Chapter 5

Carlie’s turn:

Kind of brave of me, I think. I’m talking about taking Bob out of the normal surroundings, his house, his comfortable relationship with neighbors, Mister Art and Mizz Bekka, Jessica’s Dad and Mom; that’s Mister Chris and Mizz Jamie.

Bob’s just nice to people, even when it’s somebody he’s probably not going to have to mess with again.

I find it especially telling when we go out to eat, something we do quite a bit.

“I get tired of my own cooking, okay?” he told me.

“Well, just so you know,” I countered, “I think you cook good, and I’m NOT tired of it, so if you think you need to go out just to feed me, you’re wrong again.”

“Again?” he looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, friend, again. I’ve come to understand that in the realm of hardware, you’re a very reliable source of correct information, but when it comes to what it takes to cause us a harmonious existence, you’re often wrong. You err on the side of caution.”

“Thank you for that assessment, friend,” he said using a stilted tone.

I giggled. “See?!? Another flaw. You get upset when confronted with your own inadequacies. Seriously, though, you’re spending a lot of money on me.”

“Worth it, Carlie. Just to have somebody to talk with in the evenings.”

“And in the mornings,” I snickered, “AFTER we each have coffee, right?”

“Oh, yeah...”

I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker until Bob hooked me on the good stuff – home-roasted, freshly ground, French pressed, and on Saturday morning, taken in the screened patio area at ground level. Half the time, Art and Bekka show up. We provide coffee, she provides a coffee cake that matches the coffee like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

It CAN be a magical time if nobody’s up early cutting grass, disturbing the sounds of the neighborhood slowly coming to life.

When it’s just him and me, the transition into day is about reflection, soft conversation, noting the sounds of birds, watching a somewhat feral cat making his rounds, the excited yip of another neighbor’s Pomeranian noting the presence of the cat while he’s out on his morning constitutional.

The first time Bob urged me out for this, I thought he was crazy, but hey, the guy’s giving me a place to live, so I ought to humor him. It was a revelation.

“You used to do this by yourself?” I posed to him.

“Yep. Sure did.”

“And the idea of bringing me into it, you didn’t think I’d mess it up?”

“Did I make a big deal out of it? Did I say this was almost a religious moment for me and you’d mess it up if you did it wrong?”

“No, I think it was more like ‘grab a mug of coffee and let’s go downstairs and sit’. I had no idea.”

“Well, if you’d’ve wrecked it, I wouldn’t invite you again. You didn’t. You fit.”

“I didn’t know I was being tested,” I said, pushing a little bit of huffiness.

“Life is a test, and as tests go, that one wasn’t important. Some people can’t sit still for very long.”

“Sometimes it’s nice. Quiet conversation, maybe. I like it.”

I LIKE it. That’s why it’s the last hour of school on Friday and I’m well, ‘giddy as a schoolgirl’. After all, I AM a schoolgirl, but I know that a five minute walk from school will get me the passenger seat of a two year old SUV with a guy who’s going to take me off for a weekend of museums and dining.

Several of my friends asked what accounted for my apparent excitement. I told ‘em ‘weekend in Houston and Galveston’ and avoided questions about who was accompanying me. I can’t think of a way to explain how the relationship seems to work between me and Bob.

Mainly because I can’t explain how the relationship works between me and Bob. I really spent a week nervous because I figured any night I was going to wake up with him touching me.

Nope.

I can’t even find him staring at me, or even sneaking looks other than the eye contact that two people have when talking.

I talked with Mizz Bekka, you know, the two of us, me, sixteen, her, fiftyish, about Bob.

“I’ve never seen him keep a woman there overnight. Or a man either, for that matter.” She shook her head. “You? I think he’s serious about wanting to help, and that’s all he wants. Hard to find people like that, especially men when it comes to young girls.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think I’m pretty or whatever.”

“Hon,” she said, “I know that’s not it. Probably makes him even more careful about what he says or how he acts around you.”

There’s a quandary, you know. I have exposure to a couple hundred boys of appropriate age at high school. That’s just THIS high school. At the mall with the group I interact with students from several local schools – potentially hundreds more boys, all of an age that if I were to pair off with one of them, nobody’d raise a question that they wouldn’t already raise about the mating rituals of young Americans.

Not a buzz. No tinkling of bells. Nothing.

Oh, yeah, okay ... Girls’re off the table for me. Yeah, kinder, gentler, gender fluid stuff? Not Carlie.

