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I pick off the bits of meat, refusing eye contact. “Pretty good. I’ve been working on refinishing some old furniture I found at the flea market. It’s only been a year.” I laugh, thinking of the limited time I’ve spent here and each time, the project I started and never finished so many months ago is what invariably comes up.
“Finally,” she says with a touch of condescension. “Maybe now you two can get some order in that house.” We eat a couple bites before she continues. “Glenn, have you finished building those shelves in the basement yet?” It doesn’t escape my notice that she’s perkier addressing him, as if genuinely interested in anything he has to say.
I shake my head, swallowing my food as I listen to him speak.
“No, I haven’t even started.”
She makes a face of understanding, and he continues on as if he feels compelled to explain himself. “I’ve been working a lot lately, pulling extra hours. By the time I do get home, I’m too tired to do much else.”
I have to work to hide my irritated expression. I would love nothing more than to leap out of my seat right now and shout what a liar he is right in his face.
“How’s work been lately?” my mom asks, surprising me. This is the most attention she’s given me in a single visit in…I think ever.
“It’s always a good day when you’re not being called a bitch,” I remark. It’s true. People hate to be harassed by the dreaded telemarketer, and being called names happens more often than people probably realize. I try to take it in stride. Money is money, no matter how little it may be.
“Well, if you’d gone to college after high school like I told you, you might have a better job now,” my mother starts, and I feel a tangent coming on. Mine, not hers.
“It comes with the territory,” I say, tamping down my sudden lousy mood. Thinking about what’s coming up and how I need to maintain appearances, I turn to Glenn and say, as if it’s an afterthought, “Hey, would you like to come to the nursery with me next week? I want to get some plants for the shade garden.” I cross my fingers that it’s enough of a subject change to distract from the topic of how much of a loser I, Faith Overmeyer, turned out to be.
“You just want me to plant them for you,” he teases.
“Well…” I hedge, and we both laugh. Just to stroke his ego a bit, I add, “You are the best gardener I’ve ever met. I just kill everything I touch.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could pull them back in. I can’t believe I just said that!
“You haven’t killed Glenn yet, so that’s clearly not true,” my mother says flippantly.
I gulp down my glass of coke. She has no idea how close she is to the truth. I want off this topic immediately. “That would be assuming I wanted to.”
“I don’t know how you don’t. Hell, sometimes I do. You know, he still hasn’t returned my drill.” She winks at Glenn, adding to the creepy feeling I get being around these two.
My mother is one of the most feminine women I know—her yellow floral-patterned sofa and drapes can attest to that—but she can wield a hammer as good as any man. She’s the reason I know how to do basic electrical, how to hang drywall, refinish furniture, and other small things around the house, all learned by force rather than through mother-daughter bonding. I can’t really complain, though, since it has saved Glenn and me lots of money over the years because Lord knows he doesn’t know his way around a screwdriver.
That drill he borrowed hasn’t been used since the day it entered the house. It’s still sitting on the tool chest that he’s never touched with a ring of dust collecting around it.
“Shoot, you should have reminded me. I would have brought it with me today.”
“No worries, sweetie. Just bring it by when you get a chance.”
So I guess my mom is the only person who will miss Glenn when he’s gone. I should feel guilty that I’m taking away her friend, but it’s time someone looked out for me for a change.
“Faith will remind me. She’s good at keeping me in line,” Glenn says by way of explanation, and she snorts in response, thankfully allowing the subject to drop.
By the time I’m ready to leave, it’s nearly 9:00 PM, and Glenn and my mother are deep into a game of Gin Rummy with no end in sight. The only thing keeping me from making a scene right now is knowing soon I won’t have to deal with it ever again. It’s time to allow my mind to relax and find a happy place to take refuge in. Knowing I soon won’t have to give any of this a second thought is enough to relax me, and I give my mom an impromptu hug at the door, shocking us all.
Surprisingly, when we turn down our street a half-hour later, I’m in good spirits. But then, as I turn into the drive, I spot a familiar dark SUV parked a few houses down. The windows are tinted, and I can’t see the driver, but I know it’s Cal.
My heart does a little jump of surprise to see him. I hadn’t expected to until after the deed is done. But I suppose I’m more aware of my surroundings than most right now. If I hadn’t already known what to look for, he probably would have slipped my notice.
I try not to let my attention linger as we pull into the driveway and set the car to park. Something about Cal grabs and holds my attention. Could it be the thrill of danger that attracts me? Am I that desperate for attention, or is it just him? I can’t put my finger on it.
He’s certainly attractive, and the confident, self-assured way he carries himself is an aphrodisiac in itself, but I shouldn’t be getting flushed over a murderer-for-hire. That has to be the very definition of insanity.
Not five minutes after we walk through the side door and part ways, I hear the whirring of the treadmill and the pounding of feet on it in the den. Glenn is at it again, working on his physique, and he certainly isn’t doing it for my benefit.
“Is that you, babe?” he calls out as I walk by the room on my way upstairs as if there is anyone else it could possibly be. I was just heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. I hadn’t intended to stop and chat, preferring to be as far away from him as possible, but now I have to.
Turning back around, I poke my head in and smile. “Hey, yeah. Need something?”
Despite only having been at it for a few minutes, Glenn is chugging air, his shirtless torso coated in a sheen of sweat that rolls down his paunch and soaks into the waistband of a pair of bright-orange basketballs shorts that I’ve hated since the day he bought them. One size too small, they dig into his waist, emphasizing love handles that have become visually offensive. I’m surprised he’s using the treadmill at all since his foot problems have been increasing. But I guess there’s no limit to the lengths a person will go for self-gratification.
