The Flu 1/2 (9 page)

Experimental dishes for the benefit of Lars Rayburn’s visit went to waste at Jean’s Diner because no one really wanted to try the exotic-looking food, so Jean gave it to Mick knowing that he had a cast iron stomach, and Mick was grateful. Not only was it a free meal he took home, but one that he could easily warm by popping it into the microwave.

The green wilted leaf dish looked hideous to Mick, but it didn’t smell bad. And he highly doubted, like everyone feared, that he would get sick. He may have caught every type of bug that flew through Lodi, but stomach bugs didn’t affect him. Only once did he have food poisoning and that was when he was eighteen and deliberately ate bad meat to prove to Dylan that he wouldn’t get sick.

He had.

Reminiscing about that horrid experience made Mick think about another...the dismantling of his relationship with Dylan. Not that the breakup bred violent cramping, vomiting, and diarrhea, but he felt bad just the same.

Hot dish burning his hands as he removed it from the ‘Mick-o-wave’ as he called it, Mick heard the front door opening. “Hello?” he shouted out, setting the dish on the table.

“Mick?” Dylan called his name.

“Fuck,” Mick whispered. He sat down and placed himself in the mindset. He wasn’t going to break or give in. “Goddamn it, Dylan, go home.” He picked up a fork and buried his face in his food.

“Mick,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen. “I have to talk to... what are you eating?”

“I don’t know. Jean made it. Go home.” Mick stuck his fork in.

“No, Mick.” Dylan was stern. “I really want to talk to you. I
need
to talk to you.”

“Is it about us?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Go home.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now why would you...” Mick dropped his fork and finally looked up at her. “You got sun burn.”

“Just a little.” Dylan lifted her tee shirt to show her stomach. “See. Not much. Anyhow...”

“Dylan.”

“Mick, shut up, all right?” She crossed her arms and noticed his meal again. “Is that any good? Smells good. Looks bad, but it smells good.”

“Not bad. Want some?”

Dylan shook her head. “Anyhow...first and most important,” she held up a finger, “I am not, will not, be back with Sam.”

“Is he living at the house?”

“Sam lost his job. He can’t afford the apartment in Wadsworth. It’s his house, Mick.”

Only grunting ‘Uh-hmm,’ Mick returned to eating.

“And I did some heavy, creative thinking. I believe my approach to you is really impressive.”

“Heavy creative thinking?” Mick asked.

“Yeah. See?” Dylan wore a pair of baggy cloth shorts. She reached into the front pocket and pulled out three playing cards. She laid them face down on the table in front of Mick. “All right.”

“What the hell is this?” Mick asked. “These are cards to a kid’s game.”

“Ignore that. It’s a metaphor. Get it?” she asked, giving a motion of her head to the cards. “Laying all my cards on the table. Get it?”

“Yeah, I get it. Are you holding back, because there’s only three cards there.”

“Three major points cover it all. Now...”

“This is silly.” Mick pushed the cards to her. “Tigger’s gonna have a fit, you stealing his game.”

“Tigger is the reason I’m doing this,” Dylan said.

“Tigger sent you over with this?”

“No, Tigger was peeing.”

A long blink and Mick he sat back. “What?”

“O.K., listen,” Dylan explained with animated hand motions. “I’m doing my hair in the bathroom, right? Stewing, Mick. Stewing over you. I’m standing there, trying to do something in this heat with this long hair and Tigger blasts his little body into the bathroom, says nothing, pulls up his step stool, drops his pants and hoses everything down.”

“And that made you think of
this
?”

“No, of you.”

“I am really lost,” Mick said. “How did your kid pissing all over the bathroom make you think of me?”

“Now check this out,” Dylan continued. “I thought when he did this, didn’t he notice me standing there. He just flew in, not caring and went. Then, you know, I shrugged it off. I’m his mom, He feels comfortable with me. And it was better than him peeing his pants. Then it dawned on me. It really dawned on me, right there and then, curling iron in my hand.” Dylan smiled. “Tenth Grade, Mick Owens. You got me drunk on your mother’s whiskey and you had me laughing so hard I pissed my pants in front of you. Remember?”

