Chapter 7

7

Bob’s turn:

First step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.

I admitted it to myself before, reinforced it after this past weekend. I like having Carlie around.

Check that. I LOVE having Carlie around. To the point that a week ago, BEFORE we found out about her financial situation, I turned down a six-month overseas contract.

I told myself that it was because most of the overseas venues, now in sub-Saharan Africa, were less and less secure with each passing day.

The real reason is, ‘where would that put Carlie?’

It’s not like I HAVE to work right away, and even more, I don’t have to chase the dollars that go with those overseas contracts. Money’s just money. Carlie, on the other hand...

Dammit, it would be entirely different if she wasn’t, well, CARLIE. I could’ve left a druggie or a slut-puppy or some other version of a teen horror to the tender mercies of the state. Hell, she’s emancipated. She gets to make her own choices.

Trouble is, she IS who she is, and she’s intelligent and pleasing to look at and to deal with, and while before she showed up, I thought myself satisfied with my mostly solitary life, now...

She goes out. Usually one night during the week, home by nine, and one night on the weekend, with a curfew of eleven PM. She never has pushed those limits.

Me, on the other hand, I find that I am not reacting well to the newly-found experience with solitude. What was formerly quiet and relaxing was now fuel for loneliness.

I was ready, at least in my own mind at first, to provide shelter until she got on her feet, got though school, thought vaguely that she’d meet somebody, marry, move away, not necessarily in that order.

This weekend, though ... so pleasantly surprised at her reaction to museums, even more surprised that she passed on the penguins at Moody Gardens to go look at aviation history, even more surprised when she went off the deep end over, of all things, a Piper Cub.

“Get one,” she said.

And I’m thinking that if she wants me to get one, then she’s thinking of being around to benefit...

So. Friend? Quasi-daughter? What?

Well, one thing is apparent – I need not be concerned that she’d be shelterless and starving without my help now.

I knew about it in a vague way before the weekend. Now she knows.

Windfall. Now let’s see what she does about it.

We’re driving home from Art’s law office.

“You’re not talking.” I glanced over at her. Tears.

“Baby?” I blurted.

“Oh, Bob ... she took CARE of me. I had no idea...”

“And you’re crying?”

“I miss ‘er, Bob. She was my rock. My anchor. She left, my world caved in. Mom ... what a disaster. Mom hadn’t a clue about Grandma’s finances, and now ... Grandma knew better...”

Sniff. “You called me ‘baby’.”

“I know. Reflex. Protective instinct. Whatever. I sort of felt the need to take care of you...”

“You’ve been doing that, Bob.”

“I saw that you needed ... I could provide. It’s worked out well, money or no money...”

“So do I have move out now? Get a place of my own?”

Here’s where it can go off track.

“I’d really rather you didn’t, Carlie.”

“How long do you want me to stay?”

I took a deep breath. “Forever works...”

“Seriously.” She gave me a stern look.

“Look, Carlie. Now that I know you have enough money so that you won’t starve if I scare you off, I can tell you. I really like having you around. Really. If you stay the same Carlie that’s shared my universe for the last few weeks, I want you to keep doing that.”

“You mean, like friend slash daughter slash whatever?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re good with that?”

We got out at the house, walked upstairs and inside.

“You didn’t answer.”

Carlie’s turn:

His head bobbed. “I’m good with that. You’re sixteen, emancipated or not, what would you do if you weren’t here?”

I sighed. “Sit in an empty apartment wishing I was here.”

“So stay.”

“I’ll stay. You’re inexplicable, Bob. I ain’t sure what to do about you.”

“In what way?”

“Bunches of ways. I like what we have, though. But male and female is complicated, sometimes I feel like a bubble balancing on a razor blade.”

“How so?”

“Bob, you’re male and I’m female. Sometimes I feel this tension...”

“About me?”

“Yes, about you, Bob.”

“I’m twice your age.”

“I’m excellent at math. I’m sixteen, you’re thirty-two. In sixteen years, I’ll be thirty-two, you’ll be forty-eight. Only thirty-three percent older. It only gets better.”

“Better for what?”

“This, silly.” And I kissed him.

The girl’s supposed to be the one all upset and frightened. I guess I did it wrong. He looked scared. I still had my arms around him, his were loosely around me, he wasn’t pushing me away.

