The Making of a Gigolo (15) - Agatha Roberts

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18
19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36

Chapter Twenty-two

Bobby's eyes watched the road, but his mind was elsewhere. He wasn't happy. Oh, it had been fun. There was no doubt about that. But what had happened had felt empty, at least in terms of what had gone on with Melanie and Tiffany. And while his time with Suzie had been wild and passionate, what he felt about that was that it had been too dangerous. He loved her, and because he loved her, he shouldn't have let her have her way. He felt like he should have been strong enough for both of them. There was too much at stake in her future to have chanced it.

He felt the lump of money in his pocket. It would finish the barn. That was good. It was needful. But he wasn't proud. He felt like he had done something wrong, somehow.

He thought about Misty. He would, most likely, never be able to see their child, not in any meaningful way. He was sure she'd be a good mother, but he knew what it was like to have no father.

He drove on. He wasn't used to being frustrated. He wasn't used to feeling like he couldn't hold his head up. He wasn't used to feeling like he was spinning his wheels ... going no place ... doing things that accomplishing nothing that he could view as positive.

He didn't like it.

Agatha finished her preparations for supper. Michelle had had to teach her to cook, which had made her feel foolish, at first. Now, with Michelle gone to a meeting of a club she belonged to, Agatha decided it had been worth it. She had prepared a good meal for George.

She felt like she owed them much more than she could ever repay. They had welcomed her, and given her what amounted to a completely new start in life. She had a place to live, good friends, and a job that she was proud of. George's business was in better shape than when she'd gotten there, and she had a part in that.

She called him to the table, and they sat to eat together.

"Can I ask you a question?" George held a hot roll in his fingers. Agatha figured it must be something important if he was more interested in her answer than the hot roll. He loved her hot rolls, and that was something she was proud of too.

"Sure," she said.

"I've never mentioned this before," he said. "It was really none of my business. But I can't stop thinking about it."

"Go ahead," she said.

"Why didn't you just go on the pill?"

She thought about that. He hadn't asked her why she was foolish enough to get involved with a man and then let him between her legs. He wasn't asking who the father was, or why she had left him. There was nothing judgmental in his question.

"My friends ..." She paused. "The women I thought were my friends had sources of information in the medical profession," she said. "They didn't know what I was doing. They would not have approved of ... who I was seeing ... and they would have found out if I got a prescription. They would have asked about it."

"You wouldn't have had to tell them anything," he suggested.

"You don't understand the culture in that town," said Agatha. "There were the decent folks, and the undesirables. If they'd have found out who I was seeing, I'd have been shunned."

"Did you like him?"

It was the most personal question he'd ever asked her.

"He changed my life," she said. "He helped me see things from a different perspective. I would have wasted away there. I was wasting away there. He's the one who suggested I get a job ... spread my wings."

"He wanted you to leave when he found out you were pregnant." George sounded angry.

"He doesn't know I'm pregnant," she said.

"You're joking!"

"Try to understand, George. I didn't love him. I mean I wasn't in love with him. Even so, I'll never forget him. He was one of the best things to come into my life, almost ever! Even if he'd wanted to marry me I wouldn't have. It would never have worked. Not in that town."

He was quiet for a while. He ate the roll, and reached for another. He buttered it, and then spoke again.

"Sounds to me like it was good you left. That's no place to try to make a life. Even with things the way they are, I think you'll be fine. I wouldn't have believed that when you first got here, but I do now. You're a good worker. We love having you here, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your brother."

Agatha got up, pretending to do something at the sink. Her six months pregnant belly was beginning to get in the way, but she didn't mind. She wiped at her eyes surreptitiously. The baby moved in her belly and she tried to calm herself, thinking she had upset it.

"Thank you," she said, not looking at him.

She thought about what he'd said, later that day. It was a Tuesday, by chance, and the day that she volunteered at the Library, reading stories to the raft of young children whose mothers brought them to the library where they sat, enthralled, while she read silly stories, in silly voices, and had the time of her life. The children loved it, and so did their mothers, who were free to take a break from being Mom, and wander through the aisles finding some treasure between two covers of cardboard.

