Page 22 of Perfect Mess

“Oh no. I don’t like small spaces. Or dark spaces. Or spaces with cats.”

Meow

“We can’t just leave it there,” said Gary. “What if it gets trapped and then starves to death? That would be horrible.”

“Good point,” I admitted. “Dead cat smell is a real turnoff for potential buyers.”

“I meant horrible for the cat.” Clearly Gary had never smelled dead cat before. I hadn’t either, but I caught a whiff of wet cat once and I could only imagine that dead cat was even worse.

“I’ll watch your back,” Gary said. “Promise.” He flashed a smile that was supposed to be reassuring, but instead of being reassuring, I found it disappointing.

I much preferred the idea of watching Gary’s back instead of him watching mine. “Fine.”

We switched positions, playing limbo with a beam. As Gary slid past me, we found ourselves pressed against each other, face to face. With no air circulation up there, his Yale T-shirt was damp with sweat.Maybe he should take that shirt off again.

I was so distracted by the thought of Gary taking his shirt off, I almost missed the flash of fur streaking through the darkness.

Meow

“Grab it!” Gary pointed.

I spun on my heels to snatch it.

Whack

My forehead smashed into a two by four. The world spun. Off balance and dazed, I reeled backward, falling between two of the ceiling joists.

Crunch

When I looked down, I saw my butt had punched through the attic floor, and what I would later learn was Aunt Catherine’s bedroom ceiling. My knees were tucked under my chin in the same position one might end up in after falling through a toilet seat.

“Don’t move.” Gary held up his hands like he was casting a spell of paralysis. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. My butt was wedged in tight.

Creak

“Here,” Gary leaned forward, keeping his feet perched on the crossbeams. “I’ll pull you up.” I grabbed onto his outstretched hands. “There. I’ve got you.”

As a real estate agent, I’ve had my fair share of handshakes with brawny, able-bodied, man’s men. Carpenters, plumbers, landscapers, electricians. Alpha males who work all day with their hands. Hands that felt like you were shaking a strip of sun baked rawhide coated with sandpaper. Gary's skin was as soft as a baby butt lathered in lotion.What kind of painter hands were those?

“Okay now.” Gary braced his feet. “I’m going to pull you up.” We locked our hands. “On the count of three, okay?” Gary squatted over me, every hard line from his hamstrings and quadriceps standing at attention. I had to close my eyes to avoid looking at his crotch.

Creak

“One. Two. Three!” Gary yanked me up by both arms, forearms rippling from the effort. My butt popped out of the ceiling hole like the cork from a wine bottle.

As I rose from the floor, Gary backpedaled, nimble feet tip-toeing along the beam. I fell into his arms. And for one moment, time stopped. Our eyes met. We both stopped breathing. Our quivering lips poised less than an inch apart.

“I’ve got you.” His voice was breathless.

“I know.” So was mine. He held me like he would never release me. And in that frozen moment, that was perfectly fine with me.

That’s when the frozen moment thawed. And once time started moving again, it moved at the speed of light. With the momentum of my body crashing into his, Gary took one last step back. One irrevocable step in reverse.

Creak … Crack … Crunch

Eyes wide with horror, Gary tipped backward. I tipped with him. I went from horizontal to vertical to horizontal again. All I could do was grab onto Gary’s shoulders and ride him like a toboggan down an ice slicked slope.

Our tangled bodies crashed through the ceiling in Aunt Catherine’s bedroom and landed right in the middle of the king sized bed.

---