This Mess We're In

  “I want to.”

  “Sure, fine. How about eleven? Rose usually wakes up from her morning nap around then.”

  In the morning, I woke early and went to the health food store for groceries. I didn’t want to make anything too extravagant for lunch, so I bought bread and lunch meat for sandwiches and fresh fruit for a fruit salad.

  I put the groceries in my bike, rode north of town, and turned down the gravel road that led to her house. The sky above was gray with storm clouds. I couldn’t believe how much it rained in this part of California. I could smell the dampness in the air as I drove down Claire’s dusty driveway.

  When I parked, the door burst open and the dog ran out wagging its tail. Claire held Rose on her hip, the baby dressed in one of those shirt things babies wore. Her chubby little legs were bare. Claire waved from the porch as the dog yelped at me from behind the rickety wooden gate. I pulled the groceries from my storage compartment and a drop of rain splashed on my cheek.

  “Come on in. Don’t mind Bradly.”

  She left the door open and disappeared inside. I managed to maneuver past the dog without letting him out, and shut the gate behind me. I jogged up the steps with the bags in my hands, and the dog ran off around the back of the house.

  Inside, Claire sat on the couch, pulling cloth pants on the baby. She put her down, and the child immediately toddled toward the door. I closed it before she could escape. She looked up at me and squealed, covering her eyes with her hands. I watched her, not knowing what she wanted. Claire giggled. Rose pulled her hands away and had a surprised expression on her little face.

  “Peekaboo!” said Claire.

  “Peekaboo,” I mimicked, smiling down at the tiny human. I’d told Claire I knew how to babysit. That had been a complete lie. I’d never been around a baby in my life. It wasn’t the first lie I’d told her, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. I had no idea what I was doing. I was drawn to this innocent young woman who deserved so much better than me.

  I couldn’t make myself stop wanting her, wanting to get inside her, to know what made her tick. I wanted to know how she did it, where her strength came from. I wanted to find that part of her and make it my own. I wanted her to teach me what it meant to be so real and true.

  Guilt washed over me and I took the bags in the kitchen. Hand-dyed cloth covered her dining room table, already cut into pattern pieces. I put the food in the fridge and looked at her handiwork. The designs were interesting. They were organic and chaotic at the same time. It was the complete opposite of the way I worked. My designs were hard lines and purely representative.

  “Your designs are so interesting. I’d love to see your technique.”

  “It’s basically like batik but I fingerpaint the wax into the fabric.”

  “You get such an organic effect. It’s quite a skill.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that at all. I’d call it the opposite.” She stood up to look down at her fabric. “I can’t draw to save my life.”

  “If you wanted, I could make you some original designs for your dresses.”

  “I’ve thought of using templates. But I decided against it.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind. I’d do something totally original for you.”

  “You’ve already done enough.”

  “Well, now I’m making lunch. You can do your thing.”

  “So, those clients don’t mind you taking so much time off?” she said, moving back to her chair in front of an ancient-looking sewing machine.

  “No. They insist. They’re great like that.” Lies kept piling up. I’d dug myself too deep to get out now. I didn’t know what the Black Blades were all about yet. If she found out I was mixed up with drug dealers, she’d never forgive me.

  “What are you making?” she asked as she pressed her foot onto the pedal of the sewing machine. The needle bobbed through a line of fabric as the machine hummed. She pulled pins from the cloth as it was pulled along under the needle.

  “Sandwiches and fruit salad. It isn’t fancy but it should be filling.”

  Rose slapped her mother’s thigh and the buzz of the sewing machine stopped. Claire looked down at her daughter and then back at me. I was supposed to be babysitting. I’d forgotten. The only time I’d ever even held a baby in all my life was when I’d come over a few days before.

  I rounded the table and bent to pick up the child. I put my hands under her arms and lifted, praying she wouldn’t break. I pulled her close to me and took her to the kitchen. She did the peekaboo thing again and burst into baby laughter. I laughed with her and glanced at Claire. Her head was down, concentrated on her task.

