A Slow Boil (7 page)

I sat up and was immediately surprised by two things.  First of
all, there was a blanket on me that I knew hadn’t been in here before.  I
pushed it aside and considered the other surprise: my socks and shoes were
laying on the floor just underneath my bare feet. Okay, tired brain, process
this.  Someone must have come in here after you’d fallen asleep, which was
at two in the morning, covered you with a blanket, and taken off your socks and
shoes.  That was easy, I consoled myself.  My brain could still
function.  Now, who could it have been?  Mr. Hunter.  Also easy. 
Thank you very much, my brain told itself in its best Elvis accent.  Oh
God, you are tired, I told myself.  Yeah, duh.

I hauled myself off the bed and made my way across the hall to the
nearest bathroom.  I splashed my face with cold water, used the toilet,
and then hurried back to my room.  I changed back into my jeans and
t-shirt, left my dress on the bed, slipped on my socks and shoes and tiptoed
down to the kitchen.  I packed up all of my things and scrambled around
looking for a notepad.  I finally found one and jotted off a quick note to
Mr. Hunter thanking him for letting me crash here and assuring him that I’d be
back at one.  At the last minute, I thought to give him my cell number,
and told him he could call me if he wanted to.  With that, I was gone.

I finished the paper.  I did it.  I set forth
irrefutable proof that everything I’d been arguing in class all semester was
wrong and even explained why.  I was done.  I was done!  I WAS
DONE!  If I never saw another anthropological field study again in my
life, I didn’t care.  I.  Was.  Done.

I printed it out and pushed it into my professor's inbox at the
Center.  It was eleven forty-five.  The rest of the day would be a
breeze and in just a few short hours, I could finally get the rest I needed.

I was still running high on adrenaline when I got to
Southbay’s
.  I’d had enough time to dump my stuff off
and take a quick shower at my dorm, which had refreshed me to no end.  I
felt like a hundred pound weight had been lifted my shoulders and I practically
skipped my way back to the meat counter.

“Sylvia!  Good to see you!  I missed you
yesterday.”  Pete's enthusiasm was infectious and I gave him a big smile.

“It’s finals week, Pete.  Mr. Hunter gave me a night off
cooking.”

“Good for him.  Are you finished then?”

“Finished this morning.  Now I feel like celebrating. 
What’s the best thing you've got today?”  My eyes swept over the case,
looking for something special.

“Hmm.  Let me see … have you ever cooked a live lobster
before?  We've got several in a tank in back.”

“No,” I shuddered.  “I don't think I'm up to killing anything
today.  I want something that's already dead.”

He laughed.  “Don't blame you.  That's why there are
butchers.”  He looked over the meats carefully.  “Ah, here we go,
these lamb chops were just flown in yesterday from Washington State.  The
best you can get.”

“Washington State?  That’s where I'm from.”

“Really?  Seattle?”

“Not quite, but close.  But this is kismet or
something.  I’ll take two of the chops.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I added some rosemary and mint to my basket, some fingerling
potatoes, and a head of broccoli.  At the last minute I grabbed a carton
of eggs.

My phone rang just as I was leaving the store.  I didn’t
recognize the number but in my exuberantly good mood, I was happy to talk to
anyone and answered with a cheerful hello.

“Miss Lane, this is Mr. Hunter.”

“Mr. Hunter!  How are you?”

“I'm fine.  And judging by your tone of voice, I’m guessing
you finished your paper.”

“I surely did.  I handed it in an hour ago.  I'm just
leaving
Southbay’s
now and should get to your house
in thirty minutes.”

“Well, that answers my questions.  I was calling to see if
you needed the afternoon off, and if not, if you’d like me to come get you.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, sir, but no and no.  I’ll be
there soon.”

“All right, then.  I have quite a bit of work to do this
afternoon so I probably won’t see you until dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Miss Lane.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Hunter.”

Thursday was sweeping and mopping day.  Last week the work
had gone fairly quickly but it wasn’t long before my fatigue became
evident.  By the time I’d finished the top floor and moved down to the
library, the mop had begun to feel unnaturally heavy and my movements felt
clumsy and inefficient.  Luckily there were large rugs in almost all of
the rooms so I only had to work around the perimeters, but still, it was slow
going and I wasn’t finished until nearly four.

