Finding Home (10 page)

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Sean walked into the living room, sounding a little drunk and not at all contrite. He still looked really rough, although his eye was slightly less swollen, and he smelled of cigarettes and booze. Where did he get the money for it?

“You know, I was kind of expecting you home for dinner,” she said, trying to stay calm.

“Sorry,” he repeated, avoiding her gaze. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”

Megan shrugged. “It wasn’t anything special. Just tell me, next time. Leave a note or something.”

“I guess I’m not used to having anyone checking up on me.” His voice was tight, annoyed.

“What happened?”

Sean sat on the couch, grimacing slightly, obviously still sore.
“I went out looking for day jobs, but didn’t have much of a chance with this face. Even guys needing manual laborers avoided me. I gave up before I blew my chances of ever getting employed in the neighborhood.”

“That bad?”
“They took one look at me and…it wasn’t worth asking. I’ll have to wait until I look more…respectable.”

“It’ll be easier when you’re healed. Give it a couple days.”

Sean nodded. “I guess.” But he still appeared sullen and upset, and Megan went to bed early because staying there was so uncomfortable. She couldn’t think of anything to say to make him feel better. As she slipped into her sheets, she wondered whether this living arrangement was going to work, especially if he was still working the streets. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask if that was why he’d been so late.

ZY

Over the next few days things grew worse instead of better, the tension between them escalating until it exploded one afternoon when Megan came home from work. She was early for once, and as she walked up the street, she heard loud music—some rap artist she didn’t recognize—blaring from her building, and realized with a shock that it came from her open windows. She rushed up the stairs two by two, horrified at how loud it sounded in the stairwell and wincing at the thought of old Mrs. Ryan—or worse, Mrs. Sanchez, who was bedridden— having to put up with the racket.

She burst through the door into a fog of cigarette smoke. Sean sprawled on the couch with a book—a math textbook, by the look of it— nodding to the beat. A semi-full ashtray lay on the floor by him, and Megan was sorely tempted to empty it over his head.

She marched through the living room to the stereo and turned it down. “You can’t play music this loud here. What were you thinking?”

Setting the book aside, Sean looked up at her. “I didn’t think anyone would be around at this time. It’s only 4:30. Sorry.”

“There are old people living in this building. And I bet they’re not so happy to listen to…whoever that is—at top volume.” There was a lot more going on under the surface that was upsetting her, but the loud music was an easy battle to pick.

“Jesus, Megan, what’s the big deal? It wasn’t
that
loud!” Sean snapped. He picked up the ashtray and rose from the couch. “I already said I’m sorry, what the fuck else do you want from me?”

“What would happen if somebody complained to the cops about the noise?” Megan turned from the stereo, folding her arms. He snorted. “They wouldn’t call the cops. It wasn’t that loud. What the hell are you really pissed about? Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” she yelled. “But, damn it, I wish you’d quit smoking in here. I asked you not to and this is the third day I’ve come home to an apartment that reeks of cigarettes!”

“Fuck it then. I’ll just go.” He scowled and turned away, heading toward his pile of possessions in the corner. “I’ve been here too long already.”

Megan crossed the room, intercepting his path to his things. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do. I simply want you to show some consideration. I didn’t tell you not to smoke in the apartment, just keep it by the window.”

Sean flicked ash off his cigarette then stubbed it out with a hard grind into the saucer. “No. You’re right. It’s your fucking house. I’m lucky you even let me stay.” But he sounded more pissed than apologetic.

“Stop being a jackass. I’m not asking for much.” Megan reached to take the saucer from his hand. They both let go at the same time and it dropped to the living room floor, scattering ash and butts across the carpet.

“Damn it!” Megan looked at the mess then into Sean’s face.

They both froze and their gazes locked. The anger vibrating in the air between them turned to something else. Megan’s chest rose and fell as if she’d been running and adrenaline flooded her system. She wasn’t used to getting into a shouting match with anyone and told herself it was anger throwing her senses into high gear, but the tingling sensation that spread from her stomach to her crotch made a liar of her.

