Complicated Matters (10 page)

   “You tell me.” He opened the back door and grabbed the charcoal. “You’re the one dating a guy named Teddy Bear.” 

   She noticed the grill rack hanging from a nail on the wall. “Where’s your grill?”

   “Back porch.” He opened the back door. “I’ll light it up.” 

   “I need a bowl and some meat seasoning.”

   “Look for it. You’re Miss Independent.”

   After a few minutes, she heard, “Swoosh”. 

   She came out with a few t-bone steaks. “I thought I was doing the grillin’.” 

   Taylor just huffed as he walked past her. “Have it your way.”

   She watched him from the doorway. 

   He got out his blender and made some sort of frozen pineapple drink. She didn’t notice everything he stuck in the blender. Then he put a tossed salad together and set the table. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Ted was hopeless in the kitchen.

   He turned around sooner than she expected. “Enjoying the view, Miss Mathews?”

   She growled and turned back to the grill. The steaks sizzled when they hit the hot grill.

Her mind wondered back to the previous night at Hank’s. They were having such a great time. Then the stupid band started playing a slow song. His hand felt hot against the small of her back. She wanted to keep that feeling.
Why did I make him leave the dance floor?

   *

   Beautiful music filled the air. Farrah took the steaks off the grill and followed the beautiful sounds.

   Taylor played a Spanish melody. Deft fingers caressed the steel strings bending them to his will. Forcing them to give into his every desire. 

   She watched as he seemed lost in his music. Expressions of pain and loneliness. Tears flowed from the notes. Her heart was aching from the pain, but she couldn’t stop listening. His eyes focused not across the room, but on something much further away. Another time, perhaps.

   “Farrah.” He stopped playing and jumped as if coming back to the present. “How long have you been standing there?”

   “Not long.” Her face suddenly felt hot from the embarrassment of being caught spying on him. “Supper’s ready.”

   He looked away. “Be right there.”

   She sat down at the kitchen table and waited for him wondering if he was upset.

   He approached her a little slower than normal.

   “You’re pretty good on that thing.” She hoped he wouldn’t take it as anything but the compliment she meant it to be. 

   “Thanks.” He opened the refrigerator and retrieved the salad and punch. “And it’s not a thing, it’s my guitar.” He sat the salad on the table, then opened his cabinet and returned to the table with two glasses.

   “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

   “Suit yourself.” He poured the concoction into one of the tall glasses leaving the other one empty. “And for the record, I’m twenty-three. Not that it matters to you, since you’re completely in love with Teddy Bear.”

  
Is he jealous?
She watched as he sipped the drink. “How much vodka did you put in that punch?” 

   “Why, Miss Mathews.” He shot her a playful grin. “Do you think I’d serve vodka to an under-aged lady?” 
             

   “I-I wasn’t suggesting anything.” She became agitated as she poured herself some of the punch.

   “You’re kind of cute when you’re not in control.  What’s on the agenda tomorrow?”

  
To get you out of my life.
“I’m hoping that Mr. Winthrop will allow me back on my farm.”

   Taylor wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Why don’t you call him Deputy Winthrop?” 

   “I don’t know.” The deep tone of his voice made her nervous. “I’ve always called him Mr. Winthrop.”

   “I guess you’ve known him for a long time, huh?” 

   “He’s one of Dad’s friends. His daughter, Annalise, and I play--make that played-- basketball together. She’ll be a senior next school term.”

   “I guess around here, everyone pretty much grows up together and then marries their high school sweethearts.”

   She touched the tan line on his ring finger. “Is that what you did?” 

   He stared at his hand. “Yeah.” 

   “I see a tan line but no wedding band.” She watched his face, as he stared at his hand. “Are you divorced?” 

   “Widowed.”

   Her stomach lurched.  “I’m sorry.”

   “You didn’t know.”

   “When?”

   “One year, six months, and nineteen days ago.”

  
He counts the days?
The house seemed to shrink. She wished she knew when to keep her mouth shut. Her mother would never had made such a stupid mistake.

   He got up and started loading the dishes into the dishwasher.  “I took off my wedding band when I hit town. I didn’t want the local busybodies wondering where my family is.”

   She snapped the lid on the salad and set it back in the refrigerator feeling guilty about intruding on his private life.

   He turned on the dishwasher and headed for his bedroom. “I’m taking a shower.”

   She wandered into the living room and studied his guitar.
How could so much passion come from six metal wires and a pile of wood?
She wondered how much of Taylor’s soul was infused in that music. Lost in thought, she traced the smooth body of the instrument with her fingertips. She wondered what is was like to be cradled by Taylor.
Would he bend me to his will? Could he ignite that kind of passion in my soul?

   Ted wanted her, but all she felt under his touch was “no”.

   “I left plenty of hot water.”

   Farrah couldn’t take her eyes off him when he returned wearing sweat pants, and no shirt. He wasn’t a big man, but his muscles were well defined. She let her eyes scan his hairless chest and follow his body down to his narrow hips. He
was
tan all over

   His face turned red. “I’m not used to anyone being around. Let me grab a t-shirt.”    

   “No need to apologize.” She moved away from his guitar. “It
is
your house.” She backed into his couch. “Do you think you could teach me to play?”

   “Sure.” He grinned. “Just as soon as I get a shirt on.”

   She watched him leave. The lines defining his muscles reminded her of a roadmap. She wondered where she would end up if she followed that map. 

   Feeling embarrassed about admiring him when she was supposed to be committed to Ted, she got off the couch and looked out the living room window. People walked up and down the sidewalk oblivious to her spying on them.

