Huntress (10 page)

Ah yes, the coffee was finally kicking in and I was well on my way to being sparkly.

I reached my room and pulled on a pair of sweats, untangled my hair with my fingers and put it up into a ponytail.  Thank God for ponytails.  I had just enough time to check my email before harassing Dylan some more before breakfast.

The doorbell rang again.

This was a conspiracy.

They were after my sanity.

Grabbing my coffee, I stomped to the front door and swung it open, ready to blast my latest victim. It was Drew. My posture changed immediately.

"Drew. Hey," I began awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what to say. I really wanted to apologize for being such a jerk last night but a simple apology seemed too trite. On the other hand, maybe it was just time for me to play it straight. I took a deep breath, ready to just get it out.

I didn’t get a chance.

"Did you receive the delivery this morning? I don’t see the crates."

He was all business as he pushed his way into the house.

"You’re kidding right? You ordered a delivery at seven-o-fucking a.m.?"

He rounded on me, his eyes hard and cold. "Not my fault that you can’t be bothered to get your fat ass out of bed in a timely manner. Where are they?" He turned around looking out towards the back yard.

Wow.  Just a few minutes ago I'd been prepared to eat crow - to beg and plead forgiveness for last night, but not now.  He could very well kiss the fattest part of my ass before I'd ever apologize.

I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him around towards the door, and then shoved as hard as I could. Unfortunately he grabbed my wrist and brought me with him. I stumbled and my coffee mug went flying across the porch and into the bushes.

Oh this was
bullshit
! Nobody ruined a perfectly good cup of coffee AND called my ass fat before seven thirty!

"I could have forgiven the fat ass comment, but the coffee was the last straw."

I balled up my fist and swung, expecting to connect to jaw. Having never been in a fight in my entire life, it didn’t occur to me that just swinging wasn’t going to work. I missed completely and swung around clumsily. Grr!

He grabbed my arm, swung me into the house and slammed the door closed before shoving me up against the entry-way wall.

"Grace, stop."

"No! You stop. You stop trying to control my life!" I bit out and then stomped on his instep before slamming my elbow back into his stomach.

The grunt he emitted was satisfying and I turned around - preparing to knee him in the jewels - when I heard the last thing a mother wants to hear.

"Moooooom! I need some toilet paper!"

Aww fuck it all. "One minute baby!"

Drew’s fingers wrapped around my throat and he slammed my head against the wall. Images swam before my eyes along with a few bluebirds and butterflies. I suddenly got the cartoons.

His face was only inches away from mine when he snarled, "I appreciate the effort, but next time - don't allow anyone to grab you.  Use your feet - aim low.  Take out a knee.  You aim high and you’re leaving yourself open to risk.  Now, take care of Dylan, and then you will meet me back here to discuss the crates further."

He didn’t let me get a word in edgewise, just shoved me toward Dylan’s room. I tamped down the anger and grabbed some toilet paper from the hall closet, muttering under my breath.

Tossing the TP through his cracked door, I called, "Here you go, Bubby. After your shower, get dressed. I’ll have oatmeal waiting for you in the microwave. I’m going to show Drew some crates in the back yard."

"Kay, Mom. Are you ok? I heard some banging."

"Yeah, I tripped on a shoe and threw my coffee out into the yard. I was just pissed and banging around. Now get a move on," I ordered, turning back toward the ‘enemy’ with new determination.

Listen, confrontation wasn’t my thing but his behavior was completely unacceptable. If I needed to get a little assertive to show him that he would respect me, by God, someone was walking away their balls in their throat.

Drew was sitting at the breakfast bar when I made it back to the kitchen. A fresh cup of coffee was sitting in front of him. He pushed it towards me like it was some kind of peace offering.

I paused for a fraction of a second, then reached for it and nodded my thanks.

He didn’t waste time on small talk. "Always go low. If you go high, the chances are greater that the person you are attacking can use your body as leverage like I did."

I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say. I’d just gotten into a fist fight in my foyer. Jekyll and Hyde much? I was not a violent person but the frustrated anger kept boiling to the surface, pushing me so far out of character that it scared me.

He seemed to understand my loss for words because he got up from his chair, nodded at my cup and asked me to follow him.

I nodded stupidly and trailed after, sipping my drink. He’d made it perfectly, lots of sugar and cream.

"I don’t know why you bother drinking coffee when it doesn’t even taste like coffee when you’re done with it."

"Caffeine," was all I said in reply.

"Are you curious about what’s in the crates?"

"Honestly, I haven’t had time yet this morning to be curious. Between fighting with the delivery guy, fighting to get Dylan in the shower, and then physically fighting with you…" I drifted off after that. He either got the picture or he didn’t. I was exhausted and it wasn’t even eight a.m. yet.

"Me being here with you - it’s not just to make your life easier. You have to be prepared, Grace. That is my primary goal. If that means that I have to play babysitter, housekeeper and ghost-writer— well I’ll do that. That is
not
the main purpose, though."

He looked me up and down. His eyes were assessing and I felt small and bug-like under his gaze.

"You didn't like being called a fat ass this morning, but you're the one who's let yourself become this –" He waved his hand around in front of me as if looking for the right words. "Grace, you're downright dumpy.  I'm not sure how you let yourself get this way, but you have to change it if you expect to survive."

I could feel myself getting defensive and was on the verge of shutting down and shutting him out, when he put his hand on my arm.

"I don’t say these things to hurt your feelings. You had every right to get angry. I just don’t understand why you haven’t gotten angry enough to do something about it."

