Phoenix (6 page)

I stare at him in shock. What on earth? I expected something bad given
his scars, but this? It’s the stuff of horror stories. His father sold him?
Jesus. And then suddenly, I understand why I feel this sense of familiarity
with Phoenix. We have both known hateful families. We have both known the hand
of violence from someone who was supposed to love us.

His shirt sleeves are rolled up, the skin of his arms touching mine. I
feel like resting my head in the crook of his neck and staying there forever.
Just breathing in his smell.

I want to ask him more questions, about how he got away from the man his
father sold him to, but I feel like he is not ready to talk yet.

“How’s your foot?” he asks tenderly, bending forward and taking it into
his hands.

“It’s healing,” I say, watching as he rubs it.

“That’s good.”

He lifts me by the hips and moves me so that he can better access my
foot. I groan as he rubs out the aches and watch the focused concentration on
his face.

“You touch me a lot,” I blurt out.

His eyes flick up to mine. “Yeah, I do. You’re incredibly touchable,
Eve.”

“Do you touch a lot of women?” I cringe at the question, wishing I could
take it back.

Lips twitching, he asks back, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“I live alone in a small town, so you do the math. Besides, there is no
one here that I want to touch. Well, there wasn’t until I saw you in the bar
last weekend. I really wanted to touch you then, especially when that fool
approached you.”

“Tim? Why?”

“You had this way about you that I found endearing. I was just about to
come over and talk to you, try to make up for being so mean about the poem you
gave me, but then he came along.”

I think on that for a while, letting the fizzing excitement in my belly
take over. He found my ways endearing. I always considered them to be a
hindrance, something that turned people off. But Phoenix was actually drawn to
me, even though I was an anxious mess at the time.

There is a long silence as he works his hands on my foot. “Are you ever
lonely?” I ask, breaking the quiet.

He sucks in a breath at my question, then answers softly, “Loneliness is
a necessary evil for me.”

I nod. “I was so lonely when Harriet died. She was old but she was always
so full of life and then she was gone. It’s ridiculous but it was so
unexpected.” I pause and then admit, “I don’t feel lonely when you’re around,
Phoenix.”

“I don’t feel lonely when you’re around either, darling,” he replies and
then moves onto the other foot.

As I wave Phoenix
off from my front doorstep later that evening, a scruffy ginger cat walks by my
door and then stops when he sees me. He’s one of those big muscular looking tom
cats, possibly wild. He reminds me of Thomas O’Malley from
The Aristocats
.

I leave the door open and hide in the living room doorway to see if he’ll
follow me into the house. Maybe I can domesticate him. Warily, he makes his way
into the hall and passes by me into the kitchen. I quickly go and close the
front door.

When I go into the kitchen he’s sitting in the middle of the floor as if
it goes without saying that I will feed him. His big dark green eyes watch me
as I look in the fridge to decide what to have for dinner. I suppose he can
have whatever I’m having. I’ve always wondered if cats and dogs get sick of
eating cold squelchy meat from a tin.

I decide on cooking chicken in black bean sauce with rice. I’m wary as to
whether or not the cat will like it. However, when I put the big plate on the
floor he dives straight in and devours it as if it were any normal sort of cat
food. He even polishes off the rice, which is unusual, since whenever I’d given
Harriet’s cat, Sandy, people-food she would just sift out the meaty bits and
leave the rest in the bowl.

After he’s eaten, the big ginger thing sits by the wooden door that leads
out to the back garden and licks clean his paws and his thick scruffy coat. He
seems content now that he’s been fed. He stops licking for a moment, looks at
me and lets out a loud, deep meow, then continues with his grooming.

He’s probably getting himself ready for a night out on the town, I muse.
He strikes me as one of those Lothario tom cats. Every night a new lady. When
he’s finished licking himself he begins scratching at the door.

To me he looks like a Jeffrey, so that is what I decide I’ll call him. I
can tell I’ll be fond of him if he becomes a regular visitor. I get up and
unlock the door to let him out and off he saunters. He will probably be having
more fun tonight than me. I’ve got a big batch of homework to correct, which is
not exactly the most fun a person can have. It takes me longer than it should
to get finished. I cannot concentrate properly because my mind is full of
Phoenix and his dark brown eyes. Sometimes they look black, sometimes grey...

