Chapter 1

It was time I settled down. I was a "road warrior", a professional engineer who'd made some darned good money over the last few years running around the country from one project to another where my expertise as a "hired gun" for electrical power systems was a commodity in much demand and well, frankly, it paid GOOD! Finally, though, I figured I'd seen enough hotel rooms and RV parks and even an offshore platform's living quarters or two, and I'd had enough. I sent out a few resumes and then took my choice. Now it was time for Timothy Duncan to put down roots.

I gave the new job a month and a half before I regarded it as a fit worthy of my efforts. During that time I lived in my old road haunts, a custom travel trailer parked at an RV park. During those weeks I surveyed the housing situation and located what I was looking for, a nice two-bedroom apartment in a little fourplex, owned by a local entrepreneur who wasn't chasing the big bucks and the government dollars, so his occupants were a pretty decent and stable bunch.

Yeah, I "reconned" the area, noting after dark what sorts of cars showed up, how many kids were running the parking lot (none) and who used the pool ( a couple), and after seeing what I wanted, I signed the lease.

It was moving day. No, I wasn't doing the moving. I made money to make MY life easier, so I paid a moving company to go to a storage unit I'd been renting for the last few years, gather up my stuff from my previous life, and bring it to the new digs. I also bought a lot of new stuff, furniture, new stove, appliances, furniture, and then scheduled all that stuff to be there on THE day.

Naturally when the trucks showed up, there were curious eyes peeking through curtains, and an older couple, late sixties, maybe, came out to see the festivities.

Neighbors. MY new neighbors. Time to start off on the right foot. I walked up to them. I was dressed in my "engineer at work" uniform: safety toe shoes that didn't LOOK like safety toe shoes, khaki-shaded heavy tactical (you knew that from the thigh pockets) pants, a cellphone holstered at my belt, and a Dickies work shirt, starched, with a pocket protector full of pencils, pens and a six-inch steel scale. I looked like an engineer.

"Hi," I said, greeting them. "I'm Timothy Duncan. I guess I'm your new neighbor."

They both smiled. The old guy said, "Welcome, Timothy. I'm Robert Stevens and this is my wife Gloria. Call me Bob."

I shook both offered hands.

"Retired?" I asked.

"Does it show THAT bad?" Bob laughed.

"And loving it," Gloria filled in. "You're an engineer?"

"Does it show THAT bad?" And we all laughed. "Yes ma'am. I work at XYZCorp on the west side of town. Just started a few weeks ago. Looks like we agreed that I can stay."

"Welcome to the neighborhood, Timothy," Bob said.

"You can call me Tim," I said. "This looks good. I checked. Quiet, clean..."

"And we like it that way. My cousin owns the place. It's well run. If you need anything, let us know."

"Well, thank you. Same goes." I looked off to my left and saw a furniture guy approaching. "Looks like I need to go give direction," I said. "I'll see you folks around."

I followed the furniture guy inside and pointed out the master bedroom as the location for my newly purchased queen-sized bed. Also how to arrange the living room furniture. And the new big-screen TV. And a stack of boxes for a home theater system.

And off to the other side of the festivities there was another observer, maybe five feet eight inches (tall girl) tall, maybe a hundred forty pounds, carried very well in the tall frame, dressed in cut-off jeans and a t-shirt with the logo of the local high school on it. Light brown hair, casually arranged, if arranged at all, length to the nape of her neck, a little curl under her jaw, bangs cut straight above her eyes.

I made a point of ending up on that side of the parade of workers hauling things into the apartment.

Eyes. Blue eyes. I waved.

"Hi," she said. "Are you moving in?"

"If I'm not, these guys are haulin' stuff in the wrong direction ... I'm Tim, Timothy Duncan. Engineer."

"Oh, I'm Kim. Kimberly Elkins. I live in "D". High school student."

"Pleased to meet you." It was Friday. School day, so I had to ask. "You're not in school today?"

"On Fridays I send my clone..."

"I deserved that," I laughed.

"Yeah," she smiled. "For that "haulin' stuff in the wrong direction" comment. I'm skippin' today. Just Friday tests."

"Oh, and you don't think you need to take them?"

"My teachers think I don't need to take them," she said.