Mick snickered. “Yeah. And it wasn’t the last time either. You did the same thing the next time I got you drunk.”

“Exactly.” Dylan nodded. “And what about the time you decided I needed to go hiking. How about that?”

“You didn’t pee your pants, you pulled a Tigger, dropped your drawers and went. Watching you take a leak, Dylan, no matter how you do it, is old news to me. It’s no big deal.”

“Yes. Yes, it is, Mick. See? You are only the person in this world I have ever peed my pants in front of. All those years I was with Sam, never did I do that or...go to the bathroom in front of him. Contrary to what you have witnessed, I consider my bodily functions very private.”

“And your point?”

“You’re not seeing it, are you? I was never embarrassed and I never cared what I did in front of you. That tells me so much. More than I originally realized. And
that
is the reason for my cards on the table. Read them, Mick.” Dylan smiled. “Turn them over and read them. Left to right.”

Mick reached for the card on the left and stopped. His huge hand lay over all three cards and he slid them to Dylan. “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“But, Mick, it’s so important. Please.”

“There’s nothing that can be said to change my mind. You’ve said it all before. Nothing’s changed. So now...it’s over. No more.”

Slow, Dylan nodded. “I see. Fine. I’m sorry.” After waiting a few seconds, Dylan turned to leave.

“What about your cards?”

She paused in the doorway of the kitchen. “You keep them. One of these days you’ll turn them over. And it’ll be too late. I’ll be gone.”

Dylan turned and left.

Glue. Mick had to imagine glue kept him in that chair because he diligently fought not to get up and follow Dylan when he heard her leave. But he didn’t fight too hard to refrain from turning over those cards.

Lifting the first card on the left, Mick let out a heavy breath when he looked at the paper with Dylan’s handwriting stuck on that card. It read, ‘
I’ll do ANYTHING for you.’

Shaking his head, Mick turned over the center card.
‘I want you in my life....always.’

“Aw, Dylan.” Words she’d said before, words he had heard before, but they still moved him. Mick grabbed the third. He hesitated before turning it over, but he was glad he did.
‘I love you.’

Every ounce of his being sank when he laid eyes upon the words Dylan had never said to him. Allowing the feeling to radiate through his body, Mick stood up, snatched that card from the table and with top speed he raced from his kitchen into his living room.

He expected, fully expected Dylan to be on the porch. Perhaps that was the reason he stopped running when he opened his front door. But she wasn’t. Mick saw her. Walking up the street, Dylan was only a speck of a figure moving away.

Mick ran. He kept on running until he not only caught Dylan, but passed her as well. He made sure he got ahead of her, then catching his breath he stopped her by standing before her.

“What?” She crossed her arms.

Mick lifted the card to her eye level. “Say it.”

“You had your chance.”

“Come on, Dylan,” Mick said heavily, emotionally. “Say it.”

Dylan’s eyes shifted from the card to Mick, then she grabbed it from his hand and tore it in half.

Mick shrieked. “Uh! You ripped my card!”

“That was nothing. Try this.” Dylan ripped it once more, dropped the card then stepped on it. “Ha!”

Mick shrieked again. “What in God’s name is the matter with you?” He bent down, and lifted her foot to get the remnants.

“Me! You!” She reached to a bent over Mick and smacked him on the head. “You had your chance. I told you it would be too late. But, no. You come chasing me down.”

“Dylan.” Mick stood up holding the pieces. “You said you love me. You have never said that. Ever.”

“And I will never say it again.” She stared at him.

“Fine.” Mick threw the pieces.

“Fine.”

“I’m going home.” Mick marched by her.

“Alone!” Dylan shouted to a moving Mick.

