance. He was smaller than Jake, maybe an inch taller than me, though it was hard to judge since I was a step below him. It was difficult to imagine him manhandling Jake. His eyes had a sharpness about them like he was cross to find me at his door. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, untucked, with an old pair of comfortable faded jeans. His right hand was gripping a hardcover book, his finger splitting the pages as a makeshift bookmark. "Can I help you?" He added as I stared.

"Ah, yes," I floundered, "I'm Natalie Livingston...from two doors down." I pointed toward my house. Eric had a slim face hardened by a few days of beard growth over a soft olive skin. I had an off-putting desire to drag a razor across his cheeks, freeing his face from the stubble.

"Okay," Eric said. His annoyance seemed to increase. Short cropped brown hair lay uncombed across the top of his head. It accented his lazy, unshaven look. Not a great first impression for a man somewhere in his thirties.

"I just found out that you helped me a couple of days ago," I said. Eric looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. I had a sense he was about to slam the door shut and end my unwanted interruption. "My ex-husband was trying to break thru my front door," I added, trying to give him more context. It was annoying that he was making go through a description.

"The loud guy," Eric said, raising his book to me, "he was disturbing my reading." His hazel eyes shifted to understanding, though still held contempt. I guess I was disturbing his reading as well.

"I wanted to thank you and apologize for the imposition."

"Your welcome," Eric said coarsely, then stepped back and started to shut the door.

"I'm sorry to intrude," I snapped, surprised at the venom I instinctively added to the words. Eric's curtness was beyond aggravating. Here I was trying to thank him, and all he wanted was for me to remove myself from his porch. The door closed, louder than necessary. "Asshole," I added quietly.

I moved back down the street with a purpose, whispering to myself about the worthlessness of the male gender. I wasn't sure who was worse, Jake or Eric. Jake I could understand. Hand him a bottle and he became violent. There was a cause and effect. Eric, on the contrary, was a contemptuous jerk. There was no cause, he just was. Widower? His wife probably threw herself off the nearest bridge.

Picking up the blower, I pulled the cord harder than necessary, desiring for the engine noise to drown out the world that seemed to want to belittle my existence. Eric hadn't shown up to save me from beating my ex with a baseball bat. He was only there to end the disruption to his life. The blower engine sprang to life, soothing the edges of my growing dislike of men. It wasn't the whole gender I disapproved of, just the ones who came within a hundred feet of me.

The grass clippings grew wings and flew away from the blower, back to the lawn whence they came I swept the forced air along the driveway and down the sidewalk making sure not one lone stalk remained where it shouldn't be. That was the orderly way things should be. Everything put firmly in its place. When I was done, I rethought not trimming the edges. The idea of lopping off the overgrowing strands of grass was appealing. I fired up the weed-whacker and let my mind enjoy the violence of the task.

Maria, as always, calmed me back down. She was my only vice, the perfect drug for handling life's stresses. At least when she's in a good mood. We spent a good part of the day window shopping in the mall. We treated ourselves to Chinese, ignoring the fact that it broke the budget. Sometimes, life needs a little budget busting.

***

"He slammed the door?" Cynthia asked for verification.

"On purpose," I said, nodding. The sting of my conversation with Eric had dulled. Talking with Cynthia would help to put it fully behind me. "I guess he thought I was part of the problem, the reason he had to get up and deal with Jake."

"What a jerk," Cynthia said, validating my own thoughts. "Maybe it's for the best. This way you don't owe him anything."

"Yep, I was thinking the same thing. After all, I wouldn't want to disturb his reading." Cynthia laughed which did wonders for putting the incident farther behind me.

"And Jake's still in jail?"

"He gets out tomorrow morning. A judge has accepted his remorse, and he's free until his court date next month. I swear, that man can talk his way out of anything."

"Could be that your unfriendly neighbor put a scare in him."

"Nothing that a bottle of whiskey won't undo," I said with a sigh, "I'm not falling for his apologies or giving him any indication that I might. I'm supposed to get my gun license today or tomorrow. That's the only thing that will give me some peace of mind."