"There's a story here, no doubt," I said.

"Yes, there is. Uh ... do you swim?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I swim every day. Meet me at the pool after four and I'll tell you my sad story."

I did a quick visual survey. "How sad can it be? You don't seem to be missing limbs or anything..."

She looked over my shoulder. "That guy's waving for you. I expect you to be there at four?"

"Sure." I trudged back to give further directions. I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking and stowing clothing and gear for my life with roots. Hooked up my entertainment electronics. Checked out the DSL, configured a wireless router, connected and checked out the TV/stereo/ DVR. Made a list for a grocery run. Checked my new recliner for the proper operating angle. Realized that it would take a while for me to figure out how to fit myself into this new home.

"Crazy," I thought at ten minutes to four as I retrieved my decidedly uncool swimtrunks. I changed into them, then looked into the mirror. I decided, based on what was there, staring back at me, that I didn't exactly need a stick to beat the women off as they flocked to attack my studly demeanor. I was an honest six feet and an inch tall. Forty, but without too much of the spread that was a definite trend for middle-aged engineers. Hair was still there on my head, a sprinkle of grey starting to show. And somewhere in the last couple of decades I added a pretty good amount to my chest and back. I wasn't exactly a bear, but I definitely had a crop of body hair. "Well, dumbass," I thought to myself, "MEN are supposed to have hairy chests."

I grabbed a towel and headed out of the front door towards the pool. The towel and my house keys went on a poolside lounge chair and I dove in. By myself. Kimberly hadn't shown up. I ducked under the cool water and when I came back up I saw a pair of long, well-formed legs walk through the gate. And with a splash, she was in the pool, coursing from one end towards the other in an easy crawl.

I started doing the same. I could swim. I liked swimming, and while I was nowhere near a competitive swimmer, I could do pretty good for forty, and besides, it was about keeping the poundage off my butt, anyway, wasn't it? Her head came out of the water, she saw me, and then started swimming beside me.

Okay. I'm a man. And us men, we don't lose to girls, especially when there's nothing in it for us. So I stretched out a bit, picking my stroke up from "lazing around in the pool" to "little burst of speed", expecting to leave Miss Kimberly in my wake. Except Miss Kimberly wasn't in my wake. As a matter of fact, Miss Kimberly was pulling ahead. Okay, increase speed from "Little Burst of Speed" to "Let's Show Her What We've Got". I put effort in it. A lot of effort. And was rewarded by watching her feet in front of me. Ten laps later, she pulled up at the end of the pool, hanging on the end wall.

I pulled up alongside her. Not too close. Just close enough so we could converse. "Well, THAT didn't work out like it's supposed to..." My chest heaved, re-oxygenating after the effort.

"What," she giggled. "You got beat by a girl?"

"You have destroyed my male superiority."

"YMCA swim team. And high school. I have trophies." She smirked. "And you made me work at it. You're not doing bad."

"Yeah. Thanks." I ducked my head under water to shed a bit more heat. "I like swimming. Good exercise."

"Me too. But it's October. The pool will close soon for the winter, then what?"

"YMCA?" I said.

"Aunt Jenny can't afford it. So I'm out until next spring."

"What about school?" I asked.

"I don't swim there. Not any more." She said as she hauled up out of the water.

I pulled myself out and toweled off most of the water. She'd already passed that point and was wrapping the towel around her head. She sat on the edge of a lounge and turned to lay back. I took the lounge next to her.

"So you said something about a sad story?" I asked. "But you don't have to tell me anything if I'm prying."

""Uh, no. I brought the subject up."

She spoke, not looking at me at all. "I'm sixteen. And this year I graduate from high school."

"Sixteen? That's ... uh ... odd. Little young, isn't it?" I commented.

"Yeah." Now she turned to face me.

'Okay, I can do this, ' I thought. I rolled onto my side to face her.

"Do you know the significance of the term, 'pink monkey'?" she asked.

"Sure. Not only do I know it, I've BEEN it. You take a cage full of monkeys who've been living together, change one in an obvious way, paint him pink, and return him to the cage, and the rest ostracize him."

"You've been one?" she asked.

"Yeah. High school. I was a nerd before nerds were invented. Why do you think I'm an engineer now? So what's YOUR story?"