In the several days Sean had been living with her, the tension escalated every minute they were together. He was in a foul mood, frustrated at not finding work. She understood that. But incidents like the loud music and smoking were driving her nuts—that and the increasing sexual attraction between them. Even though she went to work every day, she never felt like she had a break from him. Her awareness of him permeated her consciousness.

“Do you want me to leave?” Sean asked again, his voice quieter. His gaze scanned hers as though honestly searching for the answer. His antagonism evaporated like smoke, his angry scowl replaced by a worried frown.

Megan’s resentment disappeared just as quickly. His stormy eyes, so changeable and indecipherable, twisted her heart. She sighed. “No. I don’t want you to leave.” She knelt and began to pick up cigarette butts, placing them on the saucer.

Sean dropped down beside her. “Don’t. It’s my mess. I’ll clean it up.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist then just held it. His fingers were a little rough and chapped and so warm, wrapped around her wrist.

For a moment they stayed that way, Sean not letting go and Megan not pulling away. “I’m sorry about the music and smoking.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “I shouldn’t have yelled.” His callused thumb traced a line along her wrist, up and down, slow and sensual.

Megan shivered at the tickling touch over her sensitive pulse point. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have been so upset.”

“Guess I’m not used to living with people anymore. And when I was with my mom, it’s not like there were strict house rules, you know?”

Megan kept her gaze trained on his thumb moving lightly over her skin. If she looked into his eyes, she’d have to admit what was happening and end it. “I don’t want to be a bitch, but the old ladies living downstairs might not be as tolerant of loud rap as I would.”

“Old ladies, yeah, got it. Next time I’ll stick to Sinatra or something.” His fingers slid along her palm as he slowly released her hand. “And I’ll keep the smoking by the window, I promise.”

Megan started to speak, but her throat was so dry her voice cracked. “That’s all I ask.” She cleared her throat and stood up quickly, anxious to move away from such close proximity to him. “I’ll get the vaccum.”

He straightened, too. “No. You just got home from work. Go unwind.

I’ll take care of this.“

Nodding, she retreated to her bedroom to change from her work clothes. She released a long-pent breath as she closed the door behind her. Would the apartment ever feel like her own again? She didn’t know how much longer she could take the thwarted sexual tension and his overwhelming presence filling her space and her consciousness.

ZY

Sean was still sleeping the next morning when Megan left for work. She wasn’t sure if he was genuinely catching up on the sleep he missed when living rough or if he was avoiding her, but she was determined to try to engage him in conversation that evening. She hoped to reestablish the easy rapport they’d shared on the street, which had somehow been lost by moving him into her apartment.

The day the paper went to press was always long, especially when things went wrong and she was stuck dealing with some major last-minute corrections on the lead story. It was past seven before Megan managed to leave work, and by the time she hit home, she was starving. She was pleasantly surprised to smell cooking clear out in the hallway as she keyed the lock. Opening the door, she breathed in an enticing scent of garlic and spices. Her stomach had been rumbling for the past few hours and she felt almost faint as hunger pangs flared up.

In the living room, Sean sat on the couch writing something on a piece of paper pressed against a book on his knee. He looked up. “Hey.”

“Hi. You cooked!”
“Yeah. I figured you’d be hungry. It’s just spaghetti and garlic bread. Boiling noodles is my specialty. Spaghetti, mac ‘n’ cheese, tuna noodle casserole. I can do all the major carb meals.”

Relief washed through her at his light tone and she grinned. “Sounds great. What are you writing?”

“Filling out some applications, but it looks like I have some temporary work already.” He was working at suppressing his smile.

“That’s fantastic! Doing what?”
“I was walking past a construction site and stopped at the office to ask if they needed any guys to do heavy lifting. Looks like my face has healed enough to pass because the boss basically told me I could turn up tomorrow and if they need help, they’ll use me, if not I go home. It might not be steady employment, but the best part is, I’ll get paid in cash, no paperwork, no questions.”

“Sounds perfect for you. Congratulations.”

He grinned, unable to hold it back, and his smile was infectious. Megan smiled, too. For the first time in days, the atmosphere felt genuinely relaxed.

