Taming Theresa (27 page)

The rest of their clothes were off, scattered
on the floor. They writhed, entwined together kissing, stroking,
exploring. Unable to wait any longer, she rolled onto her back,
legs spread wide, inviting him.

"Please, John," she moaned.

He was inside her then moving slowly and
steadily, calling up every ounce of restraint he possessed, waiting
for her to meet him. Gradually he moved faster and faster spurred
on by her mewing cries of pleasure, until they both came shuddering
together as one, kissing and holding each other.

Later they stirred, and John rose and held
out his hand to her. Theresa grasped it and without a word, they
mounted to the second floor and found a spare bedroom at the front
of the house.

It was late morning when the howling wind
outside the window woke him. He was blissfully happy and reached
out an arm to where he expected to find Theresa. She wasn't there.
Turning his head, he stared at the bare branches of trees whipped
by the wind. The morning was gray and sunless.

Gathering the covers, he pulled them up to
his chin. Getting cold in here. I'll have to turn the heat up.
Terry must be in the bath, or downstairs. Slipping from the bed, he
hurried around the corner to the bathroom.

"Babe," he called. "Where'd you go?" He
padded in on bare feet, no Terry in here. Then he noticed that the
bathtub and shower curtain were wet. Naked and shivering, he padded
downstairs and found his clothes neatly folded, on the living room
couch. Quickly he pulled them on.

John buttoned his shirt as he walked to the
kitchen calling, "Terry?" Crossing into the dining room, he saw the
Styrofoam sheet that he'd duct taped over the broken window last
night after the cops left. Sagging, it rattled and vibrated,
buffeted by the wind. "Glad I at least remembered to do that."

From the kitchen came plaintive meows. The
two cats paced anxiously in front of the broken door leading to the
porch. It closed, but the frame was splintered and wouldn't lock.
He pulled the door open and a gust of cold wind rushed in as the
kitties rushed out. He stepped across the porch to the screen door
and let them into the back yard.

"Terry?"

Back in the kitchen, he stood in the middle
of the floor, trying to gather his thoughts. Where was she? Moving
to the sink, he peered out of the window; saw his Explorer, but no
Mustang. A feeling of unease began to creep into his mind. He
looked around the room and his eyes fell on paper and pencil on the
table. He picked up the note and read.

Dear John,

Please forgive me for leaving without saying
goodbye. I wouldn't

have had the strength to leave, if you'd
asked me to stay. You and I want

such different things in life. I'm sorry; I
just can't be the kind of woman

you desire. As much as I want what we've had
together, it’s like magic,

I need more. My family means so much to me,
so I'm going home.

I hope you'll understand.

Theresa

John held the note for a long time, staring
into space. The wind whistled and gusted, rattling the windows in
the old farmhouse. He read her note over again and dropped it onto
the table.

"No, I don't understand. Dear John is right,"
he muttered bitterly and softly swore.

Theresa reduced her speed as she approached
the toll interchange near the bottom of the New York State
Throughway, and stopped to pay the attendant. The car sounded a
little funny as she accelerated and moved back into traffic and the
check engine light popped on.

Oh, man! I hope I make it back home. She
looked around nervously at the rural surroundings. This is not a
good place to break down. I guess I should've listened to John when
he said my car needed to be serviced. Why does everything have to
remind me of him? I don't want to think about him.

I should've waited until John woke up to
leave, but I just had to get away from him. One look from those
eyes of his, one touch, and we'd be back in bed making love again.
It was easier to slip out while he was asleep. Besides, putting
some distance between us is the best thing for both of us. My
future is with a good husband and family. Maybe four kids like Mom
and Dad and Sunday dinners with my parents after church. John sure
doesn't want anything like that.

"The last thing I need is to fall in love
with Mr. 'It's too soon to commit.’ Van Wart," she mimicked
scornfully. He sure didn't think it was too soon to bang my brains
out all night.

"Just because the sex is fantastic, there’s
no reason to hang around waiting for some commitment phobic male to
change." Irritated, Theresa inadvertently pressed on the
accelerator and then let up when the car made a weird grinding
noise.

