The Inmate (41)

I start to put my arm around him, but the doorbell rings, echoing through the house. When Josh hears it, he grabs his Nintendo controller and restarts his game. “I just want to finish this level before dinner,” he says.

“Josh,” I say, “I want to talk to you more about this… I know you’re disappointed…”

“No, I’m not.” His eyes are back on the TV screen. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Fine. There’s no chance of competing with Nintendo, so I may as well answer the door. Of course, it’s almost certainly Tim, having arrived for dinner. I should just give him a key. Not in a relationship kind of way, but in the kind of way that you give your neighbor a spare key. Like for if I get locked out or something. I mean, the only other person who has the key is Margie, and she lives all the way in the next town.

Tim is standing at the front door, wearing the same khaki pants and dress shirt that he wore to work, but minus a tie. He holds out his arms, because every time he comes over, we hug at the door. That’s what friends do, right? We hug. It’s not like we greet each other by making out.

“Hey, Brooke,” he says. “Smells great in here.”

“Thanks,” I say, even though it’s not like I was the one who cooked the shrimp.

It does smell good in the entire house though. I could smell it down the hallway. And it’s only when I’m in Tim’s arms that I notice another smell. Something extremely familiar, but not nearly as pleasant as garlic and butter.

It’s sandalwood.

I jerk away from Tim, my nose crinkled in disgust. “Oh my God, what are you wearing?”

Tim’s eyes fly open and he grasps at the collar of his shirt. “What? This is just a cotton dress shirt.”

“No! I mean, that smell!”

“Smell?” He runs a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. “I did shave before I came over, and I put on some aftershave. But—”

The smell of sandalwood has embedded itself in my nostrils. Every time I inhale, I feel the chains of that necklace tightening around my throat. I take a step away from him. “Please go wash it off. Now.”

“But—”

“Now. Please.”

Tim obediently trots off to the bathroom. I hear running water, and he’s in there for quite a few minutes, which I think is a good sign that he is making a serious effort to get all the aftershave off. When he comes out of the bathroom, his skin looks slightly pink.

“Okay,” he says. “I think it’s off.”

I take an experimental breath. I don’t smell it anymore. Thank God. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” He has a deep groove between his eyebrows. “No problem…”

Well, now he thinks I’m out of my mind. I need to explain this to him. Unlike other guys, he’ll get it. “When Shane tried to… you know… he was wearing sandalwood aftershave. The smell of it makes me sick now.”

“Oh!” Tim rubs his jaw. “Jesus, Brooke, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I got that aftershave as a present, but I’m going to throw it away.”

“You don’t have to do that…”

“Obviously I do.” He flashes a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. I hate aftershave anyway.”

I return his smile. “Then why were you wearing it?”

“I don’t know. I was probably trying to impress Josh.”

We stand there in the hallway, staring at each other for a moment, and there’s a sudden jolt of electricity between us. I study his face, wondering if he feels it too. Even when I think Tim is firmly in the friend zone, I wonder if there’s a possibility I’m wrong.

As long as he never wears that sandalwood aftershave ever again.





Chapter 27


After dinner is over and Josh has brought his plate to the sink, he turns to Tim: “Can we toss around the ball in the backyard?”

I’m relieved that Josh still seems to like Tim, even though he isn’t his father. But as much as I want them to bond, I need to intervene. “Did you do your homework?”

Josh averts his eyes. “No…”

“Well, that’s your answer then.”

Josh groans, but Tim confirms my verdict—I love having another adult on my side. “Get your homework done,” Tim says, “and tomorrow we can go to the park with your bat. We can get in some real practice without breaking any windows.”

Josh nods eagerly and hurries up the stairs to his room. Tim has taken him to the park a few times, in between their home-improvement projects. I feel kind of guilty that my family is eating up his entire social life. I mean, he is a single guy. It’s not like we are in a relationship. He shouldn’t be stuck with us every single weekend, fixing stuff around my house and taking my kid to the park.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him after Josh’s door slams shut. Even though if he says he’s not going to take Josh to the park tomorrow, I might cry. I’ve gone to the park to let Josh practice batting, and I am epically bad at it. I couldn’t catch the ball if my life depended on it, so I spend most of the afternoon either ducking to keep the ball from hitting me in the head or chasing down the ball while Josh stands there.

“It’s fun for me too.” He lifts a shoulder. “You know, he’s a really strong hitter. He can hit that ball further than I can.”