"Armed and dangerous," Cynthia said. I liked the confident smile she gave me. It was filled with hope. It projected the independence I desired above all else at that point in my life. The bell rang, and Cynthia winked before she moved quickly down the hall, late for her homeroom class.

I found Danny Crichton waiting in my office, gripping his belly in the throes of theatrical pain. I chuckled, which brought out the wounded puppy eyes he was so good at.

"Test today?" I asked.

"My stomach hurts," the eleven-year-old said, adding a groan to emphasize his words. I placed the back of my hand against his forehead and verified there was no temperature. Color was good and his eyes alert. I reached for a thermometer to gain empirical proof of his faking.

"You know, you'll just have to make the test up," I said as I motioned him to open his mouth. "This is the sixth time this year you've been in my office. That's no way to go through life."

"I'm not faking," Danny mumbled with the thermometer in his mouth.

"No talking," I said, holding his wrist as I checked his strong pulse. "I'll ask around at lunch, and I'll bet I'll find out you have a test today. I'm not going to be happy if I find out you're using me to delay again."

"Math, after lunch," Danny said out of the corner of his mouth, trying to not dislodge the thermometer. He stopped hugging his stomach, knowing the gig was up. He wasn't a bad kid, just a little on the lazy side. That he admitted it, warmed my heart more than I should have let it. Maybe it was his defeated look that gave me pause.

"I think you should lay here and recover for the next two periods," I said as I removed the needless thermometer. "If you're not tired, maybe you can pull out your math book and study up a bit." It was a compromise I shouldn't have offered, but it felt good. Danny nodded and lifted up his book bag and pulled out his textbook.

Boys were easy to handle, almost a pleasure. It was a shame they had to grow into men.

***

I fired off three rounds in quick succession while holding my new Glock in two hands. The cushioned earmuffs deadened the sound yet allowed me to sense its intensity. Tony tapped me on the shoulder. I engaged the safety, unloaded the weapon and verified the chamber was empty, as I had been taught. There was a sense of power in owning the gun and not letting it own me. Tony had made me repeat the loading and unloading until it was almost second nature. He wanted to make sure that only bad guys saw the business end.

"Nice," Tony said with his large smile, "You need to pause a split second more between rounds to return to center mass. The idea is to make sure all the rounds find the assailant and put him out of commission."

"It feels good in my hands," I commented, laying the gun down on the counter in front of me. I pulled my ear protection off and let it lay around my neck. Tony hit a switch, and the target came whizzing up range along the cable. I had put a round in the second ring, chest high, and another in the shoulder. The expected third hole was nowhere to be found.

"Well you stopped him, but you let one round go wild," Tony said as he tore down the target and put another in its place. "That's the extra time I was talking about. You'll get the feel for it." A new paper target traveled back to the end of the range and Tony nodded to me. I replaced my headgear and calmly grasped my gun, loaded, pointed it down range, flipped the safety off and fired three more rounds. This time, I stalled an extra moment between rounds and let the barrel fall back to center mass.

"Much better," Tony said. Pride crept in, and I had to remind myself it was a killing machine. I wanted to feel safe, not prideful. It was only a tool. Engaging the safety, I began to lay the weapon down again. "You need to unload if you want to put the weapon down."

"Oh," I said quickly, my pride slipping away. I removed the magazine and checked the chamber as I had been taught.

"When it's not in your hands, it should be empty. It limits accidents, especially with children around."

"I'll make it a habit," I said as a horrible image of Maria picking up a loaded Glock came to mind. The target zoomed toward me, and I couldn't hide my smile. Three rounds in the black, one kissing the center ring, the other two climbing to the right, but still on target.

"Remind me to never break into your house," Tony said, looking critically at the target. I knew the words were designed to give me confidence, but I took them for applause. Damn pride. "You should practice a couple of times year, make sure it stays in your muscle memory." He winked at me. "Of course, next time I'll charge you to be on the range."

"You've earned a loyal customer, Tony," I said, still smiling at the target. It was going to take me a long time to pay off the credit card, but it was worth it.

"It's just good to know you'll have some protection you know how to use," Tony said, "I just saw on the news that the Broadview Killer struck again. The woman's supposed to survive, but they're worried she'll never walk again."