  Outside the window over the sink, I could see that it had started to rain. It was coming down in thick silver torrents. The dog sprinted around in the yard, chasing birds. It would get really wet. I went to the front door and whistled for him. He ran in and shook violently.

  “God damn it, Bradly!” Claire shouted.

  “Where do you keep your towels?”

  “There should be some in the bathroom.” She pointed down the hall under the stairs.

  I put the baby in the playpen and went to the very outdated bathroom to find a towel. The dog followed me, but I could hear Rose crying from her playpen. I rubbed the dog’s fur and threw the towel in a hamper. When I came back, Claire held Rose in her arms.

  “How do you manage all this?” I asked. I was already overwhelmed, and I’d only been there ten minutes.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Here, let me take her. Get back to work.”

  Claire sat at her sewing. I took the kid in the kitchen again and wondered how to make sandwiches one-handed. The dog gorged on his food, smelling up the house with wet dog smell. I placed a cutting board on the counter and pulled sandwich rolls from the bag. Rose fussed to be let down, so I put her on the floor next to me.

  She toddled off to play with refrigerator magnets. Relieved that she was occupied for a moment, I continued making the sandwiches. I had to move her to get in the fridge to get the rest of the ingredients for lunch, but she went right back to playing when I was done. I finished the sandwiches and cut up a bunch of apples, bananas, and strawberries for the fruit salad.

  “Lunch is ready.” I said, placing everything on plates.

  “Great. I’ll just move this stuff out of the way.”

  She pushed her sewing to the end of the table, put Rose in her high chair, and we sat down to eat. Claire bit into her sandwich and I waited for her reaction. I’d bought a special pesto sauce that made my turkey sandwiches the bomb.

  “This is so good. Thank you for doing this. I didn’t even say think you. I’m so distracted. I have all kinds of dress orders to finish.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Rose shoved bananas and strawberries in her mouth. She picked up an apple and threw it at my face. I ducked just in time. That baby could throw.

  “Rose! No throwing. She’s in a throwing phase right now.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s going to be a major league pitcher someday.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of her sippy cup pitches. I swear she almost gave me a black eye last night.”

  The kid smooshed fruit in her hands and swiped it onto the floor. The dog ran from his bed and gulped down the tossed fruit. Claire rolled her eyes and took another bite of sandwich. Just the kid and dog alone were a hassle. I couldn’t imagine adding an unstable sister on top of that.

  Chapter Seventeen: Claire

  I felt guilty for using him for domestic work. I had to admit, it was extremely cute to see him fussing around in the kitchen with Rose on his hip. He was growing on me, inch-by-inch, like a creeping Himalayan blackberry vine.

  Blackberries start innocuously, but over time, they will take over the whole yard. The thing about blackberries is, they cover everything in dense, thorny growth, but in the fall, they produce the most delicious fruit you can imagine. No mat
ter how much you know you should kill every single one, it’s hard to resist the sweet prize they offer at the end.

  “It’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?” I said, hearing the pelting sound of rain on the roof.

  “It rains a lot here in the summertime.”

  “It’s been wet this year. It isn’t usually like this.”

  I finished my sandwich and lifted Rose from her high chair. My hand squished on her full diaper. She needed a change. I excused myself and went upstairs to our bedroom. I turned through the doorway and laid Rose on the bed to change her. I did it so automatically now that I barely thought about it. After I finished slipping her pants back on, I looked up at the far wall of my bedroom where the window looked out on the yard. A trail of water dripped down the wall.

  Water streamed through a crack in the ceiling that continued down the wall, and dripped in big fat drops onto the floor. I put Rose in her bed and quickly put a plastic bin under the drip. Shit! This couldn’t be happening. I knew the roof was in bad shape, but there was no way I could afford to have it fixed. I picked up Rose and ran down the stairs.

