Clean Slate by Harley Crowley
Chapter 20
Brian walked Sandra out to her car and kissed her goodnight. He tried to see this woman he'd just spent an evening with as his mother, the person who had bandaged his knees and made cookies for him, reminded him to do his homework. It didn't track, but she hadn't seemed to find anything off kilter in his behavior. Maybe later, after he told her what had happened to him, he could talk to her about his growing up, find out more about the Brian that she knew. Her hand was on his arm to keep him for a moment and her eyes overflowed again briefly as she looked up into his face.
"You do look like your father sometimes. You're all I have left of him now."
"And memories," he answered, thinking that his own loss of memories was probably why he didn't feel any of the pain she did. He wondered about his relationship with his father. Would he miss him when he remembered? If he remembered. Or would he feel released from something. He thought about the photograph album, and the briefness of the tour through his earlier life.
"I'd like to look at the family pictures some time, if you'd feel up to it." He had the idea that somewhere among the photographic record of his life there would be a trigger that would crack open the past for him, or at least connect him with it. The pictures of his life with Carrie had brought feelings, if not the factual details.
"I haven't looked at them since your father got ill. I don't know if I can. I think they're still all in a box in the hall closet. He stored them there when we moved into the house. We've been saying ever since that we should get them out and sort them."
"Maybe later, when you're ready." He helped her into the car and watched her drive away before going back in to help Carrie finish up the dishes. She was already done, and sitting at the table with her feet up on a chair, stretching her toes and leaning forward, massaging her ankles. He thought of the picture with her feet in his lap. He had the urge to massage her feet for her, to press his thumbs into the balls of her feet and slide them down her instep, to squeeze them firmly in his hands and watch her sit back with her eyes closed in pleasure. But it felt as if it would be too personal, an invasion of her space.
"That wasn't as hard as I expected," he said.
"No. And there was no point in telling her now. You were very natural with her. I'm worried about her drinking though. She seemed a little high when she first got here."
"I noticed that."
It was already 9:30. Carrie looked drained, and tired. "I think I'd better go to bed early. I have papers to grade and a new chapter to start on tomorrow. I'll probably be working all day." She took off her glasses and rubbed her forehead. "Will you be all right on your own?"
"Don't worry about me. I already owe you for being such an anchor for me right now. You have enough responsibility, without having to entertain an idiot husband."
She gave him a wan smile. "I'll let you know if it's too much, okay?" She got up and put her glasses back on. "I'm fading fast. I'll see you in the morning." She picked up her shoes and padded out of the kitchen.
Brian was still tense from the evening with his mother, the not knowing how or what to tell her. It had worked out. They were managing things at the office without him, and he knew he didn't have anything to offer in the way of help anyway. Katherine was the biggest worry.
He went to the refrigerator and there was a beer left, so he opened it and took it back to the kitchen table, flipping off the overhead light so that the only illumination came from soft lighting under the cabinet that shone down over the sink, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. He rotated his shoulders to loosen them up, and sat quietly, letting his mind run free. A lethargy crept over him. He sipped at the beer until it was gone, and dozed a little in his chair with his head dropped forward.
He jerked awake as Carrie came through the doorway and started to walk past him. She turned her head at his movement and saw him. "Oh, I thought you'd already gone to bed."
"I'm almost there."
"I forgot my vitamins."
She went to the sink and opened the upper cupboard. She was wearing a silky blue nightgown that clung to her body and stretched across her round behind as she reached up for a glass and the pills. The light from the cabinet shone through the gown and highlighted all her curves, turning her into a blue nude. She seemed unaware that he was transfixed, that he was staring at her with his heart speeding up and a surge of desire. She must have forgotten that he wouldn't be taking this vision for granted; that for him it was the first time he'd seen her like this. She left her glass on the counter and slipped past him again on her way back to bed.
"Good night again," she said. "Sleep tight."
