Screwdrivered

  “Busy,” he said, now examining the wood-framed mirror in the entryway. “Did you scratch this?”

  “No,” I huffed, crossing to stand next to him, looking where he was rubbing his finger along the bottom frame.

  “This scratch wasn’t here before,” he insisted, and I pushed into his side.

  “If you’ll move your hand, maybe I can see what you’re talking about,” I answered, squinting to see what he was worrying. The old frame was riddled with cracks and scratches; what was he seeing? I tried leaning over his arm, but it was in my way, so I ducked underneath and raised up on my tippy toes. I brushed his hand aside and examined where his finger had just been.

  The half-inch scratch looked as old as the wood. I started to tell Clark exactly where he could go scratch when I felt the warmth of his body against mine. Pressed along the length of me, the long, lean lines of his body fit against mine, and he slid his finger back into place. On the wall.

  “See this? This wasn’t there before,” he breathed, just behind my ear. My neck bloomed with heat.

  What was happening here?

  I slowly dropped from my toes to my heels, pressing my spine further against him. Then I raised up once more, arching to lean closer to the wall, pushing another part of me more firmly against a specific part of him. He let out a hiss, and I grinned into the wall. “You mean this here?” I asked, dragging my thumb across the gouge in the wood.

  I repeat. What was happening here?

  I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw Clark. Eyes closed, jaw clenched. Inhaling deeply.

  And further over my shoulder was Caroline. Arms crossed, with a knowing grin.

  I turned back to the wall, tapped the scratch, and slipped out from under his arm. “I guess we’ll just add it to the list of things to do,” I announced.

  His eyes popped open. Clearing his throat, he turned, then saw Caroline. “Oh, hello there. Good to see you again,” he said, walking away and putting the entire room between us. “I trust this contractor you’ve hired is familiar with this kind of restoration work?”

  I leaned against the wall, flustered and confused and not at all sure what had just happened. It was hot in here; I needed to open some windows. I pulled at the neck on my T-shirt, fanning myself, and Caroline smothered a laugh.

  “Yes, he works with a local guy I’ve worked with before. They’re very careful with projects like this,” she answered.

  Clark nodded briskly. “Good, very good. While we’re waiting for him, let me show you some of the designs I came across in the archives of some of the original homes here in town. You mentioned you were going to be consulting on your friends’ vacation home, and I’m familiar with that house. It’s a beauty,” he said, setting his briefcase on the dining room table, having a perfectly normal conversation with Caroline—while I was still trying to bring my heartbeat back to its normal rate.

  He didn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. Humph.

  Most uncomfortable day ever. I mean it. Once the contractor arrived we went from room to room, with Caroline leading the charge. Thank goodness she was there, because the tension that was simmering between Clark and me was like a thin coating of insanity covering every word uttered. And every heated glance. And every not-so-heated glance.

  When I asked if the cedar closet off the upstairs hallway could be removed to expand the bathroom? A lecture from Clark on why it would be a crime against humanity to destroy something as important as this very closet. I listened for the first two minutes, then got caught rolling my eyes and was promptly scolded. To which I stuck out my tongue. Which resulted in a gaze so smoldering from Clark it’s a wonder the cedar didn’t burst into flames.

  And when Caroline and Contractor Joe needed to discuss recaulking the windows on the second floor, going on and on about how for the best seal you needed a really thick caulk? Clark turned three shades of purple and I damn near bit through my lower lip.

  But as the day stretched on, progress was made. At the end we had a clear plan for making the changes I felt were needed but also made Clark comfortable. Not only in terms of the historical register but meeting his mental guidelines for the integrity of the house. Caroline had walked a tightrope between the two themes all day, mediating and balancing the tension that was no longer ignorable.

  The easy truce Clark and I had formed after the first few days, the friendship that had blossomed while I was back in Philadelphia, was gone. And in its place? Uncomfortable silence. Frustrated and stilted conversation. And worse? Caulk. Oh the caulk.

  Once we said good-bye to Contractor Joe, Caroline excused herself to make a phone call and I was alone with Clark in the entryway.

  Silence. More silence. Shuffle of shoe, puff of breath, and then again, silence.

  Finally, we both started:

  “So what do you think about—”

  “So if it’s all right with you—”

  Then we both backed off.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “No no, what were you going to say?”

  “No please. You first,” I insisted.

  “Ladies first, Vivian,” he insisted right back.

  This would go on all night if our mutual stubbornness had its way.

  “What I was going to say is, what do you think about Joe? He seemed to be the best of the bunch to me.”

  “I think he appears to be very capable, and seems to understand what you’re going for here. I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”

  “Good. I mean, I thought so too, but I wondered what you thought,” I rambled, filling the space. Which had never been necessary before. “So—yeah.”

  More silence.

  “What were you going to say?” I asked.

  “Hmm?” He seemed distracted.

  “When we both started talking at the same time? What were you going to say?” I repeated.

  “Oh. Well, I was just going to say that it seems like Caroline and you have really worked things out, and this project is pretty well on track. I think everything’s going to work out just fine with the house.”