As she walked from her car to the library entrance, she thought of what things might been like had she stayed in Granger. If she hadn't met Bobby, she might be preparing for tea with two horrible old harridans who only found pleasure in the dismissal and degradation of others. If she'd stayed after meeting Bobby, she'd have been an outcast, one of the people being denigrated by women like Ethyl and Gladys. She would be one of "those women" by now.

She looked down at her swollen belly. She would soon have her own baby. She loved it already. In secret, she read the baby inside of her stories too, and sang songs to it. It wasn't a bad thing. It was a delightful surprise ... a present waiting to be unwrapped. She didn't care that there was no man to help her raise it. George would be a terrific uncle.

And, for that matter, there was no guarantee that there would be no man to be a daddy to her child. She had been amazed at the number of men who approached her, at the library and elsewhere, even though she was pregnant. She had seen some of those men look at her ring finger, which was bare, and then approach her! All of them were friendly, and some flirted. One even sat, sometimes and listened to the stories, with the children. His name was Jim, and she could think of no reason why he would listen to stories about bunnies, or trains that could talk, or families of bears.

She pulled open the door of the library, just as a man came out. He looked at her face before his eyes slid to the proof that she was a sexual being, and then back up. He smiled.

"Morning," he said.

"Good morning," she replied.

Others greeted her with smiles as she went to the story area.

She had nothing to do until the children arrived. She let them pick the books she would read to them.

While she waited she reflected on how much better her life was now ... how leaving Granger had been one of the best things that ever happened to her.

She also thought about why she'd had to leave, and how, just perhaps, that was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Bobby tamped down the last of the disturbed earth with his foot. April was gone. That was all right, though, because on the first of May, he could start moving himself and the twins into the barn. It was finished. The dirt he was tamping down covered the new sewer line, and was the last thing required before the barn could become real living quarters.

His mind drifted over what had been accomplished in a month and a half. Prudence and Connie had been indispensable. They were good enough at sheetrock and painting that they could open their own finishing business if they wanted to.

The twins were ecstatic with the rooms that would be theirs. Their new bedroom was twice the size of their old one in the house, and the nursery had a connecting door, which made taking care of their children more convenient. The kitchen was the envy of Mirriam, who had been hinting that the one in the house should be that modern.

He sighed. He supposed that would have to be the next project, after the rooms he and the twins had been using were spruced up and gotten ready for boarders. They had plenty of time for that. It would be another month before the researchers showed up.

Constance came out of the barn. There was a smudge of paint on her cheek, and her painter's overalls were spattered with four or five colors from the project.

"Done!" she said, smiling. "It's really beautiful in there, Bobby."

"Because of you and your mother," he said, smiling.

"You built it," she said.

"You helped," he countered. "And you finished it."

"You owe me dinner," she said, changing the subject.

"I owe you a lot more than dinner," he sighed.

"Better be careful," she teased. "I might collect one of these days."

He looked at her. Her eyes were sparkling. He reached out and scraped the paint off her cheek with a fingernail. "I'll pay," he said.

Her eyes got serious. "Don't say that if you don't mean it," she said.

His eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"

Her face changed again. "Never mind. I'm starved. That will do for starters."

"I can't take you out looking like that!" he said, grinning.

"Well then, I'm going home to clean up. Pick me up in an hour," she said. "I'm expecting something fancy."

"Yes Ma'am," he said, bowing to her. "I'll order onion rings with your burger. I'm going all out tonight!"

Two hours later Constance looked across the table at Bobby.

"They don't serve onion rings here," she said.

He had taken her to Wichita, to Coreno's, a little Italian restaurant where the cook spoke Italian much better than English.

"You want to leave?" he asked, smiling.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm going to order something obscenely expensive."

"No problem," he said. "I can wash dishes with the best of them."

"I'm not washing any dishes tonight," she shot back.

"That's okay. You can stand by me and hum that tune you were humming on the way up here."

"What tune?" she asked.

"The one you hum all the time," he said. "It sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it."

"I don't hum that all the time," she said.

