Bankers' Hours (37 page)

He laid his head on his arms and groaned again, forlornly. “Why is this happening?”

I set the stirring spoon down from the chili I was making us for dinner and stepped over to pet his head—not exactly in the way I would pet a hairy head, but more like giving it a good rub. I liked the smoothness, and I avoided the bandaged area. One good thing about being bald was they hadn’t needed to shave part of his scalp in the hospital. I leaned down and kissed his head before returning to the stove.

“How does your ass feel?” he asked. I shot him a look, wondering where his question had come from, and found his attention fully on me where I stood at the stove, head propped on his hand.

I said, “You snagged that question out of left field.”

He shrugged. “I know. I was wondering because you’ve been walking gingerly.”

I blushed and smirked. “It aches. I’m glad I had a short shift today. I bent down to pick up a pen and—man oh man—I swear I could still feel you inside.”

“Hmm,” he mused, gazing at me rather lustfully. “I like the sound of that.”

“You would. I, on the other hand, was not too thrilled when we had a meeting at the bank and I had to sit down.”

Tristan laughed. He stood up and rounded the counter, but as he was about to wrap his arms around me, the phone rang. He answered, “Hello?”

I couldn’t really hear the person on the other end, but it sounded like a girl. He was standing fairly close as he talked. “You did? Hey, do you mind if I put the phone on speaker? I don’t want to leave Grant out of this. Thanks.” He set the phone on the counter next to me, and I could hear music in the background.

“Dad?” Claire said.

“I’m here. So’s Grant.”

“Hello, Grant. I can’t wait to see the house. Dad said you’ve done so much work.”

I answered, “I have. I still need to replace the carpet. Will you help me pick out some furniture? I want to get a new couch, but your dad works too much.”

Tristan was about to protest, but I winked at him and he seemed to understand my intent.

“I’d love to!” she cried happily. “Do you want to do it this weekend?”

“Yes. I was thinking it would be fun to do after we went to the gym. Tristan and I haven’t worked out at the gym in a while. We could get lunch after, and you and I could go look at couches.”

“Oh my God. That would be awesome,” she squealed.

Tristan cleared his throat. “Um, not to break up this daddy-daughter bonding time, but I want to know what you found out.”

Daddy-daughter?
My heart fluttered. Tristan could say the sweetest things.

Claire answered, “Okay, fine. I took a bunch of pictures and a video. The place was gross. I had to shower after I got out of there just to get the creepy-crawly sensation off my skin. That shed was infested with earwigs. Blech!” She made a disgusted sound.

I shot my eyebrow up. “Earwigs?” I whispered to Tristan.

I could tell he was thinking the same as me. Teresa could have been the one to stick the earwigs in his shop.

“Can you send them to me? I need to look them over,” Tristan said.

“I already did. I sent them to Dropbox because my video files were too large.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll open them after I get off the phone. And Claire?”

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Don’t do anything else, okay? And don’t say anything to your mother,” Tristan stressed.

“Dad, I haven’t talked to her about anything but ‘what’s for dinner’ in eight months. We used to be close in sixth and seventh grades, but she seems to have less and less time for me. I never asked you before, because I thought you liked living alone—but, Dad, if you wouldn’t mind, I kind of want to spend more time with you. And I want to get to know Grant.”

My breath hitched, and I brought my hand up to cover my mouth. Tristan reached for me, and I fell against his chest. He rubbed my back and kissed my temple before telling Claire, “I want to spend more time with you too. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

I heard her voice crack as she said, “Thanks, Dad.” She sniffled and then said, “I guess I’ll let you go. Let me know if you want more pictures. Mom isn’t home from work for another twenty minutes. If you see that piece of equipment you’re looking for, let me know.”

“I will.” Tristan picked up his phone and ended the call before going over to his computer. He brought the laptop to the breakfast bar and opened it. “Part of me hopes I’ll see something, and yet I’m afraid to.”

I turned the stove to simmer and then took a seat next to him. I was anxious but curious.

Tristan opened Dropbox and clicked through the pictures of a typical shed filled with flowerpots, bags of soil, tools, and a lawnmower. He stopped on one and zoomed in. “Does that look like paint to you, or blood?”

