The Penalty Box (5 page)

“Shoot!” Paul grabbed the silk sheets, scrambling to cover his naked torso. He hated silk sheets. Slick, shiny—it was like sleeping on vaseline. “Uh . . . hi?”

The child scowled. “Are you Mom's new boyfriend?”

“Uh . . .”

“What happened to Gustav?”

Panicking, Paul reached over to the other side of the bed to shake Liz awake. She murmured something unintelligible before turning away from him, taking all the covers with her.

“Shit!” Paul grabbed back some covers to cover his nakedness. “Sorry,” he said to the boy, who looked unfazed. Paul shook Liz harder. “Rise and shine. C'mon.”

Moaning, Liz rolled onto her back, but her eyes remained resolutely shut. Clearly she was not a morning person.

“We've got company,
dear
,” Paul hissed in her ear. Beneath the covers he gave her a sharp poke in ribs.

“Ouch!” Liz yelped, eyes springing open. Turning to Paul, she smiled like the cat who'd eaten the canary, sighing deeply, contentedly. It seemed to take her a few seconds before she realized her son was standing by the bed.

“Gary.” There was displeasure in Liz's voice as she stifled a small yawn. “What are you doing here, sweetie?”

“I'm hungry,” he whined.

“Well, go tell Laurie to fix you some cereal. Could you also be a doll and tell Laurie to make Mumma some nice, strong coffee?” She blew him an air kiss. “Oh, and close the door on your way out, will you, honey? Thanks.”

Gary glared at Paul resentfully before stomping out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Gary can be melodramatic sometimes,” Liz murmured as she gave a big stretch.

“Jesus, Liz! Why didn't you tell me you had a kid?”

“I thought you knew.”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Everyone knows.” She nuzzled against him. “Everyone knows I'm a poor, single woman back in Didsbury after my horrible, painful divorce.”

“I can see the experience really scarred you,” Paul replied, gingerly moving away from her. “By the way, who's Gustav?”

“Gustav?” Liz frowned, as if trying to remember someone from long ago. “Oh, he was Gary's archery instructor. Why?”

“Gary seemed perturbed to find me here instead of him.”

“Gary was very fond of Gustav. I never had the heart to tell him Gustav had to go back to Austria to take over his father's hosiery factory.”

“What a considerate mother you are.” Paul rubbed sleep from his eyes. “And Laurie? Who's she? The nanny?”

“The maid. Lane is the nanny.”

“Yeah, you're a poor single mom, all right. My heart bleeds for you.”

Paul closed his eyes for a moment, trying to take this all in. He shouldn't have come here. Not only was he feeling like a fleet of limos had run him over, but his head was pounding and his mouth tasted like bilge water. Worst of all, he'd let his dick do his thinking. The glowering boy by the bedside was the icing on the cake. All of it was just plain
wrong
.

“Why are you being so mean?” Liz's bottom lip jutted out like a pouty little girl's. “Especially after all the fun we had last night.” She was on him again, an anaconda coiling herself around him in a death grip. “You were good,” she purred. “Even better than you were in high school.”

Paul snorted, affronted.
I sure as hell hope so.

“Liz?” He tried wriggling free but movement made his head pound so he lay back, marshaling his energy. “Don't you care that your son saw you in bed with a strange man? Or that he saw my, you know?”

“Your
what?
Your willy?” Liz guffawed. “Your ding dong? Your johnson? Little Elvis? Can't you even say the
word
, Paul?”

“It's not funny, Liz. Your kid walking in here is totally inappropriate —”

“So spank me.” She bit down softly on his shoulder. “I've been a bad, bad girl.”

Paul much preferred to muzzle her. He took a deep breath, and in one strong, swift motion tried to peel her off him. She was tenacious, sticking to him like a barnacle, but he was stronger. He broke free and in a swift move that sent his pounding head spinning, he leapt out of bed and snatched up his briefs, nearly falling over as he struggled to put them on. He hadn't been hung over this badly in
years
.