“Everything’s ready if you want to eat,” he said, taking his feet off the coffee table and standing. To Megan’s surprise, the coffee table was clean of clutter. She hadn’t seen the surface of it practically since she’d moved into the apartment.

Looking around the room, she noticed other areas where stacks of books had been re-shelved or scattered magazines were placed in neat piles. For once there were no haphazardly discarded socks, sweaters or shoes lying around the room. She assumed they’d made it back to her closet. And it even looked like her asthmatic vacuum cleaner had been run over the ragged carpet.

“You cleaned!” Megan was almost taken aback. She should have been overjoyed at having a free and much needed house-cleaning, but instead felt slightly annoyed. This was her space. These were
her
things, her books which had been lying right where she’d put them for a specific reason. Besides which, it was kind of embarrassing that a guy who until last week lived in abandoned buildings found her home too messy to bear.

“Yeah. I picked up a little. Would’ve done it sooner, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me messing with your stuff.” He seemed to catch her ambivalent vibe. “Is that okay?”

“Oh, of course. Thank you. I’m just surprised. I don’t generally think of teenagers as being neat.”

He shrugged. “Where I grew up, if I didn’t keep things clean, no one did.”

She followed him into the kitchen and found the table set for two and the smell of garlic even stronger. “Wow, looks like you taught yourself to cook, too.”

Together they brought the food and beverages to the table. Megan would usually have had wine with her meal to unwind after her long day, but she thought she should set a better example for Sean, so she poured them both glasses of milk.

Sean’s spaghetti was delicious and, although he swore he hadn’t done anything but boil pasta and open a jar of sauce, it tasted like he’d raided Megan’s seldom-used spice rack and created a culinary masterpiece. Or maybe she was just ravenous, since she hadn’t eaten anything except half of Cynthia’s sub for lunch.

“What’d you do at work today?” Sean asked.
“Proofreading, gossiping with my co-workers, the usual.” She hesitated before sharing the news of her assignment. “A few days ago,

Rossi told me I could cover a story on Saturday, something about a church group turning a vacant lot into a playground. Guess there was no one else who could go.“

“That’s great. It’s what you’ve been waiting for, right, an assignment? So what made him realize your writing talents are being wasted? Did he read your article?”

“Yes. He’s thinking about using it. He liked it, but said it needed some revision before it could be printed.”

Sean nodded and his eyes were blank, giving away nothing. She couldn’t tell if he still felt she’d used the kids’ life stories to further her career and was pissed about it or not.

“You worked hard on it,” he finally said politely. “You deserve success.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you check the article over before it goes to press, if Rossi decides to use it.” She accepted his diplomacy then changed the subject. “So, are you going to continue working toward your G.E.D.? Can I buy you textbooks?”

A frown creased his forehead then vanished. “I can get the materials I need at the library. No more loans. I already owe you too much.”

“Okay.” Megan would gladly have given him whatever he needed, but recognized his pride was hurt at accepting her help. “What kind of career do you want to pursue when you’re finished with your schoolwork?”

“I’m not sure.”
“What subject are you best at?”
“Math, I guess. It’s always been pretty easy for me.”

She nodded. “Lots of careers need a strong math background. That’s good.”

“What, are you my guidance counselor now?” His tone was sharp. “You gonna have me filling out career questionnaires next?”

“Sorry. I’m not trying to be invasive, but I wondered about your plans for your future.”

He set his fork down. “To stop leeching off you as soon as possible and find a place of my own.” His voice was hard.

Megan felt like she’d been slapped. Her lips tightened.
“Shit!” Sean pushed back from the table and stood up. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. Again.” He picked up their plates and carried them over to the sink. “I just hate sponging off you. I’m used to depending on myself and I feel like a fucking charity case, eating your food, sleeping on your couch, pissing you off ‘cause I’m in your way.”

“Don’t.” Megan stood and crossed the kitchen to him. She touched his forearm, ignoring the heat that shot from her fingers up her arm. “I’m your friend. I want to help you, like I know you’d help me if I needed it.”