He thought what he'd probably be doing was sleeping hard.
Brian walked Sandra out to her car and kissed her goodnight. He tried to see this woman he'd just spent an evening with as his mother, the person who had bandaged his knees and made cookies for him, reminded him to do his homework. It didn't track, but she hadn't seemed to find anything off kilter in his behavior. Maybe later, after he told her what had happened to him, he could talk to her about his growing up, find out more about the Brian that she knew. Her hand was on his arm to keep him for a moment and her eyes overflowed again briefly as she looked up into his face.
"You do look like your father sometimes. You're all I have left of him now."
"And memories," he answered, thinking that his own loss of memories was probably why he didn't feel any of the pain she did. He wondered about his relationship with his father. Would he miss him when he remembered? If he remembered. Or would he feel released from something. He thought about the photograph album, and the briefness of the tour through his earlier life.
"I'd like to look at the family pictures some time, if you'd feel up to it." He had the idea that somewhere among the photographic record of his life there would be a trigger that would crack open the past for him, or at least connect him with it. The pictures of his life with Carrie had brought feelings, if not the factual details.
"I haven't looked at them since your father got ill. I don't know if I can. I think they're still all in a box in the hall closet. He stored them there when we moved into the house. We've been saying ever since that we should get them out and sort them."
"Maybe later, when you're ready." He helped her into the car and watched her drive away before going back in to help Carrie finish up the dishes. She was already done, and sitting at the table with her feet up on a chair, stretching her toes and leaning forward, massaging her ankles. He thought of the picture with her feet in his lap. He had the urge to massage her feet for her, to press his thumbs into the balls of her feet and slide them down her instep, to squeeze them firmly in his hands and watch her sit back with her eyes closed in pleasure. But it felt as if it would be too personal, an invasion of her space.
"That wasn't as hard as I expected," he said.
"No. And there was no point in telling her now. You were very natural with her. I'm worried about her drinking though. She seemed a little high when she first got here."
"I noticed that."
It was already 9:30. Carrie looked drained, and tired. "I think I'd better go to bed early. I have papers to grade and a new chapter to start on tomorrow. I'll probably be working all day." She took off her glasses and rubbed her forehead. "Will you be all right on your own?"
"Don't worry about me. I already owe you for being such an anchor for me right now. You have enough responsibility, without having to entertain an idiot husband."
She gave him a wan smile. "I'll let you know if it's too much, okay?" She got up and put her glasses back on. "I'm fading fast. I'll see you in the morning." She picked up her shoes and padded out of the kitchen.
Brian was still tense from the evening with his mother, the not knowing how or what to tell her. It had worked out. They were managing things at the office without him, and he knew he didn't have anything to offer in the way of help anyway. Katherine was the biggest worry.
He went to the refrigerator and there was a beer left, so he opened it and took it back to the kitchen table, flipping off the overhead light so that the only illumination came from soft lighting under the cabinet that shone down over the sink, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. He rotated his shoulders to loosen them up, and sat quietly, letting his mind run free. A lethargy crept over him. He sipped at the beer until it was gone, and dozed a little in his chair with his head dropped forward.
He jerked awake as Carrie came through the doorway and started to walk past him. She turned her head at his movement and saw him. "Oh, I thought you'd already gone to bed."
"I'm almost there."
"I forgot my vitamins."
She went to the sink and opened the upper cupboard. She was wearing a silky blue nightgown that clung to her body and stretched across her round behind as she reached up for a glass and the pills. The light from the cabinet shone through the gown and highlighted all her curves, turning her into a blue nude. She seemed unaware that he was transfixed, that he was staring at her with his heart speeding up and a surge of desire. She must have forgotten that he wouldn't be taking this vision for granted; that for him it was the first time he'd seen her like this. She left her glass on the counter and slipped past him again on her way back to bed.
"Good night again," she said. "Sleep tight."
He thought what he'd probably be doing was sleeping hard.