When Life Happened by Jewel E. Ann

Chapter Seven

The alcohol didn’t kill Parker, but the memories and the embarrassment that accompanied them vied for the job of executioner.

“Feeling better?”

“Mom?” Morning aimed its flashlight in Parker’s face. “Shut the curtains.” She buried her head under the pillow.

“Mindy called me this morning. Said I might want to check on you. It could be alcohol poisoning. Was it worth it?”

“It’s not alcohol poisoning. Just a good old-fashioned hangover. I’ll live.”

Janey jerked the pillow off her daughter’s head. “Not if you don’t grow up and start taking better care of yourself.”

“It was one night.” Her hand felt around. Finding the sheet wadded at her waist, Parker yanked it up over her head. It didn’t block out much light.

“Don’t you have to work today? How’s your new job going? When did the neighbors get a pony? I don’t think that’s allowed in the covenant.”

“The Stantons have a goat and chickens.” Parker’s pulse claimed a front row seat in her head—loud and strong as she sat up, eyes squinted.

“They were grandfathered in.”

“Whatever.” She stood, suppressing a grimace. “It’s not their pony and it will be gone by the end of the day.”

“The guy, Mr. Gustafson, was outside brushing it this morning.”

Parker laughed. Her head pounded. “Ouch. Stop making me laugh.”

Showing no regard for her privacy, Janey followed her to the bathroom. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“Gus. His name is Gus or August Westman, not Gustafson. You’ve watched Grumpy Old Men too many times. And … hello? I’m peeing.”

“I changed your diapers, Parker. And we’re both women. What’s the big deal?”

Parker couldn’t wait, so she did her thing. Mothers didn’t care about dignity. The go-to response for everything was “I changed your diapers” and that somehow gave them the right to an eternity of privacy invasion.

“You really shouldn’t use antiperspirant.”

“Stop reading the labels on my things.”

“Parker, if you don’t let your body sweat, then all the toxins stay trapped inside and …” The woman who thought Parker still wore diapers frowned as she inspected her daughter’s whitening toothpaste.

Parker flushed the toilet and nudged her mom aside with her hip so she could wash her hands. “The toxins stay trapped inside and what? Make me toxic.”

“Are you pooping regularly?”

“Mom! Really?”

“I take magnesium before bed every night, and I have a good clean out in the morning. Your father?” Her nose wrinkled as she shuddered. “It smells like he gave birth to a rotting animal carcass that’s been up there for days.”

“Funny thing…” squeezing past her, Parker grabbed a white robe from the foot of her bed “…when I was younger you always asked me why I spent so much time at my friends’ houses and they rarely came to our house. Well, I wasn’t sure if I’d still have friends if you shared your bowel movement schedule.”

Janey followed Parker down the stairs. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never—”

“Never what? Tell the lady making your burrito at Chipotle that you love the hot sauce, but it ‘sure burns coming out the backside.’”

“Oh, Parker, she was close to my age. I’d imagine she’s had a few cases of red hole herself.”

A heavy dose of Mother did little to remedy Parker’s hangover. Grabbing two Advil out of the cupboard, she washed them down with a tall glass of water. “Unbelievable.” She laughed, looking out the window. “He’s still brushing Romeo.”

“Who’s Romeo?”

“The pony.” Parker turned and set the glass on the counter. “Well, as much as I’d love to continue this shitty conversation, I can’t. Work calls.” Specifically, an apology for her inappropriateness the previous night.

“Lots of water today, Parker.”

She leaned down and kissed her mom on the cheek before heading back upstairs. “Yes, Mom.”

*

August Westman wokewith a flurried mess of emotions. Loneliness and resentment had crept into his life. He lived with a dog that belonged to his wife and a wife that belonged to her job. At least that’s what it felt like with Sabrina gone almost as much as she was there. And when they were together, they were still so far apart.

He’d worked hard to build his own business as one of the best and most respected electricians in the Des Moines area. His job became his life after Sabrina landed her dream job heading up an engineering firm. No more date nights. No more spontaneous getaways. No more coming home for lunch to his wife in lingerie.

Instead, he had a new neighbor. A young neighbor. And he had the feel of her lips pressed to his imprinted into his memory forever. On that particular morning, he also had a few hours left with his borrowed pony, so he decided to make the most of it.

“Shit. Be cool,” he whispered to himself as Parker Cruse strutted her defined legs toward him, perky boobs bouncing with each step, and dark, pin-straight hair whipping around her neck.

