LJ Idol Week 2: That One Friend
That One Friend
Grace stands on her tiptoes to peer out the kitchen window as she scrubs dinner's remnants from the crockpot. The kids are playing quietly in the backyard, and no one seems to be in danger of tears.
Behind her, Jim is shuffling his feet under the kitchen table, absently sipping coffee. He rustles the not-yet-paid pile of bills once, twice--it is on the third time that her shoulders hunch to her ears and she lets out a sigh.
"What? What is it?"
He stares back, wide-eyed. "What do you mean? I'm just sitting here."
She taps her nails on the counter and brings the dish towel to her forehead. "You're sitting there all antsy. I can hear you. What is it this time? What's so important?"
His tone is not nearly as defensive as would have pleased her, but he does nudge his phone out from under the papers. "Nothing was important, but I mean--now that you mentioned it--I guess there is something."
"Yes?"
His words can't wait to spill from his mouth and nearly topple over themselves, and she cracks her neck while he speaks. "It's Ted; he needs help with another project. I think I'm going to go over there, just for a bit. I'll be back before too late. You can go to sleep; don't wait up."
Grace nods. "I knew it would be Ted."
There it is--that slight twitch of his left eye. Maybe, she thought, she could get him arguing until no time remained at all for Ted and his escapades. His voice is cool, but even: "Well, it is. You're not jealous of Ted, right?"
And there this is--she is backed in a corner. No matter what she says now, she loses. Hail Mary time: "Oh, it's fine. I'll just get all three kids cleaned up and in bed tonight. By myself. Have fun."
Her voice is light, but her eyes are pleading, and for a moment, she thinks maybe this night it will work. No more late calls from Ted, no more scrubbing spots of what is almost certainly blood from Jim's shirts, no more husband swooning over someone she was all but positive was a complete maniac.
Jim smiles brightly. "Perfect!" He leans back, head cupped in his hands. "Man, I can't wait to see what he's got up his sleeve this time."
She can't stop the words from tripping over her tongue and across her lips. "Yes," she looks down at her hands. "It must be a blast being a henchman."
He laughs a bit too loud, then shakes his head, his mouth still open wide. "Henchman. You're a riot. Like he's some sort of dark lord or something. He's a genius, Grace. A true philosopher. You ought to be flattered that he calls your husband when something comes up. His ideas, they're just--they're really something else."
Grace won't meet his eye. "Ok." Her voice is soft. "Have fun."
...
It is two hours past midnight, Jim still hasn't returned, and Grace hasn't slept. Truth be told, she had moved passed annoyed and straight into afraid a few weeks ago. She had even gone so far as to call Dave. When Ted first came around, she was pleased to find Dave becoming more and more rare. Dave was a bit of a permanent bachelor, a natural enemy to a wife working hard to keep her home neat and happy. Dave, with his penchant for young women and borderline desperate need for a wingman at all times, was not a person Grace had dreamed of missing. Still, he did possess a modicum of charm that far surpassed the elusive Ted, she had reminded herself as she called to ask for help. It had been both comforting and alarming to find that Dave shared her concerns.
She had felt a surge of hope when Jim answered the call, only to find that hope sink back into her stomach, down to her toes, and through the floorboards when she heard him say, "Sorry man, I've got stuff going on tonight. Maybe some other time." When she asked about it, he had replied, "I think I've outgrown Dave. You always said I would, and you were right. I know you have to enjoy that!" He had tousled her hair and was off with a jovial whistle.
She closes her eyes when she hears the garage door open, feigning sleep. It takes him around three minutes every time to get up the stairs, brush his teeth, and open the bedroom door. This time, she is struck immediately with the smell of sharp copper and deep rot. She sits up, covering her nose and mouth. "What is that? Oh my God!"
He grins. "I had a really great time tonight. I love you so much. Thanks for always being so understanding. You know how important my friends are to me."
She is squinting now, trying to make out the dark shape on his shirt. "Is that blood?"
"I am so glad you made me see how immature Dave is," he continues. "My life is better without him."
It is clearly blood. "Is that human blood?"
Jim finally looks down, "Oh this? It's nothing. Just leftover from tonight's project. See if you can pretreat it when you get up, will you?"
Grace's chest is tightening; she swallows the panic in her throat the best she can. There are, after all, the kids to think of. She breathes out slowly, legs stretching back under the covers. He squeezes her big toe. "Ok," she said. "I'll try in the morning."
"Thanks Babe!" his face is illuminated by his phone. He giggles.
"What--what are you laughing at?"
He doesn't look up, fingers tapping in response as he speaks. "Oh, just this thing Ted sent me. Hilarious. What a guy!"
When she swallows again, it feels like razors in her throat. "Goodnight, Jim," she whispers. When her eyes close, his smile glows behind her lids.
....
