Chapter 3

"They're gone for a week," I repeated. I was trying to tell myself that this was what I'd known all along. The parameters of the relationship were carefully explained and discussed. Still, a twice or three times a week buddy was immensely preferable to no buddy at all. Worse, if I DID feel predatory, engaging in any activities would violate the agreement I'd made to remain celibate.

I chafed a bit at the idea. I knew that if ol' Ted had a drop of testosterone in his whole body, he'd be tearing that thing up. If Sherry's pussy worked as good as I knew the rest of her did, the guy's in for nirvana.

My train of thought was broken, fortunately, by Lee's voice. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, Lee."

"Looked like you went away for a second, there." She heaved an almost imperceptible sigh. "Let me show you what I did today."

She led me into my bedroom. "Changed your bed. Washed those linens and put them up AFTER I properly folded the other set in the cabinet. Vacuumed the floor again. Took another load of laundry and washed and folded them. Went through your bathroom with a fine-toothed comb. Straightened your closet."

"All that in two days?"

"I told you I was worth what you pay me."

"Oh, don't be so serious, Lee. I've been up to my ass in alligators for two days. It would be nice to see somebody laugh and smile."

"Oh," she said tightly. "Sorry. It would be nice if I experienced that as well. So you're happy with my work?"

"Yes."

She smiled. Not unpleasant. Round face. Prominent nose. Teen complexion, though, with the fading remnants of old acne and the redness of new. I'd experienced my own 'pizza face' stage. I knew how such a thing can weigh on a kid.

"Thank you. That's a nice smile."

She brightened a bit. "What alligators were accosting you?"

"Oh, it's technical stuff, Lee. I do electrical power system stuff. Most people have no idea of what's involved."

"Oh, come on, Lane ... that's the case with MOST jobs. Mizz Sherry, she's a business administrator for her work. She's all about invoices and income and payments and balance sheets and tracking. Gramma's a documents clerk for an engineering house. She tracks revisions, packages, catalogs whole projects. You KNOW how obscure some of that is? So talk to me. Or should I just shut up and go back to People Magazine?"

"Oh, you're a catty little thing," I said. "Sherry said you were kind of an introvert."

"Peel the first layer off a grape, you get something entirely different," she said. "You started peeling. I thought maybe you wanted to talk."

"Okay," I said. "But if you get bored, just say, 'Okay, I've seen enough.'"

"Fair enough. Lemme finish putting these things in the cabinet." She took the last stack of folded sheets and disappeared, then returned. By the time she got back, I had my laptop open.

She sat down next to me, not too close, obviously taking care to avoid contact that might be mistaken for intimacy, but close enough to see the computer screen.

For the next short while I showed her pictures, explaining what they were in simple terms, equating power concepts with equipment, what the project was, how it was supposed to have progressed, where it went wrong, what we did to make it right.

"No wonder you look tired," she said. "That's a lot of stuff. Where'd you learn it?"

"Two years of technical college, then I switched over to a four year college and got my engineering degree."

"They taught you THIS?"

"They taught me theory. I went out into the real world to learn the practical side. I watched, listened, and when I found somebody who seemed to have a handle on things, I asked questions. Took all that, mixed it together, came up with stuff on my own..."

"Synthesized," she said. "Take 'A'. Add 'B'. Derive 'C', 'D', etc. Hallmark of intelligence."

"You're right, but I don't know if it applies to me that much."

"Probably does."

"I do that too, sometimes, at school, I mean," she said. "If they give me A and B. Sometimes it's hard to be sure of A and B. High school classrooms are kind of chaotic."

I was parsing 'chaotic' coming from this modern teen. I'd long ago learned NOT to equate looks with intelligence. I'd seen people who looked like the archetypes of bookworms who were as dumb as the proverbial sack of hammers. Slightly plump (or if I looked, maybe that was more a result of a sloppy wardrobe) mousy-haired, blemished Lee would be easy to categorize in the 'smart but homely' category. But she sounds smarter every time I talk to her.

"That hasn't changed then. We had the clowns and the cutups and the girls talking and..."

"It's worse today, Gramma says," opined Lee. "They mainstream some students who should be in Special Ed, and there's some of them that should've been expelled years ago."

"And you're still a straight A student."

She nodded, almost shyly.

"Don't be bashful, Lee. That's an accomplishment."

"Gramma says there are a lot more of 'em these days. Says it used to be almost rare."

"She may be right," I said.

"Well," Lee said, almost like she was sharing a secret, "I suppose that you can take a lot of the easier courses, and that helps, but I'm not. I took four years of math, four years of science, and I did advanced placement in everything I could get. I did chemistry and physics, and so that's why I understood some of this electrical stuff. We did a section on electricity."

I regarded her a little more seriously. "I thought you were just bobbing your head to be nice."

"That, too," she said.

I looked again. This time the eyes had a little sparkle.

"I understand a bit of it. The equipment's alien. Never saw anything like it."

"Just stuff. Wiggle this. It wiggles that. Things happen."

"Easy-peasy" she said.

"Or it can lop off a finger if you don't know what you're doing. And electricity kills."

Her face darkened. "Have you..."