Putting the equipment away and folding the laundry, I realized
that after two weeks, I had the routine down and could do this job on
auto-pilot.  It was an oddly reassuring feeling.

I climbed the stairs back to the kitchen and took a moment to sit
at the island with a cookbook.  I’d been thinking while mopping that I
owed Mr. Hunter a huge thanks for helping me out this week.  Not only had
he cut me some slack on my duties, he’d driven me to and from work, fed me
pizza, let me sleep here last night, and even helped me sort out my
paper.  I probably wouldn’t have finished it by now if it weren’t for
him.  I wanted to surprise him with a dessert tonight and flipped through
the cake recipes.

Surely a cake wouldn’t be too difficult to make, I thought, if I
could find one that didn’t require frosting or layers or anything too
complicated.  Ah, here we go.  A lemon pound cake sounded
perfect.  I scanned the ingredient list and was pretty sure I’d seen
everything I needed either in the fridge or the pantry.  I slipped on my
apron and pulled the Cuisinart stand mixer out of the cupboard by the
sink.  Get ready for my first cake, world, I thought as I began unwrapping
a stick of butter.

At six I brought Mr. Hunter his dinner.  The lamb had turned
out lovely, the potatoes were perfectly steamed and the broccoli added a nice
touch of green on the plate.  Mr. Hunter smiled appreciatively as I placed
it in front of him.

“Lamb.  What a treat.  I think a glass of Shiraz would
go perfectly with this.  Do you think you can find a bottle in the
cellar?”

“Yes, sir.  I’ll be right back.”

The shirazes weren’t far from the pinot noirs and I returned with
a bottle and the opener within minutes.  I got a wineglass from the liquor
cabinet and returned to the table to open the bottle.  The corkscrew
seemed to have gone in straight, but I couldn’t pull the cork out no matter how
hard I tugged.

“Can I help you with that?”

“Yes, sir, I can’t budge it.”

He pulled the cork out with no problem and gave me a questioning
look.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, sir, just tired.”

“You left very early this morning.”

“Yes, and I was up until two last night.”

He handed me the bottle and I poured him his glass.  “Go rest
in the kitchen until I call you, Miss Lane.”

“Yes, sir.”  I was too tired to protest and went back to the
kitchen, slumping across the island in a heap and closing my eyes.  I was
even beginning to drift off a bit when I heard Mr. Hunter call my name.

“More wine, sir?”

“Please.”

I refilled his glass, my hand shaking, and he looked up at me.

“Miss Lane, you look like you're about to keel over.”

“No, Mr. Hunter, I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble on this meal.”

“The lamb was no trouble at all, but you should see the cake I
murdered this afternoon. The lobster wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Cake? Lobster?”  He looked entirely confused.

“I tried to make you a lemon pound cake as a thank you for
everything you did for me this week.  But something went wrong. 
Horribly wrong.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“I wanted to, though.”  My voice had gotten small and
quiet.  He set his fork down and looked up at me with that odd expression
he sometimes got, like he was debating something inwardly.  He seemed to
reach a decision after a moment and gestured for me to come around to his left.

“Miss Lane, kneel down here by my side.”

This was the oddest thing he’d ever asked of me but my brain was
half comatose by this point and the prospect of getting off my feet was hugely
appealing.  I sank down on the carpet next to his chair, sitting rather
than kneeling, with my ankles tucked underneath me.

“Yes, just like that.  Close your eyes.  Rest.”

He picked up his fork and resumed eating.

“The lamb is perfect, Miss Lane.”

“Thank you.”  My voice was no louder than a whisper.

I felt his left hand come to rest lightly on top of my head. 
After a few strokes, he reached down and pulled out my pony tail holder,
dropping it to the floor behind me.  Then he ran his hand up from the nape
of my neck to my crown, gently pulling his fingers through the strands and
loosening them around my face.  His ministrations felt so good, so
relaxing, I felt myself leaning toward him and soon my cheek was resting
against his thigh.  I could hear him continue to eat his dinner and take
sips of his wine as he played with my hair.  Within minutes I was again
succumbing to sleep.