“Like I always do!” Mick yelled back.

“I hope you choke on that green food you were eating!”

“It’ll be a hell of a lot less painful than dealing with you!” Mick screamed his final words as he stormed into his house.

Dylan warbled a frustrated scream.

“Dylan!” Tom’s strong voice, close, called her name.

Slowly Dylan turned to her right. She slouched when she saw her father standing on his front porch not far from where she was. “Sorry.”

“I have to live around these people. You want to scream and act like a fool on the street? Do it in front of your own house.” Tom opened his screen door. “And pick up that trash!”

“God!” Dylan screamed when her father’s door slammed. “He treats me like a child.” Growling her anger, she bent down to pick up the torn card. Picking up the pieces, looking at the ripped words, made Dylan stop. She clenched them in her hand. “What am I doing?”

In a matter of thirty seconds, Dylan was opening Mick’s front door. She didn’t expect him to be back at his kitchen table indulging in his green food. He was where she thought he’d be, just sitting on the couch.

She slowly walked in, shutting the front door with her back and staying there.

Mick slumped forward some on the couch, his arms resting on his knees. He only raised his eyes to her.

“Mick,” Dylan whispered, “I grabbed what’s left of the card.” She held up the parts. “I can’t put the pieces back together. Well, maybe I can, if you have some tape.” She let out an emotional chuckle. “Maybe I will and that will help piece us back together.”

“We aren’t as ripped apart as that card is. Don’t kid yourself,” Mick said gently.

“What do you need me to do, Mick, I’ll...”

“Dylan.” He held up his hand still keeping his voice soft. “Just...just say it.” He closed his eyes. “I swear I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you tell me those words. Just say them.”

“I love you.”

Mick let out a sigh as he rose from the couch. He didn’t even give Dylan a chance to step away from the door. He moved to her, gently placed his hands on her face, and kissed her. A welcoming kiss, long, wide, and deep. He smiled, chuckling when he finished. Hands still on her face, he kept his forehead to hers. “See, it wasn’t all that difficult to say.”

“I probably would have said it sooner had you not hounded me about it.” Dylan kissed him. “Mick, I’ll say the other things on the cards, too, if you want.”

“You’ve said them before.”

“Then I’ll prove them.”

“Do you really mean that, Dylan?” Mick asked, his eyes locked on hers. “Really?”

“You tell me, Mick. You tell me how, and I’ll do it. I don’t want to lose you. And I certainly don’t want to give you up.”

After giving Dylan another kiss, Mick spoke, “Get him out of that house.”

“It’s not that simple. He has nowhere else to go.”

“Bullshit, Dylan,” Mick argued softly. “I don’t want you living with him, married to him or not. You have a divorce pending. I just don’t want you sleeping in the same house as him.”

“Then how about I sleep here,” Dylan suggested. “Panicking yet?”

“Nope. I would love for you to sleep here. Live here.”

“Then I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I’ll move in tomorrow.”

Mick smiled. “What about the boys?”

“Well, Dustin and Chris won’t come with me. But they’ll only be four blocks away. Tigger will. Even though I know it’s gonna be a masochistic mistake and I’ll fight with you constantly, we’ll do it. If you’ll have us.”

“Oh, I’ll have you all right.” Mick leaned into her. “When are you telling Sam?”

“Tonight,” Dylan said. “I’ll tell him all of it.”

“Now,” Mick said as they stood together, close and intimate. “Tell him now.”

“After.”

“After?”

“After.” Dylan reiterated and kissed him softly.

“OK. I can handle after.” Mick pressed his body to Dylan, flashed a sneaky grin, then slid his lips to her neck, and took Dylan up on her ‘after’ invitation, right there by the door.

* * *

Prudhoe Bay, Alaska

Paul wasn’t a huge fan of modern electronic communication. His number one preference was face-to-face, then the telephone. Clicking away at a keyboard to convey what he wanted to say was not only not his style, it was annoying.