Smitten

Eight

Lizabeth dropped a cotton nightshirt over her head. She fluffed the pillows on her bed, turned down the sheet and summer comforter, and set the alarm. What she needed was a good night's sleep in her nice comfy bed, she thought. She needed space, some time to think. And she needed rest. She crawled into bed and groaned out loud as her spine relaxed and her bare legs slid between the cool sheets. The sound of swearing carried to her from down the hall. There was a loud crash and more swearing. A door opened and then slammed shut. It was Matt. Now what? What more could possibly go wrong? They had snapped at each other all through supper. After supper she had refused to go riding on his motorcycle, and he had refused to watch Out of Africa, saying it was a sissy movie. Now he was stomping around like a bear wearing lead boots.

Matt looked at her closed door and counted to ten. Calm yourself, he said. You know how she hates violence. You know how she hates when you lose control and go running around naked. Okay, he had that one covered. He'd put on a pair of pajama bottoms.

He knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

He sucked in a lungful of air. "I have to talk to you."

"I'm tired. Can't we talk tomorrow?"

"No. We can't talk tomorrow. We have to talk now."

"I don't want to talk now." She didn't want to talk to someone who called Out of Africa a sissy movie. And he'd implied her mashed potatoes were lumpy. And he'd yelled at Ferguson just because Ferguson had eaten his shoe. And more than that, she wasn't up to having him in her bedroom. She couldn't get a grip on Her emotions. There was love and fear and anger all jumbled together, and she couldn't stop them from tumbling out. Ever since last night she had been saying things she regretted, and yet, she kept saying them.

He did some deep breathing, counted to ten again, tried the doorknob, and found it was locked. More deep breathing. More counting to ten. "Oh hell," he said. He gave the door a good kick and broke the lock.

Lizabeth sprang up to a sitting position, too astonished to be angry. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open. "You broke my door!"

Now that he had kicked something he was feeling much better. He was even able to speak without shouting-just barely. "That isn't all I've broken. I've also broken Jason's bed. I don't fit in a twin size-"

"Have you tried the couch?"

"Ferguson's sleeping on the couch." He slapped the spare pillow into shape and turned back the sheet.

Lizabeth felt panic claw at her throat. "You're not sleeping here!"

"The hell I'm not." He rolled in beside her and gave something that was close to a growl. "I don't fit in this bed either. Every bed in this house was designed for midgets."

"I didn't hear you complaining last night."

"Last night I wasn't interested in sleeping."

"And I suppose the only thing you have on your mind tonight is sleeping?"

"You got it."

How insulting! They'd been married for less than twenty-four hours and he wanted to go to sleep. Of course, it wasn't a real marriage, but it was insulting all the same. She glared down at him. "Well, since you don't fit in this bed you might as well go somewhere else. Why don't you go kick Billy's door down and ruin his bed."

"Don't push me, Liz. I'm a man on the edge."

She gave him a long, considering look and decided to let him teeter. "Hmmm," she said, slithering down beside him.

"What's 'hmmm' supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just hmmmm." She shut the light off and smiled in the darkness, deciding she liked having him next to her. She liked the way his warmth cut through her nightgown. She liked listening to him breathe, liked the way he made her feel safe from whatever terrors the night might hold. Now that she had a chance to reconsider, she might even like to make love to him. " "Night," she whispered, rustling closer as she turned her back, not so Innocently snuggling her bottom into his hip.

He didn't respond. He couldn't. Not without giving himself away. He'd made a colossal mistake. He'd been hurt when she'd suggested he sleep in Jason's room. As the night wore on he'd become more and more frustrated. The bed had been the last straw, but in all honesty, if he hadn't been thrashing around in a snit, the bed would never have collapsed. Now he was next to her, and he was miserable. He'd told her he was only interested in sleeping. Yeah, he thought, and cows can fly. Every muscle in his body felt as if it were tied in knots. He was hard-everywhere. And he was supposed to sleep?