Silent.

“Bob?”

“Yes, Carlie.”

“You okay?”

“Very confused now, Carlie.”

“Don’t be. I tried to be unambiguous.”

“I tried to be disconnected, aloof, friendly. Correct. Protective.”

“Your arms just added a layer of comfort and protection, Bob. I know that’s what you are. Protective.”

“One of the things I need to protect you from is me.”

“Bob, that kiss was because I want you to know that I am not here because you provide food and shelter. Now, I can provide for myself. I’m here because I LIKE being here. I like having you in my life. You reek stability and safety and assurance.”

“Boring ol’ Bob,” he said, although I really don’t think he believes that.

“Not boring. Very interesting and mature best friend. Can you live with that?”

“Does it mean I get to live with you?”

“It does.” I had a little smile on my face. Maybe a hint of smugness? “Yeah.”

No commitment. I kinda got ahead of myself with the kiss, but I don’t want this to go off track here, and I’m working very hard to determine how the track is supposed to work.

I don’t want to come off as cold and calculating, but as I see myself, I have made a decision on a goal, and I must take steps to gain that goal. I know that it’s a two-way street. It has been, so far in our relationship. I never made him feel like he was carrying me, other than the obvious financial angle. I found it easy to relax and be natural with Bob. He’s got a sense of humor that I can identify with. He’s intelligent, an excellent conversationalist, well-read, likes his history.

Like me.

I’m basically a sixteen-year-old Bob. With girl parts.

I know something. If I did what I think is inevitable and did not pay heed to the time line, he’d be guilty of a felony.

Yes, I admit it. I see myself in Bob’s bed, which will then, by that act, become OUR bed.

And I don’t see me being Bob’s teeny-bopper shack-job.

The mission then is to make HIM see US as inevitable and desirable.

By the end of the week I was the possessor of paperwork identifying MY personal bank account and investment accounts that made me one of those evil rich people.

Just like Bob.

Behind me was the last time that I will go out with my friends. Wednesday evening when I left, I could read something in his face. When I got back, I noted a change for the better.

We went fishing on Saturday. All day. Caught a few. Talked, because that’s what’s good about fishing when you don’t work at it.

“Bob, I’m rich.”

“I suppose you could say that. If you played your cards right, you could live off that nest egg, unless the stock market does something stupid.”

“Personal question. Is mine bigger than yours?”

He gave me a wry grin, catching the double entendre. “We’re in the same ballpark.”

“Why are you working? Those documents...”

“Design and construction standards,” he said. “Because I need to think about it to keep my skills up.”

“Oh.”

“And I enjoy it.”

“Oh. So...”

“Not going back to Africa, Carlie. That last one was THE last one.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Didn’t have a reason NOT to do that,” he said. “Money was good. Interesting. But the political situations are getting more and more questionable. I didn’t have a reason to stay here. Art and Bekka were always waiting for me to come back, but they’re good friends. Now I sorta don’t want to leave...”

“What’s changed?”

“Just told you. Politics.”

“Is that all?” I’m pushing. Might be too soon.

“No.”

“What then?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Kinda want to be here for you.”

Okay, Carlie, a careful nudge. See where it goes. “For me. Not with me.”

“There’s a difference?” he asked.

“Is there?” I replied.

“Obtuse little thing, ain’t you?”

“If I can’t be obtuse with my best friend...”

“Okay, let us say you win. I want to be around here because you’re here, and the very thought of packing my bag and taking off for a few months where you wouldn’t be is not pleasant.”

“You LIKE me.”

“I like you.”

“We look weird together, you know,” I said. Just a little poke. See where it goes.

“Yeah ... when people find out I’m not your dad or your uncle. Together? Are we together?”

“What do you think?”

“Yeah, Carlie, part of me thinks we’re together.”

“What do the other parts think?”

“That I’m riding for a fall, that you’re too young, teens’re notoriously flighty...”

“Speaking of flight...”

“Flight, as in I wake up one morning to an empty house or...”

“Flight, as in yellow wings puttering along over the marshlands...” I sighed, reeling in my line to check the bait. “That other ain’t happening. You have to throw me out. I worry too, you know...”