Malachi, page 11
“Neither is life. You’re not fit for the job. End of story.”
“I’m the only one for the job,” she stated as a matter of fact.
With a titter, I broke the vow I’d made and gave her another look. And then another. And then another. Each time my eyes left her, they made their way right back to her. She stood, dressed in beige from head to toe. Her slim frame was etched in my head. I’d made love to one just like it for over twenty years. I’d never forget it.
“Oh yeah?”
“Please. I came all the way from Channing. I’m not sure why, but I’m here for a reason. If you’d just take a second to get to know me, you’ll see that I’m exactly what your dau—child needs in an educator and caretaker. I’m attentive, patient, understanding, persistent, knowledgeable, reliable, passionate, nature-focused, creative, kind, nurturing—”
I zoned out, not hearing another word she spoke as she described a woman I once knew as if she’d known her, too. Pulling in a deep breath, I released it just as she concluded her speech. I had only one question and it wasn’t for her. It was for the man upstairs that seemed to think my life was destined to be a circus.
Discernment had always been a gift of mine, but today it felt like more of a curse. Staring at the long-haired woman with luggage at her side, I knew, without a doubt, that she was the woman for the job and Aussie would love her. However, I wanted no parts of her and I wanted that raggedy ass luggage off my property sooner than later.
“Aeir, is it?”
“Yes,” she responded.
“I’ll call you,” I lied.
“You won’t.” She called my bluff.
“Why do you have luggage?”
“Because your home was my first stop after landing. I couldn’t risk tardiness. It’s unlike me and I didn’t want to give you another excuse not to consider me for this position.”
“Hmph.”
“So, if you could find it in your heart to continue with the interview as planned, I’d love that and I won’t feel as if my energy, time, and effort has been wasted.”
“August 1st, 7:30 a.m. sharp. School starts. Be here.”
I didn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts before making a run for it. But, again, she stopped me.
“Wait. I thought it started sooner.”
“August.”
“But even if that is the case, I can’t just show up on August 1st. Years of teaching a first-grade class taught me that preparation is key. The environment won’t be prepared for learning August 1st if I show up on August 1st. There’s so much that needs to be done before then. I’ll need time. I’d like to start preparing for the day school begins now. Compensation isn’t needed. I’d also like to get to know your child, figure out what type of learner they are and what methods work best for them.”
She wasn’t a newbie. She was well-versed. That wasn’t up for debate, but the idea of her hanging around until August didn’t sit well with me. Essentially, she was a stranger. But the idea of inviting her on August 1st, when Aussie was ready to start school, only to discover she was psychotic or wasn’t mentally stable, didn’t sit well with me either. I’d seen a mind break right in front of my own eyes. It could happen to anyone, and if I could catch it before Aussie was in the mix, I wanted to.
“My daughter won’t be back for another two months. The job starts in August.”
“Perfect! That gives me plenty of time to turn our space into a dream classroom. I can get started right away.” Although calmly stated, I could see the excitement in her eyes.
I wasn’t sure if she wasn’t hearing me clearly or she didn’t give a fuck about what I was saying. Though she was making sense, I wasn’t ready for her to be in my space just yet. I needed time to settle my thoughts and get my shit together. But for the life of me, I couldn’t tell her that. So, we remained on the porch, both glaring at each other until she spoke again.
“Where will I be staying?”
Briefly, my eyes left her to follow the trail that led to the suite that was nearly a half mile up the way. It rested underneath a group of trees that kept it shaded on the hot, summer days with temperatures that hit the low one hundreds in Berkeley.
“It’s not ready.”
“I have nothing but time on my hands. I’d like to make it my own if you don’t mind.”
With a shrug, I shook my head.
“Is there electricity?”
I nodded.
“Good. Then that’s all I need for now.”
Her skin was smooth like a newborn’s bottom. Her hair flowed with the slight breeze the crisp air provided us with. Guilt gripped at my bearings, choking the life out of me. Since I’d laid eyes on Anna, there hadn’t been a woman in this world to garner my interest. Not until the one before me.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She smiled, showing her perfectly white smile and envious set of straight teeth.
“The code to enter is 7551. Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. My daughter will be in front of your door at 7:30 a.m. sharp, August 1st.”
This time, I promised to stay true to my word. When I tore my eyes from her frame, I reinstated my vow and pulled the door open. The quicker I was out of her hair, the better off I’d be.
“I-I’m sorry for your loss,” she shouted as I entered my home.
Taking a step backward, I turned to face her. Each time, I regretted it a little more.
“What did you say?”
“I-I-I said I’m sorry for your loss,” she repeated, softening as each word left her mouth.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” I lied, hating myself for doing so, but her accuracy was blinding.
“Your eyes,” she explained. “The pain that resides in your eyes can only be displayed by a man who has suffered a great loss—one that has altered his heart, mind, body, and soul. And I’m sorry.”
