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"I need you."
"You do?" As his ego inflated, he momentarily forgot about the mess he was sitting in.
"My faucet exploded."
"Oh," he said, his ego deflating just as quickly. "How'd that happen?"
"How should I know?"
"Did you jerk it or something?"
"No. I just tried to use it."
"Was it loose before?"
"I really don't know-but can you come over or not?"
He made an instant decision. "I'd have to change my pants first."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind. I'll be there in a few minutes-I have to swing by the hardware store to get you a new faucet."
"You won't be long, will you? I'm stuck holding a rag here, and I've got to go to the bathroom. If I cross my legs any harder, I'm going to snap my knees."
"I'm on my way."
In his haste to get dressed and out the door, coupled with the prospect of seeing Julie, he fell only once as he pulled on his pants.
It seemed pretty reasonable to him under the circumstances.
Fourteen
"Julie?" Mike called out as he entered the house.
Julie craned her neck, loosening her grip slightly on the rags.
"In here, Mike. I think something happened, though. It doesn't seem to be leaking anymore."
"I just shut off the water with the valve out front. It should be fine now."
Mike poked his head into the kitchen, and one word came immediately to mind: breasts. Julie, soaked to the point that he could clearly see the outlines of her breasts, looked as though she'd been targeted during spring break by rowdy boys, the kind who consider drinking gallons of beer and wet T-shirt contests the high point of their existence.
"You have no idea how much I appreciate you coming over like this," Julie said. She shook the excess water from her hands and unwrapped the faucet.
Mike barely heard her. Don't stare at her breasts, he told himself, whatever you do, don't stare at her breasts. A gentleman wouldn't stare. A friend wouldn't stare. Squatting, he opened his toolbox. Singer sat beside him and sniffed the box, as if looking for goodies.
"No problem," he mumbled.
Julie began to wring out the rags one at a time. "I mean it. I hope I didn't drag you away from anything important."
"Don't worry about it."
Julie pulled her T-shirt away from her skin and looked at him. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Mike began fishing around for the basin wrench-a long, thin plumbing tool used to reach bolts in difficult places.
"I'm fine. Why?"
"You're kind of acting like you're upset."
"I'm not upset."
"You won't even look at me."
"I'm not staring."
"That's what I just said."
"Oh."
"Mike?"
"Here it is!" he said suddenly, thanking God for the opportunity to change the subject. "I was hoping I put this in here."
Julie kept staring at him, puzzled. "I think I'm going to go change," she said finally.
"I think that's probably a good idea," Mike muttered.
The job at hand gave Mike something to focus on, and he took to it immediately, if only to clear Julie's image from his mind.
He spread around some towels he'd grabbed from the linen closet and soaked up most of the thin film spread across the floor, then emptied the cupboard below the sink, stacking the bottles of various cleansers on either side of the doors. By the time Julie got back, he was already working to replace the faucet-only his torso and lower body were readily visible. Both his legs were sticking out; despite the towels, there were wet circles on either knee where he'd had to kneel. Singer was lying beside him, his head pushed into the darkened space beneath.
"Would you stop panting?" Mike complained.
Singer ignored the comment, and Mike exhaled, making a point to breathe through his mouth.
"I'm serious. Your breath stinks."
Singer's tail vibrated up and down.
"And give me some room, will you? You're in the way."
Julie saw him push-or rather try to push-Singer without much effect. Chilled, she'd slipped into a pair of jeans and a light sweatshirt. Her hair was still wet, though she'd brushed it back, away from her face.
"How's it going under there?" she asked.
At the sound of her voice, Mike raised his head, bumping it on the sink trap. Singer's breath was hot on his cheeks, the odor making his eyes water.
"Good. I've just about got it done."
"Already?"
"It's not that hard-just have to remove a couple of nuts and the faucet pops off. I didn't know what kind of faucet you wanted, so I just grabbed one that looks like your old one. I hope that's okay."
She glanced at it. "It's fine."
"Because I could go get a different one. It's no big deal."
"No-as long as it works, it's perfect."
She saw his arms start to crank the wrench again, and to her surprise, she caught herself eyeing the wiry muscles of his forearms as he worked. A moment later, she heard a plink as something dropped beneath the cabinet.
"Got it," he said.
He slid out from under the sink and, seeing that she'd changed, felt himself relax. It was easier this way. Less threatening. Less breasty. He stood and lifted the old faucet free, then handed it to her.
"You really destroyed that thing," he said, pointing to the gaping hole at the top. "What did you use to turn it on, a hammer?"
"No. Dynamite."
"You might want to use a little less next time."
She smiled. "Can you tell what went wrong with it?"
"Just old, I guess. It's probably original with the house. It's the one thing I haven't had to replace around here, but I probably should have looked at it the last time I fixed your disposal."
"So you're saying it was your mistake?"
"If you say so," he said. "I mean, if it makes you feel better and all. But give me another minute here and I'll have everything up and running, okay?"
"Sure."
He put the new faucet in place, crawled back underneath, and hooked it up. Then, excusing himself from the kitchen, he vanished out the door for a moment, Singer trailing close behind. After turning the water valve back on, he came back in and tried the faucet, making sure it wasn't leaking.