“Morning.” Gus cleared the frog from his throat, keeping his gaze on the long strokes he made along Romeo’s back.

He’d hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward, but his inability to make eye contact screamed awkward.

“Good morning.” Parker tugged the bill of her cap down low while she squinted. A middle finger gesture to the sun. “Where’d you get the brush?”

“Sabrina’s bathroom drawer.” His lips quirked into a grin, but he still didn’t look at her.

“What are you going to do with it when you’re done?” Parker’s hand glided along the smooth chestnut fur he’d just brushed.

“Tap it on the bottom of my boot a few times and put it back in her drawer.” He grinned.

“Wow, I have to confess. When I first met your wife, I was a bit envious of her.”

That unexpected comment earned her a quick look.

“Not…” she shook her head “…like I was envious because of you. Which I know might be hard to believe after the…” she bit her lower lip and wrinkled her nose “…kiss last night. It was because she’s so put together and successful. But now I’m not envious of her because when she returns she’s going to brush her hair with that brush and…” her words tumbled down a hill, gaining speed “…that’s pretty shitty of you, but I’ve done worse things so I really can’t judge you, but … Gah! Please say something! I kissed you last night and it was stupid and wrong and a huge, drunken mistake on my part. I’m not that girl. I don’t hit on married men. You have to—”

“You’re forgiven. It’s forgotten.” He shrugged. Then true to his word, he banged the brush on the bottom of his boot.

“I’ll tell Sabrina as soon as she gets home and apologize—”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not necessary.”

“But—”

Gus turned and walked to the house. “You were drunk. It was my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” She chased after him. “That’s not an excuse.”

“Fine.” After washing his hands in the mudroom sink, he tugged the ties loose on his boots, toed them off, and headed toward the stairs with the dirty brush in hand. “You were drunk. I was the victim. Because you’re my wife’s employee and it was your first day, I won’t file a sexual harassment suit this time.”

“I’m sorry!”

He stopped midway up the stairs and turned. Parker’s chest heaved and her face flushed.

“I already said you’re forgiven.”

She curled her hair behind her ears and adjusted her baseball cap. “I know, but you never let me apologize, so I don’t want you to think that I’m not sorry. I am. And I really need to tell Sabrina to clear my conscience. Even if she fires me.”

“A real Girl Scout, aren’t you, Parker?”

“No. I just don’t approve of cheating.”

“Cheating?” He laughed again. “That means you must have a boyfriend?”

“What? No.”

“Then there was no cheating. I didn’t kiss you.”

“But you didn’t stop me.” Her voice escalated.

“You didn’t give me any warning. I thought you were attempting to hug me for rescuing you from the men’s room.” After a few moments of silence—a stare-off—he shook his head and continued up the stairs. “Whatever. Tell her. Don’t tell her. I don’t care.”

“Is she going to fire me?”

“She should.” His voice echoed from the far end of the hall.

*

Parker’s phone chimedwith creepy timing. A message from Brock with her list for the day. She considered responding with “I kissed Gus. Sorry. I’ll find another job,” but it really didn’t feel right to share that information with Brock or by any other means than face to face. It would be an agonizing four days carrying the guilt around. A fair punishment.

Dwelling on her fate accomplished nothing. Instead, she focused on another day of important stuff that only a highly-skilled assistant such as herself could do.

“What are you doing?”

She startled at the sound of Gus’s voice. “Rating bananas.”

He grabbed a cola from the fridge. “What does that mean? And why are you doing it?”

“I’m determining which ones you might still eat and which ones should be used for banana bread. And I’m doing it because it’s on the list for today.” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Sabrina doesn’t bake.” He frowned. “Well, she used to but she hasn’t in years.” His gaze met hers. “So why is she having you save ripe bananas?”

Parker’s attention returned to the nine bananas under scrutiny. “The next thing on my list is making banana bread. A loaf for you and one that I’m supposed to deliver to your parents.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding.”

“This is ridiculous.”

She held up three of the bananas that still had a bit of green at the tips. “Will you eat these?”

Over the short amount of time she’d known Gus, he’d been easy going about everything. Three bananas changed that.

“Rags,” he called with an unfamiliar edge to his voice.

Their sheared friend raced into the kitchen through the doggy door in the mudroom, bringing with him the wonderful scent of an overheated dog on a humid day. Gus snatched the bananas like he was pissed off with her, or the bananas, or something. He peeled one and fed it to Rags. Then the second. Followed by the third.