I swallowed, my shoulder muscles twitching inexplicably. “Um,” I hesitated as I studied the picture of several hand tools lined up against the shed’s wall. The crowbar he zoomed in on sat in the center of the picture.
Tristan had surmised the perpetrator used a crowbar.
It did have red on it. “It does look curiously like blood, but why wouldn’t she clean it off?”

He breathed out heavily. “I don’t know. But if it was Teresa, then she’s the same person who put a nail through the tail of that snake. She’s not in her right mind.”

He clicked the video, and we watched as Claire scanned the small space.

“Oh my God, Dad. This is gross,” she noted, holding her phone out as she walked in a circle. I couldn’t see her, but her voice came through clearly. “I come in here all the time for the lawnmower, but I’ve never actually stood in here and looked around. It’s nasty. There are earwigs crawling all over the shelves and the floor, spiderwebs attached to everything, and even a huge jar of wolf spiders. Eww! I mean, look at this thing,” she instructed as she zoomed in. As soon as I caught a glimpse of one hairy leg, I turned away. “These things are huge, Dad. See?”

Tristan whistled and sat back. “I don’t believe this.”

I turned back, only to cringe at the sight of a wolf spider close up on the computer screen. He had paused it right when Claire had zoomed in. I turned away again. “Eww.”

“Sorry. There, I exited Dropbox. I’ve seen enough, Grant. I think I need to call the cops, or at least file a formal report in case she denies everything.”

“But what about Claire?” I asked.

He paused. The struggle in his expression told me he battled over doing the right thing. But what
was
the right thing? Going to the cops would mean putting Claire’s mother in jail. “You’re right. Okay, maybe I talk to Teresa and record the conversation.”

“Are you going to her house, or asking her to come here? I don’t want you alone with Teresa, but I’m not keen on seeing her again.”

Tristan closed the computer. I could tell this was difficult for him, as he rubbed his head and paused before answering. His jaw was tight, and his voice was strained. “I guess… I guess I’ll ask her to come here. You don’t have to stay if she makes you uncomfortable. We used to be on good terms, and she often popped in unexpectedly. Coming here would be natural. I rarely go there.”

“Then when?”

“I guess now,” he lamented. He ran a weary hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. “I’m afraid if I wait, she’ll only come up with something else to torment me.” He took out his cell phone and started pressing buttons.

“You’re calling her now?” I asked, shocked.

He nodded. “The twenty minutes Claire mentioned means she’s already on her way. If I can catch her in the car, then she might stop by for five minutes.” He paused and then cocked his head in a way that told me she’d picked up. “Hey,” Tristan said in a different tone of voice. He shifted in his seat and sat up. “I was wondering if you’d mind stopping by for five minutes?” He paused again. “No. I wanted to talk to you while Grant was out.” I bugged my eyes out and he waved his hand at me. “Yeah. I wanted to ask you some things about Claire, and if I can catch you before the weekend, I’d appreciate it. I really want things to work out. Okay…. Yeah. Okay. Thank you. Bye.”

He hung up and I fussed, “Why did you lie?” Not that I didn’t lie on occasion myself, but I wasn’t in the habit of blatant fabrications.

“I didn’t,” he explained. “You’re going to move your car to the other side of the shop and hide out in the office until I text you.”

“What? I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. She’s psychotic, and possibly sociopathic. She could do anything!” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t want to leave.”

“All right,” he relented. “Then move your car to where she can’t see it, and hide out in our room. Only this time, don’t rush out like a bristled badger, spewing things like, ‘we’re getting married,’ or ‘we’re adopting children.’ I need her to think we’re alone.” Tristan paused and studied me. I could only imagine my expression after he’d mentioned kids and called it “our room.” A tinge of color painted his cheeks, the first I’d seen on him. He had to be reading my mind again. He smiled softly. “Give it time, Grant. I’m not opposed to adopting kids, but I’d rather be married to you longer than two weeks. How about we revisit the idea in a couple of years?”

I melted into Tristan as he spread his legs on the chair and opened his arms for me. His embrace was reassuring yet fleeting as he pulled back and instructed me to move my car before Teresa showed up. I was safely in our room, hiding in the closet behind my shirts, when I heard him open the door.