  “I think so too. It’ll be fun to see some of these things take shape.” I moved a little closer to him and pointed to a cornice piece that separated the entryway and the living room. “I really liked your idea of trying to replicate these upstairs. It’ll really tie things together.”

  “It seemed like a natural progression,” he said softly, pushing up his glasses.

  “And I’m glad you liked the ideas I had about the master bathroom. I was afraid you’d veto my rain shower,” I teased.

  He sighed. “Why would I veto your rain shower? Bathrooms need to be updated, Vivian. Even I know that.” His voice had changed again. He seemed tired, frustrated. Aggravated, but not in the way I normally seemed to get under his skin.

  I’d teased Clark in the past to get a reaction out of him, but right now there was nothing I wanted more than to hear him say “impossible woman” in that deep voice of his. But that’s not what he said.

  “I think it’s time I stepped back and let you follow through on the choices you’ve made here.”

  He started for the door and I darted in front of him. “Hey. Wait, where are you running off to?”

  “I’m not running off anywhere. I’m leaving,” he said matter-of-factly, looking anywhere but at me when I wedged myself between him and the door.

  “Oh come on, Caroline and I were going to have a glass of wine, sit and watch the ocean for a bit, then maybe take the Blue Bomber out for a run up the coast.” Pressing back against the door, I smiled up at him in a winning way.

  “You’re going to drink wine and then drive a car?” he asked sternly.

  “No! If we did go for a drive it’d be much later, like . . . Dammit, Clark, you know what I meant!” I chewed on my thumbnail. “So come on. Stay. Okay?”

  ?
??I can’t,” he said, and moved to step around me.

  I moved too. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Vivian.” He groaned when I matched him, bobbing when he weaved. Getting in his face and staying there.

  “Can’t or won’t?” I repeated, unflinching. I stared into his eyes, molten chocolate and full of an emotion that was impossible to pinpoint.

  “I have plans.”

  “Plans?” I asked incredulously. Which was a bad idea.

  “Yes, I have plans. Not all my evenings are taken up with thinking about you,” he spat out. “About you and this house, I mean.”

  “Well, what are these plans?” I asked, frowning.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He licked his lower lip, and I stared at it.

  Caroline’s high heels clicking across the floor made me glance away, and he pushed past me onto the front porch.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said, and was down the steps just as Caroline came up behind me. We watched the Taurus leave at a sensible speed, like the pace car in a homecoming parade. No dust thrown up from his tires, straight down the middle of the road.

  “Did you ask him to stay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered, heading for the kitchen. “Drink?”

  “Sure.” She followed me.

  I poured myself a Scotch and a glass of wine for her.

  “Feel like heading into town tonight?” I asked, and she nodded, her eyes curious. “Good,” I answered, throwing back my drink and not even wincing at the burn. “Good.”

  Two drinks later, Caroline, Jessica, and I were perched on bar stools at John’s after walking into town, requiring pizza and more drinks. We’d acquired both and were now about to retire to a corner booth. While Caroline and Jessica had wisely switched over to water, I was steadily working through my fourth Scotch. And showing no signs of stopping. My body felt warm and loose, my lips were numb and buzzy at the same time, and I undid the top buttons on my shirt, needing to feel a little air.

  “Stop undressing yourself,” Caroline teased.

  “Someone should,” I mumbled, but I did stop just short of my bra.

  “Oh, someone would. Believe me,” Jessica snorted, and she and Caroline shared a knowing look.

  “Stop being secretive. Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say.”

  “No John Mayer, karaoke is on Sunday nights.” Jessica passed me a napkin to wipe up the Scotch I’d just spilled. “How are things with the cowboy?”

  “The cowboy?”

  “Yeah, you know, the center of your alleged romance novel?”

  “Oh yeah. Him. Well—”

  “Wait,” Caroline interrupted. “You’re writing a romance novel?”

  “No, I’m not. And why don’t you”—I pointed at Jessica—“just be quie—”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard Viv’s theory? Of why she’s out here?” Jessica giggled, and Caroline looked at me.

  “What theory?”

  “There’s no theory. It was more of a feeling that—”

  “I’m totally confused.” Caroline looked to Jessica for guidance.

  “That’s okay, so is Viv.”

  “Viv is right here! And Viv is going to smack you if you don’t stop all this romance novel talk right now!” I said.

  Which shut her up for about three seconds.

  “So Viv has this crazy idea that—”

  “I’ll tell her! You’ll just mess it up,” I snapped, and Jessica gestured as though the floor was now mine. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I feel like Hank and I are meant to be together.”

  “Hank?” Caroline asked, frowning.

  “Yes, Hank. Together with me. Like in the biblical sense.”

  “Like, the earth was flooded and he’s the only man left?” she asked.

  Jessica slipped her a quiet high five.

  “No! Have you seen him? With the abs and the chest and the face?” I asked, spilling a little more of my drink as I told the story of his body with my hands.

  “Sure, I’ve seen him. I’ve talked to him too. Well, he grunted at me.” Caroline wrinkled her nose a bit.

  “He grunted at you?” I asked, confused. “When?”

  “That day we were all out here. He looked at my tits and grunted something like ‘sweet’ and then disappeared into the barn. I got the feeling I was supposed to swoon or something,” she snorted.

