Under His Skin (17 page)

“It’s okay.”

“What about your mom?”

She focused on Gibson, the way a slash of white fur curled over the top of his skull, and ran her fingers over it, tracing the pattern. “My parents were never married. I was an accident, and when Mom wouldn’t get rid of me, Dad moved in with her to make a try of being a family. It lasted for a few years. There are pictures of the three of us together, but I was too little to remember anything. He left when I was three or four, and it was my mom and I for several years.”

All of her earliest memories were of her mother. The big smiles hiding her exhaustion. But they had been happy. Her mother hadn’t cried herself to sleep, and there had been boyfriends who played the role of father figure for a while, but they never lasted more than a year.

“What happened?”

“Mom died. She had cancer and no insurance, so when they finally looked at her, she was on her last leg. I had to move out to Weatherford where Dad and his new wife were living.” She took a deep breath, preparing for the hardest part of the story. Brian wrapped his hand over hers and threaded their fingers together. She squeezed his hand, grateful for the comfort. “Mom passed away in the hospital. Dad was such an ass. He came home from work that day and his wife Patty and I were sitting at the table, waiting on him for dinner. He hung up his jacket, said, ‘Evening, Patty. Oh, Pandora, your mother passed away today. What’s for dinner?’”

“What an ass.”

“Yeah, but that was Dad.”

“Did you go to the funeral?”

She nodded. “Patty took me. They argued about it. She was about seven months pregnant with their first kid and he didn’t think it was smart for her to go anywhere. Dad is a good provider, but he was emotionally distant, and I wasn’t Patty’s kid. She was nice to me, but they were starting their own family, and she gets an eleven-year-old girl dumped in her life. It was, well, it wasn’t ideal for any of us. I moved out when I turned eighteen, and we don’t talk much. And that’s my family.” She tilted her head to the side and offered him a weak smile. “What about your family?”

“I hate to say this, but they’re kind of like the
Leave It to Beaver
family. At least after Dad remarried. Mom and Dad married for thirty-one years this fall, two kids. One stunning pediatrician, overachieving, marathon-running daughter, and a classic younger son who, at thirty, is just growing up.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah, well, they have their moments.” He smiled and tugged on her arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Still tired.” She checked the clock. It was a few minutes after noon, but the thought of getting out of bed was too daunting.

“Then let’s take a nap. Here, let me have your trash.” He took the paper bags and swatted Gibson. “Come on, you, outside.”

Gibson looked at her as if she could save him being scooped up and carried away. She watched the two men in her life disappear around the corner.

Curling up on her side, she waited and listened to Brian moving around downstairs. This was where she wanted to be, but she hated the idea that he might begrudge the imposition of having her at his house. Like her father had. Not that her dad and Brian were anything alike. It was a weekday after all, and they should both be working. How she was going to make rent if she didn’t get some tattoos done this week was beyond her. But who would let her tattoo them when she could barely sit up?

“Falling asleep without me?”

She glanced up at Brian’s smiling face and watched as he stripped off his t-shirt and jeans down to his boxers. The twin snakes tattooed over his shoulders were poised as if they were about to strike. She was a little jealous that she wasn’t the one to have done those on him. He had a perfect body for tattoos. Well-muscled and lean, with naturally sparse body hair and pale skin. Color popped on him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as he slid into the bed.

“Your tattoos look great.”

He scooted closer but didn’t touch or hold her how she wanted.

Reaching out, she ran her hand over his side, feeling her tattoo, the healing flesh and the smooth new skin. She focused on his collarbone, the little dip at the base of his throat.

“Will you hold me?”

His eyebrows rose. “Yeah. I didn’t want to hurt you. Come here.” He edged closer and pulled her against his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist and cradling her head.

She nuzzled his chest, burying her face against his shoulder and breathing a sigh of relief. Whatever she and Brian had, she’d messed it up, and didn’t know how to make it right. She didn’t even know how to apologize and go about fixing it.

“Are you asleep?” she asked.

“No.”

