Authors: Elizabeth Seckman
Tres woke and looked around momentarily, disoriented. NFL posters and pictures of surfers atop high waves decorated the walls. He rubbed his forehead slowly and remembered last night. Or at least parts of it. He recalled falling into Jenna’s trash cans and her taking him into the house. The rest was vague. He swung his feet to the floor and massaged his temples. His tender head and dry, sticky mouth reminded him of last night’s failure. For fifteen years, he had maintained his dignity, keeping his distance and his pride. A few shots of liquor sent pride and dignity on a vacation to a zip code far, far away.
The front door opened and closed, jolting him from his reverie. His heart leaped at the prospect of seeing Jenna. Maybe she was ready to talk. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it and stood adjusting his rumpled clothing.
He ventured from the room. His surge of hope buffeted by the sudden face-to-face with a Jenna’s son. The boy stood about the same height as Tres with blonde hair and brown eyes. Tres found something familiar about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He assumed when he showed him the car, it was because he looked like Jenna, but there was something else.
Tanner stopped with a start in the kitchen and backed up a few steps before he asked, “Where’s my mom?”
“I don’t think she’s here.” Tres picked up the note on the counter. He read it and offered it to Tanner, who made no move to get it. Tucking the note in his pocket, he explained, “The note says she left, and I should show myself out.”
Tanner nodded, though unconvinced, the look of skepticism clear on his face.
“Tres Coulter,” he answered extending a hand, which the young man ignored. Like mother, like son, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck as the pain spread there from his head. He tried to explain, “Your mom let me sleep in your room after I evidently had a bit too much to drink.”
“She let a stranger crash in my bed?” Tanner’s eyes narrowed as he listened.
“No, not a stranger exactly. I used to know your mom. Remember, I met you at the gas station?”
“She told me she didn’t know you.”
“Well, she lied to you,” Tres said after a moment’s contemplation about whether or not he should tell him the truth.
“Why would she lie to me about that?”
Tres shrugged. “No idea. But trust me, she knows me. Probably told you that because she can’t stand the sight of me.”
“And she let you sleep in my bed? And she hates you?”
“Trust me. I’m as shocked as you are.”
Tanner looked confused. Tres rubbed his eyes and let out a groan, “I suppose I owe you an explanation. I did sleep in your bed, after all.”
Tanner cracked his knuckles. “I’m waiting.”
“I ran into your mom yesterday.”
“And she went out drinking with you and then let you crash in my room?” Tanner asked; his question was heavy with disbelief and sarcasm.
“Not at all. I ran into her while she was taking pictures down at Cape Hatteras, and I asked her to dinner and she told me pretty much to go to hell. Ditto on her answer when I asked her to go for a drink. Honestly, she wouldn’t even give me a few minutes of her time to talk. She’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want me around.”
“So, you ended up here, how?” Tanner asked.
“Liquor breeds all sorts of stupid thoughts, and I evidently had a notion that if I came here I could figure out what she was so angry with me about. Instead of finding anything out, I must’ve passed out here and she must’ve let me sleep it off. Although I’m a bit surprised she didn’t leave me in the yard and let the mosquitoes suck me dry.”
“Now that wouldn’t have surprised me. You got lucky, mister.”
“She did leave me this nice note.” He pulled the note out of his pocket and handed it to Tanner as evidence. “It pretty much says ‘don’t let the door hit me in the ass on my way out.’”
Tanner read the note and frowned, “That’s my mom.”
“So, maybe I shouldn’t take it personal?”
“Who can? She’s just a…well never mind. Just trust me, don’t sweat it. I figured she lied about knowing you. She was too worried about what we talked about for you to be a stranger. My mom’s just crazy. Sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look different all wrinkled and hairy.”
“I’m sure I do,” Tres said with a grimace.
“I don’t mean you look like crap or anything, just different.” Tanner picked a football up from the counter and spun it in the air, catching it as he walked through the house to the front door. He stopped before opening it. “I meant to ask you the other night, you single?”