The next thing I knew I was moving.  No, wait, I was being
moved.  Where was I going?  Up.  Up, up, up.  I could hear
footsteps and I struggled to open my eyes.  All I could see was the side
of Mr. Hunter’s face, his strong jaw mostly, and a bit of his ear.  Mr.
Hunter turned his eyes down to mine.  He was so close.  Why was he so
close?  Was this a dream?  Would the Mr. Hunter in my dream mind if I
touched the scruff on his jaw?  I decided to find out and raised one of my
hands, running a finger lightly across his chin.  Raspy.  Good to
know.

“You fell asleep in the dining room.  I’m putting you to
bed,” was all he offered in explanation.

I realized then that I was still at his house and he was carrying
me upstairs.  Embarrassment swept through me, and I began to struggle to
be let down.  His grip was too firm, however, and before I could try
again, we were in the guest room.  He laid me on the bed, pulled the
covers down on one side, moved me over and then bent over my legs.  I felt
him take off my shoes and socks, and then he pulled the covers back over me and
tucked them up around my shoulders.

“You're too exhausted to go home tonight.  You can sleep here
again.  Don’t leave in the morning.  I’ll drive you home when you're
ready to go.”

I nodded, the comfortable bed pulling me quickly back into a
restful state of semi consciousness.

“One last thing, Miss Lane.”

I half-opened my eyes to see him fingering a strand of hair that
had fallen across my cheek.

“No more pony tails.”

Mr. Hunter was sitting at the kitchen island sipping a cup of
coffee and reading his laptop when I came down in my jeans and t-shirt the next
morning around eight.

“Sleep well, Miss Lane?”

“Like a log.  I feel so much better.”

“Very good.  Help yourself to coffee if you’d like. 
Otherwise, I have tea or juice.”

“Coffee would be great.”  I pulled another mug out of the
cupboard, poured myself a cup, and sat down at the island across from Mr.
Hunter.

“Can I make you something for breakfast?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

He looked up at me briefly.  “I noticed that you restocked my
eggs for me, and I'd be happy to fry you up a couple in return for your
thoughtfulness.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just have some toast.  I don’t
usually eat much for breakfast and I need to get going anyway.”

“Do you know where the bread and toaster are?”

“Yep.  Mrs. Sheridan showed me.”  I had already pulled
the bread out of the basket on the counter top and plugged in the
toaster.  “Would you like some toast, Mr. Hunter?”

“Sure, as long as you’re making some for yourself.”

I served him two pieces of buttered toast on a plate and sat back
down with my identical breakfast.  We ate in silence and I collected our
plates when we were done.  The dishwasher was still full of last night's
clean dishes.  He must have come back down and cleaned the kitchen after
putting me to bed.  I wondered what he thought of the inedible cake I’d
left in massacred pieces on the counter.  “Would you like me to put these
away?”

“No, no work for you this morning, Miss Lane.  I’ll take care
of them later.  You can just put our plates in the sink for now.”

He stood up and brought his coffee cup over to put in the sink,
too.  Standing next to him I was again struck by his height.  I was
five foot five inches, and he seemed to be at least a foot taller than me, but
that would make him six and a half feet tall, and that couldn’t be right. 
He caught me frowning up at him and asked me what I was thinking. Even a full
night’s sleep was no use against his 'honesty only' gaze so I told him I was
trying to guess his height.

“Six foot two,” he smiled.  “Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not.”  I could feel a blush starting to rise
and quickly changed the subject.  “Thank you for last night. I mean, for
carrying me to bed and letting me sleep here again.”

“Don’t worry about it.  Like I said, you fell asleep on the
dining room floor.  I would have to be a monster to send you home in that
state.”

I suddenly remembered the details of last night’s dinner.  Me
kneeling on the floor next to him, his hand in my hair, my cheek on his
thigh.  There was no controlling the blush this time.  Luckily he had
turned away from me and was gathering some things off the island.

“When would you like me to drive you home?”

“The sooner the better, I guess.  I have an appointment to
see an apartment at ten.”

“That’s not for another hour and half.  Are you sure you
don’t want some eggs?”

“I’m sure.  And the apartment is in the south end, so it will
take me a while to get there.”

He paused for a moment and turned back to me.

“Miss Lane, would it be terribly imposing of me to ask to come
with you?”

