"She says she won't have time, and asked me to take care of it. And I have no idea what to do."
I thought he was overreacting, but I let him drag me back to the house and he was right: the presents were taking over the house. The professor had started piling them in the dining room, and had run out of room. The living room was filling up fast, and some of the larger things were overflowing into the den.
"I wish Eileen had mentioned this," I said. "This would have been a lot easier to deal with gradually."
I promised him that I'd come around tomorrow to unpack and inventory the presents. So much for taking the weekend off.
Saturday, June 25
I was already in a bad mood when I showed up at the Donleavys' to unpack and inventory the presents. Imagine my dismay when the front door was opened, not by Eileen's father but by Barry.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were in Richmond with Steven and Eileen."
"Helped set up," he said, with shrug. "Don't need me till tomorrow afternoon. It's only two hours."
Wonderful. Well, if Barry was going to be underfoot, I was going to do my damnedest to see he didn't enjoy it. First I had him move all the presents from the dining room into the living room. Then I had him bring in a few at a time. I unwrapped them--what was wrong with Eileen, anyway? Present opening wasn't work unless they were someone else's presents--and made up an index card with a description of each present and the name and address of each giver. It took hours. Even Barry began showing signs of restlessness toward the end.
"That's it," I said finally. "I guess I should take the index cards with me; they'll only get lost around here."
I turned to leave the dining room only to encounter an obstacle. A very large obstacle. Barry's arm.
"Don't go yet," he said.
"I have things to do, Barry," I said, backing slightly away from the arm. "Let me go."
"Stay here," he said. I backed up a little further, against the dining room wall, which was stupid, because it gave him the chance to put an arm on either side of me. I looked up and saw on his face the unmistakable, slightly glassy-eyed look of a man who has made up his mind to make his move. The sort of look that sends pleasant shivers down your spine when you see it on the face of the right man. And on the wrong man, makes you mentally kick yourself and wonder why the hell you didn't see this coming and head it off.
"Don't even think of it," I said.
He reached up to take my chin in one hand. I put my hand against his chest and shoved slightly.
"Go away," I said.
He didn't budge. I felt suddenly a little afraid. Barry was so much larger than me, and stronger, and so aggressively determined, and Steven and Eileen were not around to provide a calming influence ... and then a wave of temper replaced the fear.
"I mean it, Barry. Move it or lose it."
He leaned a little closer.
I mentally shrugged, grabbed his arm with both hands, and twisted. Hard.
"Owwwwwwwwww!" he yelled, and jumped back, nursing his arm. Thanks to self-defense courses, I knew exactly how to do it. Thanks to my iron-working, I'm strong for my size. And I'm not small. Barry glared at me, resentfully.
"You didn't have to do that," he said, taking a small step closer. "What's wrong?"
I lost it.
"What's wrong!" I yelled. "What's wrong! I told you to let me go, and I meant it. Did you think I was kidding? Flirting with you, maybe?"
"Don't be like that, Meg," he said, taking another step closer.
I grabbed a candlestick off the buffet. A nice, heavy iron candlestick that wouldn't fall apart if you banged it around a little. I should know; I made it. I got a good two-handed grip on it and waved it at Barry.
"Come one step closer and I'll use this," I said.
Barry paused, not sure what to do. "Am I interrupting anything?"
I glanced at the doorway to see Michael. He hadn't adopted his usual pose of leaning elegantly against the frame with one hand in his pocket. He was standing on the balls of his feet, looking wary, alert, a little like a cat about to pounce. More than a little dangerous.
"Barry was just leaving," I said. Barry looked back and forth between Michael and me. I gestured to the door with the candlestick. Barry finally slouched out.
I put the candlestick down and sank into a chair.
"That was stupid," I said.
"I thought it was rather impressive. Remind me not to bet against you in an arm-wrestling contest."
"Yeah, I'm stronger than I look," I said. "Fringe benefit of my career."
"I didn't realize pottery was quite so strenuous."
"I'm not a potter; I'm a blacksmith."
"You're what?"