He turned toward her and put his hand to her waist, feeling the flare of her hip. She would have been pretty when she was a teenager, he decided. But as a fully grown woman she was magnificent. Her breasts were full, her nipples large and dark from nursing two children, and her lips were as soft as her breasts. He liked the way she tipped her head back and laughed deep in her throat. Honest laughter. And he liked the way she made love to him. Honest loving. His thumb stroked over the ridge of hipbone. "Lizabeth?"

She twisted in his arms until she was facing him, her breasts brushing against his bare chest, her face inches from his.

Matt feathered his lips against her forehead when he spoke. "I think our marriage hasn't gotten off to a good start."

"I've noticed that, but I don't know how to fix it. Maybe it's unfixable." Sometimes love just Isn't enough, she thought. Sometimes there were differences that couldn’t be bridged. Sometimes there were personalities that couldn't adapt. Some people simply weren't meant to be married. Maybe she was one of those people. The possibility brought a new rush of sadness, and she sought solace from it in Matt's embrace. She was tired of being sad. She had spent too many sad nights with Paul. She raised her mouth to Matt, and her lips trembled when he kissed her. Lord, how she loved him. if they had only met at another time- when the boys were grown, or before they'd been born. His kisses were gentle but persistent. His hands moved under her nightshirt and the feel of his calloused palm on her bare belly pulled her away from thought. Desire warmed her, drugged her. She gave herself up to it. needing to be part of him for a little while longer.

Lizabeth woke to the aroma of coffee brewing and the smoky smell of bacon frying. It was six A.M. and responsibility lay heavy on her. So heavy she could barely open her eyes or raise her arms. She was going to have to cut Matt out of her life, and the wound was going to be unbearably painful and impossible to heal. She'd been a fool to let things go this far. She'd had some misgivings before-silly ones about tattoos and education, but when Paul left with her kids it had triggered an anxiety attack that had raised serious, legitimate questions. When you combined the serious questions with the silly misgivings it didn't seem like the relationship had much of a chance for long-term success. She was a mother. That was the bottom line. And the mothering part of her was strong. So strong there was a tendency for it to squeeze out everything else. Perhaps because all her life she'd been Mac's daughter or Paul's wife, now she couldn't keep herself from being Jason and Billy's mother. She'd make a terrible wife. She didn't know how to divide herself up so that there was some for Billy and Jason, and some for Matt, and some for Lizabeth. Matt would be neglected, she thought. In a small corner of her mind she couldn't help compare Matt to Paul and wonder if Matt would eventually find comfort in other women. Even as she thought these things, a tear trickled down her cheek, and she wasn't sure if it was for Jason or Billy or Matt or herself.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and she absently wondered if it was the police chasing down the flasher. No, she decided, the flasher wouldn't be running around at six in the morning. Anyway, there were too many sirens. She could hear the throaty blast of air horns now. Fire trucks. And they were getting closer. She got out of bed and dragged herself to Elsie's room at the front of the house. She looked out the window and watched the trucks turn onto Gainsborough. They swung wide at the corner and headed In her direction, lights flashing. She looked down the street, hut saw no evidence of a fire. No smoke. No flames. No unusual activity. Two large trucks and a smaller rescue vehicle stopped in front of her house. She could feel the vibration of the engines deep in her chest, felt the lights pulsing against her nightshirt.

They were obviously lost. Someone's house was burning to the ground and the firemen were lost. Who cares, Lizabeth thought. She was depressed. She wasn't even sure she'd care if it were her house that was burning. That was when she smelted the smoke. That was when she noticed her eyes were smarting. That was when Matt opened the front door just below her and waved to the firemen. The lethargy Instantly lifted and was replaced with panic. "Matt! What's going on?" she shouted.

He looked up at her. "HI, honey. Don't worry. Everything's okay. I just burned the bacon a little." Did she believe that?

"What are these fire trucks doing here?"

"The bacon kept smoldering. And I figured better safe than sorry." He flashed her a reassuring smile.

One of the firemen rushed past Matt. He was in full protective gear, carrying a fire extinguisher. He grinned and shook his head at Matt. "Burned the bacon a little? Man, I got a look at the back of this house when we turned the corner. You barbecued your kitchen! You're In big trouble. She's gonna kick your butt all the way around the block."