“What are you thinking?”

He sighed and shifted her a little so she leaned against him more. “I should have been there. If I weren’t stubborn, you wouldn’t have been walking home and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Tilting her head back, she stared up at him. “What are you talking about?”

He was tense, the lines of his face hard. “I should have done something. I shouldn’t have let you run out of here.”

Reaching up, she smoothed her thumb over his cheek. “You can’t control me. You need to stop taking responsibility for everything. I’ll never learn what a screw-up I am if it’s always your fault. This was not your fault.”

Brian paused, his eyes canted up at the ceiling. “Huh. You know, they made me see a therapist and they were never able to say that.”

“I guess I’m smarter than I look.”

He bent and brushed a light kiss across her forehead. “I want to rewind to after the convention and try again. I don’t know where we went wrong, but I don’t want to be done.”

Ducking her head, she pressed her face to his chest and squeezed her eyes shut. Brian ran his fingers through her hair. They didn’t speak for several moments, merely held each other.

“Pandy, what went wrong? What did I do?”

She laughed bitterly and pushed against his chest so she could look him in the eye. “Why does it have to be your fault?”

He blinked a few times. “I assumed it was something I did.”

“It’s not all about you.” She couldn’t hold his gaze. Staring at his chest, she pressed on, needing to get it out. “I freaked out. I am freaked out. You’ve had everything. You played music, you traveled and then I find out you have a degree and a real job. Why aren’t you at work?”

His jaw worked silently for a moment. “What does work have to do with this?”

“Did you take off work to stay home with me?”

“Well, yes.”

If her lip wasn’t swollen twice its size, she would have bitten it. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to work. I’d be calling you every five minutes to check on you. Being here is better. I work from home half the time anyways. Why does my job matter?” He gently nudged her chin until her gaze lifted to his.

Sighing, she rolled onto her back. She shouldn’t have said anything. “You could be normal. Have a normal wife, picket fence and PTA meetings while eating cupcakes.”

Brian propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over her. His face was screwed up into a twisted mess. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

She stared at the ceiling, playing the reel back in her mind. “Do you remember when we talked about kids?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“My life’s not stable. I’ll never make tons of money or look like I fit in anywhere. I’m not smart like you are. I’m—”

“Sh.” His fingers brushed her lips. “I don’t care about what you aren’t. I-I love who you are.”

Everything screeched to a halt. Panic churned her stomach. Her head ached in time with the racing of her heart. “You love me?” she asked slowly.

Brian’s cheeks flushed and he glanced away. “I wasn’t going to say that. It’s too soon, I know. Give me a chance.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she nodded.

He took a deep, shaky breath and bestowed one of his dazzling smiles on her. “So, about that nap?”

Flopping down on his back, he reached out and pulled her close. Confused, she went with it. She wanted to be with Brian, but did she love him? Laying her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. He could have fallen in love with anyone, but he’d picked her, and she didn’t know if she was built with the capacity to love in return.

* * * * *

Brian pushed away from his desk and groped for his phone. Answering it was the last thing he wanted to do. The plans for a bridge he was working on for his uncle’s company took all his concentration. But the cops and Kellie had promised to keep him in the loop.

“Hello, Brian speaking,” he said on a stretch. Leaning back in his chair, he could catch a glimpse of Pandora curled up in bed, a sketch pad in her lap. Her hands moved over the paper with purpose. Gibson lay next to her, watching her with doggie adoration. He gave her about five minutes before she got up and tried to find something to do again. He wouldn’t have pegged her as a workaholic but she was.

“Hi, Brian, it’s Anne.”

Sitting forward, he gripped the table. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t roll off his lips.

“Hi,” he finally said after a long pause.

Her voice was thin and fluttered, like a nervous bird’s. “I know the last time we spoke things got a little heated.”

That was an understatement. The tears and throwing objects had been more than angry, but he understood. Ike had died and he’d lived. Parents weren’t supposed to outlive their children, but Anne and Eddy had. Ike was dead. Cradling his forehead in his hand, he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. If guilt had a taste, that’s what he imagined it would be like.

