Page 18 of Perfect Mess

My brain held hostage by bygone memories, I never heard Ralph come in to my apartment. He saw the yearbook open in my lap. “That can’t be good. Please tell me you’re not still obsessing about Jack.”

“Me? Obsessing? Don’t be ridiculous.” I needed an alibi fast. On the yearbook page opposite the prom pictures, there was a group photo of the chess club after they won some sort of prize. Gary Wright was in the picture, so I said, “I was looking up Gary Wright.”

Ralph cocked an eyebrow. “The dungeon master?”

“Dungeon master?” Now my eyebrow raised. After twenty years, thankfully, most of high school, other than Jack Thompson, was a blur. I had almost forgotten that Janet had made us join the Dungeons and Dragons club senior year.

I slid over on the couch and Ralph settled in beside me. We flipped through the pages until we found a group photo under the heading, “Dungeons and Dragons Club.” There I was, in some sort of green tunic and aluminum foil armor, holding a wooden axe in one hand and my crutches in the other. I also had a horned helmet on my head like an acne-faced viking.

“Remember?” Ralph pointed at the picture. “Janet was Periwinkle Bumblefoot, the kindhearted halfling. I was Gwain Goodfellow, the lovable bard. And you were …” Ralph rubbed his chin and looked sideways contemplatively. “Who were you again?”

For the record, Ralph was being an asshole. He knew exactly who I was. He just wanted to hear me say it.

“Gronk,” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Gronk,” I said again. “A half-orc barbarian.”

“Oh, yes.” Ralph’s glee turned to euphoria. “With the pink magic shield.”

“It wasn’t pink, it was purple,” I growled.

Ralph continued thumbing through the yearbook. “Hard to believe Gary’s a painter now. I always figured he’d end up a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon or something.”

“Yeah, well, he may have been one of the smart kids back in high school, but he’s a real screwup now. The next time I see him, I’m going to fire him.” If anyone deserved to be fired, it was Gary Wright. Dumping paint all over me. Trampling my sod. Running up my electric bill. Not to mention, painting my greige wall red! I had already been through five painters. What was one more?

I closed the yearbook and buried it in the back of my closet. The past was the past, and that’s the way I intended to keep it. No more thinking about Jack. And certainly no more thinking about Gary.

For the rest of the night, Ralph and I ate pineapple fried rice and watched scary movies. After Ralph went home, I admit I pulled out my yearbook again. I flipped to the back, where friends and acquaintances scrawled farewell messages. I found Jack’s message. On the very last day of school, he had come over to me and asked if he could sign it. For some reason, I said yes. I stared at it for what seemed like hours. Despite all my best efforts, Jack Thompson still haunted my head.

I’m sorry

Jack

ChapterFive

The next morning, I got up early so I could get over to Aunt Catherine’s house before Gary could do any more damage. As soon as I verified that he finished doing what I had paid him to do, my plan was to fire him on the spot.

Since it was on the way, I swung by the real estate office to grab some paperwork. My inbox was swamped with invoices, and my voicemail was packed with messages. One of my clients wanted to lower her asking price, so I had to go in and edit the listing. One of my mortgage brokers had a question about an application, so I had to track down a tax form. The next thing I knew, it was time to order lunch. Someone suggested tacos so, well, obviously I had to stick around for that.

While I was scraping up the last bit of the guacamole with a tortilla chip, Bonnie, one of my coworkers, told me about her trip to Oahu and how she hiked up the side of a volcano. Not to be outdone, Joyce told us about her cruise to Iceland and how she hiked across a glacier. I explained I didn’t have any vacation plans because I spent all my time renovating my dead Aunt Catherine’s house. I left out the part about being broke and alone, although I’m sure they filled in the blanks.

When I finally made it over to the house and pulled in the driveway, I saw Gary’s van parked on the street. I noted his tires weren’t crushing the grass.Good.What I was not pleased to see was the torrent of water gushing down the driveway.

I threw Charlotte into park and immediately saw the source of the flash flooding. It was a hose, spewing water down my driveway, into the gutter, and then parts unknown down the street. There was so much water the neighbor across the street started building an ark. Or he was just fixing a panel on his fence. One of the two.

I jumped out of Charlotte to investigate. There was a bucket beside the running hose filled with brushes and rags. Things a painter might use. I briefly considered dousing myself so I wouldn’t explode. Following the hose, I found Gary hunched over in the backyard, uncoiling it from the reel.

I froze as soon as I saw him, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe. It was like a supervillain zapped me with a freeze ray.

Gary. Wasn’t. Wearing. A. Shirt.

His overalls were dripping from a clothesline behind him. His boots were propped on the grass. The only thing on his body were paint stained cargo shorts and flip-flops. And the cargo shorts were barely on him. They sagged in the front, revealing the elastic band of his underwear.Fruit of the Loom. Above that, lines of hard muscles climbed up his body to his ribs.

While the outside of my body froze, the inside of my body was very much on fire. My lungs shifted into high gear to take in the sudden gulp of oxygen. My veins had to quadruple their capacity to accommodate all the rushing blood. I don’t know how long I was standing there before he noticed me gawking.

“Mary? You okay?”

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