Tres looked dumbfounded by the question, but answered anyhow, “Yeah, why?”
“Well, you could stick around ‘til my mom comes home. Maybe you’ll have better luck with her the second time.”
Tres shook his head, “It’d be the fourth time this weekend. I’d say I’ve already struck out.”
“Fourth time’s a charm?”
“She hates me.”
“Too bad. At least you’ve got a nice ride.” Tanner shrugged, “I better go tell Nanny this story, she’ll love it. Feel free to shower or whatever, I guess you do kind of look like crap.”
“I’m sure I do,” Tres agreed, running a hand through his hair then down across the stubble on his face. He felt old watching the young man stride through the house, so full of energy and humor. A flesh and blood reminder Jenna’s life had moved on. She had so much and didn’t need him. As the door closed behind Tanner, Tres never felt lonelier or more envious in all of his life.
He looked around the tiny house, realizing how little he had of real value. Jenna had a living home. Its hardwood floors sagged in spots and were textured with the dents and dings of time, but were lovingly polished to a sheen. The white pine paneled walls offered a blank canvas for the many candid shots of her family’s history. The furniture was covered in red denim slip covers, the color faded from repeated washes. Tres ran his hand along the back of the couch. This place wasn’t grand or pretentious, but to Tres, it just felt so right.
What is it like to live here? Do they watch television at night? Does Jenna still prefer comedy to drama? Did she ever learn to cook? Tres wondered as he surveyed the turquoise cabinets with bent spoons attached as handles and the colorful counter top tiled from broken pieces of ceramic. It had a tropical flair only Jenna’s artistic eye could have seen. Who else would dare use such bold colors?
Quiet, humble, daring: this was her home.
And he felt like he belonged here. A ludicrous thought considering he was not and never would be welcome. Shaking off wishful thinking, he went to the bathroom and washed up. He was as anxious to get back to reality as he abhorred the thought of leaving. His body felt like lead. His throat burned. It hurt like hell to be so near, yet so completely shut out. He realized he had always kept a false hope alive, and now leaving, knowing it was over, knowing she didn’t love him? That presented a whole different torture. A fresh new wound to live with.
He coughed, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat. His aching head thumped harder. By the time he walked from the house, he felt as if he had just gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. The sunlight bore down on him, causing him to squint against the blinding light. He turned to walk down the road when someone called his name. Tres had to shield his eyes to make out the figure calling to him from the porch next door.
“Hey, mister. Nanny wants you to have breakfast.”
Tres shrugged and then shook his head, “Probably not a good idea. I’d better just be on my way.”
“At least have yourself a cup of coffee,” Maureen’s voice boomed from behind the boy.
Tres finally made out the source in the dim light of the door way. Must be Nanny, he decided. Her clear, vibrant call and no-nonsense stance left little doubt in Tres’s mind…Nanny wasn’t one to be ignored.
He nodded obediently and headed to the door she held open for him.
“I made biscuits and gravy. Although you’d best have an ibuprofen appetizer.” She laughed as she ushered him into the house and shooed Tanner away with an admonishment to mow the lawn before heading to the beach.
He followed the woman as she made her way to the kitchen. She walked with a limp which made her large bottom sway as she moved. She slapped her side and announced, “Shattered my pelvis in a car wreck when I was 23. Reason I only had the one child. Didn’t pay the hip much mind ‘til arthritis settled in oh, bout three years ago.”
She pulled a chair out from under the table, motioning Tres to have a seat. He obediently complied. She brought him a cup of coffee and a large glass of water with two little orange pills. “Water and ibuprofen. Best cure for what ails you.” She pointed to his head, “That headache’s caused by dehydration. If you’d had a glass of water before you passed out last night, you wouldn’t be sufferin’ so today.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” Tres promised with a sheepish grin.
Maureen sat in the chair next to him. “I’m used to dealing with drunks. Both my husband and my son were drunks.”