“Well.” She blew out a breath into the phone. “I was wondering if you would mind coming by the house. We’d like to talk with you, if you’re open to it.”

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “I’d like that, Mrs. P. Whenever’s good for you.”

“Great, that’s wonderful. I know Eddy and Ike would like to see you. It’s been such a long time since we all got together. I know that this coming week we’re busy, but soon.” Her voice hitched at the end. He could see her, the perfectly coiffed housewife, only with tears in her eyes.

Brian waded through her words. Ike wanted to see him? He knew Ike had been cremated but he hadn’t given much consideration to what would happen after. His parents had been devastated at his loss. How could a pile of ashes want to see him?

“Um, sure,” he said. What else was he supposed to do?

“What have you been doing to fill the time?” she asked, like she’d done every time they came home for more than a handful of days. It was surreal, as if a day hadn’t passed since that December long ago.

“Um, I started a job. It’s not steady yet, but I’m easing into it.” He didn’t know what to talk about with her anymore. Once, Anne had been as much of a mother to him as his stepmom. He was hesitant to broach the subject of his months in recovery, the depression and road to finding himself. Once he might have discussed everything with the Petersons, but not right now.

“Finally decided to use that head of yours?” She chuckled. “How’s your folks?”

The tightness in his chest eased a little. “Good. They’re good. They ask about you.”

“You’ll have to tell them we said hello. Did you know we have a new mailman?”

“No ma’am, I didn’t.”

She chatted at him about their new mailman, getting the vacuum cleaner fixed and the possibility of finally hiring a landscaper. Brian made appropriate sounds at the right moments to carry on the one-sided conversation, all the while wondering if he’d entered the
Twilight Zone
. At some point his time ran out and Anne all but hung up on him.

He stared at his phone for a minute. It was too early in the day to call his dad, which was what he wanted to do, and his stepmom was visiting her mother.

Sounds from the bathroom got his attention. Glancing up, he didn’t see either Pandora or Gibson in the bedroom anymore. Rising, he grabbed his cane and limped to the bathroom. His hip always bothered him after long periods of sitting at his desk. It was getting better, just not fast enough for his taste.

Pandora stood at the sink, his medicine cabinet and the basket of meds he hadn’t been taking spread out on the counter. He leaned against the doorframe and glanced at Gibson, curled up at her feet.

“What are you doing?” He’d never realized how many pill bottles were in his bathroom until they were lined up on his counter.

Pandora glanced over her shoulder. Wisps of hair had escaped her ponytail to hang around her face. The bruises were still bright splotches of color around her eye and cheekbones. He tried not to stare at her neck.

“Do you realize most of these are past expiration?” She waved a bottle with maybe a dozen pills in the bottom.

Blinking, he shrugged. “Hadn’t occurred to me.”

“This is a prescription junkie’s wet dream. Half of them are empty.” She swept her hand to one end of the counter, indicating a slight grouping of empty bottles.

“Pandy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m a little stir crazy, sorry.” She pulled out the trash can and started pushing the empty bottles off into it. They pinged around in the bottom.

He knew he shouldn’t mention it, but even annoyed she was adorable. She made him happy being there. Except she didn’t feel the same. It was an elephant in the room he tried to ignore. If he could rewind and take the words back, he would. It wouldn’t change how he felt, but it might help them ease into their relationship better.

“What the hell did they have you on, anyways?” She leaned a hip against the counter and squinted at one bottle. “I can’t even pronounce this one. It’s over a year past expiration.” Popping the bottle open, she upended it over the toilet and poured out the pills.

“What are you doing that for?”

She tossed the bottle into the trash and turned to face him. “Come on, you were in a band and no one ever offered you a z-bar or a vitamin r or something?”

He shrugged. “It was around, but the most I ever did was a little pot. Ike was allergic to everything under the sun. I’d seen him have reactions to shit growing up. It kills any desire to take anything someone you don’t know hands you.”