  “There’s a leak in the roof,” I said breathlessly. “I need to cover it with a tarp until I can fix it. Hold Rose.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “My roof is leaking. I have a tarp in the garden shed. I can nail it to the roof. That will at least keep more rain from soaking through. Please. Watch Rose, while I do this.”

  “You think I’m going to sit in here and watch you go out in the rain to do that yourself? No way. Where’s the leak?”

  “It’s coming down over the first upstairs window on this side of the house.” I pointed to the kitchen.

  “Where do you keep your tools?”

  “Everything is in the garden shed. I’ll show you. Come on.”

  I put Rose in her playpen, and she wailed as I threw my raincoat on and then opened the front door. Bradly ran past me and down the porch steps into the mud. My blood boiled in my veins. A roof leak was the last thing I needed. I was a centimeter away from giving up.

  Damien’s being there was such a huge relief. If he hadn’t been, I might have collapsed into a nervous breakdown. He pulled on his leather jacket and followed me outside. We trudged into the rain through the garden and pulled the ladder, tarp, two-by-fours, hammer and nails from the shed.

  He carried the ladder while I carried everything else to the spot where the leak was coming through. Rivulets of water ran down his bare face, his neck, and under his jacket.

  “It’s up there.” I pointed to the place above my window.

  He shoved the hammer through his belt and stuffed a handful of nails in his pocket. Then he arranged the ladder under the window and began to climb. I could hear Rose screaming through the open door, even over the sound of the driving rain. I didn’t want to leave Damien to climb the ladder alone. I spotted him while he progressed upward. At the top, he stopped and looked over the slippery incline of the roof.

  “I see it,” he shouted from above me. “There are some rotten shingles up here. This whole roof needs to be replaced.”

  “I know!”

  “Coming down for the tarp. Hand me the two-by-fours when I get back up.”

  He inched back down and grabbed the tarp. It was all I had. It would have to work. He pulled himself up the ladder with one hand on the rail and the other gripping the big blue plastic tarp we used to use for camping. He reached down for me to hand him a two-by-four, and I passed it up to him.

  Damien slowly pulled himself up onto the roof. I watched him lean on the steep incline over the tarp. My heart pounded. If he got hurt doing this for me, I’d never forgive myself.

  The cracking of hammer on nail echoed through the rain and mixed with Rose’s frantic screams. Bradly danced around in the mud puddles behind me. Once Damien had one two-by-four nailed down over the tarp, he nailed down the sides, and slid back on the ladder to hammer in the last piece of wood.

  He slowly inched down the ladder, and stood in front of me soaked to the bone. We left the ladder next to the house before we ran back inside.

  “You’re soaked through!” I said, looking at him dripping on the floor from his head to his boots.

  I pulled out of my raincoat and picked up Rose, who was almost inconsolable. Bradly ran back in the house and shook off on all of us. I yelled at the dog and he ran to his bed to lick himself dry.

  “It’s okay,” Damien said, shivering.

  I took Rose to the bathroom and grabbed my bathrobe. I’d worn it all through my pregnancy. I hoped it would fit him. I went back into the living room and handed it to him.

  “Change into this, and I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer. I’m going to change and put Rose down for a nap.”

  “I should go, leave you alone.”

  “No way. I’m not letting you ride your bike in this storm after you saved my house. I’ll be right back.”

  I jogged upstairs with Rose and examined my bedroom. The dripping had slowed considerably. I hoped that we’d fixed the leak, for now. I slipped into dry clothes and put Rose in her crib for a nap. She’d cried herself out in the playpen, and went down easily. I whispered good night and shut the door.

  Back downstairs, Damien sat in my robe on the couch. It barely covered his knees. I had to stifle a laugh when I saw him.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  “I just left them on the bathroom floor.”

  I hurried in there and threw his clothes in the dryer in the laundry room. I came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch next to him. When I saw him again, the laugher burst through. I was so overwhelmed that the sight of him in my pink bathrobe was enough to push me over the edge into hysterics.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. You just look so funny in my robe. I can’t help it.”