Matt grinned back at him. "So, you think she'll notice the damage?"

Lizabeth raced down the stairs, struggling to get her arms into her bathrobe as she ran. She came to an abrupt halt at the kitchen. It was black. Black soot on the walls. Black soot on the ceiling. And the stove and part of the back wall were charred. Foam dripped from counters and appliances and grimy water flooded the floor.

"Nice work," one of the firemen said to Matt. "Use your garden hose?"

"Only after it spread to the outside wall."

Everyone looked at Lizabeth. She was standing perfectly still, her arms hanging limp at her sides, her shoulders slightly slumped. The silence was as thick as the foam on the stove. Finally, she spoke. "I want almond-colored appliances," she said. "Pot-scrubber dishwasher and self-cleaning oven. Butcher-block countertops. I think I'll wallpaper the walls. I always thought a small print would look nice in here."

By ten o'clock a cleaning crew arrived, followed by the electrician, and at eleven-thirty Grimm's Appliances delivered a range, dishwasher, state-of-the-art refrigerator, and microwave. Lizabeth was glad Matt was in the construction business. She would have had to wait weeks for a new toaster to be delivered.

Matt and Ferguson sat on the front porch, eating Oreos. "Guess I'm not so handy In the kitchen," Matt said to the dog. "I Just never paid much attention to cooking before. No one ever cooked for me when I was a kid. Hey, don't worry about it. I got along okay. Look how big I grew." He took the top off an Oreo and gave it to Ferguson and kept the part with the icing for himself. "Sometimes my sister Mary Ann would cook, but it was mostly from cans or hamburgers. Nothing fancy like bacon." He separated another cookie. This time Ferguson got the good part. "I know what you're thinking. I lived in that town house for ten years, I should have learned how to cook bacon, but jeez, who would have thought the grease would catch fire like that?" He put a confiding arm around the dog. "Just between you and me, my mind was wandering. You got a girlfriend, Ferguson? Maybe you're too young. Well, let me tell you, women can be damn distracting. And wonderful," he added softly. He thoughtfully munched on an Oreo. "Lizabeth is special. You're a lucky dog to be living with Lizabeth."

Miller's Furniture truck pulled up at the curb, and Lizabeth came running to the front door. "What's that furniture truck doing here? Matt! You didn't buy furniture, did you?"

"It's a bed," Matt said, handing the bag of cookies over to Ferguson. "I couldn't spend another night in that little bitty bed you're got."

"You should have asked me."

"You would have said no."

"Exactly." Lizabeth napped her arms. "I don't want a new bed. I can't afford a new bed."

"I bought the bed."

"Matt, that's very sweet of you, but I can't let you buy me a bed. I mean a bed isn't like a bag of doughnuts. Men don't just go around giving beds to women. I didn't mind you advancing me money for the appliances, because I know my insurance will cover it. But a bed! You can't give me a bed."

Andy Miller and Zak Szlagy carried a metal bed frame and a queen-size box spring into the house.

"Stop!" Lizabeth said. "I didn't order this."

"It's already paid for, lady," Andy said. "S'cuse me. This goes upstairs?"

Lizabeth followed after them. "I haven't room for another bed. What will I do with my double?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll take care of the double. Why don't you put it in this room where the bed looks broken?"

"Fine. Do it." Her mind went racing ahead. If she didn't replace the linoleum in the kitchen she could probably cover the cost of the bed with the insurance money.

"We have to talk," Lizabeth said to Matt. "You have to go."

"Go where?"

"Go home. To your home. This isn't working. Every day I fall a little bit deeper in love with you, and every day it becomes more and more obvious that it isn't going to work."

She was in love with him! Deeper in love with him every day. He thought his heart might jump right out of his chest. Unfortunately, she was mad at him. He couldn't figure out exactly why she was mad at him, but he decided to go with it. "All I did was buy a bed."