He paused and ran his hand through his already tousled hair. "Now, you just don’t have much of a choice. We’re on a deadline here. If you’re not ready, you’re going to die."

He pulled a hammer out of nowhere (yes, literally nowhere) and started to pry open the crates.

"Where the hell did that come from?" I asked astonished.

"Hmm," he began, "It's hard to explain. You can think of it like me willing this tool into existence.  It's matter manipulation that is fueled by atomic mass, a bit of power and a lot of practice." He grinned at me like he'd just explained the Theory of Relativity to a five year old. "It’s handy and it’s something you will learn."

"Could you materialize a new pair of Jimmy Choos for me?" I asked excitedly.

"Don’t get distracted," he replied wryly. "We have real work to do here."

I started to grin, getting ready for a joke but I stopped myself. "Listen," I started. "I don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us. I was a bitch last night and I was going to apologize when you went all dickface on me this morning."

He leaned against the crate and crossed his arms.

"Grace, I can read your mind. I
know
that you were going to apologize to me. I don’t
want
you to apologize to me. What I want is for that to not happen again."

He took a deep breath before he continued. "I may have overreacted and went a little far this morning. I guess I was trying to prove that I had the upper hand, too.  But, this isn’t about who is in control.  As far as appearances are concerned, you are my boss. The reality is this - I am your tutor for the next few months. If you don’t trust me and follow me in this, you aren’t going to survive. I really like your kid and I don’t want him to end up without his Mom because you were too stubborn to let me guide you."

I listened to him. I mean, I REALLY listened to him. He was right. When I wasn’t grousing about his interfering with my life, it was easy to forget that this guy was sent by Diana to prepare me. I closed my eyes and gave him a short nod.

"You’re right. I can’t say that it’s going to be easy, but I’ll make the effort to keep a lid on the emotions and trust you enough to get me through this next phase. It’s a struggle to suppress the control freak, but I’ll try."

"That’s all a man can ask. Now, let’s crack these babies open." He rubbed his hands gleefully together in anticipation and I couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. I watched as he wedged the tool into a slat and pulled.

With a creaking groan, the wood gave away and swung open. Inside sat a treadmill and a nautilus machine. They gleamed with polished chrome. Buttons and digital displays covered each surface. They were a techie’s wet dream.

"Sexy," I breathed.

"Yeah," he agreed.

I nodded towards the other two crates. "What’s in those?"

"You know, Dylan’s out of the shower. Why don’t you prod him into getting dressed and I’ll open the other two."

I smacked my palm against my forehead.  "Geez.  Wow me with shiny electronics in the form of rigorous torture devices, and I forget myself."

I was halfway to the door when I turned and asked, "Hey - do you want anything for breakfast?"

"Naw," he replied with a grin. "I already ate. I’ve seen what you call breakfast and it’s enough to drop an elephant with a heart attack. We’ll go grocery shopping later. You’re going to have to change your eating habits."

"Sadistic bastard!" I called over my shoulder playfully and continued onward to prod the Spawn.

Things were ok. Just like that, they were ok. How weird? People in my world stayed pissed off and bitchy with each other for a few days, maybe even a few weeks before it was either forgiven or forgotten. Nothing ever ended up resolved and it just festered until the next fight. This nonsense with making up and resolving things was new and - quite frankly - amazing.

It was a miracle that I wasn’t a crazy, demonic bitch after trying to get Dylan moving in the mornings. I wasn’t the most cheerful morning person, but my child could rival the worst of them when it came to getting out of bed and off to school. I didn’t see a nine-to-five job in his future. If he wasn't listlessly staring at the TV in his underwear, he was complaining that he was suffering from some new disease.

"I think I've got a kidney stone," he whined.

"You don't have a kidney stone. Put on your shoes and go eat your oatmeal."

"No, I'm positive that I do," he replied stubbornly.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why do you think you have a kidney stone?" Exasperated at this point, I started digging through the piles of shit - comprised mostly of Lego blocks, magazines and clothes - searching for his shoes.

"I have back pain and when I went to the bathroom it sounded like water running over rocks."

I rolled my eyes. "You're going to have to do better than that if you think you're getting out of school. That doesn't sound like kidney stones at all.  Seriously, put your shoes on. You have 10 minutes and we're leaving - whether you've eaten or not."

He groaned and looked forlorn.  It was difficult having a child who knew how to push your buttons. This one had his fingers all over mine. Guilt warred with parental responsibility and I forced myself to give him a final stern look before marching myself back out his door.

Parental responsibility won and we pulled up to his school just as the first bell rang. Hey, we were doing better.

Thirty minutes later I found myself standing back in front of the opened crates. Somehow while I was dropping Dylan at school, Drew had emptied the first crate and turned my basement into a quasi-gym. I didn’t have much of a reason to really go down there, so it was mostly used for storage. Meaning, it was a dumping ground for empty boxes, broken GI Joes and old clothes that had never quite made it to Goodwill.

It looked like Drew had been clearing out the space just for this purpose. The shiny new treadmill and weight machine stood in a corner, next to a wall with newly installed mirrors.  I had no idea how he’d gotten those installed without me seeing them and frankly, I wasn’t appreciative. Who the hell wanted to see themselves sweaty and flabby?

I’d raised my eyebrows at the mirror and asked, "Going for très kink?"

"You’re funny. Ever consider doing stand-up instead of writing for a living?"

"I did but I don’t think that the audience could handle my level of awesome," I replied.

He shook his head at me before stating, "They’re so you can watch your technique. It’s imperative that you know what you look like moving."