Liz frowned, watching him from the bed. “What's the rush? The maid is making Gary breakfast. We have more than enough time for another—”

“No, thanks. I've got places to go, people to see.”

“Like who?”

“The Didsbury Youth Hockey Board. I find out today who I'm coaching.”

“Gary's trying out for hockey,” Liz said brightly. “Maybe you'll wind up being his coach.” She rolled over on her stomach, inching over to where Paul now sat. “You know,” she said, trailing her perfectly manicured nails along his thigh, “I'd be willing to pay you to give Gary some private tutoring on the ice.”

“I don't think so.” He calmly removed her hand as he stood to put his trousers on. “I don't really have time.”

“Not even as a favor to his mother, whose brains you were happy to fuck out last night?”

Paul sighed, sinking back down on the bed. He'd been hoping to get out without having this conversation, but he knew now he was going to have to lay it on the line.

“Liz, look.” He worked to sound apologetic. “Last night was a mistake, okay? We both had too much to drink—”

“
I
didn't.”

“And because of the reunion there was a lot of nostalgia in the air, and—”

“Oh, just fuck off, Paul.” Liz flopped back angrily on the bed.

“What?”

“Don't give me the ‘It was a mistake' speech! You knew what you were getting into when I offered to drive you home! You wanted it as badly as I did!”

Was that true?
Had
he wanted it as badly as she did? He couldn't remember. Post-reunion, the night was one big, sensual blur.

“Fine, you're right,” he admitted to placate her. “But it was just sex. Nothing else.”

“Are you sure? Maybe it was the beginning of something,” she ventured, the hopefulness in her voice making him feel like a total creep.

“Liz.” Paul cradled his head in his hands. She wasn't going to let this go.

“I have an idea.” She reached out, caressing his bare back with her big toe. “Why don't we have dinner tonight?”

“I can't.” Paul stood up abruptly. “I'm at the bar tonight.”

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“
Liz
, I don't want to have dinner with you, okay?”

Anger flashed in her flinty green eyes. “Oh, I get it. I'm good enough to screw, but not good enough to share a meal with.”

“That's bull and you know it.”

“Then prove it. Have dinner with me.”

“Sometime,” he mumbled, hurriedly reaching for his shirt and buttoning it up. Anything to get her off his ass and get the hell out of here. “But not tonight. And not tomorrow night.”

“Then when?”

“I don't know when!” He scooped his jacket up off the floor. “Look, I gotta go.”

“Fuck and run!” Liz snapped. “Some things never change!”

“You got that right,” Paul muttered under his breath. He flung open the bedroom door, hurrying down the immense, winding staircase. Twice his feet nearly went out from under him on the polished marble floor of the foyer. He'd forgotten his socks, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to get out of there in one piece without cracking his skull or running into little Gary with the accusatory eyes. He felt sorry for the kid, having Liz as his mother. But right now, only one thing mattered. Flinging open the front door, he was free.

 

 

“Pee—yew! You stink!”

To drive the point home, Tuck held his nose right there at the breakfast table, until Katie's mother leveled him with one of her disapproving stares and he slunk down in his seat, poking listlessly at his pancakes. Katie, dripping with sweat after her five-mile run, knew Tuck had only been telling the truth. She was beyond pungent; she was downright ripe.

“Sorry,” she apologized, still breathing heavily.

“I don't know why you have to do that,” her mother said, biting into a piece of toast. “Taxing your body that way. Couldn't you just take a nice, brisk walk?”

Katie smiled indulgently. “I could. But running helps clear my head. And it keeps the weight off.”

Each time she ran, she thought back to when she first resolved to lose the weight. It was in college, right after she left Didsbury for good. She started a fitness program in tandem with joining Fat Fighters, of which she was now a lifetime member. Back then, she could barely stroll around the block without getting winded, never mind running. But gradually, she was able to do more and more. Now, she ran a minimum of five miles a day, five times a week. Running was her relaxation, the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement hypnotic as any mantra. It was her time to think, daydream, muse. This morning's run had been no exception.