"Not on any of MY jobs. But it happens. I've had the crap knocked out of me a time or two, though."

"Hurts?"

"Damned right it hurts!"

"Oh."

"You learn not to do that."

"I suppose one should," she replied as she stood up. "Well, I need to go home and get my homework done."

"Okay. I'll pay you Friday."

"That'll be good. Tomorrow after school I'm tackling that spare bedroom."

"That's fine." I escorted her to the door and watched as she walked up the street.

The next couple of days were, as they say, 'nominal', you know, hanging around the office tracking projects and sending out progress reports and such.

Thursday I came home, said 'Hi' to Lee.

"Come see this bedroom."

I followed her.

"Honestly, you have plenty of space for all your stuff. Might benefit from a shelving unit or two. That'll free up floor space. D'you have any idea how many GUNS you have in here? And this pile of bullets."

"Ammunition," I corrected. "A bullet is a very specific part of a round of ammunition."

"Everybody says 'bullets'. I know what a bullet is." She crossed her arms.

"Then don't assault my ears..."

Giggle. "I'm gonna have to tag on a 'Grammar Nazi' surcharge."

"Anyway, you have a lot of 'em."

"Yeah, I buy good deals when they pop up."

"And you shoot all these?"

"Every one of 'em."

"Well, the first time I opened a drawer in your nightstand and saw the pistol, I was kind of shocked, but I thought, 'well, he's not a criminal.' But you have a pistol in the end table by your chair, and near the back door, and that funny little shotgun in your closet..."

"I know. You do know that the first rule of gun safety is to treat every gun like it's loaded, don't you?"

"I didn't touch 'em. Just noticed where they were."

"They're loaded," I said.

"Really?"

"Yep. Unloaded gun is useless for protection."

"You're one of those gun nuts?"

"I'm one of those people who enjoys firearms as a hobby and who takes charge of his own personal safety."

"Never shot a gun. Is it that much fun?"

"Lot of people think so."

"When do you go shoot?"

"Saturday. Sunday. If nothing is going on. Sometimes I go after work. It's good drive to the range, though." And a neuron fired. "Are you interested? You want to..."

"Sarah, that's a girl I talk to at school, said her boyfriend took her shooting. The gun kicked 'er so hard she had a bruise."

"Wrong gun. Start off small. And learn to handle a gun so that recoil isn't as bad."

"You know all that?"

"Yep."

"Then yes, I'd like to go. Maybe this Saturday?"

"If nothing comes up. Sometimes I do that on short notice, though."

"I'd like it. Not like my dance card's full..."

"What do you know about dance cards? That's an archaic..."

"You're not the only one who reads, Lane."

"Sorry. I temporarily mistook you for a teenaged girl."

"I can be that, too. Not that anyone cares."

How do you respond to that one? I tried "I'm sure somebody cares. You have friends at school, I'm sure."

"A few. Not close. I'm the weird kid. Past just being a nerd or a geek."

"People survive that. Meet 'em halfway..."

She skewered me with a look. "Oh, okay. Dumb down my conversations, change the music I listen to, start dressing like everybody else so I'll be unique, just like them? Nah. Can't see myself doing that. Not that I haven't tried."

She stood up. "Homework. See you tomorrow, okay?"

"Great. Be careful out there."

"I will. Predators, you know..." And with that cryptic statement, she left.

I kicked off my shoes and settled back in my recliner. Looked around. The house IS definitely cleaner, better smelling, I can go into the kitchen and use the counter, although I need just a little more time to understand her logic of where things ought to go. It's definite improvement.

I also mused over the conversation and the verbal jousting with Lee. She sort of made up for the missing trysts with Sherry. I had at least another week before Ted headed back up north to his pipeline job, and Sherry, well, she DID toss that little pause in things when he was supposed to show up, so maybe she's going to toss one into the game when he leaves. And I'm supposed to be celibate.

Masturbation was a poor substitute. Almost always is. But I miss that giggle and 'Lemme see that weenie!' thing she does.

Friday I got home. Lee was there of course, organizing a closet. I was kind of hurt when she rushed off. "Gramma's house needs work. I need to get it this evening if you're taking me shooting tomorrow."

"You still want to go?"

"Of course. You're not backing out, are you? I mean, I understand..." she said, kind of bowing her head.

"Certainly not! I'm looking forward to it. About nine?"

Her eyes brightened back up. "What should I wear?"

"Ballet slippers and a pink tutu."

She laughed. Actually laughed. "Jeans and a sweatshirt okay?"

"Perfect!"

"Here's your money for the week."

She opened the envelope, fingered through the cash. "That's more than I told you, Lane."

"I know. But you've done more than I expected. At this rate, you'll be finished next week."

"I know. Then what?" she gazed at me.

"Oh, I think a couple days a week, at least, like Monday and Thursday, just to keep up. Would that be okay?"

I wish I could read those brown eyes better. "Yeah, that would be fine."

And she was gone and I missed having her to talk with.

Saturday morning I got up, ate a bowl of cereal, made myself some coffee, and put the guns, ammo and equipment we'd need by the front door, then I waited. I heard footsteps at five minute to nine, then a knock on the door.

I let Lee in. She looked at the pile by the door.