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“I don’t have to beforyou.” I stand. “This is pretend. Fake, imaginary, fictitious, so you can get Christmas day off, remember?”
“Yeah, and you’re going to lord this over me like you are now, and truthfully, nothing is worth the hell that causes. If you need me to work Christmas day, I’ll work it.”
“No. You want the day off, and your son will be disappointed.”
“I’ll figure something out.” She barely looks at me, but I can’t figure what I’ve done. I came dressed nicely, I sat down, and I asked questions. Since then, we’ve only had conversations about my clothes and whether or not I’m relaxed enough to meet her tastes, which is a ridiculous thing to judge someone for.
“It’s not going to work. I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She opens the porch door to lights beaming up the driveway. Down the way comes a late model pickup truck with the bed full of shit.
“Damn it!” She slams the door closed again and glances toward me, her eyes wide with fear. “That’s my ex.”
I know it’s her ex because I’ve seen his truck up and down this road at least three times this month. This is the first time I’m aware of him actually pulling up the driveway.
“When did you last see him?”
“He‘runs into me’in town sometimes, but it’s easy to get away while I’m out. There are usually people around, so he doesn’t make a scene.” She blows out a heavy breath and leans against the doorway.
“What does he want?”
Her voice is shaking as she says, “I don’t know. He said something about Josh the last time I saw him. He wants to start over again, do things right. He’s not a nice guy. I told you about him, right?”
She’s only told me one story to date, and the one I heard was what got me to checking on her nightly. Apparently, after she kicked him out the first time, he showed up with a gun and threatened her life. Thankfully, the police were nearby, helping neighbors with a rogue bull. It’s not something police usually help with, but up here, the police have an array of responsibilities.
A heavy knock lands on the door behind her, shaking her frame until she squeaks.
“Maybe he’ll go away.” Her tone is low and trembling.
“I can hear you, Mae.” His voice echoes on the other side of the solid wood door. “I’ve been trying to call. We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Randy. Go away!”
“You have my son, so there’ssomethingto talk about.”
“Your son? He’s not your son!” She spins toward the door, hollering through the wall as though he’s standing in front of her. “You have to care for a boy for him to be your son! You have to teach him things, buy him clothes, stay up all night helping him through bad dreams. You don’t show up whenever you want and demand things!”
“Open the door!” The man is clearly agitated, banging on the opposite side of the wood as though he’s owed an explanation.
“Hey.” I grip Mae’s shoulders and twist her toward me. “Go back and sit with Josh. I’ll take care of him.”
“Take care of him?” she whispers. “How are you going to do that? You going to call the MC and have them take care of him? I think the quarry might be full.”
“I don’t need the MC. I can take care of this myself.”
“No!” she gasps. “He’s just knocking on my door.”
“Just give me five minutes. I’ll have a talk with him, and you’ll be all set. Go sit with Josh.”
She considers the offer for a long moment. “Why would you do that for me?”
I pause, contemplating what the correct answer should be. I can’t tell her it’s because I think of her every second of every day and her safety is my top concern. So instead, I go for something crasser. “I love confrontation, and it’s been a while.”
“Mom, why is everybody yelling? Who’s that?” Her son, a blonde-haired boy with freckles, rubs his eyes at the edge of the kitchen. He’s wearing train pajamas, and though he’s only six, he’s tall for his age.
“Nothing, baby.” Mae glances toward me. “Get rid of him.” Her hand tucks into her son’s and they head back toward the bedroom.
When one door closes, I open another.
The man on the other side is a tall, skinny dude with a taut face and a scruffy beard. He’s wearing work boots and a hoodie with a truck symbol on the front. He reminds me of one of those men in the movies that sell drugs out of cookie boxes and gets high on their own supply. I don’t see what Mae ever saw in him. She’s leaps and bounds above this trash.