With that, she turned, pulling her luggage and making her way toward the suite I’d offered as part of compensation for Aussie’s caretaking. Her words left me dumbfounded, stuck, and unable to move. It wasn’t until she’d reached the suite and entered that I was able to regain mobility and cross the threshold of my front door. Upon entry, I felt my knees weaken and my heart expand for the first time since finding my wife on the floor of our bedroom, lifeless and soaked in her own blood.
Mobility failed me, deeming me motionless for far too long. The aching of my heart was far from mental. I could feel it break again and again and again. This time was no different. If I had to bet my last dollar, I was certain that anything in the world felt better than this.
My fists clinched beside me, serving as evidence to my progression in the hours to follow. The numbness that I desired simply showed no interest in meeting me halfway. Holding onto the wall, I pulled myself to my feet and stood upright. Though I’d done so a million times, putting one foot forward was almost impossible. A bit of ease accompanied the second and third ones. Eventually, I gained my stride.
In the discomfort of my home and the privacy of my office, I pinned the image on the wall where it belonged. For three hours, we’d camped out on the solid wood, near the door. I patted both eyes with the bottom of my shirt, relieving the stinging and clearing the blurriness.
My skin was moist from the secretions of my pores. Stickiness taunted me, forcing me in the direction of my bathroom. It was one of the many projects I’d finished within the first six months of moving into the home. From heated floors to marbled shower tiles, I’d worked my fingers to the bone on the renovation and couldn’t be more satisfied with the outcome.
I adjusted the temperature of the water from the dial outside of the shower. It poured from the overhead, enticing me in more ways than I appreciated. Inside the four corners of the shower was my sanctuary, the place I felt safest and centered.
It was where I gathered my bearings and pieced myself back together after falling apart each and every day. There was no denying the mess I became daily, but the cleansing of my body moved far beyond the surface and gave me a fresh start as many times as I needed. The day had hardly begun and I was already desperate for a do-over.
The water fell from the showerhead above me as I stepped inside. Naked from head to toe, I allowed it to beat down on the agony and affliction the day had caused me thus far. The heaviness lingered, unprovoked by the thick beads of hope that doused my entire body.
Closing my eyes, I prayed to see my dear Anna. I sighed at the sight of her, relieved to see her smiling face. Her energy was infectious. My lips curled upward.
“God, I miss you,” I whimpered, feeling the weight of her death heavy on my shoulders, my chest, my everything. Everywhere.
Exasperated with the pain, utterly tired of hurting, I cowered. My world began to spin. I pressed my hands against the shower wall to settle myself, feeling my emotions overstimulating me.
“Please, my love, make it stop,” I begged. “I’m tired.”
Crinkled brows with weariness dripping from her features, I watched Anna disappear. While squeezing my lids to the point of pain, I groaned. I’d requested the impossible. I’d never experienced happiness in this lifetime and I was foolish for asking.
Moments of happiness were few and extremely far apart, never amounting to much of anything. Though fleeting, they were all I’d ever receive and I needed to learn to be alright with that. This was life after Anna. And, though shitty, my daughter deserved me in this lifetime.
Fuck.
The water masked my tears; tears I cried in solitude and within the folds of my shower. I scrubbed every inch of my body possible without irritation being a consequence. After the first round, I washed off and scrubbed down again.
When finished, I stepped out of the shower and onto the absorbent mat before placing my feet flat against the preheated floor. On the way out the door, I grabbed a large towel and covered my body. The moment I interlocked it, I was reminded that I hadn’t prepared any linen for the suite other than what was on the beds and hanging on the towel racks as decor.
The digital clock on the wall was a source of relief. It was a quarter until one. With any luck, Aussie’s new instructor hadn’t noticed the shortage of linen and I had time to grab a few pieces from the laundry until I managed to get more from the city in the upcoming days. City visits were dreadful, requiring proper planning for efficiency and success.
I tossed on a pair of shorts with a white shirt to match. Without socks to protect my freshly cleaned feet from the dust and dirt of the road traveling to the suite, I slid into a pair of Gucci slides and headed to one of the largest closets in my home. All the little things my wife required during the build of our home in the city I’d deemed useless all made sense now, including the enormous linen room. I found it to be one of the greatest features in this home.
Four large towels, extra sheets, additional pillow cases and an unopened stack of hand towels piled in my arms, restricting my view as I tried to keep my balance on the way out of the door. Up the road and onto the porch, I carried the load. I was unable to use a finger to ring the bell. There was too much riding on my arm’s stability. Instead of risking everything in my hands falling, I used my feet to tap on the door and stood back a bit to wait to gain access.
As the latches maneuvered, sounding off right in front of me, I straightened my posture and tilted my head to see around the pile of fabric in front of me. Like a cool breeze on a hot summer day, the sight of her regulated my body temperature. Guilt attempted to deregulate it again, but the coolness of the dwelling rushed out of the door, keeping me in good graces.
“Hi,” she exclaimed as she opened the door wider to accommodate the load I was carrying.
“A-ur. Air. Is that how you pronounce your name?” I asked, moving forward and into the suite.
In only three hours, she’d managed to alter its appearance and make it much more appealing than it was earlier this week when I’d began preparing it to show.
“Yes. The e has no purpose. It’s pronounced, Air.”