"I've skipped two grades in school. I have a 4.0 average. I can TEACH most of what the teachers are trying to teach. And I'm not, shall we say, socially active." She sighed audibly.

"I can sympathize," I said. "But you know what they say about sympathy..."

"Yeah. Where you can find it. It's in the dictionary between 'shit' and 'syphilis'." Another smirk.

I laughed. "Kimberly..."

"Please. Kim, okay?"

"Okay, Kim. If this relationship is gonna work, you have to stop beating me. You outswim me, and you're stealing my jokes."

This got me a tinkling laugh, eyes included. "Oh, I didn't know we had a 'relationship', sir..."

"Oh, not a 'relationship' relationship..." I smiled. "So how's Kim doing as the pink monkey?"

"Not real good sometimes. I don't have a lot in common with my own age group."

"That's because you lack peers, lady. You have age in common. But that's all. And you see things differently. You either dumb down, or you do without."

"I'm doing without. Friends. Oh, there are some girls and guys that I talk to, but that's easy to do when all you have to do is get through the pause between classes and before and after school. Past that, I don't fit in. It's like I'm the wrong species or something."

"Maybe you are." I sighed. "I can tell you stories. It's not easy being the pink monkey. Even people who think that the absolute most wonderful thing in the world is a cute pink monkey get tired of them after a while..."

"Sounds like you have a story..." she gazed at me.

"A few. But this is YOUR turn." And sixteen, and what in the WORLD was I doing? "You said something about your aunt?"

"I live here with her," Kim said. "Mom's out of the picture. And don't even ask about a 'dad'. Mom saw to that pretty good." Serious look darkened that pretty teen face. Okay, maybe not 'pretty' as in 'look who's Miss October' but pretty as in 'you know, she's pleasant to look at' pretty. Okay. Cute!

She continued. "D'you want to hear this? I met you what, three hours ago?"

"Four," I said, "But who's counting?"

Giggle. "Touche'!"

"You talk, I listen. It's called 'conversation'. Some people really like it."

"Okay. I live with my aunt. That's Virginia Elkins. Called 'Jenny'. She took me in. Only living relative and all that."

"What about your mom?"

"I was getting to that. Mom's, uh ... in the care of the state. For six to ten years if she gets time off for good behavior."

"Prison?"

"Yep. I am the only daughter of a convicted felon. Let's see ... Drugs. Prostitution. Auto theft." Sigh. "Gee! I'm sooo proud. And the whole school knows..."

"Put another coat of paint on the pink monkey..."

"Talk about." Another sigh. "So that gives a whole new set of handles for them to toss at me. 'Yer mamma's in jail' isn't exactly what gets you invited to the good parties. Anyway, so when they sentenced Mom, I moved in with Aunt Jenny. And that's a whole different set of laughs."

"Ooooo-kayyy," I said. I determined that this was my time to just keep my mouth shut and listen.

"Let me paint a picture of Aunt Jenny. Lots of flannel men's shirts. Jeans. Sensible shoes."

"Bingo!"

"You got it, Timmy," she said. "My aunt is Lebanese."

I shook my head. "Owwwww..."

She smiled. "Sometimes I think ... Oh, I don't know ... what is going to happen next. But really, Aunt Jenny's pretty good to me, compared with living with Mom. And none of Aunt Jenny's 'friends' have hit on me. I can't say that about Mom's. One of THEM went to jail."

"Jail?" I asked.

"Yeah. After he got out of the hospital. And I'm thinking that he's got quite the conversation starter in the showers."

"Oh, I HAVE to hear this," I said.

"A year and a half ago. I was just fourteen. Sleeping in my room. Mom's "friend" walked in, thinking that since Mom was still out "working", he'd try his luck with a little young stuff."

"You have my undivided intention."

"And he came in my room naked, thinking that just the sight of his scabby naked ass would turn me uncontrollable with lust. He crawled in bed with me and started trying to kiss me." She had a far away look in her eyes. "Poor guy. I guess he thought that when I grabbed his dong with my left hand, he was on his way to heaven. My right hand had a Ginsu knife. He was layin' on the floor bleeding and screaming when I called 9-1-1."