Tres nearly choked on the pills he tried to swallow. He righted himself and stared at Maureen. He wasn’t sure how to respond to her statement. She seemed oblivious to his surprise because she forged ahead with the conversation, “Yes, both of them liked to tip the bottle. They were lovable sods, though. Least I couldn’t help but love them. They had good hearts, both of ‘em.”
Maureen stood, “Oh yes, before I forget. Russ asked me to give this to you. The drinks were on him.” She handed him an envelope with cash. “You ready for breakfast now?”
“Really, you don’t have to.”
“I know that. Oh, I’m enjoying this. I’ve lived next door to Jenna for fifteen years, and you’re the first bit of excitement that I’ve seen in the girl’s life.”
Tres felt his cheeks flame. He wasn’t certain what to say.
She patted his shoulder, “Well, just stay put.” She made her way to the stove and returned with a plate of biscuits and gravy. She set it in front of him, and then refilled his coffee cup, shuffling to the fridge and returning with a large glass of orange juice. “Sorry, it’s from a carton.” She rejoined Tres at the table sliding the juice glass and a napkin toward him.
“That’s quite all right.”
“You’re a handsome man, Mr.?”
“Coulter, Tres Coulter.”
“Well, I’m Maureen. I’m Tanner’s grandma.”
Tres nodded. “Tanner and I had the pleasure of meeting already.” Jealousy reared its ugly head as Tres connected Maureen with Jake, the man who somehow stole what belonged to him. He tried to be reasonable, to remind himself it wasn’t this lady’s fault that her son was a thieving bastard.
“He’s a fine boy,” Maureen continued. “Smart. Kind. Handsome too.”
“Very,” Tres answered, the bitterness growing in his gut.
“Yes, I’m quite fond of that child.” She stared across the room at the pictures on the china hutch of her family.
Tres followed her gaze. Most of the people in the pictures were strangers to him, but he did recognize the numerous photos of Tanner, and his heart nearly stopped beating when he spotted the family portrait of a smiling Jenna with a small boy and a handsome, blonde man with the same blue eyes as Jenna. He loathed admitting, even to himself, that they made a handsome family. No wonder Jenna so adamantly kept her distance from men. Tres felt the room close around him. The air felt thick and too warm to breathe. He needed out of this place to rid himself of the queasy feeling growing in his gut. He closed his eyes and tried to squeeze out the image of Jenna and Jake. He tried to shut out the pain of admitting the memory of the man in the picture closed Jenna’s heart to all men, including him. If only she loved him so fiercely. When he opened his eyes, he felt Maureen studying him.
“My son was a good man. Been gone over eight years now. Liver cancer. Painful, awful death. Didn’t want to let him go, but couldn’t ask him to live much longer like that.” Her eyes misted. She grabbed Tres’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Life can be hard, especially when we don’t quite understand the plan.”
“That’s true,” Tres said, clearing his throat, “I’m sorry to have intruded, Mrs. Austin. And thank you for the breakfast, but I really should go.”
“No rush. Besides, you haven’t said good bye to Jenna.”
“That’s quite unnecessary.” Tres stood tucking his chair back under the table.
“I think you still have questions.” Maureen traced the grain in the wooden table top with her finger, reading Tres’s mind without lifting her eyes.
“Not really. They’re all pretty well answered,” Tres said. His eyes drew back to the picture.
Maureen rose slowly, “My son was a drunk, Mr. Coulter. He was a good person if you excused his irresponsibility, his tendency to fight and to dally with loose women. He had a kind heart, a handsome face, and an easy nature. But he could be quite a rascal.”
Tres thought of Russell’s comment about Jake’s infidelity. He shrugged, Jenna married young. She probably never caught on.
Maureen looked at him. Her eyes locked squarely with his as she asked, “Aren’t you wondering why Jenna would put up with a man like my son when you so obviously are, and probably always have been, head over heels for her?”
His jaw dropped at the question. Hell yes, he wanted to know. He closed his mouth and started for the door. As he reached for the handle, he stopped and turned. “All right, why the hell did she pick your son over me?”