I had no further questions. Accuracy was always a goal of mine. Pronouncing her name correctly would serve us both better. It was an insult for anyone to continuously mispronounce your government. I’d had it happen too many times before not to know the feeling.
“You never gave me your name,” she said, swallowing hard enough for me to see the lump lower in her throat.
“I didn’t,” I stated without intentions of giving it to her, either. “Mr. Domino is fine.”
At no point should she get things misconstrued. I was her employer and would be treated as such. First name basis wasn’t necessary on my end. But she’d freely given hers several times, which led me to believe it’s what she preferred being addressed as. I’d comply, but it didn’t mean I’d join.
“Understood.”
Her mildness was unsettling. She was as soft as she appeared, inside and out. She was a rarity. I’d come to that conclusion fairly quick. It was traits like those and ones similar that made women of her kind targets for the predators of the world.
The linen in my hand landed on the table with a light thud. I expected dust to fly all over the place, but there was none. She’d managed to clear surfaces and wipe down every trace of neglect. It was already beginning to look better.
I chastised myself under her glare, because it was damning. It made me aware of my own gaze, in her direction as she twirled her thumbs and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She’d ditched the basic cubical classic slacks and button down and settled for a loose-fitting dress that made her beauty timeless, as effortless as it was.
Fueled with anger and resentment for things I felt for this total stranger, I cut my eyes in the opposite direction and made sure my feet followed. I hadn’t gotten far before her delicacy burdened me. The sound of her voice playing like the sweetest melody on fresh vinyl in your favorite room.
“What do you usually eat?”
I closed my eyes, expecting my dear Anna behind my lids, but what I found was something much different. Something much more real. Something much more tangible. Aeir’s legs spread wide on the dining room table, daring me to feast.
“Food is plentiful.”
“I don’t eat meat.” She sniggered with a sigh, seemingly afraid to admit that bit of information. My heart dropped at the sound of her confession.
Neither did my Anna.
“Hopefully, I don’t sound weird,” she added, the silence eating at her conscience.
“Me, either. The garden is open twenty-four hours a day. So are the fields. Have your way.”
“Really? Seriously? Are you for real?”
Instead of taking offense and responding to her questions, I continued out of the door. And just before I hit the porch, she stopped me in my tracks again.
“Thanks, Mal.”
Whipping my neck in her direction, I tried my hardest not to break it in the process. A gasp fell from those lips that were much too big for her face as confusion followed. I stepped back into her space, head tilted and eyes squinted to the point that I could hardly see much of anything. But, I could see her. Right in front of me, she stood, worried without a clue.
“What did you just call me?” I asked.
“I, uh, I…” she stuttered, genuinely trying to find the words to say.
“Aeir,” I grimaced. “What did you just call me? What’d you say on my way out?”
“M-Mal.”
“Why?” My heart ached at the sound of it.
Far too much time had passed since the last time I’d heard it come from her lips, and to hear it now, left me gutted, enraged, and aroused at once. I craved violence and peace simultaneously. I wanted to hit something, hurt something, shoot something. But I wanted to hear something most–hear her say that shit over and over until she was blue in the face.
“Why?” She breathed heavily.
“Why would you say that?”
“I-I don’t kn—”
“I never gave you my name,” I reminded her. “So how the fuck do you know my name, Aeir?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
The fact that I believed her left me feeling uneasy.
“Who the fuck do you work for?” I asked, deep in her mix and refusing the personal space she’d once been granted.
Stepping back to put space between us, she tried defusing the situation. Her composure wasn’t altered and her calmness never faded as I watched her inhale deeply and then exhale. She remained collected and reserved as she attempted to share the energy.
“My intentions weren’t to rattle you, but it’s the God’s honest truth when I say that it just came out. I hadn’t noticed what I’d said until you asked me to repeat myself. Is that your name? Is your name Mal?”
“You don’t get to call me that, so it doesn’t fucking matter. Maybe this was a bad idea. This shit—”
“Mr. Domino,” she cut me off. “I got it. You’re Mr. Domino from here on out.”
It was impossible to maintain the state I was in with her looking up at me the way she was with those button-shaped eyes, full of remorse and regret. I pushed out air, hoping to cleanse my thoughts, but it was difficult. Questions began to arise that I needed answers to, yet she didn’t have them to give.
“It won’t happen again,” she assured me.
Hesitantly, I backed out of the door and onto the porch. When I started my journey back to the main house on the property, everything felt foreign. I tried regaining control of my breathing, but it proved to be much more difficult than I’d expected. Nevertheless, I prevailed. My legs didn’t stop moving until I was inside my home and in my bedroom with my knees on the floor.
“God, quit playing these fucking games with my heart.”
FIVE
I touched the base of the sink. Involuntarily, my eyes closed as a pain shot through my heart. I remained still, hoping it would subside but it stuck with me for a while. And I was taken to an unknown place where the silkiest fabric rubbed against my skin as I rushed against those tattooed arms in a kitchen that was unfamiliar to me, in a home I’d never been in, and on a day I hadn’t seen in this lifetime.