Unblinking eyes dared Parker to say anything.

Her internal thoughts escaped as a whisper. “That’s a … lot of bananas for a dog.”

Gus closed his eyes, a hint of regret pulling at his brow when he exhaled. “I have to get to work.” He opened his eyes revealing the Gus she’d met a week earlier. “What do you need from me?”

“Need from you?”

“Yesterday you had a million questions for me.”

She laughed a little. “And you were basically no help at all. If I have questions, I’ll text Brock.”

“You do that.” Gus adjusted his cap and turned.

“Gus?”

He paused at the door. “Yeah?”

Her lips rubbed together as she second-guessed asking the question that wouldn’t leave her head.

“Parker?”

“Uh … it’s just … Why did you say Sabrina should fire me when I asked you if she would?”

He focused on the floor between them for a few seconds then lifted his gaze to hers. “If she loved me now like she loved me then, she’d fire your ass for touching something that’s hers.”

There were no words to say back to him. Gus spoke the truth. The only question left unanswered: How much did Sabrina love her husband?

*

Brock had theglamorous assisting job that probably included dining at ritzy restaurants, which required snazzy ties and suit jackets. Glamorous didn’t describe Parker’s new job, but she still liked it. While the lists were random and unpredictable, she never felt bored.

By the end of the day, she’d baked banana bread, delivered a loaf to Gus’s parents, stayed there and chatted with them for over an hour—super nice people—reserved a tent, booked a caterer and a local band for the Westmans’ Fourth of July party, and researched several new nail salons because of a recent plantar wart incident at Sabrina’s regular salon.

Gus shook his head as she walked up their blacktop drive with Rags a little after six that evening. Squirrels scampered across the grass looking for refuge in nearby trees while gnats buzzed around her head. For a brief moment she thought of Caleb and the life she’d imagined. In that brief moment, Gus became Caleb in the porch chair, legs spread wide, his hand clutched around a bottle of beer resting on his knee. Parker played his wife and that smile on his face conveyed complete adoration.

She released the tension in her hand, and Rags took off running, leash dragging behind him to the porch, to Gus—to Caleb. They greeted each other like all good dogs and their masters did.

“Parker.” Gus’s voice, not Caleb’s, filled the thick evening air.

She blinked, refocusing on the reality in front of her. Gus wasn’t her husband. Rags wasn’t her dog. It wasn’t her life. Twenty-six-year-old Parker Cruse didn’t have a life.

“Did you hear me say he doesn’t have to be walked?” He gave Rags a good scratching behind the ears.

“Yes.” Parker plopped down into the glider next to Gus. “But he’s a dog and they like new smells and different scenery. It’s good for their senses and it wears them out mentally, not just physically.”

“And Sabrina’s paying you to walk him.”

She grinned, staring at her childhood home across the street and over one lot. “And that. But I like him too.”

Rags collapsed at her feet.

“He doesn’t lie at my feet. He knows he’s Sabrina’s dog. Her brother gave him to her as a puppy—a birthday gift when she turned thirty because they never had pets growing up.”

“But he likes you.”

Gus took a pull of his beer then grinned. “Yes. I let him sleep with me when she’s gone … which is a lot. Pisses her off when she comes home to fur all over her side of the bed.”

“I know. She’s already instructed me to wash the sheets twice the morning she flies home.”

Gus chuckled. “Of course she did.” He held out his beer to Parker.

She stared at it.

“We’ve already exchanged germs.”

“Shut up.” She snatched the bottle and took a long gulp, followed by another, and another.

“Christ, woman! I said we’ve exchanged germs.” He grabbed the empty bottle and shook it back and forth. “But that last swallow was all backwash. One hundred percent bodily fluids.”

Parker giggled and suppressed a burp. “You backwash?” She shrugged. “I didn’t notice. Most bodily fluids I’ve swallowed don’t taste like beer.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh shit.” Her words muffled behind it.

Gus perked an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She blushed to the tips of her ears, internally cursing her mom for passing along the oversharing gene.

“Do I want to know what ‘most bodily fluids I’ve swallowed,’ means?”

Folding at the waist, she covered her face with her hands and buried her embarrassment in her lap. “You must think I’m a tramp. I mean … the fake orgasm, the kiss, and now this. Gah! How embarrassing.” Shooting up from the chair, she held up her hand in a wave gesture but kept her body moving in the direction of home. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Westman. I’m going home to cut my tongue out.”