Page 38 of Idle

My arms drop. “Yeah.” Good as a place as any to start.

“He’s very talented and brings it out in me. I tried to go it alone for a while but fell flat on my face. When I re-teamed up with him, clients reappeared. I suppose we work on some level, but it’s not easy, to be sure.” She pauses. “We broke up because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

Can’t say as I’m surprised. “Sucks.”

“Truth.” She pauses. “I was surprised to see you come back tonight, actually.”

Remembering Bo’s inviting me to spend the night with him in a hotel, a spurt of compassion for this woman overcomes me. “Do you still love him?”

She plays with the blanket on her bed. “We’re divorced.”

That’s not an answer, which is all the verification I need. “I’m not going to go out with him again.” I stand straighter.

“Oh, no. Don’t break up with him because of me.”

“Well, I didn’t feel the chemistry between us tonight. Knowing you and he have some unfinished business—”

“We’re finished. Got the divorce decree to prove it.”

“That’s only paperwork. My parents are still married and all they do is fight.” I stop short. All my life, I’ve only witnessed their example of love as being a perfect couple in public and bickering behind closed doors. Theo’s showing a different side of that with Amelia. Xander and Madison don’t seem to fight either.

I’m brought out of my head when she says, “If not you, there will be some other woman. And I like you.”

“Thanks. I like you enough to stay away from your husband.”

“Ex.”

“Him too.”

We giggle and I go to my bunk. After changing into my nightshirt, I lie awake under the covers for way too long. My roommate’s breathing deepens into sleep, yet I can’t shut off.

Is it because of how I acted with Bo in front of Jesse?

Is it because of my childish reaction to Jesse’s throwing paperwork at me?

Is it because I don’t want to be with Bo?

Maybe all three.

On a sigh, I shove the blankets down my torso and slip out of the bunk. I know what I need to do. Grabbing my sketch book and a pencil from my tote bag—once I locate it—I pad into the dark living room. Turning on the flashlight on my cell phone, I find the envelope with my name on it lying on a side table. It’s the instructions for the final challenge in the primary suite.

When I plop onto the couch, my hip hits something hard and I swivel to retrieve the offending item. Which turns out to be a block of wood that Jesse uses in his whittling. Turning it over in my palm, I can see several cuts have been made to it, but nothing’s formed.

Bringing the wood to my nose, I inhale the scent of jasmine and lemon which comprise the basswood he uses. This triggers an idea for the bedroom. I place the wood onto the table and begin to sketch.

12

Jesse

For the hundredth time, I check the screen on my phone. When the clock finally reads six, I give up the pretense of sleeping and get out of the bunk. Rather, roll out of it. Damn thing was made for midgets.

Rooting around the drawer, I pull out a pair of workout shorts and get dressed in the bathroom. Not sure why. The only other person left in here is Bo, and he’s sawing logs on the bed that once upon a time belonged to Dan.

Splashing water on my face, I try to ignore the red dancing around my pupils. My eyes always get bloodshot when I don’t get enough sleep. Diana used to tease me about it, especially since I was barely into my teen years, and she couldn’t understand what would keep me awake. Even back then, I was restless. School was okay but I had yet to find anything that held my interest. After she was killed, I dedicated myself to being her replacement since she had everything so together. For the umpteenth time, I wonder why she was taken instead of me. At least she had a purpose—she was going to take up business in college and work for a bank. Follow in Homer’s footsteps and become a bank’s chief compliance officer.

Hence my chosen profession.

Trudging through the darkened hallway, I replay a scenario that happened way too often growing up. Diana would slip into my bedroom well after curfew and rail against whatever was bothering her at the time. Usually some restriction my parents had put on her. More often than not, she’d devolve into complaining about Homer. A smile plays around my lips as I remember the first time she called him that. It was after we watched an episode of the television show where his daughter was being reprimanded. Diana took her side. When our father came where we were playing, Diana swore he looked like the character’s father. The name stuck.

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