“Come with me?  Why would you want to do that?”

“For one thing, if I drive you there you won’t have to walk. 
Some of the neighborhoods get a little rough down there.  And I’d also
like to see what kind of apartment you’re considering taking.  I don’t
want you living somewhere unsafe.”

He noticed my hesitation.  “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked. 
You and Britt will be fine.”

“Britt isn't coming.  She has her last final exam this
morning.”

“So you’re heading off into the south end on your own?”

I nodded.  “That was the idea.”

“Then I think I really must insist on accompanying you, Miss
Lane.  If nothing else, at least let me drive you.  I’ll wait in the
car while you check out the apartment, if that makes you more comfortable.”

I had to admit it would be nice to get a ride there and
back.  “All right, if you insist.”

“Good.  Shall we leave in about hour?”

“Sure.”

I folded my hands together and looked around the room.  What
was I going to do for an hour in Mr. Hunter's house if I wasn’t working?

He solved my dilemma for me.  “Why don’t you browse around in
the library until
then.
  I have a few things to
do in my office.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said excitedly as I followed him upstairs
to the second floor.

I was happily ensconced in a big easy chair with a stack of novels
next to me when he stuck his head in the door an hour later and said it was
time to leave.  Already?  Darn it.  I kind of wanted to stay
here all morning.  Scratch that, all day.  All summer.  The rest
of my life.  But I pulled myself up and followed him down to the car,
grabbing my purse on the way.

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I borrow some books this summer?”
I asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.

“Of course not.  What good is a book sitting on a
shelf?  It needs to be opened and read to be of any use.”

“In that case, I promise to put as many of them to use as I can.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”  He turned and gave me a
smile.  “Now, where exactly are we going?”

I pulled the directions out of my purse and helped guide him
through traffic until we pulled up in front of a four story complex that
matched the address I was given over the phone.  The street was quiet, and
the building itself looked in good shape, so I was getting my hopes up that
this place might work.  Mr. Hunter got out and opened my door for
me.  I was getting used to his manners and knew to wait for him to extend
his hand to help me out.  He continued to hold my hand after I was on the
sidewalk, giving it a small squeeze as he surveyed the facade of the building.

“Oh, just come in with me,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I can tell
you’re dying to.”

“Thank you.” He released my hand and gestured for me to lead the
way. We found the manager’s office on the main floor.  I introduced myself
to the man behind the counter and explained that I had an appointment at ten to
look at Apartment G2.

“Ah yes, G2.  Here we go,” he said, grabbing a key out of a
drawer. “Follow me.” He led us toward an open staircase, one flight going up
and one going down.  “It’s down here, Miss Lane.”  He started
downstairs at a quick pace.  “G for ground.  There are 4 units down
here, one in each corner.  This is G2.”  He stopped in front a solid
metal door and fiddled with the key.  The fluorescent lights overhead
flickered on and off and on again.  Finally the door gave way and he
ushered us both in, seeming to notice my companion for the first time.  “I
thought you said you were taking this place on your own.  There’s an extra
monthly rate for roommates.”

“Oh no, this is my -”
  It
was too
weird to admit that my boss had accompanied me.  “- friend.  He drove
me down.”

“I see.  Okay, well, as you can see it’s small but
clean.  There’s a kitchenette in that corner and the bathroom is through
there.  This is a studio, of course, so at night you pull the couch out
into a bed.  What do you think?”

I turned slowly around.  The space was about twenty feet by
twenty feet, I’d have guessed. The kitchenette area was tiny but looked
functional.  There were two small windows high on the wall above the
couch, letting in a little natural light but not much.  The bathroom was
clean, but it was the smallest I think I’d ever seen.  I was actually
amazed they’d managed to fit a toilet into it.

“What’s the rent?” Mr. Hunter asked, his voice neutral.

“Well, there aren’t many things on the market right now, as you’ve
probably figured out.  Given the low vacancy rate in town and the fact
that Miss Lane mentioned on the phone that she needs to find a place this
weekend, I think a thousand a month is fair.”

“Are you serious?” Mr. Hunter's jaw was tightly clenched and I
could tell he was attempting to control his temper.  “That's extortion and
there’s no way -”
  I
placed a hand on his arm to
quiet him.