"It's me. I can't…" Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm not ready for marriage, and I can't let myself get pushed into something just because the neighbors saw you naked."

"Okay. I can live with that. I don't want you feeling pressured into anything as important as marriage. But I'm not leaving."

"What?" He wasn't teasing or flirting or being difficult. He looked deadly serious, and Lizabeth didn't think that was a good sign.

"I'm not leaving you alone in this house until the flasher's caught."

Lizabeth stuffed her hands on her hips. "Listen, mister, this is my house, and I'm kicking you out!"

"Oh yeah? You and who else?"

"Me and nobody else. I'm doing it all by myself. I'm…" Her attention was diverted by a delivery truck from Kantweillers Department Store.

A young boy jumped from the truck and walked across the front yard. He handed Lizabeth a box and a clipboard. "Sign here, please."

"I don't get it," Lizabeth said. "Now what?" She sat down on the porch step and carefully opened the box. Inside was a slightly smaller box wrapped in white-and-silver paper, with a card taped to the top. "Omigod," she said, reading the card. "It's a wedding gift from Emma Newsome!"

Matt unwrapped the box. "Hey, it's a waffle iron. This is great. You know how to make waffles?"

Lizabeth sat on her big new bed all by herself. She had the oak chest of drawers pushed in front of her door, but so far it was unnecessary. Matt hadn't shown any interest in breaking her door down. He'd gone off to the job site shortly after the waffle iron was delivered and hadn't returned until six o'clock, when he'd arrived with bags of burgers and French fries. He'd made polite conversation and gone to work in the kitchen, pulling out the old cabinets. It was after twelve now, and the house was quiet. Lizabeth thought it felt lonely. She thought it wasn't a house that was comfortable with quiet. It needed noisy children and dogs that stole pot roasts. Even Ferguson seemed subdued today. And the flasher had moved on to greener pastures. He hadn't shown up last night, for the first time in five days. Probably because word got out that she was married.

She smoothed the new quilt and wiggled her toes. She couldn't sleep. She wasn't tired, and she was afraid if she turned the light off the sadness would overwhelm her, and she'd burst into tears. She had to keep busy. That was the clue to surviving, she'd decided. She could watch television, but the television and the VCR were downstairs, on the other side of the blocked door. She picked up the book she'd been reading. A love story. Not tonight. She got up and looked out the window. Her yard was dark and empty. She paced in the room. Okay, so suppose she wasn't locked up in her room. What would she do? For the first time in ten years she was alone with time on her hands. She needed a hobby. She used to knit when she was in college, but it no longer appealed to her. Gardening was good, but it was too dark to garden now. It was pretty much wasted effort. anyway, since Ferguson dug everything up. She cracked her knuckles and paced faster. Maybe athletics was the answer. She began to jog in place. This wasn't so bad. She'd planned to get into shape this summer anyway. She checked her clock. Five minutes. She was barely sweating. Not enough of a challenge. She needed to get out on the road. She pulled a pair of jogging shorts from her bottom drawer and three minutes later was lacing up her running shoes. She pushed the chest away from the door and carefully, quietly tiptoed down the hall. She was at the top of the stairs when she heard Matt's door open.

"Going somewhere?"

"Running."

Matt grinned at her. "Got excess energy?"

'I've decided to get into shape."

"At one o'clock in the morning?"

"One o'clock in the morning is a great time to run," Lizabeth said. "It's cooler, and you don't have to wear sunscreen, and there isn't any traffic."

"I don't think this is a good idea. There are weird people out there."

"This is a family neighborhood. Ill be perfectly safe."

Matt groaned. This was from the woman who thought the flasher was a nice guy. "Wait a minute, and I'll run with you."

"I don't want you to run with me."

Half an hour later Lizabeth's shirt was soaked through. Her hair hung in wet ringlets and her cheeks were flushed as she plodded beside Matt. "Are we almost home?"

"Three more blocks," Matt said. "You want to stop and walk a while?"

"Why aren't you tired? Why am I the only one sweating?"

"Guess I'm in better shape than you."