"Oh no, please car, it's not much farther,"
she pleaded, and went right back to thinking of John. Remembering
his lips on her breasts and the way he'd stroked her thighs,
teasing her until she begged for him.

No! It's too soon. For god's sake, I just
broke up with Tony. I need time to think. John's not right for me.
He's not Italian, not Catholic, and he doesn't want a family like
mine in his life. He'd never blend in. I'm not the right person for
him. John needs someone like Diane. I'm too bitchy I'd drive him
crazy. Daddy would never approve.

All her well-ordered arguments were swept off
the table when thoughts of sex with John replaced them in her mind.
Damn, why did this have to happen to me? Why now?"

Nearly to her apartment in Oakland, Theresa
realized that she was almost out of gas. She pulled into a familiar
Shell Station where, thankfully, she didn't have to get out and
pump the gas herself. She handed the attendant her credit card and
he inserted the nozzle into her fill pipe, gazing idly around and
whistling some nameless tune. The Shell sign only reminded her of
John and again she felt guilt and sadness washing over her. Her
eyes misted and she failed to hear the attendant tell her to have a
good day. Eventually, she turned the ignition key, but nothing
happened. She tried again and the engine groaned, but still
wouldn't start. Her forehead pressed against the steering wheel and
she sobbed in frustration. Damn, what else can go wrong?

She waved to her car as the tow truck pulled
away with the Mustang on its way to the Ford dealership. Paul came
and picked her up. On the way over to her town house in Oakland, he
tried to make conversation.

"Hey, we thought you were staying in New York
until Sunday," he said, but got no response. "Theresa, you
Okay?"

"I'm fine, Paul," she said quietly.

"Sure, okay. So, today is Thursday. How come
you're back early? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine."

"All right, if you say so, but it looks to me
like something's wrong. Is that guy, John, taking care of the place
for Victoria?"

"Yes, he's there," she answered.

"Tony's locked up, but you knew that,
right?"

Ignoring the question, she turned her head
and looked out the window, trying not to cry.

"Are you okay?" He looked at his sister.
"Theresa, he's nothing but a worthless piece of shit. Don't start
crying for that guy. You want me to come in and stay for a while
when I drop you off at your place?"

She shook her head relieved that Paul didn't
know she was crying about John, not Tony. "No thanks, Paul. You're
sweet. Thanks for offering, but I'll be okay. I need some time by
myself."

"Ahh, forget about it." He waved the thought
away. "You know, if there's anything you need, you let me know.
Hey, is there anything you want me to tell Ma or Dad?"

"Just tell them I'll be back to work
tomorrow. And, Paul?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Thanks for everything. You're a good
brother."

Paul watched until she was safely inside her
townhouse before he drove off.

Once inside, she dropped her handbag and
suitcase and retrieved her mail. Half of it was wedding related ads
and catalogues. The new Bride's magazine had arrived, and she
tossed it in the trash. A few weeks ago, she'd been dress shopping
with her mother. A few weeks ago, she'd been engaged. That was
before breaking it off with Tony. Now she needed to finish sending
back all the engagement gifts.

Theresa turned on the Keurig coffee machine
and got a cup down from the cabinet. Sitting at her small kitchen
table, she looked over the pile of mail and sorted it, setting all
the wedding related ads aside for the trash. It was a large
stack.

Then she thought of John making love to her
last night. How he’d held her tenderly as they slept. "Oh John,
damn you! How can I ever get over you?" She put her head in her
hands and sobbed.

For forty-eight hours, John was alone with
the cats.

Like a caged animal, he slowly paced through
the rooms, stopping now and again in front of the old rotary wall
phone with its tangled wire hanging nearly to the floor. In vain,
he waited for it to ring. Then he’d rummage through the contents of
Jack's ancient green refrigerator, usually coming away with
nothing.

Romeo and Juliet watched his every movement.
Their wide-eyed little faces stared back sympathetically while he
ranted on about Theresa and women in general.