"Looks like you're good to go."
"I still think you made that look too easy," she said. "Before you got here, I was wondering which plumber to call if you couldn't get it done."
Mike feigned offense. "I can't believe that after all this time you would even think of such a thing."
Julie laughed as he squatted to start putting the cleansers back.
"Oh, no, you don't-let me get that," she said, kneeling next to him. "I can do something."
As they were putting things away, Julie more than once felt his arm brush against her and wondered why she even noticed it at all. A minute later, the cupboard was closed and the towels were bundled up, still dripping. She left the kitchen for a moment to throw them in the laundry room while Mike put his tools away. When she came back, she headed straight for the refrigerator.
"I don't know about you, but I need a beer after all the excitement this evening. Do you want one?"
"I'd love one."
Julie grabbed two bottles of Coors Light and handed one to Mike. After twisting off the cap, she clinked her bottle against his.
"Thanks for coming over. I know I said it already, but I had to say it again."
"Hey," Mike responded, "that's what friends are for, right?"
"C'mon," Julie said, waving the bottle, "let's sit on the porch with these. It's too nice to stay inside."
She started toward the door, then suddenly stopped. "Wait-did you say you've already eaten dinner? When I called you earlier, I mean?"
"Why?"
"Because I'm starved. In all the commotion, I didn't get a chance to eat. You up for sharing a pizza?"
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Mike smiled. "That sounds great."
Julie started toward the phone, and as she moved away, Mike wondered if the evening would somehow end up breaking his heart.
"Ham and pineapple okay?" she called out.
Mike swallowed. "Whatever you want is fine with me."
They sat in rockers on the porch, the heat of their skin escaping into the cool evening, cicadas humming and mosquitoes circling just outside the screen. The sun had finally dipped from sight, the last rays of light reflected from the horizon shining between the trees.
Julie's home, which sat on half an acre, was bordered on the back and sides by vacant wooded lots, and when she wanted to be alone, this was the place she went. It was also the reason she and Jim had bought the home in the first place. Both of them had always dreamed of owning an older home with graceful, wraparound porches. Though the house desperately needed work, they'd put in their offer the same day they'd walked through it.
Singer was dozing on the porch near the steps, one eye popping open every now and then, as if to make sure he wasn't missing anything. In the waning light, Julie's features took on a pale glow.
"This reminds me of the first time we met," Mike said, smiling. "Do you remember that? When Mabel invited all of us over to her place so we'd have a chance to meet you?"
"How could I forget? It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life."
"But we're such nice people."
"I didn't know that. Back then, you were all strangers to me. I had no idea what to expect."
"Even with Jim?"
"Especially with Jim. It took me a long time to realize why he did what he did for me. I mean, I'd never known anyone like him, and I had a hard time believing that there were people out there who were just . . . good. I don't think I said a single word to him that night."
"You didn't. The next day, Jim mentioned that to me."
"He did?"
"Not in a bad way. And anyway, he told us beforehand not to expect you to say much. Said you were kind of timid."
"He did not."
"He called you mousy."
She laughed. "I've been called a lot of things, but mousy isn't one of them."
"Well, I think he said that just so we'd give you a chance. Not that we really needed an excuse. The fact that both he and Mabel liked you was enough for us."
Julie paused for a long moment, looking almost forlorn. "It's still hard for me to believe that I'm here sometimes," she said.
"Why?"
"Just the way things worked out. I mean, I'd never even heard of Swansboro until Jim mentioned it, and here I am, twelve years later, still hanging around."
Mike looked at her over his bottle. "You sound like you want to leave."
Julie tucked one leg beneath her. "No. Not at all. I like it here. I mean, there was a while there after Jim died that I thought I should start over someplace new, but I just never got around to it. And besides, where would I go? It's not like I wanted to live near my mom again."
"Have you talked to her lately?"
"Not for a few months. She called me on Christmas and said she wanted to come up and visit, but I haven't heard from her since. I think she said that so I'd offer to send her money for the flight or something, but I wasn't about to do that. It would just open old wounds."
"I know that's got to be hard."
"It is sometimes. Or it used to be, anyway. But I don't really allow myself to think about it much anymore. When I first started going out with Jim, I wanted to make contact with her, if only to let her know that everything had worked out for me. I guess I wanted her approval, you know? It's strange that I cared about that, but as disappointing as she was as a mother, it was still important."
"But not anymore?"
"Not so much. She didn't show up for the wedding, she didn't show up for the funeral. After that, I just sort of gave up. I mean, I'm not rude when she calls, but there's not much feeling there. I may as well be talking to a stranger."
As she spoke, Mike stared toward the darkening shadows near the trees. In the distance, small bats appeared and disappeared in blinks, as if they'd never been there at all.
"Henry drives me nuts half the time, and my parents are just as wacky as he is, but it's nice to know they're around for support. I don't know what I'd do without them. I don't know if I could make it on my own like you have."
She looked at him. "You'd make it. Besides, I'm not totally alone. I've got Singer here, and I've got my friends. That's enough for now."