Lizabeth wiped her face with the sleeve of her T-shirt. "Yeah, baking cookies isn't exactly a heavy aerobic workout."

"Maybe not, but I bet it's fun."

There was something about his voice that caught her attention. "Haven't you ever baked cookies?"

"Nope. My cookies come already baked. Hey, I have a terrific idea. Maybe we could work out a talent trade. You could teach me to bake cookies, and I could help you exercise."

Lizabeth stopped running. She put her hands at her hips and bent forward, trying to catch her breath. "You'd do that?"

"I'd like to learn how to make pancakes too. I tried once, but they stuck to the pan. And mashed potatoes…"

"You don't know how to make mashed potatoes?" It was hard for her to believe he'd been on his own for ten years and never learned how to mash potatoes. She was beginning to understand all the fast-food bags in his bedroom,

"Learning how to cook is sort of like losing your virginity," he said. "You reach an age where it's embarrassing to ask someone to teach you how to go about it."

"I've never thought of it exactly that way, but I suppose you're right." She took a couple of deep breaths. "I think I'm ready. Let's try some more running."

They turned onto Gainsborough and Matt put a restraining hand on Lizabeth's arm, holding her back. "There's someone in the side yard of that gray Cape Cod."

"That's the Hoopers' house." Lizabeth looked In the direction of the Cape Cod just in time to see a flashlight blink on and sweep a second-story window. "Omigod."

Matt could clearly see the man. He was dressed in dark sweatpants, was wearing a paper bag mask, and was climbing up the side of the house on a ladder. Matt felt himself tense, felt his adrenaline kick in. "I'm gonna get this guy," he whispered.

He moved forward like a large eat, running noiselessly, and Lizabeth wondered where he'd learned to move with such stealth and power. He was across the street in seconds. The man was about to enter the window when he saw Matt charging. The man shrieked, jumped from the ladder, and ran. Matt chased after him, Lizabeth following.

"What's going on?" Mabel Hooper called from her bedroom window. "Who's out there?"

Lizabeth could hear the men crashing through bushes in front of her. They were running through backyards, trampling hedges of forsythia, leveling an occasional tomato plant. Dogs barked. House lights blazed up and down the street. The two men broke out into a stretch of open grass. Lizabeth saw Matt leap forward and tackle the fleeing man. She reached them just as Matt shone the flashlight in his face. "Oh dear," Lizabeth said; "It's Mr. Hooper."

"He was robbing his own house?"

Ed Hooper scrambled to his feet. "Who do you think you are anyway, Rambo?" He put his hand to his heart. "Scared me half to death. Jeez, don't you have anything better to do than run around the neighborhood in the middle of the night? Why aren't you home in bed like a normal person?"

Matt grabbed him. "What the hell were you doing climbing the ladder with a bag over your head?"

"It was my wife's idea. She took one of those magazine quizzes and only got two out of twenty points for sexual excitement. She figured it might be exciting if I pretended to be the flasher. She figured this would push her into the top ten percent."

Matt clapped his hand on Ed Hooper's shoulder. "Mr. Hooper, this is a family neighborhood. I don't think you should be playing games in your backyard. Keep It in the bedroom, okay?"

"I guess you're right," Ed Hooper said. "You need an extra grill for Saturday?"

"I feel a little silly," Matt said on the way home.

"I thought you handled that very nicely. You know, you're pretty conservative for a guy who has a tattoo and a motorcycle."

When they got back to the house a taxi was parked at the curb and the driver was unloading suitcases. Elsie and the boys stood on the sidewalk.

Jason was the first to see Lizabeth. "Mom!" he shouted. "Look at us. We're home!"

"Six hours in a taxi cab," Elsie said. "I feel like Humpty Dumpty when he fell off the wall. All the king's horses and all the king's men ain't never gonna get me back together again." She squinted at Lizabeth. "You two sure worked up a sweat. What are you doing out here?"

"Running," Lizabeth said. "Great cardiovascular exercise."

"It's two o'clock in the morning."

"No traffic this time of the night," Matt said.