“Why did she walk out on me?" John paced in
front of them waving his arms. "We had the most incredible sex
imaginable and then she sneaks out before I'm awake. What's with
that?" Juliet still looked interested and sympathetic, but Romeo
had a shorter attention span and was becoming bored with his rant.
John continued, "Doesn't even say good-bye. Doesn’t even have the
decency to call. Like I don't have feelings.”

By the end of the first day, the cats were
tired of his performance. He circled the kitchen and cornered them
as they tried to nap on their respective chairs.

"What? Does she think I'm not good enough for
her?" he asked them.

They blinked at him and yawned.

"You both probably think I'm crazy, or
stupid. I guess I am." He sat at the kitchen table listening to the
old icebox gurgle and clunk. After a while, he asked Romeo, “Should
I call her?”

He gave John a cool disdainful glance, before
selecting a toe that needed a good cleaning.

“What if she won’t talk to me?”

The green eyes frowned at him through the
splayed toes of his hind foot.

Juliet began to polish his ankles, trying to
encourage him to make the call. Finally taking control of the
situation, he punched the buttons on his cell phone and listened to
her cheerful voice mail announcement, but quickly ended the call
without leaving a message. "What did I expect?" he asked them. "Her
voice would sound sad?" He began texting, but stopped. "What should
I say?"

On Friday, John woke to a cold steady
drizzle, the cats curled alongside him. For a long time, he lay
there feeling miserable, staring out at the rain. Then he decided
he needed some fresh air.

The screen door slammed as he stormed out of
the house and into the rain.

“I am so over you Terry! I don't need you!”
he yelled at the empty yard. In his heart, he knew that he didn’t
mean it, but it made him feel better to scream it to the world.
After retrieving the mail, he marched into the truck path that ran
between the rows of apple trees. His mind wandered down dark roads
that led nowhere. He couldn't remember ever being in such a black
mood. “Who needs her?” He continued walking until his anger was
spent and he was thoroughly wet and chilled.

Then reversing direction, he returned to the
farmhouse. Shivering with cold, he entered the kitchen, disturbing
the cats from their meal. “Sorry, guys. I’m freezing!”

Removing the contents of his pockets, he
stripped off his clothes and went down into the cellar. He tossed
everything into the washing machine, turned it on and ran shivering
upstairs to jump in a hot shower.

Finally warm enough to feel human, John dried
off and crept back into bed. For a long time, he stared at the
ceiling. Terry has to care about me, or she'd never have gone to
bed with me. If I were to ask her, would she say yes? There’s that
beautiful engagement ring Grandma left me. Nestling down into her
pillow, he breathed in Theresa’s scent, and slept straight through
the night.

Saturday morning, dressed in rumpled clothes
straight from the dryer, John carefully examined the splintered
kitchen doorframe and the shattered glass from the dining room
window. The least I can do is to fix everything and make the house
secure before Jack and Vicky come home on Sunday. He found his keys
and wallet, went out to his SUV, and left for town.

John felt a little better when he returned
from the hardware store with a pane of glass, some lumber, and the
other things he needed for the repairs. The hollow feeling inside
was still there; an ever present ache, but the project at least
gave him a sense of purpose.

First, he removed the old back door and
carefully loosened and removed the trim. Laying out all the tools
he'd need, he measured everything once, then twice. He quickly cut
the lumber and replaced the doorframe and jamb, checking to make
sure it was plumb. Fitting a replacement doorknob and hinges on the
old oak door, he installed a new deadbolt lock that sank deep into
the wall. Once the trim was replaced, he swung the door, closed it,
and threw the bolt. "Let somebody just try and kick that baby in,"
he bragged to Romeo, as the cat watched him with interest.

Next, John sat in front of the blown out
window frame and carefully removed all the remaining chards of
broken glass, filling a large cardboard box with lethal looking
spears. Sweeping up the glass off the floor, he added that to the
box and carried the mess out to the porch where he'd already piled
the shattered lumber and a box of wine and beer bottles to be
recycled.