The week goes by
quietly. With practice, the teaching is becoming less and less stressful. This
weekend I am going to try my hand at gardening, because my garden has lots of
flowers, however they are overgrown with weeds and in desperate need of some
TLC.

I have only seen Phoenix a handful of times since he came to my cottage
that evening. Once was when he was practicing his martial arts in his garden
early one morning on my way to work. Another was when he called over to ask if
I could lend him some milk. I asked if he wanted to come inside. He looked like
he wanted to say yes, but instead he declined. I decided not to push the
matter.

The last time I saw him was when I happened by his shop, Smith Carpentry
& Furnishings. I spent a little bit of time admiring the handcrafted furniture
through the window. Then I glanced up to find him standing by the cash register
watching me. I gave him an embarrassed smile, waved and continued on my way.

I cannot stop thinking about how he touched me on my sofa that cold,
rainy evening.

When my last class is finished on Friday, I go to the staff bathroom to
freshen up before leaving. Sitting in a classroom all day can make me feel
quite grubby, so it’s always nice to splash a bit of water over my face and
arms.

I walk from the school to the local hardware store to buy supplies for my
gardening. When I get there I notice the name James Matthews above the door and
remember that Margaret’s son owns the place.

My heart beats fast with nerves at the prospect of having to make small
talk, as it always does. I’m usually okay once I start talking; it’s the
anticipation that kills me. There are a good few people inside. I spot Margaret’s
son chatting casually to a customer.

James is tall and stocky with light blue eyes and reddish blonde hair. He
looks like he might be in his late thirties. I begin to search my brain for the
kinds of things one might need for gardening. A rake. A trowel. One of those
huge sweeping brushes with the thick red bristles. God, I can’t even remember
what those are called.

Sometimes when I go into a shop and I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking
for I become incredibly self-conscious and paranoid that the shopkeeper is
watching me impatiently. Right now that is most certainly not the case, however
I can’t seem to shake the anxiety.

I pick up a packet of weed-killer and turn it over to look at the back,
just for something to do. A woman with two small children pushes past me in the
narrow aisle. There are two men in their fifties in the next aisle talking
about fertiliser. Not too many people, but to me in this moment it’s like an
enormous crowd. I can feel the beads of perspiration formulating on my brow.

Stop it
, I tell myself.
Nobody is looking at you, nobody cares.
You’re just a person shopping, like everyone else here.
I dig a
handkerchief out of my bag and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I take deep
breaths in and out and tell myself once more to calm down.

   Funnily enough, I probably will need the weed-killer I’m holding in my
sweaty palms, so I put it in the basket I got at the door. When I turn to go look
in the next aisle I stop in my tracks. Phoenix is standing at the opposite end
of it, staring at some tins of varnish on a shelf.

He must sense me looking at him because he quickly turns toward me. When
he sees me he nods hello with a small smile. I hesitate before smiling back and
mouthing, “Hi.”

Phoenix then returns his attention to the tins he was previously
consulting. I force myself to continue shopping and not run out of the place in
fear of what, I do not know. I grab a few packets of seeds. I don’t even look
at them to see what they’re for. If they are seeds then I’m sure I will be able
to plant them.

The next items I pick up are, one: a medium sized shovel, two: a watering
can, and three: pruning shears. I decide this will do for now. In my peripheral
vision I can see that Phoenix is still in the shop, which is beginning to empty
seeing as it’s almost closing time.

 I queue up at the counter behind the woman with the two children. When
it’s my turn I stagger slightly at the weight of my shopping basket and
Margaret’s son rushes around from behind the counter to assist me.

“Thank you,” I tell him gratefully.

“No problem,” he replies smiling. His eyes scan me up and down. “Aren’t
you Eve? My mother’s new neighbour?”

“Uh yes, how did you know?”

“She described you well. Mum’s big on details.”

“Oh, right,” I reply, glancing down at the floor and picking at my nails.