Elsie grabbed her suitcase and headed for the house. "I just want to go to bed. I'm going to have a nice tall glass of cold milk and go to bed and sleep for a thousand years."

Lizabeth ran after her. "There's something I should explain to you about the kitchen."

"Tomorrow. I'm too tired to listen tonight." She hauled her suitcase through the front door and came to an abrupt halt when she saw the new refrigerator, gently defrosting in the living room. "What the devil?"

"It's only temporary," Lizabeth said. "We're remodeling."

Jason ran on ahead. "Oh man, look at this! Someone trashed the kitchen.".

Billy was right behind him. "Boy, I'm glad I didn't do this. We're talking Cinder City here."

"It was a meteor," Matt said. "It came right through the window. I was standing there, minding my own business, cooking bacon, and this meteor landed on the frying pan and set the bacon on fire."

Lizabeth hugged Billy and Jason. "I'm glad to see you, but why are you home so soon?"

Elsie snorted. "Turned out Paul wanted the boys down there because they were having this big picnic to kick off his candidacy for governor. Paul thought it would look good if he had a family image. You know, Mr. Mom sort of thing."

"It was supposed to be Saturday, and it would have been boring," Jason said. "Everything Dad does is boring."

"You were only there for one day!" Lizabeth poured a glass of juice for her son. "How could everything be so boring in just one day?"

Jason giggled. "Dad said it was the longest day of his life."

"You don't seem too upset by it."

"It was kinda fun," Billy said. "First of all, Jason got air-sick and threw up on Dad in the airport, and there were all these photographers who took their picture. Then when we got to the house, someone put a sweat sock in the toilet…"

"It wasn't me," Jason said. "I swear it wasn't me."

"Anyway, the toilet overflowed, and there was toilet water everywhere. Dad yelled at Aunt Elsie and said she was incompetent, and Aunt Elsie told Dad what she thought he should do with the sock when he got it out of the toilet. It was great, Mom. You should have been there."

"Anything else?"

"It sort of went downhill after that," Elsie said.

Jason drank his juice and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Billy and I were going to get up early and make Dad breakfast in bed, but Dad didn't have any good cereal. He didn't have Fruit Loops or Cap'n Crunch or anything."

Elsie had her lips pressed tight together, trying not to laugh. "So they made him an egg. In the microwave. Just put the raw egg in there and exploded it! Lord, what a mess. I've never seen anything like It."

"I didn't know it would explode," Jason said. "I swear I didn't know it would explode."

Lizabeth looked at her younger son and raised an eyebrow. "Did you get to go swimming?"

"Yeah, but they have all these rules. You can't swim here and you can't swim there. And you have to stand still while you're waiting in line. And you can't run. They don't let you take any toys into the water. Not even a ball. And they make you practice swimming the whole time. You never get to have any fun."

Billy grinned at his brother. "It was fun when you dumped Dad in the pool!"

"Oh yeah!" Jason said. "Mom, he did the most awesome belly flop!"

"He was swimming with you?" Lizabeth asked. Didn't sound like the Paul she knew.

"No," Billy said. "He came to see how we were doing, and he had on this white suit and blue shirt with a red tie, and Jason dumped him in the water. Man, was he mad! And there were all these photographers there who took their picture."

"It was an accident," Jason said. "I slipped getting out of the pool and grabbed Dad's pants leg."

Lizabeth smiled at Jason. "I'm afraid to ask about the tennis lesson."

'The tennis lesson wasn't so bad," Elsie said. "But you probably want to get some rest before you hear about dinner."

"I can't believe he sent you home after just one day."

Elsie headed for the stairs. "Paul said he could see things weren't going to work out like he planned."

"Well, I'm sorry your vacation was cut short, but it's nice to have you back," Lizabeth said.

"We would have been home sooner," Billy told her, "but we missed the plane because Dad smashed his thumb in the car door. He had to go to the emergency room and have a hole drilled in his thumbnail. Boy, can he cuss!"

"That’s when he called a cab," Jason said. "He said he didn't care what it cost, he was going to make sure we got back to Pennsylvania."