   Taylor came back into the living room and picked up his guitar. He sat down. “You’re going to have to sit on the couch with me.”

   She turned toward him, but didn’t come to the couch. Her fantasies had gotten way too out of hand for comfort.

   His eyes danced. “I’m not gonna try anything.” 

   Without saying a word, she sat next to him. Her body stiffened when he put his arms around her. She felt intense heat radiating from his body and inhaled his scent. Unlike Ted, he wasn’t grabby. She wasn’t sure she’d object if he did put any moves on her.

   “Are you sure I’m the one who should be teaching you?” He put her left hand on the neck of his guitar, and put a pick between her forefingers and thumbs.

   His pulse was fast. Her back sizzled as his chest touched her. She wondered exactly what she wanted him to teach her. “I’ve never played an instrument before.”

   “And you’re not going to play one tonight if you don’t relax. He pressed the fingers of her left hand on the appropriate strings, and used her right hand to strum with the pick.

   The feel of his touch made her clumsy. Her clumsiness embarrassed her to the point where all she could think about was putting distance between them.
Why can’t I be like a normal woman and enjoy this experience?

   Her mind argued with her body.  She wanted to stay next to him. To bask in his warmth and his scent. But her reflexes were to run.

   He removed his hands from hers. “Maybe, I should just draw you a diagram.”

   “What’s wrong?” Farrah attempted to press the strings the way he showed her.

   “Nothing, except you’re wound tighter than my guitar strings. Keep practicing while I try something else.” He got up and started drawing on some computer paper.

   “There you go.” He presented her with all the cords complete with hands showing which fingers go on which strings. “All the knowledge and none of whatever is making you so tense. Good night.”

   “Good night, Heath.” She practiced for a few hours and went to bed. The wall separating the two bedrooms was paper thin. She listened to him moan throughout the night. 

   She managed to get a little rest, but woke up when she heard him screaming, “Lianna.” 

   The pained tone of voice panicked her. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light she had turned on her bedroom. 

   Taylor’s screams became louder and more agonizing. 

   Farrah made her way to the bedroom next door. She turned on the living room light and opened his door. In the dim light, she could see him thrashing about in a bed of tangled sheets.

   Tears streamed down his cheeks from closed eyes. He wore no shirt. His half-naked body was sweaty from his uneasy slumber as he hugged his pillow.

   He called out Lianna’s name, asking her why she left him, as he held his pillow.

   “Heath, wake up.” Farrah eased her way to his bedside to wake him. She read somewhere it was dangerous to wake a person from a nightmare. But he seemed to be in so much agony she couldn’t let him stay in that torturous dream.

   “Come on, Heath.” She shook him. “Wake up.” 

   “Lianna.” His eyes opened, but it was as if he were looking right through Farrah. “You came back.” His smile was gentle. His expression softened. “I missed you.”

   He reached out and grabbed Farrah’s hand. As he pulled her closer, he encircled her waist with his arms. “Promise me this is forever.” He engulfed Farrah’s mouth as his rough hands. “I love you, Baby.”

   Goosebumps covered her body as he explored her body and tore at her clothing.

   This wasn’t how she wanted her first time with a man to be. He was talking to his dead wife. “Heath, wake up.” She pushed against him with all her strength.

   He kissed her neck.

   She freed one of her hands and started slapping him. “Wake up, Heath. I’m not Lianna. I am not Lianna. I am not your wife!”

   “Farrah?” He released her. “I would have never--” He touched his hand to the stinging side of his face.

   Farrah stood in the corner of his bedroom trembling as she attempted to readjust her clothing. In the living room, she fantasized about kissing him. But knowing he was so much in love with another woman, all those feelings were obliterated. 

   “I thought you were--I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair as he took a  swallow of whiskey. “The dream was so vivid. I thought you were her.” He set the bottle back on his dresser.

   “You were having a night terror. I tried to wake you up.” She placed a chair next to his bed and sat down. “Waking you was a stupid, but you looked like you were in so much pain.”

   “You shouldn’t have done that. I nearly r--”

   “But you didn’t. Would you like to talk about her? Sometimes it helps.”

   He picked up the whiskey bottle and gulped it. “She was killed on our six month wedding anniversary. I called to say I was getting off at midnight, so she went out to get some rocky road ice cream.” 

   He rubbed his face with his t-shirt. “Some repeat drunk was out getting more beer. They met at the intersection of Hell and Damnation. He was driving a Suburban and she was driving a Camry. She had the green light, and he plowed right through the red. And it was all because, of that damn ice cream.”

   “Why was the ice cream so important to her?” Farrah wasn’t meaning to pry. She was just trying to understand.

   “We were young, married, and in love. Sharing a bowl of rocky road ice cream in bed was one of our little traditions.”

   “But why?” Farrah put her hand over her mouth as soon as she asked the question.
How stupid can I get?

   “Do I really have to connect the dots for you?” He reached for the whiskey, but she slapped it out his hand. The amber fluid spilled onto the carpet. 

   “I need you sober.” She kicked it under the bed. “And Lianna deserves better than this.”

   “What do you know about what she deserves? You don’t know her at all.”

   “Your wife was killed by a drunk, and her husband has become one. Is that any way to remember her?” She stared at the picture of a beautiful Spanish lady that sat on his nightstand. A knee-length white dress clung to her body as the wind blew her long, black hair. She wore no veil. A single lily flower adorned her hair. “That’s her wedding picture, isn’t it? Are you folded underneath?”