(1)
— Originally published in Potpourri Vol 13, No. 4 [December, 2001]
Ferdie rolled on his side and licked his lips. Esther kept her body up. He’d give
her that. As she slept next to him in the morning sunshine mottled by the willow outside
the window, she was too beautiful for him to be pissed any more. She lay on her stomach
in her peach silk nightgown, her face, turned toward him, serene. Her waist and butt
were trim, her shoulders firm, her legs as shapely as when they'd met. He stretched close
to her and put his arm across her shoulders. Her skin was warm and smooth.
Her eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?”
He pulled his hand back.
She sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Ferdie, you're too old for that.”
No longer serene, she found her housecoat. “I’ll get coffee going.” She got as far as
the door, then turned. “The Galloways have been complaining about King—you know,
the Hansen’s dog? They say he bit their child and nipped some kid down the street. I
think we should just stay out of it. And maybe I could get you to move the flower pots
from the cellar steps. I want to get the leaves cleaned out today.”
“I'll clean them.”
She was gone.
Ferdie flopped onto his back. The bed shuddered from his girth. An echo of last
night’s anger flitted through his belly. The greenhouse was his private preserve, the way
some men had a den. Tina Hansen had no business futzing around in there and, worst of
all, taking blooms from his rose standards. “She's more family than a neighbor, Ferdie,”
Esther had said. “Honestly, you’re getting to be such a curmudgeon. Tina has the run of
the house, like a relative. Like your daughter.” Not even my daughter has the run of the greenhouse. Mattie asks before she
goes in there. Like she rings the doorbell instead of just flouncing in, and cleans up
after she and Mikey have a snack.
Sometimes he felt like he was in a last ditch fight to hang on to what was left of
Ferdie, the man, for Christ’s sake. Yeah, it was Esther’s house. Yes, she earned more
than him, especially since they’d made him retire. And, yes, Tina was her best friend. But
he’d never have allowed a child of his to behave the way she did. That electric-shock hair
the color of cheap mahogany, those three-inch heels that arched her back and pushed
her butt out, and the uplift bra that made her look like she needed a good exhale. But,
goddammit, if that was what Esther wanted, he'd meet her half way.
TOM'S TALES