  “He does like them tall and blond,” Jessica mused. “Although he usually likes them sluttier than you, no offense.”

  “None taken.” They clinked glasses.

  I drained mine and waved at John for another.

  “So, you think Hank and you are supposed to be together,” she said. “Why is that, exactly?”

  “It would take too long to explain,” I grumbled.

  “Viv reads a ton of romance novels. So when she got a call in the middle of the night to move across the country, and take over a house on a cliff she’d inherited from an aunt she barely knew, and there was a half-naked cowboy involved, she assumed she was now living in one of the books she loves,” Jessica recapped, and looked to me for approval.

  I sighed. “And once again, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But it’s not just that—it’s other stuff. Like, aren’t you supposed to struggle a little? Isn’t part of a great romance the chase? The push and pull, the hunt, the uncovering bits and pieces of the great penis puzzle?”

  “Um. What?” Caroline asked, and I dropped my head to the table.

  “Didn’t you and Simon take forever to get together?” I asked from underneath my arms.

  “Yes. But it was all foreplay. It was going to happen; it was just a question of when,” she said, her voice going all dreamy. I looked up at her, and her face was dreamy too.

  “Well, that’s how it is with me and Hank,” I insisted, frowning even as I said it.

  “But there’s another piece of this penis puzzle, right?” Jessica said.

  Caroline nodded emphatically. “Totally. I think you’re missing something here, Viv. You’re missing the biggest piece of all.”

  I sat up straight, stretching my back and looking toward the bar, wondering where my drink was. I didn’t see John. But I did see . . .

  “Clark,” I whispered.

  “Exactly!” Caroline and Jessica said at the same time.

  I shook my head, not taking my eyes off him. “No, I mean at the table by the bar.”

  Their heads swiveled, and we all watched as he pulled out a chair. For a girl.

  Tall. Thin. Blond. Gorgeous. Smart, I assumed. She had that look. She must be the plans he had for the night.

  Clark laughed at something she said, and I winced as that dark chuckle made its way over the din of a hundred conversations, a hundred glasses tinkling and forks forking. She unfolded her napkin, placed it squarely and daintily in the middle of her lap, and then placed her hand squarely and daintily in the middle of the table. And brushed the side of his hand. Brushed the side of his hand! Slut!

  I was out of my chair and across the bar, dodging Caroline’s grab and ignoring Jessica shouting my name. Clark turned just in time to see me barreling toward him, and he jumped up from his chair.

  “Well hello!” I sang out, planting myself in front of the table, squarely and decidedly undaintily. “Sit down, Clark, don’t let me interrupt,” I chided, putting my hand on his shoulder and firmly pushing him back down. “Just wanted to come over and say hello. Hello!” I turned my attention to the cool blonde in front of me, who looked at me with amusement. Wrong emotion. “I’m Viv, nice to meet you,” I said sweetly, offering my hand to her.

  “Nice to meet you, Viv. Wait—as in Vivian?” she asked, and I looked from her to Clark. He blanched.

  “As in Viv, yeah.”

  “Oh my goodness, why d
on’t you join us?” She clapped her hands in delight.

  “Oh no, I’m sure Vivian has better things to do tonight than to—”

  “I’d love to!” I cried, grabbing a chair from an empty table and straddling it backward. “What are we drinking?”

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea—” Clark started, and I gave him a pffft.

  “Nonsense, it’s a fine idea. How else can—sorry, what was your name?” I asked the blonde.

  “Chloe.” She looked from me to Clark.

  “Chloe! What a lovely name. Let’s all have a drink together, shall we? Hey, John!” I shouted, and he yelled back. “Bring my drink here, okay?”

  “You got it!” he called back, and I settled in, crossing my arms over the back of the chair. I grinned at Clark, who mimicked my grin tightly.

  “Vivian, I was hoping we might run into you tonight. I’ve been dying to meet you,” Chloe said.

  “Chlo,” Clark said with a groan, and I winced at the familiarity.

  Why would I wince? Matter of fact, why the hell was I over here? I looked back toward my own table, and saw Caroline and Jessica waving frantically, trying to get me back to our table. But I was committed now.

  “You were hoping to run into me?” I asked, looking at Clark. Who was staring at my chest. I looked down, noticing the top of my black bra was peeking out from behind the buttons I’d undone earlier. Not taking my eyes from his, I flicked one more open. He groaned again, in a very different way. In front of Chloe? What the hell were these two into?

  She just laughed. “Vivian this and Vivian that, can you believe she said this, and can you believe she wants to do that—what a piece of work he made you out to be!”

  I looked at her in confusion.

  “I haven’t heard my cousin talk about someone like this in the longest time, but now that I’ve met you, I can understand why!” She made a face at Clark when he threw eyeball daggers at her.

  “Whoa whoa whoa. Clark’s your cousin?” I turned to him and threw a few eye daggers myself. “Your plans were with your cousin? What the fuck?”

  “Watch your language, Vivian,” he warned, throwing back his own Scotch as quickly as John put the drinks on the table. He stared at me over the rim of the glass, eyes smoky hot and angry.