“Let me think about it for a night,” I said to the manager. “I'll
give you a call in the morning.”

“All right,” he shrugged. “But I can't hold it for you without a
deposit, and someone else might come along later today and snap it up.”

“We'll take our chances.”  Mr. Hunter steered me back out the
door and up the stairs.  “That place was completely unacceptable, Miss
Lane,” he said as he unlocked his car and opened my door.  I waited until
he was seated next to me before pointing out that I’d seen worse with
Britt.  His face darkened even further.

He shifted into drive and we headed back toward the north
end.  He remained silent but I could tell the wheels in his mind were
turning.  He seemed to be on the verge of saying something several times
but stopped himself.  Finally he asked me if I wanted to come back to his
house or get dropped off at my dorm.  I replied that I needed a shower and
could do a little packing, so my dorm was fine.  It wasn’t long before we
pulled up at the curb.  As usual, he opened my door and helped me get out.

“Thank you for driving me this morning, Mr. Hunter.”

“Hmm?”  He still seemed distracted by something and ran one
hand through his hair.  “Oh yes, of course, Miss Lane. Any time.”

I headed to the door of the dormitory while Mr. Hunter waited by
his car.  I was almost there when I heard him call out to me.

“Miss Lane!”  He walked briskly back up to me so that he
didn’t have to yell.  “Would you really be happy living in a place like
that?”

Looking up into his eyes, I thought about reciting all of my own
justifications – that it was only for the summer, that it was just a place to
crash at night, that there wasn’t anything else to choose from – but as usual
the only thing that came out of my mouth was the truth.

“No.  Of course not.”

“I didn't think so.  See you at dinner.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Hunter.”

“Goodbye, Miss Lane.”

My dorm room was getting emptier by the day.  Anna's stuff
was completely gone and it looked like Megan had managed to pack up at least
half of her stuff.  I could probably fit all my things in two or three
boxes and a suitcase, and technically I had until Sunday night to vacate, so I
wasn’t too worried about it.  Still, I thought, as I towel-dried my hair
and dug through my dresser for some clean clothes, it never hurts to start
early.  Damn it, I was out of clean jeans.  What was I going to wear
to work this afternoon?  I’d have to wear my skirt – the one I’d worn for
the interview – it didn’t matter as I was changing into my uniform when I got
there anyway.  I slipped into the skirt and then decided, what the
hell.  I pulled on one of my nicer blouses, a cranberry silk thing with a
bit of ruffle around the neck.  Then I decided even more what the hell,
and fastened a necklace around my neck.  It was a diamond solitaire on a
gold chain that my dad had given me when I graduated from high school.  I
loved it but rarely wore it.  I automatically started lifting my hair off
my neck to put it up but then I recalled Mr. Hunter’s final words last
night.  No more pony tails, huh?  Was that even legal?  I
couldn’t even remember the last time I’d styled my hair but I found a bottle of
mousse pushed to the back of my dresser and went to work with my blow dryer.

Not too shabby, I thought, when I was finished.  My hair had
a little natural wave to it that I’d tried to enhance with a big round brush
and it actually had behaved today and framed my face just the way I liked
it.  I looked at the clock and realized it was probably time to hit
Southbay’s
.  Too bad, so sad, didn't get any packing
done.  I wondered if my failure to pack had anything to do with my lack of
desire to move into any of the apartments I’d looked at.  Not much doubt
about that, girl, I laughed to myself.  I put on a pair of black ballerina
flats because my usual sneakers would look ridiculous with this outfit, grabbed
my purse, and left for
Southbay’s
.

On the way there I called Britt.

"How’d your test go?"

"Ugh, I don’t know.  I’m so tired right now I couldn’t
tell you if I passed or failed.”

“Congrats, though.  You’re done now right?”

“Yep,
whoo-hoo
!  You too right?”

“Yeah, I finished yesterday.”

“We should celebrate.  Want to go out tonight?”

“Hell, yes.  I’m already dressed for it, in fact.  I’ll
give you a call when I’m heading home from work, around seven.  You get
some sleep in the meanwhile, okay?”

“No worries.  I’m putting on my sleeping mask as we speak.”

I laughed out loud.  I could totally picture Britt in a
sleeping mask.