The Love Sucks Club(13)
“Ass.”
“Totally.”
Standing up, I reach down for my shoes and hold the other hand out to help my friend to her feet. She grabs my hand and heaves herself up. “Hey, look at that. Graceful as a ballerina and I didn’t even spill my beer.”
Two women in bikinis walk by as we’re gathering our things and Sam automatically flexes her muscles. Laughing again, I punch her on one of her flexed muscles. She grins and suddenly, she looks the same as she did when I met her, so many years ago.
“Everything that happens reminds me of something else. Is that a sign that I’m getting old?”
She reaches up and yanks a gray hair from my head. “Naw, this is a sign that you’re getting old.”
Laughing and half-punching each other, we make our way out of the resort and into Sam’s truck. “Look.” She points out the way the leaves along the side of the road are twisting in the wind. “The locals say when the leaves turn upside down on the trees it means a bad hurricane season.”
Ignoring her, I stare out the window until we turn on to my road. At the top of the hill, Sam touches my arm before I get out of the car.
“Should I come in for a little while?”
“No, I need to spend some time writing. Come back around seven and I’ll cook something for dinner.”
“Ah, awesome,” she smiles. “I was trying to decide between spam and cereal.”
“I’ll marinade some shish kebobs and put ‘em on the grill tonight.”
“You give butches a bad name.”
“Your lack of culinary skills are the reason you’re still single.”
“True. I’m amazing in bed, but I can’t cook for shit.”
Nodding, I raise my eyebrow at her. “And sadly, my friend, I have just the opposite problem.”
Laughing again, she gives me one more punch on the arm. “Now get out of my truck, I have shit to do.”
Stepping out of the truck, I wave goodbye and she backs out of my driveway and heads down the dirt road. Staring at my front door, I suddenly feel incredibly vulnerable and very much alone. Well, of course I’m alone. I’m a hermit, after all. I stride into the house, letting the door slam shut behind me. A quick glance in the fridge tells me I have everything I need to make a good dinner for tonight.
I debate for a couple of seconds about whether to sit up on the deck or the living room. Eventually, I decide on my favorite chair in front of the windows where I can see the beauty of the sea and my deck without dealing with the sun glare on my computer. Settling into my chair, I get a creepy feeling up my spine. I look over my shoulder, scanning for something amiss in the apartment. Everything looks normal. The bookshelves are messy and the rest of the house is spotless. There are piles of manuscripts on the floor next to my desk, but the desk itself is shining and free of dust. My only splurge in life is a weekly housekeeper and I love the way she keeps the place sparkling, but I’m a neat person anyway. The creepy feeling persists, though, and I can’t shake it enough to focus my mind on my writing. Getting out of my chair with a huff, I turn around in a full circle. Nothing.
I head down the hall and check out my bedroom, the master bath, the spare bedroom, and the guest bath. Still nothing. Coming back into the kitchen, the way I came into the house, I spot an envelope sitting on the counter. I’m a little surprised that I hadn’t noticed it before, but not shocked. I do have a lot of paperwork on the island. So, why do I feel so creeped out? Stepping a bit closer, I spy my name on the front and in an instant, I recognize the handwriting. Voldemort. Seriously. What the fuck does she want, anyway? Grabbing the envelope, I consider throwing it into the shredder unopened, but curiosity has the best of me. I tear into it and pull out the letter.
Dear Dana,
Just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to quit drinking and turn my life around. Thanks for sticking by me for so long. As part of my twelve steps, I mean to make amends to people I hurt. I know I wasn’t as good a partner as I could have been because I didn’t help with the housework very much. To make amends, I’ll come clean your house on the day of your choosing. Have a great day.
It was signed with her name and the J was swirled and curled with a flourish as if the very act of writing the letter had given her a sense of joy and accomplishment. I crumple it up and throw it at the wall. Seconds later, I’m retrieving it and flattening it out. If nothing else, I’m going to have to show this to Sam. The housework? The housework, really? Thinking back on all of the hell I went through with that woman, the idea of her apologizing to me for not helping with the housework strikes me as both impossibly maddening and ridiculously funny. And how can she be going through the twelve steps when Sam saw her trashed at the resort’s beach side bar just a couple of days ago? Suddenly, I’m struck by a fit of giggles that leaves me struggling for air and nearly choking. Housework. I’m overcome, laughing until tears are streaming down my face. I go back to my favorite chair and ease into a comfortable spot in front of my computer. If nothing else, the years with Voldemort has given me tons of fodder for short stories about horrible girlfriends. Now, apparently, I can branch into comedy. I’m still laughing as I settle in to write.