Paradise Fought (Abel) (8 page)

I didn’t want to believe Cain, but he warned me she’d come back. He said a girl like her needed this gig and wouldn’t take lightly to giving it up. He gave Kursch some cash and told him to handle things. I learned that Carrie, the owner, would be sending Elma a check for two weeks’ pay, which wasn’t her customary policy. Cain had taken care of me again.

I had just gotten into my car when I saw her return to the lot. I stewed in the front seat as I watched her cross the graveled space and then return moments later equally angered. She was a tough girl. I didn’t know how to respond to her question.

“Why do you want to help me, Abel?”

If I told her the truth, she’d run. I needed her, and so far, she’d taught me a valuable lesson: harden my heart. I could get close to a girl. I could be excited by a girl, but it was better to not want her emotionally. I felt like I was learning moves. It was obvious that Elma was turned on. Something in my presence, my stance, left her breathing heavy, even if she wasn’t attracted to me directly. It had to be a physical reaction: Human Anatomy 101. That’s what I needed to learn. How could I get girls to be physically attracted to me?

The weekend passed and the rumors circulated on another Monday. There had been another underground fight and Betta had won in the second round. Gossip stirred as people wondered who Betta was. Where did he come from? Why hadn’t anyone heard of him before? Stories included that he was from an Ivy League school out East, kicked out for fighting, and now trying to make a name on the West Coast. Other rumors said he’d done some juvie time. My favorite was the one that said he was a computer enhanced human, an experiment in the Valley. Whoever he was, his name was only a murmur still.

That week in anatomy, we were assigned a lab that included dissection. Our partners were our choice for this first assignment, and I was stuck with two guys who sat in the back of class as I did. Elma wasn’t talking to me again. I took a purely scientific approach to slitting the organism and labeling the parts, while girls gagged around us at other tables. Elma looked sheet white when I stole a glance in her direction. To my surprise, she looked up at me at the same time. Her eyes almost pleaded with me to help her, but then it passed. She seemed very uncomfortable with slicing an inanimate object with her partners, which included Thor, who was making a mockery of the specimen. She looked away as quickly as she looked up, and I realized for the millionth time I couldn’t really rescue Elma. She didn’t want to be saved.

I ran into her after class when I saw her exiting the ladies room. While her partners didn’t wait for her, I stalled in the hallway when I saw her.

“Hey,” she said, still looking pale.

“Are you alright?” I asked, concerned.

“Yeah. That was a bit intense for me, but I’m over it now. I know it will only get worse.” She smiled weakly. “But I can’t drop the class, just because it makes me queasy.”

“Did you get sick?”

“No,” she said, brushing a hand through her blonde streaks. “Just dry heaves.”

“Do you have a class next?”

She shook her head.

“Let me get you some lunch.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she said, looking over my shoulder, down the empty hall. Silence stretched between us.

“He didn’t wait for you,” I bit, then twisted my lips to hold in the anger.

“I…” Her eyes shifted to mine then looked down at the floor. “I didn’t expect him to wait.”

“Come have lunch with me, friend,” I tried to tease.

She smiled weakly up at me. I bent my knees to get a better look into her blue eyes. She appeared tired.

“I can’t have lunch with you. I need to go find a new job.” Her words stung.

“It’s only lunch. Think of it as a peace offering,” I said, ignoring her jabbing tone.

“Peace offering?” she questioned, her face softening.

“An apology for the other night.”

“Oh right, for forcing me to quit my job?” she said teasingly. “Well, you do owe
me
for once. The least you can do is buy me lunch.”

“Want me to take you to dinner, too?” I teased in return.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Killer,” she laughed. “Lunch is plenty.”

La Cantina was crowded, and the weight of eyes was heavy upon us as I followed Elma with a tray of food to a back table. I could almost read people’s minds as they wondered: who was that guy with Elma Montgomery? Most of them didn’t even know my name. I was prepared to be
that guy,
until I heard someone question if it was Abel Callahan with her. The surprise in their tone proved their disbelief. Who would ever believe that Elma Montgomery was with Abel Callahan? Of course, we weren’t together. We were eating lunch together; as friends.

“So I’d like to apologize again about Carrie’s,” I started.

“You should,” she said, in a tone I wasn’t certain was playful.

“It’s just that seeing you up there, and knowing that creepy men were lusting after you, building fantasies of what they could do to you, wanting to touch you…”

“Okay, I got it,” she laughed, holding up a hand.