Flying down the silent, dilapidated streets of her childhood, she went over last night's reunion. Her mind kept circling back to Paul van Dorn, sifting through their words for nuance and inflection. Had he been flirting with her when he said
he
wasn't confused about his masculinity? She wasn't sure. Anyway, why should she care?

“Katie, sit down and have some breakfast with us.”

“In a minute, Mom.”

Stalling for time, she poured herself a glass of cold water, drinking it down slowly to avoid cramps. The breakfast table was laden with toast, sausage, pancakes, eggs—all the foods she loved, all the foods that would make her fat again if she didn't watch it. She didn't want to appear ungracious, but she was going to have to have a chat with her mother about the way she cooked. One year of living in this house again and she'd have to go to a tent maker for her clothing. She had to be vigilant.

She poured herself some coffee and helped herself to some scrambled eggs and a piece of dry toast before sliding into the seat beside Tuck, who held his nose again, shifting his chair slightly away from her. As expected, her mother reacted as if she'd just announced the commencement of a hunger strike.

“That's it? That's all you're having?”

“I just finished a run, Mom. If I eat too much right now, I'll throw up.”

Her mother shook her head before turning to Tuck, tapping her fork on his plate like a gavel-wielding judge. “Eat up, mister. Contrary to what your aunt thinks, a good breakfast is
very
important.”

Tuck didn't look like he needed much convincing. In fact, he was shoveling food into his mouth so fast Katie was afraid he'd choke.

“Nana, look.” He pushed the open newspaper he'd been glancing at over to Katie's mother, pointing at something on the bottom of the page. “That's what I was telling you about.”

Her mother's eyes flicked to the paper before she pushed it back. “We've already discussed this.”

Tuck's face fell. “But—”

“I'm sorry, honey. I just can't afford it.” She rose to wash dishes.

“What is it?” Katie asked Tuck under her breath.

Tuck furtively slid the paper to Katie. At the bottom of the left-hand page was a boxed announcement about tryout times for Didsbury's Youth Hockey League.

“You play hockey?” Katie whispered, surprised.

Tuck nodded fervently.

“Hmm.” Katie skimmed the announcement for the source of her mother's distress, and found it right there on the bottom line in bold: The dues for the year were two hundred fifty dollars. She leaned toward Tuck conspiratorially. “Go blow up some medieval fortress on your computer and I'll talk to Nana about this.”

Katie nodded. “Finish your breakfast first, though.”

Tuck wolfed down the rest of his food. “Nana, I'm done! Can I go play on the computer?”

“Yes, but only for an hour.” Katie's mom turned around to make firm eye contact with her grandson. “Okay?”

“Yes, Nana, love you bye.” Grinning, Tuck flew up the stairs to his room.

“Don't think I don't know what you two were hatching up,” her mother said. “Just because the tap's running, doesn't mean I'm deaf.”

“Mom, I can cover the fee if Tuck really wants to play hockey.”

“There's more than the fee involved, Katie. There's equipment.”

“I'll cover that, too.”

“Made of money now, are we?”

Katie was silent. She knew her mother: The only time she ever resorted to sarcasm was when she felt defensive. It had happened a lot right after her father died and money was especially tight. Her mother must have thought that by offering to cover Tuck's hockey fees, Katie was inferring she wasn't providing well for him.

Removing her hands from the soapy water, her mother wiped them on her apron with a sigh. “I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just”—her voice cracked a little—“hard.”

“What is?” Katie put down her coffee cup. “Talk to me, Mom.”

Tears filled her mother's eyes. “I love having Tuck, I really do. But sometimes I don't have the energy.”

“But I do.” Katie wiped the tear coursing down her mother's cheek with her thumb.

“You have your book to write.”

“I can do both. I told you that was one of the reasons I moved back. To help out with Tuck.”