"I'm more worried about my ex," I said. "That guy's up on the north side, my ex knows where I live."

"You might want to give him fair warning," Tony said, pointing at the target. Then he shrugged his shoulders, "Or not. It's your castle." I smiled confidently. If anyone was going to threaten my house, they'd hear me roar.

Chapter 5

It had been weeks since Eric Papirius had slammed his door in my face. Pulling into my driveway, I saw him wheeling his garbage can to the street. He didn't glance up as he settled the wheels against the curb for tomorrow's pickup. Maria and I got out of the car, and I thought he looked toward me. I waved, thinking I may have just caught him on a bad day last time. The least I could do was to be pleasant from a distance. He ignored the wave and turned, heading back to his house. There was no proof, but I could have sworn he saw me wave. I swallowed my next words for Maria's sake.

I found the bill I had been dreading in the mailbox. It took me a long time to pay down my Visa bill, and now it had climbed right back up with the purchase of the Glock. I hadn't seen or heard from Jake, though I knew he was out of jail. Maybe my jerk of a neighbor kicked some temporary sense into him. Maybe he hadn't had enough to drink yet. I was sure time would validate the purchase, though making the payments would hurt. It was a lot more fun firing the gun than paying for it.

Maria looked up at me as a loud sigh left my lungs. There was a letter from Jake's lawyer in the pile. I smiled down at her for reassurance, though my mind was anything but reassured. Lawyers usually meant court and I couldn't afford to go back to court. Whatever it was, I was going to lose the battle, outlasted by an asshole who played the system better than I ever could.

"Claire is my best friend now," Maria said when we entered the house, "she told me at recess, and I told her so too." My mind jumped from the mail, trying to remember who Claire was.

"Is she the one with the curly red hair?"

"Yep. We gave her a ride home once," Maria replied. "I want to ask her over, you know, on the weekend."

"Sleepover?" Maria nodded and looked at me with pleading eyes. "Have you asked her yet?"

"We talked about it, but I said I had to ask you." There was nothing going on this weekend, though I was never sure if Jake would pay a visit. Having someone else's child in my house with a mad ex running around didn't sit well.

"I don't know, honey," I said. In my mind, it was already no. For some ridiculous reason, I wanted her to believe I was suffering through the decision. "Wouldn't it be better if you went to her house."

"Why can't she come here?" Maria asked with her father's stubbornness in her expression.

"What if daddy decided to come by?" I asked apologetically.

"Oh." Maria's face drooped. She turned away from me and walked to her room. I wanted to stop her and share a hug, but I sensed it would have made things worse. That's the problem with best friends. They were important at her age. More important than the reality of her parent's idiocy. I wanted to strangle Jake after I cut off a few parts.

In my anger, I tore the corner of the letter from Jake's lawyer when I ripped into the envelope's flesh. I had to close my eyes and let my mind settle, calming things before I added to my problems. A check fell out of the letter as I unfolded it. At first, I thought it some kind of bill, but it landed face up on the counter, my name as the payable. $7,300. My hand was shaking as I picked it up. It was written from Jake's personal account. There was no way it was any good.

The letter itself was completely unexpected. It stated formally that Jake Thompson recognized he was in arrears for $19,289 in support payments, along with the standing $1,800 a month requirement. There was a breakdown of his cash assets, monthly income, and living expenses. The check in my hand was just the first to start to bring him into compliance. There was a promise for double monthly payments until I was made whole. I chuckled at the paragraph about if I were dissatisfied with the method of covering the debt, he would be open to discussing another arrangement. If Jake's expenses were to be believed, he was as broke as I was. The double payments would be painful.

The final paragraph was the most interesting. Beyond the monthly support payments, there would be no contact from Jake until the restraining order expired in five months. The lawyer's language drifted from the pure legalize as he explained that Jake was attending weekly AA meetings and receiving counseling for anger issues. If I were so inclined, a meeting would be scheduled at the firm's offices after the expiration of the restraining order to discuss the financial security of Maria's future.

DreamCloud
DreamCloud
7,606 Followers