Teachers? Nope, none of them.

Just the one man I shouldn’t be ... thinking about.

He likes me as a person. That’s obvious. I’m very happy about that. I was sinking fast and he pulled me right up and put me on my feet, as evidenced by me being in this classroom, daydreaming and watching the clock creep towards the final bell. It finally rang. I dumped books and detritus into my locker, headed up the hall towards the door, freedom, and the weekend.

Denise was walking in the same direction. We share a class as well as home room.

“You’re walkin’ fast,” she said.

“Gotta meet Bob at the 7-11.”

“Thought you said you were goin’ away for the weekend. Houston, Galveston...”

“Yep. He’s my ride.”

“Uh, Carlie, this ain’t one of those THINGS, is it? I mean, you ... we talked a little bit.”

“No, this isn’t one of those things, ‘Neesie. He’s a nice guy, is all.”

“Well, be careful, Carlie. You’re a good friend.”

“Thank you, Neesie. You’re a good friend, too.”

As we neared the parking lot of the convenience store, I pointed out Bob’s SUV. Silver.

“Preferred transportation mode of child molesters everywhere,” I told Neesie.

“You’re not a child, Carlie. You know what I mean.”

“I do, Neesie. I really appreciate you worrying. The guy’s an engineer, though, and he’s got a lot to lose. He has friends. Now I have friends – the neighbors. One of ‘em’s a lawyer. Helped me get my stuff together.”

“Just be careful.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Snicker. “Invite me to the wedding.”

“You’re evil, girl. No wedding.”

“Better not be a baby shower, either...”

“Almost a month. He hasn’t TOUCHED me. I’ve kissed his cheek. That’s all. Wanna introduction?”

“Sure. Why not? That way I can be a witness at his trial.”

“Really evil.”

Walked up to Bob’s window. He smiled when he saw me. Kept smiling.

“Bob, this is my friend Denise Wilkerson. Denise, this is Bob Newman. He’s sorta my guardian.”

“Hi, Denise,” Bob said. He extended a hand. Took Denise a second but she shook it.

“Hello, Mister Bob...”

“Just Bob. That’s what Carlie calls me.”

“Denise and I have homeroom and English together.”

“And I have a mom who uses the next parking lot up the road. She works there. Paralegal.”

“Very good,” Bob said.

“We’ll see you later, Neesie,” I said. I climbed into the passenger seat. I waved at her as we pulled away.

“How’s that work?” he asked.

“‘He’s sorta my guardian’?”

“About like you’d expect. I’m living with you, you’re single, so most people think ... She said I need to invite ‘er to the wedding.” I watched his face. Saw a subtle change, but I couldn’t decipher it. “ ... and said it better not be a baby shower.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the only reason a man and a woman live under the same roof, I guess.”

“It’s one of the more common ones.” I started to say ‘popular’ but I think that portrays a different set of conditions.

“Yeah. Platonic relationships are mostly a literary device.”

“Except when they aren’t. But we’re rare, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

“Rare is good. For steaks,” I said.

“Are we protesting?” he asked.

“No, just thinking...”

“Thinking is sometimes good.”

“I’m ... well, you and me. us. We talk, right?”

“Seems like that,” he said.

“Honest, now, am I a burden?”

“Carlie, you’re no burden.”

“Okay. Is it better with me around?” I’m getting gutsy.

“Yes. Better. You’re interesting. Good conversation.”

“Nice to know. But looks...”

“Uh ... you’re pleasant to look at, okay? I’m not supposed to notice.”

“I noticed that you haven’t said a thing about my looks since we met. I begin to think I’m inadequate.”

“Definitely not inadequate. Kids your age notice. You tell me...”

“Kids!” I snorted. “Yeah, they do notice. But I see you every day, and I thought...”

“Why are we having this conversation?”

“One of my friends at school asked what this relationship was about,” I said.

“Ohh—hhh,” he sighed. “From the outside, it’s curious, right? I mean, that ninety-eight percent of male-female living under one roof, assuming it’s not some son or daughter living with a parent, there’s sex involved.”

“Seems to be the common assumption.”

“So tell me – a lot of those, uh, cohabitations...”

“Shack-ups. Friends with benefits ... Uh, there’s a phrase that I hate.”

“What phrase?”

“‘Friends with benefits’. I guess that if sex doesn’t mean anything then sharing it with a friend...” I stopped talking.