Comes out here every now and then to fish, hang out. Mainly to get away from his wife. He left his food.”
Sam let out a restless sigh. “I need to go to the store, I’m hungry.” He shoved the fridge door closed. “Do you think you’ll be okay till I get back?”
“I’ll be just fine, go on now.” Marcie smiled until she realized he expected her to clean the fridge. Her smile faded.
Sam started to say something and then stopped, while he walked across the old hardwood floor straight toward her. “Come here. I need you to stay out of sight. Don’t go out and keep the door closed. Bolt it after I leave and don’t open it for anyone. Not until you hear my voice. Understand?”
“Yes sir.” Strong working man hands touched her shoulders and slid down her bare arms before he turned away.
“I’ll try to hurry.”
Marcie followed, still tingling from his touch. After she bolted the door, she leaned her back against the rough wood listening to the Camaro’s rumble as he revved the engine and drove away. She wondered for a moment where his head was. He’d been so angry earlier. He blamed her for this mess. Yet here he is touching her in such a possessive way. He cares for you.
She closed her eyes to block out the voice, letting go a sigh while she wandered back to the steep stairs. Something about that door urged her to find a way in. She felt the words in her head more than she heard them. Up here, open the door . She glanced behind her, downright spooked. She heard nothing now, but when she peeked at that attic door, she knew she needed to find a way in.
There were three tiny drawers in the bare bones kitchen. Marcie yanked open each one, rummaging through old utensils and junk until she found a long metal prong. “A chicken skewer, that’ll work.” She bounded up the rough wooden steps. “Okay, so this is easy right?” She turned the glass knob and pressed the metal prong in the lock and jiggled. Then somehow she fumbled her grip and stabbed herself with the pointy skewer in the soft pad at the base of her thumb. The shiny metal landed with a clang and clattered down three stairs. “Damn, damn, shit that hurts.” She cradled her throbbing hand, while blood oozed out of a small round puncture, splattering the top step. Her energy zapped; she picked up the skewer and hunkered down the stairs where she rinsed her burning wound under a huge single tap in the oversized porcelain sink.
“Now how am I supposed to open the door?”
* * * *
Sam knocked and waited with a plastic bag filled with dinner and groceries. Marcie’s soft padded footsteps approached. The bolt clanked when she slid it open. Sam sniffed at the fragrant tang of vinegar. The fridge door was propped open by a white plastic jug. She’d been busy.
“What did you do with all the crap in the fridge?”
She walked ahead of him and knelt down on her bare knees, picking up a rag on the bottom shelf, sticking her head in the rounded fridge. He couldn’t help appreciating the wiggle of her bottom and the way it made a simple pair of shorts drive him to the point he wanted to give her derriere an intimate and friendly squeeze. “I threw all of it in a garbage bag I found in the cupboard and dumped it in the can around back.”
His blood heated as he set down the groceries on the small wooden table. “Dammit Marcie, what’d I tell you? Didn’t I say stay out of sight; don’t open the door to anyone?”
She froze, tossing the silky mane of endless hair tumbling over her shoulders and then stood up blinking. She clutched a pathetic checkered rag and tilted her chin in a determined way. Keeping her words even and very matter of fact. “But I didn’t open the door to anyone, and I made sure no one saw me. I was careful. I looked around both ways before I went out. There was no one around.”
He wanted to throw his hands up and yell, but instead he stomped to the door, jerked it open, flinging the screen door wide until it smacked the
Sam let out a restless sigh. “I need to go to the store, I’m hungry.” He shoved the fridge door closed. “Do you think you’ll be okay till I get back?”
“I’ll be just fine, go on now.” Marcie smiled until she realized he expected her to clean the fridge. Her smile faded.
Sam started to say something and then stopped, while he walked across the old hardwood floor straight toward her. “Come here. I need you to stay out of sight. Don’t go out and keep the door closed. Bolt it after I leave and don’t open it for anyone. Not until you hear my voice. Understand?”
“Yes sir.” Strong working man hands touched her shoulders and slid down her bare arms before he turned away.
“I’ll try to hurry.”
Marcie followed, still tingling from his touch. After she bolted the door, she leaned her back against the rough wood listening to the Camaro’s rumble as he revved the engine and drove away. She wondered for a moment where his head was. He’d been so angry earlier. He blamed her for this mess. Yet here he is touching her in such a possessive way. He cares for you.
She closed her eyes to block out the voice, letting go a sigh while she wandered back to the steep stairs. Something about that door urged her to find a way in. She felt the words in her head more than she heard them. Up here, open the door . She glanced behind her, downright spooked. She heard nothing now, but when she peeked at that attic door, she knew she needed to find a way in.
There were three tiny drawers in the bare bones kitchen. Marcie yanked open each one, rummaging through old utensils and junk until she found a long metal prong. “A chicken skewer, that’ll work.” She bounded up the rough wooden steps. “Okay, so this is easy right?” She turned the glass knob and pressed the metal prong in the lock and jiggled. Then somehow she fumbled her grip and stabbed herself with the pointy skewer in the soft pad at the base of her thumb. The shiny metal landed with a clang and clattered down three stairs. “Damn, damn, shit that hurts.” She cradled her throbbing hand, while blood oozed out of a small round puncture, splattering the top step. Her energy zapped; she picked up the skewer and hunkered down the stairs where she rinsed her burning wound under a huge single tap in the oversized porcelain sink.
“Now how am I supposed to open the door?”
* * * *
Sam knocked and waited with a plastic bag filled with dinner and groceries. Marcie’s soft padded footsteps approached. The bolt clanked when she slid it open. Sam sniffed at the fragrant tang of vinegar. The fridge door was propped open by a white plastic jug. She’d been busy.
“What did you do with all the crap in the fridge?”
She walked ahead of him and knelt down on her bare knees, picking up a rag on the bottom shelf, sticking her head in the rounded fridge. He couldn’t help appreciating the wiggle of her bottom and the way it made a simple pair of shorts drive him to the point he wanted to give her derriere an intimate and friendly squeeze. “I threw all of it in a garbage bag I found in the cupboard and dumped it in the can around back.”
His blood heated as he set down the groceries on the small wooden table. “Dammit Marcie, what’d I tell you? Didn’t I say stay out of sight; don’t open the door to anyone?”
She froze, tossing the silky mane of endless hair tumbling over her shoulders and then stood up blinking. She clutched a pathetic checkered rag and tilted her chin in a determined way. Keeping her words even and very matter of fact. “But I didn’t open the door to anyone, and I made sure no one saw me. I was careful. I looked around both ways before I went out. There was no one around.”
He wanted to throw his hands up and yell, but instead he stomped to the door, jerked it open, flinging the screen door wide until it smacked the
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