“Hello, Teresa,” he said.

He closed the door, and Teresa asked, “So why do you want to talk to me? Am I right? Did you and your gay lover break up? Are you finished lying to our daughter about living your life with another man?”

I could imagine him growling in frustration, even if I couldn’t hear it. “Teresa, stop. I don’t understand why you’re doing these things, but I know it’s you.” He’d warned me about his intent to jump right into her attacks, even though I thought he should work up to the subject. Tristan had said Teresa could be difficult, and he’d learned to be direct.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she countered defensively.

“Teresa,” Tristan broached. “I know about the spiders and the snake, and I know you were the one who hit me.”

“What?” she screeched. “You’re sick, Tristan. I don’t know why you had me come here.” I heard the door rattle, and she shook it. Then her voice betrayed her panic. “Why’d you lock the door? You can’t prove anything! What are you going to do, kill me? You’d go to jail and never see Claire again. I can’t believe you’re going to do that to her!”

“Teresa, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kill you. I want to know why you’re trying to kill me?”

She laughed hysterically. “Kill you? That’s funny. As if a few spiders could harm anyone.”

“Then you admit you put them in my house?”

More laughter drifted through the house into the bedroom closet, but it was sad laughter, defeated laughter. “Of course I did. I figured that little pansy of yours would run screaming after something—spiders, earwigs, snakes. I was planning on ants next and then bees, but finding an active hive in late October has been difficult. So, tell me, did he leave you?”

I clenched my fists to keep from bursting from my hiding spot. I’d never been so insulted. Spider phobias were universal, not strictly male or
gay
male issues. She made me so angry with the stupid statements she tossed around.

“No, Teresa. Grant is my husband. He’s always going to
be
my husband. In fact, we were just talking about adopting kids.”

I warmed with joy. It moved me how often we thought alike.

“Ah!” she scoffed. “I’ve never heard of something so sick.”

“Teresa, stop it. Some babies have zero parents. So you’re telling me you’d rather those kids grow up orphans than find a family with two dads?”

“Yes,” she sneered.

As I waited and listened, the smell of my fabric softener filled my nostrils and calmed my nerves. I really did like cleanliness. The more Tristan and I had purged his crap and organized his clutter, the more I settled into living in his house—our house. I would have to tell him we could stay here when all the trauma with Teresa was over.

Tristan retorted, “Then I guess we’re done here. You’re sick, Teresa. I can’t believe you’d fill my shop with earwigs, let alone hit me in the head with a crowbar. You need professional help. What if you had actually succeeded in killing me? Did you really think you’d get away with it? What would happen to Claire when her mother was sent to prison?”

“I’m not going to prison, and you’re the one who needs help, Tristan. Homosexuality isn’t natural,” she snarled.

“Yes, it is. For me, it’s as natural as breathing. So you can stop attacking me, or I’ll press charges.”

“You have no proof!” she barked.

“Yes, I do. I took pictures of everything in the shed, and several videos. Jeff even heard your car peel out of here on Tuesday. I’ve sent everything to my lawyer, and he’s waiting to hear from me about pressing charges.”

Tristan was lying with that one, but I knew it was to show he wasn’t joking, and probably to keep her from rushing home to destroy the evidence.

“No one will believe you,” she insisted with less conviction.

“Yes, they will. I’ll have the cops send a car to your house so fast you won’t have time to get rid of the spiders or throw away the net you used to capture that snake. I’ll have it all documented.” Tristan’s smooth, calculating tone made me shiver. He sounded so in control, so dominating, even though he kept his voice as level as normal.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice now the exact opposite of his in its timidity.

“I want
you
to talk to a doctor, preferably a psychologist. You need to talk about your obsession with hurting me, and the anger you have toward your father and men in general. You also need to stop drinking. Lastly, I want Claire full-time.”

“Please don’t take Claire from me, please?” she begged. Her desperation was so strong and unexpected that I came out of the closet and peered into the living room. Teresa was on her knees at Tristan’s feet, tugging on the bottom of his shirt. “Please don’t take her,” she pleaded, dropping her hands to the floor in front of her. She sobbed into the carpet until Tristan bent down and lifted her face.