Mike wanted to ask where Richard fit into that equation but decided not to. He didn't want to ruin the mood. Nor did he want to ruin the light, easy feeling he had now that his beer was almost finished.
"Can I ask you a question?" Julie said.
"Sure."
"Whatever happened with Sarah? I thought you two had something special going, and then all of a sudden, you weren't seeing each other anymore."
Mike adjusted himself in the chair. "Oh, you know . . ."
"No, not really. You've never told me why it ended."
"There wasn't much to tell."
"That's what you always say. But what's the real story?"
Mike was quiet for a long moment before shaking his head. "You don't want to know."
"What'd she do? Cheat on you?"
When Mike didn't answer, Julie suddenly knew her guess was correct.
"Oh, Mike. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too. Or I was, anyway. It was some guy from work. His car was at her house when I went by one morning."
"What did you do?"
"You mean did I get angry? Of course. But to be honest, it wasn't entirely her fault. I hadn't exactly been the most attentive boyfriend at the end. I guess she felt neglected." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know-I guess part of me knew it wasn't going to last, so maybe I stopped trying. And then something was bound to happen."
Neither said anything for a moment, and noticing he was almost empty, Julie pointed to his bottle.
"Need another one?"
"Probably," he said.
"You got it."
She rose and Mike scooted the rocker back a little to make room for her, watching as the door slapped shut behind her. He couldn't help but notice how good she looked in jeans.
He shook his head, forcing the thought away. Now was not the time for that. If they were having wine and lobster, maybe, but pizza and beer? No, this was just a casual night. The ways things used to be-before he'd done something as crazy as allowing himself to fall in love with her.
He still wasn't sure exactly when it had happened. After Jim had been gone for a while, he knew that. But he couldn't pin it down any more than that. It wasn't as if a light had suddenly blinked on; it was more like a sunrise, where the sky grows lighter and lighter, almost imperceptibly, before you realized it was morning.
When Julie came back out, she handed him the bottle and took her seat again.
"Jim used to say that, too, you know?"
"What?"
" 'Probably.' When I asked him if he wanted another beer. Did he get that from you?"
"Probably."
She laughed. "Do you still think about him?"
Mike nodded. "All the time."
"I do, too."
"I'm sure. He was a good guy-a great guy. You couldn't have done any better. And he used to tell me that he couldn't have done any better, either."
She leaned back in her seat, thinking how much she liked what he said. "You're a good guy, too."
"Yeah. Me and about a million others. I'm not like Jim was."
"Sure you are. You're from the same small town, you had the same friends, you liked to do the same things. For the most part, you two seemed more like brothers than you and Henry. Except, of course, for the fact that Jim could never have fixed that faucet. He couldn't fix anything."
"Well, Henry couldn't have fixed it, either."
"Really?"
"No. Henry could have fixed it. But he would
n't have. He hates getting his hands dirty."
"That's funny, considering you two own a garage."
"Tell me about it. But I don't mind. To be honest, I like what I do a whole lot more than his part of the job. I'm not a big fan of paperwork."
"So I guess being a loan officer is out, huh?"
"Like Jim was? No way. Even if I could somehow con my way into getting the job, I wouldn't last more than a week. I'd approve everybody who walked in the door. I'm not real good at saying no when someone really needs something."
She reached over, touching his arm. "Gee, really?"
He smiled, suddenly at a loss for words, wishing with all his heart that the touch would last forever.
The pizza arrived a few minutes later. A pimply teenager wearing glasses with thick black frames examined the ticket for an inordinately long time before stammering out the total.
Mike was reaching for his wallet when Julie nudged him out of the way, holding her pocketbook.
"Not a chance. This one's on me."
"But I'll eat more."
"You can eat the whole thing if you want. But I'm still paying."
Before he could object again, Julie handed the delivery boy the money, telling him to keep the change, then carried the box back to the kitchen.
"Paper plates okay?"
"I eat off paper plates all the time."
"I know," she said, winking. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am for you."
For the next hour they ate together, talking quietly in the familiar way they always did. They talked about Jim and things they remembered, and eventually the subject changed to happenings around town and the people they knew. From time to time, Singer would whine, looking as if he felt ignored, and Mike would toss a piece of crust his way without a break in the conversation.
As the evening slowly wound down, Julie found herself holding Mike's gaze a little longer than usual. It surprised her. It wasn't as if he'd done or said anything out of the ordinary since he'd come over; it wasn't even that they were sitting alone on the porch and sharing dinner almost as if the evening had been planned in advance.
No, there was no reason for her to feel differently tonight, but she didn't seem able to control it. Nor, she realized, did she really want the feeling to stop, though that didn't make sense, either. In his sneakers and jeans, his legs propped up on the railing, his hair mussed, he was cute in an everyday guy kind of way. But then, she'd always known that, even before she'd started dating Jim.
Spending time with Mike, she reflected, wasn't like the dates she'd recently been on, including the past weekend with Richard. There was no pretension here, no hidden meanings in the phrases they spoke, no elaborate plans designed to impress the other. Though it had always been easy to spend time with Mike, she suddenly realized that in the whirlwind of the past couple of weeks, she'd almost forgotten how much she enjoyed it.