"Yes you do," he argued. "You hummed it while you were working on the barn, and in the house before that. Just about anyplace we go, if we aren't talking, you're humming, and you hum that tune a lot."

"I'll try to stop bothering you," she said dryly.

"It doesn't bother me. I like it," he said. "What is it anyway?"

The look she gave him was somewhat intense, but then her face relaxed.

"It's just some old thing I heard on the radio one time. I guess it stuck in my mind. That's all. I didn't realize I hummed all the time."

"You do, and it makes you sound happy, so don't stop," he said.

She got that intense look in her eyes again, but then looked down at her food. She started eating again.

The food had been good. It was dark, and there wasn't much traffic on the road. They had been comfortably silent for ten minutes.

"Hey," he said.

"What?" Connie's voice was soft in the semi-dark of the interior of the car.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she said.

"It might bring up painful memories," he warned.

She knew then that the question was about Tim. "Go ahead," she said.

"What was it like?" he asked, and then explained. "To be in love, I mean."

"What was it like to be in love with Tim?" she said.

"Yes."

"That's a very odd question, Bobby."

"It's just that I'm not sure I know what it feels like to be in love," he said. "I mean I love a lot of people ... but how do you know when you're in love with somebody?"

She was quiet for long enough that Bobby felt uncomfortable.

"You don't have to answer it," he said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's okay," she said. "I was just trying to figure out how to describe it."

"Oh." He waited.

"It was a lot of things," she said finally. "I loved being with him. I couldn't wait until he got home from work, just so I could be in the same room with him. I loved the way he looked at me. I loved touching him. I loved all kinds of little things he did. Like he had this way of standing in front of the mirror and combing his hair. It looked perfect, but he kept fussing with this one little tuft of hair that would never behave. I loved his sense of humor. We liked most of the same kinds of movies, and stuff like that. But I think most of it was because, once we were together, I couldn't imagine us apart again. Even when he was gone, it was like I could feel him ... like there was a string or something that went through the air and connected us."

She sat for another few seconds.

"That was why I hated it when he joined the Army. He was so far away that I didn't feel like we were connected any more. I missed him so much. It was agonizing. I didn't feel complete any more."

Out of his peripheral vision he saw her wipe at her eyes in the dark.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"He's gone, Bobby. I know that now. At first I kept trying to believe there had been some horrible mistake ... that he'd swapped his dog tags with some friend. He was superstitious. Did you know that?"

"No," said Bobby softly.

"He did all kinds of silly things that were supposed to bring him luck." She sniffed a couple of times, and her voice got stronger. "When I finally realized he was really gone, it felt like something had been ripped out of inside me. But it's better now. I try to remember the good things. I know he loved me up to the very minute he died. Sometimes I feel like he's watching me ... watching over me, really."

"Is that why you never fell in love again?" he asked.

She looked over at him in the dark. "It was hard enough the first time, Bobby. I never thought I'd meet a man who would really love me for who I was. Then I did, and he died. You think I want to go through that again?"

"I guess not," he said.

"Well you're wrong," she said.

"Huh?"

"It was all worth it, Bobby. All the pain and all the loss was still worth the time we had together. That's what being in love is like, Bobby. Being in love makes all the hard stuff worth it, even if you only get to feel that way for a little while, like me. I'm sorry he's gone, but I'll never be sorry I loved him."

He was quiet for a long time, as he tried to understand what she'd said, in the context of his own life. He loved his mother. He loved his sisters. He felt what he thought might be love for most of the women he'd been involved with. But that was more just caring about their happiness. It didn't involve his own. Not really. He was happy when they were happy ... he liked it when they felt good, because of something he said, or did. But none of them made him feel what Connie had described.

He felt lonely, driving down the highway, even though there was another woman he cared deeply for in the car with him. He hadn't known what to do for Connie. When she had needed something the most, he knew it was Tim, and he couldn't do anything about that. Even now he didn't know what to do to help her. It made him feel helpless, and frustrated.

She started humming that tune again. It was so familiar! He knew he'd heard it somewhere. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

Even so, it calmed him a little. She sounded happy. He didn't understand how that could be, based on what she'd said. He hoped she was happy ... at least part of the time.

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