“I just couldn’t stand it,” I mumbled, running a hand through my hair.

“Abel?” she questioned, her voice low.

“Any way…” I sighed. “You said you needed the job. Why? What’s going on?”

“Well, my brother used to take care of us: my mom and I. I guess I took it for granted. When he died suddenly, we weren’t as secure as we were before. I had to be the one to take over.” She paused looking at me in question. “And that was too much shared information.”

“What happened to your brother?” I asked, ignoring her embarrassment and recalling what she’d told me in Hawaii last month. Her brother had been killed.

When she didn’t answer, I asked another question. “What about your mom?”

Elma looked nervously around us as I dipped a fry in her ketchup. She seemed hesitant to answer, and in many ways, I could relate. I didn’t like to talk about my brother or mother either.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” I said, pushing the fry into my mouth. Elma stared at me and then a smile grew. She started to giggle.

“What?” I asked, pinching my eyebrows.

“You have ketchup…” She motioned with her fingers over her lips. I wiped at my own roughly.

“Got it?”

“Nope. Here.” She stood partially, leaned over the table and brushed at the corner of my mouth with her thumb. Instinctively, I turned into the pressure and captured her thumb with my teeth. Elma froze. Her eyes widened. I opened my jaw immediately.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Her eyes remained on me as she lowered back into her seat. I had the strangest sensation of the cafeteria growing slowly silent, then roaring to life again with the chatter of conversations and the clatter of silverware. I coughed to cover my mistake.

“I’ve gotta go,” Elma muttered. She stood abruptly and gathered her bag. “Thanks for lunch, Abel.”

When Abel bit my thumb, I thought I’d lose it right there at the table. He was annoying, always trying to save me, and yet the sensation of my finger in his warm mouth caught me off guard. Hooked and lured, something unfamiliar rippled through me, so intensely, I couldn’t move. If he had asked me to get naked on the table, I would have ripped off my own clothes. He had a strange effect on me.

I noticed it that night at Thor’s apartment, and then again, at Carrie’s. Despite my anger at losing my job, I was convinced he was going to kiss me when he pressed me against my car. My heart hammered in anticipation, and my brain reasoned it was going to happen. He wouldn’t be the first guy to kiss me in a parking lot, but he was the first guy who had me excited and left me hanging. I was caught then released, like a boy playing with his first catch.

I didn’t have time to further contemplate Abel when I arrived home to find my mother crying. Again. I heard her sobs as I opened the front door. The space was so small; we could hear the neighbors on occasion.

“Momma,” I called softly, as I entered her room to find her seated on the floor next to her bed. Her head was hung; her blonde hair limp and dirty.

“Momma?” I questioned softly, kneeling before her. When I placed a hand on her knees, she flinched. Her head shot up. The tender welt beneath her eye was the reason for her tears.

“Momma!” I shrieked. She stared at me, as the tears fell harder. Her hands came up to cover her face.

“Momma,” I repeated, as if it was the only word I knew. I gently tugged back her hands. “What happened?” I breathed.

“It was my fault. I said something I shouldn’t have said.” Her voice was ragged and she hiccupped as she tried to calm the sobbing.

“That’s no excuse,” I commanded. “Who was it?”

“No one you know,” she sighed, looking away ashamed. I had to give her credit. At least she was embarrassed by her behavior, but I didn’t understand her. When we had it all, she was so selective. She flirted, but was more of a tease. I’d watch her saunter in tight dresses and sidle up to men with a laugh, but I’d never seen her follow through. She was rather against men except for Montana. Bitter over my father’s exit when we were young, she seemed to swear off the opposite gender. It baffled me that she appeared to be attracted to the same type of man as my father had been. It was still no excuse.

“I need to get you some ice,” I said, standing, but her cool hand wrapped around my wrist.

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me, yet.”

My heart broke. My mother and I had been close once. She wasn’t much of a parent. We were more like friends. At times, I needed her to be the adult, but then again, we had Montana. He was in charge. He provided for us. The responsibility fell to me once he was gone. I didn’t intend to be cold toward her, but if I had to be in charge that included setting limits on my attentiveness.

“I’m getting ice,” I said, attempting to reassure her. “I’ll be right back.” Whether she released me, or I was able to break free of her didn’t matter, I pulled back and exited her room for the kitchen. An empty bottle of vodka and two glass tumblers sat on the small Formica table. A chair was toppled over, lying on its side on the scuffed linoleum floor. Once again, I stared around me and wondered:
How did this become my life?