Chapter 18: Ms. Tankersley

I had a little trouble sleeping that night. I thought about baseball and Doug Jenkins. Jessica told me that Christine considered me a hero and would be open to having my babies right now, if I so wanted. I was pretty sure that Christy and I were going to go all the way Saturday, which would be a first for me. At the same time, Jessica was telling me not to get so deeply involved with her. And then there was Mom telling me that she nearly had an orgasm during the massage I gave her the night before. My mind was overloaded.

I planned to spend most of the next two afternoons beginning work on the treehouse, after Carlos had dropped off the materials sometime during the day, Wednesday. Included in the materials were a permit and a set of final plans. The plans were fairly simple and straight forward, so I figured I could get a good head start even without help from Sparks and Mike. I was setting up the extension cord, and hauling the tools up to the platform that would serve as the base for the treehouse, when I spotted her.

Ms. Tankersley.

Well, I couldn't see her face, directly, as the binoculars pointed my direction prevented that from happening. I then remembered that I promised to bring the final plans over to her for review. I wasn't looking forward to this, but I had made a commitment.

A few minutes later, plans in hand, I knocked on Ms. Tankersley's door. I had barely delivered the first knock, before she thrust open the door and glared at me. I briefly wondered why she was no longer married. Although I thought the most likely reason was divorce, I couldn't escape the idea that her husband may be the reason that her flower garden was so successful.

"Well?"

If she wasn't going to engage in pleasantries, I didn't feel obligated to do so, either.

"I have the plans for the treehouse, Ms. Tankersley."

"Well, bring them inside, I can't very well look at them on the front stoop." She turned and headed into the dining area, leaving me standing flatfooted at the door. "I don't have all day, Mr. Marlow. One foot in front of the other, please." She did say 'please'. For the next ten minutes, she reviewed the plans and made several comments under her breath. "You're running electricity to this thing?"

"Yes. I'd like to have some lighting and maybe run a space heater when it gets a little colder."

"You aren't planning to install some loud boom box or anything, are you?"

I shook my head. "We may have a small stereo or iPod docking station of some variety, but it won't be loud."

"Parties?"

"No. I doubt the space will accommodate more than three or four people comfortably."

"That didn't really answer my question, now, did it?"

"I'm not planning to have parties there, Ms. Tankersley." My tone reflected my growing frustration.

"Hmmph!" She continued to look at the plans. "Aren't you nearly sixteen years old? Why do you want to build up a kids play area now?"

I had to think about my choices here. She was starting to piss me off, but I was unsure what she would be capable of doing if I reciprocated. Her attitude sucked, and there was nothing I was aware of that we had ever done to make her act like this towards us. I really had to stop myself from telling her 'none of your damn business!'

"As you said before, Ms. Tankersley, the old treehouse had become an eye-sore. I figured having a project like this would give me something constructive to occupy my time."

She stood up straight and looked me up and down, assessing me. I had no idea what was clanking around in that tin can head of hers. Finally, her face began to relax a bit, and she even showed the slightest hint of a smile. "Okay, Mr. Marlow. Your plans seem to be okay. I assume, of course, you have a permit?" I nodded my head in affirmation. "My Timmy, and my husband, George tried to build a treehouse many years ago. It may have looked a little worse than yours did, but they both seemed to enjoy it." Her eyes clouded over a bit and I could tell that she was replaying a memory. By the look on her face, I could tell the memory was a pleasant one. A few seconds later, the memory having played out, she returned her eyes to me. "Go ahead, Mr. Marlow. Build your treehouse. Just keep the damn noise down."

She quickly walked me to the front door, and all but pushed me out of it before closing it quickly behind me. It took me a few moments to process what had just happened there. Ms. Tankersley was almost acting human there, for a second. I know I had caught a glimpse of moisture in her eyes as she had replayed the memory of her husband and son from years ago.

Before I descended the steps to the sidewalk, I took a quick look around her property. The grass had obviously been trimmed recently, but the bushes under her front windows were getting out of control. They really needed to be cut back, before they really took off and just covered the front of her house. I also noticed that the sidewalk in front of her house and the one leading to her stoop were not neatly trimmed, either. In this neighborhood, her house really stood out in the lack of upkeep and curb appeal.

I had just returned to our house when Mom pulled into the driveway. As it was nearly five o'clock, she was a couple hours late getting home. I opened the door for her and welcomed her with a hug and a quick kiss.

"Kind of late getting home, aren't you?"

"They wanted me to shoot a couple of spots to promote my move to the morning news. They also want me to do a few PSAs (Public Service Announcements). I'll probably be late every day for the next couple of weeks."

"They're going to wear you out."

"Maybe, but it is a little exciting. Besides, I have a masseur that can take all of that stress away. I'm sure I can get him to help me out during this stressful time." She lifted her right forearm across her eyes, giving her best put upon performance.

"How much are you paying this masseur, this man with the golden hands?"

"He demands no payment from me. Merely being in my presence is satisfaction enough!"

"Sounds like I may need to talk to him about fair wage. Seems like he is getting short-changed."

She dropped her arms, pouted, and said, "Well, maybe he gets bonus points for his performance. I seem to remember that he appreciated having bonus points, before."

I walked her inside the house, got a drink from the refrigerator for me and poured her a glass of wine. We stayed in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as we enjoyed each other's company.

"Mom, what do you know about Ms. Tankersley?"

"Not much. She's been in that house for five years now, and I think I've talked to her twice. Why?"

"Well, Carlos suggested that I talk to the neighbors about the treehouse. They all seemed to be okay with me rebuilding it, except for Ms. Tankersley. She insisted that she approve the final plans before I got started." Mom rolled her eyes at that comment. "Carlos dropped off the permit, plans and materials today, so I went by her house to show her the plans."

"Oh, that must have been fun."

"Yeah, for the most part it was a pain in the ass, but there was a moment there where she almost appeared to be human."

"Really? Do tell!"

"She was telling me that her husband and son had built a treehouse, years ago. There was just a moment there when I could tell she was having a good memory, but it didn't last very long."

"I do know that her husband was killed several years back. I think she is also estranged from her son, although I have no idea why."

"Well, the other thing is the condition of her yard. It looks like she cuts her own grass, but I don't think anyone is maintaining the bushes or trimming the sidewalk. Her flower garden is immaculate, but that's the only part of her yard that looks decent."

Mom didn't say anything, just looked at me for several seconds. "What did you have in mind, Phil?"