Contra-Bandy ch16

"Is it okay that I've called?"  Caroline Beckhurdst's timid voice quivered through the receiver.

I had completely forgotten about her.  So much for matchmaking and the constancy of American cinema affecting real life…  Lately my life had been like an Uwe Bohl film.  "Of course, it's perfectly alright."  It was only half a lie—I'd go to hell for something else.

"Well… um, good!"  Her voice was entirely too chirpy, but I forgave her on the grounds that I had a headache and was already annoyed.  "Are you feeling at all better?"

A very short vision of her in a hospital visit setting made me jerk my head up towards the window.  She'd been there, hadn't she?  The first time I'd blacked out, when everything had started to go pants.  "I'm…  Yes, actually."  A simple answer seemed best.

Her relieved sigh traveled over the landline and perched on my shoulder like a homeless parrot.  I had to sit down.  "Oh good.  I was worried…  I-I would have called before, but I was—well, scared, to be honest."

All this honesty was going to become a murder weapon.  First Shawn, now this girl I hardly knew.  What was it about me that made people want to tell me the truth?  Did I look like I wanted to hear it any more than anyone else?  "Scared of what?  I don't bite."  Often, I added to myself, honesty still on the brain.

She laughed nervously.  Did she do anything with a significant measure of confidence?  I couldn't even blame it on my laughable claim to slight celebrity—that shouldn't have had any effect over the phone.  "Oh, I'm sure you don't.  I just meant… your, um, friend.  He didn't seem very fond of me when we met before, and I thought that if I called while you just happened to be taking a nap, he'd answer the phone and bite my head off."

The first part of that I really heard and took in was the pause before she referred to Shawn as my friend.  What was it with women and assuming those sorts of things?!  Racial insanity, had to be.  Except it wasn't consigned to a single race.  Female-humanal insanity.  I replayed her words very quickly for myself, then said, "That was probably for the best.  He's a fierce caretaker.  You should have seen him when he kept fish and frogs."

This time her laugh was a bit less apprehensive and more appreciative of my attempt at humor.  The part of me that twanged on the same frequency as my dad made me consider introducing Caroline to Shawn in a less charged situation.  If they ignored their first rocky meeting and hit it off, then I'd have two things less to worry about.

Then the stupidity of the idea clawed at the back of my throat and I pretended not to have thought of it in the first place.

Caroline had been saying something, but between stupidity, illness, and just plain exhaustion, I'd completely missed it.  The phone had gone silent, she was waiting for a response.  I tried to summon up a bit of charm.  "I'm sorry, my mind took off for parts unknown.  What were you saying just now?"

"Oh, I asked if you're up to having visitors."

Well shit.  I pinched my forehead.  "That depends.  How many visitors are we talking about?"

That must have been funny, she was laughing again, even less self-conscious than she had sounded before.  Even so, it was still a careful sound that had the same physical effect as a cheese grater shredding my nerves.  It was as though it were asking for permission to exist.  I dropped my hand.  God I was a harsh bastard.  She would have probably punched me if she'd known what I was thinking—and she'd be well within rights to do so.  "Just me."

"That's alright then."  Why didn't tell lies make my face spasm?  I should have been getting dark painful bruises on my tongue at this point in my life.  "When?"

Shouldn't have asked that, it gave her more decision-making power.  At least she took it—which made me wonder if the shyness was only an act, a gambit to acquire something.  But she couldn't be that manipulative…  "How about later today?  Say 2:30?"

Shawn didn't go to work until 6:00, and although I'd love to give their next meeting a clean miss, I couldn't ask her to come so late.  It would look like… worse than a date.  "Perfect."  My mouth really ought to have hurt or shown some signs of misuse and poor treatment.  After that last lie, steering her into hanging up was remarkably easy, and as soon as I had, I wished it had been my dad who'd phoned.  Lying to him didn't make my head feel sour.  He brought out the good sort of lie.  The "oh yes, I'm doing quite well, everything is superb."  The kind that contained words like "fabaroo" and "get off my back already".

The kind that he could see through as easily as he could poke holes through soaking wet paper with a metal kitchen utensil.  I leaned hard into the wall and mimed slamming my head into the corner of the archway.  There were not enough naps in the world, I needed another.  As well as a large drink.  What a tragedy I would get neither.

I glared at the phone, daring it to ring.  Fully four and a half minutes tiptoed by; not a sound aside from the hum of the refrigerator.  Satisfied, I lumbered into the living room, careful not to let my arms bang into the furniture.  If Shawn had been on the up and up, and I really had been falling out of bed—I doubted he'd lie about something that ridiculous—then the couch might prove a smart alternative.  I could wedge myself in between the back cushions and the for-sitting-on cushions.

Of course, two seconds after I'd managed this feat, there was a knock at the door.  I swore in prolific Magyarlish, then angled my head up to shout.  "Come in!"

Angie's voice drifted in.  "It's locked…"

God.  "Then break the damn thing down.!!"  Obviously she couldn't, I mean, she weighed a buck-twenty and she flimsy tyrannosaurus arms, but I really really did not want to get up.

Luckily for Angie and the door both, Shawn grumbled out of his room, carrying a blanket.  …had he been napping?  The grumble lifted considerably as he handed the blanket to—oh, it was for me—but then it rolled back up to full power as he tugged the door open to let Angie in.  He growled some sort of greeting, she bitched an answer, and then he disappeared back into his room.

"Is your wife having lady's troubles?" Angie asked sullenly as she swept over to check my forehead.

That small gesture of consideration made me smile, in spite of myself and her remark.  The stupid thing was, she didn't know about the rent scam at all.  She was just being Angie.  "He's got remedials."

Some of the irritation drained out of her face, surprisingly replaced with a mixture of pity and sympathy.  She toyed idly with my bangs, tickling my forehead and nose.  "Don't you usually help him with those?  I mean, you are a math tutor."

Technically I was, but I had never thought about it that way with Shawn.  For one thing, we lived together, and we shared just about everything that wasn't gross.  It only made sense to give him a hand studying maths…  I started to sit up, but ultimately failed.  "You're right, I should—"

"Sweetie, he'll have to manage.  He knows it better than you do—he's all but tucked you in."

It had been a long time since she'd last called me something like that without sarcasm or slightly bad humor.  I missed it more to hear it than to actively miss it.  "He does things like that."

"I know.  It's called 'being loving', also 'affectionate'.  Duh."

I rolled over, smooshing my face into the sofa.  That was such a moronic word.  A condescending grunt that always rewound the speaker into a monkey.  Angie used it remarkably often for an intelligent person.  "Why are you here, anyway?  Not to see me, I'm sure."

"You're only half-right about that," she said, her voice moving farther away.  "I need to get some stuff from your fridge."

Oh yeah.  That.  I reached back to point towards the kitchen.  "You know your way around."  My muffled voice trapped itself in the sofa, but it didn't really matter.  She did know where everything was.

The room was comfortably quiet after that.  I probably drifted off to sleep, but when I woke up, I had a mouthful of sofa.  It was the best way I'd woken up since this mess had started, and I was perfectly aware of how pathetic that was.  I sat up and scrubbed my head with my knuckles and fingertips, taking in the room.  Angie was sitting in an armchair reading a predictably pretentious book while eating a cup of cottage cheese and not paying much attention to me.

"Hey," I croaked.  …Wow, I sounded like crap.

"You sound like someone tap-danced on your throat with Cuban heels," she said, not looking up from her book.  She turned a page.

Someone knocked on the door before I could think of a witty retort.  I yanked my arm free and glanced down at my watch, then buried my face in my hands, digging my fingers into my hair.  It was half past two.