  “Never seen a six-foot-two, tattooed MMA fighter wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe with a butterfly on the chest? You need to get out more.”

  “No, I haven’t. But I probably do need to get out more. Wait, what is an MMA fighter?”

  “Mixed martial arts. It’s nothing. I do it for the discipline mostly. But I’ve won state-level championships.”

  “Hum, you are intriguing, Damien Cruz.” I stifled the urge to run my hand over his chest. The bathrobe had fallen open, and I could see the chiseled outline of his hard pecs. My hand burned to touch them. Instead, I grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

  “Our TV sucks. No cable. We have one of those new antenna things and only get a few network channels.”

  “I’ve got every channel you could imagine at my house on an HD flat screen.”

  “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

  “Maybe you can come over sometime. I seriously have every channel.”

  “You get ‘Project Runway’?”

  “Whatever that is, I’m sure I do.”

  I stared at the television. It was the afternoon soap operas. There weren’t any other choices. I hadn’t seen “Project Runway” since I was in school. I loved that show. I looked over at Damien again and I could see the skin of his inner thigh as he sat with his legs wide open. My eyes widened and I told myself to look away. I stared for too long and finally stood up.

  “You want some tea?”

  “Sure.”

  I went to the kitchen, made us some tea, and came back with two steaming mugs. I handed him one and he sipped it. This time, I sat closer than I had before. I was so close I could smell the scent of my shampoo mixed with the scent of his skin. He put his tea on the table and so did I. I looked into his crystal blue eyes. He looked back at me, burning from within.

  “Thank you for helping me. The leak looks like it stopped.”

  “I wish I could have done more.”

  “It’s enough.”

  “It’s never enough. Not for you.”

  I took a deep breath and he leaned toward me. Every nerve in my body stood on high alert. I felt faint, but tilted my f
ace up to him. His lips were right there, looking so full and silky soft. I ran my fingers over his chiseled jaw. He pressed his lips to mine.

  The sensation was titanic. A tsunami of passion was unleashed through me. I parted my lips and let his tongue press hot and wet into my mouth. I could feel the heat in my panties and nipples, and wanted desperately for him to touch me there.

  Regan burst through the door, holding a bottle of gin, drenched like a drowned cat. She had a guy with her. He was tall, muscular, with a shaved head. They glanced at Damien and me, but proceeded up the stairs without another look.

  Regan’s door slammed and music pulsed through the floorboards. I doubled over my knees and sank my face in my hands. I didn’t know if I would scream or cry. Damien’s warm hand rubbed my back. Rose screeched from her bed, and the sound mixed with the very loud, obvious sex moans coming from Regan’s bedroom.

  “This is not happening right now,” I said, stomping up the stairs. I pounded on Regan’s door, feeling brave with Damien in the house with me.

  “Keep it down!”

  Regan came to the door in her underwear and glared at me. The guy she’d brought home reclined on her bed, smoking a joint.

  “No. No drugs in my house.” Rose screamed from behind my bedroom door.

  “Fuck off, Claire,” Regan said, slamming the door in my face.

  Damien came up the stairs and stood behind me. “What’s going on?”

  “My sister. She brings dudes home for sex and does drugs here. I’m sick of it. Rose is freaking out. I can’t stand it.”

  I turned to get Rose. As I opened my bedroom door, Damien pounded on Regan’s. “Hey!” he shouted in a low-pitched man voice. Regan came to the door again and sneered at him.

  “What?” She looked him up and down while I held Rose in my doorway. “Just because you’re fucking my sister, it doesn’t give you the right to bother me. How is that loose, fat shit anyway? You like that?” Regan grabbed her crotch, and I looked away, revolted.

  “Jesus, Regan. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

  “I was talking about you, little sister.”

  “Enough! Get your boyfriend out of here. You’re being offensive and rude. You woke up Rose in the middle of her nap and you’re smoking pot in there. It’s enough. Tell him to leave or you can both get the hell out!”