This is my entry for the second week of LJ Idol. If you feel inclined to vote, I truly appreciate it. You can read other entries and vote accordingly here:
http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/956559.html
Grace stands on her tiptoes to peer out the kitchen window as she scrubs dinner's remnants from the crockpot. The kids are playing quietly in the backyard, and no one seems to be in danger of tears.
Behind her, Jim is shuffling his feet under the kitchen table, absently sipping coffee. He rustles the not-yet-paid pile of bills once, twice--it is on the third time that her shoulders hunch to her ears and she lets out a sigh.
"What? What is it?"
He stares back, wide-eyed. "What do you mean? I'm just sitting here."
She taps her nails on the counter and brings the dish towel to her forehead. "You're sitting there all antsy. I can hear you. What is it this time? What's so important?"
His tone is not nearly as defensive as would have pleased her, but he does nudge his phone out from under the papers. "Nothing was important, but I mean--now that you mentioned it--I guess there is something."
"Yes?"
His words can't wait to spill from his mouth and nearly topple over themselves, and she cracks her neck while he speaks. "It's Ted; he needs help with another project. I think I'm going to go over there, just for a bit. I'll be back before too late. You can go to sleep; don't wait up."
Grace nods. "I knew it would be Ted."
There it is--that slight twitch of his left eye. Maybe, she thought, she could get him arguing until no time remained at all for Ted and his escapades. His voice is cool, but even: "Well, it is. You're not jealous of Ted, right?"
And there this is--she is backed in a corner. No matter what she says now, she loses. Hail Mary time: "Oh, it's fine. I'll just get all three kids cleaned up and in bed tonight. By myself. Have fun."
Her voice is light, but her eyes are pleading, and for a moment, she thinks maybe this night it will work. No more late calls from Ted, no more scrubbing spots of what is almost certainly blood from Jim's shirts, no more husband swooning over someone she was all but positive was a complete maniac.
Jim smiles brightly. "Perfect!" He leans back, head cupped in his hands. "Man, I can't wait to see what he's got up his sleeve this time."
She can't stop the words from tripping over her tongue and across her lips. "Yes," she looks down at her hands. "It must be a blast being a henchman."
He laughs a bit too loud, then shakes his head, his mouth still open wide. "Henchman. You're a riot. Like he's some sort of dark lord or something. He's a genius, Grace. A true philosopher. You ought to be flattered that he calls your husband when something comes up. His ideas, they're just--they're really something else."
Grace won't meet his eye. "Ok." Her voice is soft. "Have fun."
...
It is two hours past midnight, Jim still hasn't returned, and Grace hasn't slept. Truth be told, she had moved passed annoyed and straight into afraid a few weeks ago. She had even gone so far as to call Dave. When Ted first came around, she was pleased to find Dave becoming more and more rare. Dave was a bit of a permanent bachelor, a natural enemy to a wife working hard to keep her home neat and happy. Dave, with his penchant for young women and borderline desperate need for a wingman at all times, was not a person Grace had dreamed of missing. Still, he did possess a modicum of charm that far surpassed the elusive Ted, she had reminded herself as she called to ask for help. It had been both comforting and alarming to find that Dave shared her concerns.
She had felt a surge of hope when Jim answered the call, only to find that hope sink back into her stomach, down to her toes, and through the floorboards when she heard him say, "Sorry man, I've got stuff going on tonight. Maybe some other time." When she asked about it, he had replied, "I think I've outgrown Dave. You always said I would, and you were right. I know you have to enjoy that!" He had tousled her hair and was off with a jovial whistle.
She closes her eyes when she hears the garage door open, feigning sleep. It takes him around three minutes every time to get up the stairs, brush his teeth, and open the bedroom door. This time, she is struck immediately with the smell of sharp copper and deep rot. She sits up, covering her nose and mouth. "What is that? Oh my God!"
He grins. "I had a really great time tonight. I love you so much. Thanks for always being so understanding. You know how important my friends are to me."
She is squinting now, trying to make out the dark shape on his shirt. "Is that blood?"
"I am so glad you made me see how immature Dave is," he continues. "My life is better without him."
It is clearly blood. "Is that human blood?"
Jim finally looks down, "Oh this? It's nothing. Just leftover from tonight's project. See if you can pretreat it when you get up, will you?"
Grace's chest is tightening; she swallows the panic in her throat the best she can. There are, after all, the kids to think of. She breathes out slowly, legs stretching back under the covers. He squeezes her big toe. "Ok," she said. "I'll try in the morning."
"Thanks Babe!" his face is illuminated by his phone. He giggles.
"What--what are you laughing at?"
He doesn't look up, fingers tapping in response as he speaks. "Oh, just this thing Ted sent me. Hilarious. What a guy!"
When she swallows again, it feels like razors in her throat. "Goodnight, Jim," she whispers. When her eyes close, his smile glows behind her lids.
....
This is my entry for the second week of LJ Idol. If you feel inclined to vote, I truly appreciate it. You can read other entries and vote accordingly here:
http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/956559.html