The Wendy House
an excerpt

[Shameless plug: Check out my blog (link at left). There's a link there (follow the Yellow Link Road) to the prologue of my recently completed novel, Waiting For Spring. All feedback welcomed and appreciated.]

[There are three excerpts below. They're posted in the order in which they appear in the story...]

Paul smiled and nudged my arm. "So, Wendy Girl. Did you ever dream of someone coming in through your window to rescue you? Someone who'd whisk you away to Neverland?"

"Neverland?"

The word exploded out of me with such force that he flinched. It surprised me, too, but it felt good. Too good to hold the rest inside of me.

"This is Neverland, right here. Never gonna do anything, never gonna be anyone. Never gonna go anywhere else but right here. Never."

"Oh."

"Oh. What are you, crazy? Why are you even here? I mean, you can go anywhere you want to go. You could be in…in…Europe. Right now you could be in France crushing grapes into wine with your bare feet. You could be gazing up at the Sistine Chapel or at the ruins of the Colosseum. Or you could go to California and spend your life soaking up the sun on the beach..." I shook my head. "Do you know what's exciting about this town? Nothing. That's what. You get up in the morning and every day it's the same damn thing. The same bed, the same blankets, the same walls and trees and dirt and…"

I ripped a handful of grass out of the ground and tossed it into the air. Dozens of thin, wispy blades. They danced for a moment on the breeze, then drifted gracefully to the ground.

"I guess I am just like that Wendy. You know what they did to her in Neverland, right? They built a house right around her so she could never leave."

"Well…" He scratched the whiskers on his cheek, furrowed his brow, trying to remember the story. Like this was actually a discussion about a children's book. "Didn't they do it to make her better? To get her healthy again? Something like that."

"Oh, sure. So she'd have to stay and be The Mother. So she'd cook for them and clean for them and pack their lunches and kiss their cuts and bruises and tell them their stupid little stories. That's what they wanted. That's all she was good for. She was trapped in that little house. Every day." I looked him right in the eyes. They were green. Just like the dancing grass. Then I said it again. "Every day."

"Yeah, but..." He nudged me again, then smiled. "She found her way home."

I sighed and lay down on the grass, looked up towards the sky. I could just barely see it through the heavy branches, still thick with leaves. "Yeah. I guess she did."

************************************************

“You fucked him. Didn’t you? You fucked that guy.”

“Yes I did.”

He staggered back a few steps, fell back against the stove. I'd told him where I was going. He'd said it out loud. But he still hadn’t believed I’d actually do it. I tossed my purse onto the table and took two steps towards the bathroom, but he reached out and grabbed my arm, squeezed it, hard enough to hurt, and pulled me back. His face was right in mine, our noses actually touching, and I could smell Jack Daniels on his breath.

“I think you’re lying,” he said. His voice was shaking and as soon as he heard it the rest of him started shaking, too. “You’re lying to hurt me. To get even. That’s all this is.”

“Let go of my arm.”

“Not until you tell me the truth.” He squeezed it even tighter. “Tell me you didn’t fuck him, Wendy. Tell me that right now.”

His eyes were filled with liquid panic. I smiled, just slightly, and kissed him gently on the lips. They were warm, tasted like cigarettes and whiskey, just like they had first time I’d kissed them. Then I leaned in even closer and whispered in his ear.

“I fucked him. We did it in his bed, but the whole time I was imagining that I was fucking him in ours. I was on top. He made me come twice. Twice. Each time I did the baby kicked. Your baby, Rick. She was there, too. And Paul’s dick is a lot bigger than yours.”

He dropped my arm. I backed away from him and watched his face, closely, as the image appeared before him. Slowly, one tiny bit at a time, just like a Polaroid picture developing. He looked me over, everywhere, imagining Paul’s hands and mouth and body touching me. Everywhere. Just like I had imagined Jenny all over him.

He closed his eyes for a long time, and I wondered what it was he was focusing on; which disgusting detail I'd given him that bothered him the most. Then he swallowed and opened them up again, shoved his fists into his pockets and said, “Feel better now?”

I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t do anything except smile again. Because I did feel better. Better than I had in years. Maybe better than I ever had.

**********

Rick was sitting on the porch steps, covered in sweat and dust, drinking a beer. He polished it off and tossed it aside. It clink-clanked against a pile of empty cans on the ground in front of him. And still, he wouldn’t look at me. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, lit one slowly, deliberately, with shaking hands, inhaled deeply and blew the smoke away from me; away from Rachel. She was rolling around inside of me, trying to get comfortable. I knew just how she felt.

And finally he spoke. “Where’s Brian?”

“At the Burkes’ house. I’m supposed to pick him up after supper.”

He nodded, still staring at the ground, and took another long drag from his cigarette. Held it in for a long time, and I wondered if it hurt. If the smoke was burning his throat and nose and lungs. He blew it all out with his next words.

“You gonna let me see my son one more time before you take off on your little adventure?”

“We’re…Brian and I aren’t going. Paul is. He’s leaving today, but…I’m not.”

He finally looked up. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot, and almost green. Almost. And I finally cried; small, choking, muffled sobs. I covered my face with my hands and let it out, stood there in front of my husband, mourning the loss of another man. Of my other life. I didn’t expect him to comfort me, and he didn’t. He just sat there, smoking, waiting for me to finish. I wiped my eyes on my shirttail and looked at him once more. He stubbed out his cigarette on the step beside him and shook his head.

“So…what? He’s had his fun and now he’s all done with you? Is that it?”

“No. It was me. I decided to stay.”

He scoffed. “Just like that.”

I shrugged.

“And what do you want from me?”

My throat made a sound I didn’t recognize, something that was almost a sob. My head and my heart were pounding, and I was dizzy with grief. With exhaustion. Drifting in a storm of pain and confusion and the only thing that seemed steady was Rick. Even though, of course, he wasn’t.

But what I wanted was a home. I wanted to be home. For the first time in my life it’s what I wanted. I just didn’t know if I wanted it with him. But Rachel kicked me, again, and it’s when I knew. If I wanted it at all, it had to be with him.

He knew it, too. He stood up and made his way over, put his arms around me. They were tentative, almost gentle. I buried my face in his dirty shirt and he kissed the top of my head. It almost made me smile. Because I’d forgotten how nice his lips were. How beautiful he really was.

We had sex, of course, right on his brother’s bed. He had to make sure I was rid of every trace of Paul. But he was slow and tender, like he was afraid he was going to hurt me. Just like Paul had always been. But I wasn’t thinking of Paul. I wasn’t thinking of Rick. I was imagining the hot, white sand and warm, blue waves that I knew I’d never see. Lying on the beach, alone, in the golden California sun. It felt just like goodbye.