“Million?”
“Yeah.”
“Woah.”
“Yeah.”
We stand there for a moment, lost in our thoughts. I wonder if three-quarters of a million is enough to make me want to give up…
Johnny bangs his hands on my face to get my attention.
“Right, little guy. Let’s move to the next room.” I finish my drink. The next room will be the study.
As Meisha admires my father’s study, I beeline for the booze. Fear grips me as I raise my eyes to look into the glass. Of course, She’s there, looking back. But once Her eyes meet mine, She turns and kisses my wife. Passionately.
“No!” I cry out, whipping around.
Johnny jerks in my arms. Meisha is looking at me, her eyes wide in alarm. When I see that she’s okay and unmolested, I sigh in relief.
“Sorry,” I mumble, turning back to fill my drink. I avoid looking at the glass panels this time. “I thought I saw something. I’m just a little on edge being here.”
Meisha comes over and rubs my arm. “Xanax.”
We both laugh.
Now that I’m equipped with a drink, I take her for the rest of the tour.
We avoid the attic.
“Well. That’s the house.”
“Wow, it’s really quite something, John.” She shivers as if suddenly chilled. “A bit spooky, too. I’m really glad we don’t have to think about living here. I’m not sure I could. It’s so…big.”
I would need all the booze in the world to be able to live in this house longer than a week.
We head out to the car to bring in the luggage. After it’s deposited in my parent’s room–no part of me will ever consider it our room though we’re sleeping in it for the week–Meisha grabs some snacks from the diaper bag for little Johnny.
“We need to start thinking about food for the rest of the day. And the week. Is there anything in the fridge here, John?”
“Ummm….” I realize that I haven’t eaten a thing since I’ve arrived, subsisting solely on alcohol. “Let’s go look.”
Meisha furrows her brow. “You don’t know what food is in the house?”
I put an arm around her shoulders and walk with her to the kitchen. “We just have different ideas of food, my love.”
“I forget that you can survive on ramen when needed.”
We share a laugh.
The pantry is stocked with enough dried goods and staples that we can put together what Meisha considers a “decent” lunch.
“I really don’t want a completely processed dinner. Even a pizza would be better and fresher,” she says once we’ve cleaned up from our early afternoon meal. “Would you watch Johnny, and I’ll just go now and shop for the week? Then I’ll be able to relax and enjoy our little vacation here.”
“Sure. We can find something to entertain ourselves with.” I haven’t had a drink since before lunch. Between the passing of time and the food, I’m already feeling more sober than I’d like to, but I don’t want to upset Meisha by drinking too much. At least, not in front of her.
“Great.” She grabs her purse and kisses us both. “I’ll be back soon. Johnny could use a little quiet time.”
We watch her pull out of the driveway from the front porch before grabbing the diaper bag and heading to the study. I lay a blanket on the floor and change his diaper. Then I scatter some of his colorful plastic toys around him and head to the cabinet to fill my glass.
The light gold liquid calms me as I take a large swallow and breathe out a content sigh.
“On your knees, John.”
I spin around. Mother stands in the doorway to the study. She’s in a black and red rockabilly halter dress. Modern updates of leather straps crisscross her waist and snake up around and between her breasts to join behind her neck. Black fishnet stockings adorn her legs. She stands gracefully on four-inch stilettos. Despite my son being in the room, I’m instantly hard.
She walks toward me with all the swagger and hip-swaying of a model walking down a runway until our faces are just inches apart. With the heels, her eyes are level with mine.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, John,” she whispers seductively. “If you do, I won’t be in a mood to take care of you later.”
I turn to set my drink down and obey.
“Oh, you can keep your drink.” Her head tilts. A fire glows in her pupils. She lifts the glass and sets it in my hand. “I wouldn’t deny you happiness.”
When the glass touches my palm, it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and pulls me to the ground. I can’t take my eyes off Mother’s legs as she walks over to Johnny where he plays on the floor.
Several conflicting instincts war within me. Should I really allow Mother to get near my son? But why would she ever hurt him?
“Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?” she murmurs.