“Well, thanks for keeping my parents company last Sunday. Mum’s taken a big
shine to you. She said you’re lovely,” James goes on as he slides my items past
the scanner.

“That was very kind of her to say.”

His expression warms as he compliments me cheerfully while putting my
things into a plastic bag. “She was definitely right.”

I hear footsteps stop behind me and I know they belong to Phoenix because
he is the only person left in the shop besides me. I can hear him breathing heavily,
can almost feel his air touch the back of my neck.

“Planning on doing a spot of gardening?” asks James.

“If the weather holds.”

“Any plans for the weekend?”

“Nothing besides grade homework and garden,” I say.

James lets out a polite laugh. “Ah yes, you teach at the school. Mum
mentioned that, too.”

I am highly aware of Phoenix’s presence behind me. I don’t know why, but
this makes my chest tighten and my legs feel like they’ve got pins and needles.
James seems to be taking note of what I have bought.

“Won’t you need some gloves?” he asks.

“Huh?” I give him a confused look.

“For the gardening?” he prompts.

“Oh, yes. I forgot about gloves.”

“Would you like me to go get you some?”

“Sure.”

James leaves the counter and goes to the very back of the shop where the
gardening gloves are kept. A silence hangs between me and the man standing
behind me. My knees go shaky for a minute and I drop backwards slightly. Two
firm hands catch me and I let them hold me in place, not allowing me to fall. His
face is in my hair then, breathing deeply. Now that he’s touching me, my
anxiety slips away. I turn a little in his arms to look up into his eyes.

Phoenix stares at me, his breath hitting my cheeks. “Eve, are you alright?”
he asks while gently massaging my elbows. I let out a quiet sigh.

“Yes. It’s been a long week. I think I might be over-tired.” I reach up
to rub at my temples. I don’t want him to know how this everyday activity has
caused me so much stress. How sometimes being in an ordinary public setting
makes me extraordinarily nervous.
Jesus, Maxwell, what have you caused me to
become?
I ask my monster of a brother.

“You seem shaky,” he observes, pulling me closer. Then he mutters under
his breath. “God, you always smell amazing. I’ve missed you this week.”

Then why did you stay away?

I draw back from him, worried that James will return and catch us in our embrace.
Then he will tell his mother and it will be halfway across the town before
dinnertime.

“I’m not myself today,” I whisper.

Phoenix puts his hand on my shoulder. “That’s okay. Do you need a ride
home?”

I cough. “Yes, that would be great.”

When James comes back he takes payment for the gloves and hands me the
rest of my purchases. I go outside and sit on a bench to wait for Phoenix. His
black truck is parked right outside the shop. Sitting down, I allow all of the
built up nervous tension to subside. The shop door opens and James runs out. He
has my purse in his hand and he looks from left to right before he spots me.

“Eve! Thank God I caught you. You forgot this.” He hands me the purse.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him.

From behind Phoenix exits the shop and comes to stand beside James.

“Ah, Phoenix. How’s business for you these days?” asks James.

“As well as can be expected,” Phoenix replies, his mouth set a little
tight.

 James nods amiably. “Good to hear. Well, I hope that wood varnish is to
your satisfaction.”

Phoenix acknowledges his statement with a curt nod.

Blowing air out of his mouth, James fiddles with something in his pocket.
He says nothing for a moment, as if waiting for Phoenix to leave for some
reason.

When he realises that Phoenix is staying put, he says, “Oh, Eve, I forgot
to mention. I’m having a barbecue at my house tomorrow evening to celebrate my
40
^th
birthday. I was wondering if you’d like to come?”

“Sure. I might stop by,” I reply.

“You’re welcome to come too, Phoenix,” says James, to which Phoenix again
nods silently. His eyes are narrowed now, looking darkly at James.

“My house is number 15 on Peter’s Crescent. The barbecue starts at six.”

“Okay, I’ll probably see you there then,” I say.

James gives me one last beaming smile and then hurries back into the
shop.

Once he’s gone Phoenix asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I answer, and before I know it he’s grabbed my shopping bag and
put it in the back of his truck.