Fools Rush in(71)

“Millie, I know you didn’t exactly love it out there on the water, but I had a great time with you today. You were a really good sport.”

I melted. Warmth began at my toes and flowed upward, suffusing me with love. “Oh, Joe, I had a good time, too. Being with you, I mean.”

“Good.” He slid across the seat and kissed me, long and slow and hot. The boy could definitely kiss. On trembling legs, I got out of the truck.

Of course, I’d seen Joe’s house from the outside, but I had to pretend I hadn’t. I exclaimed over the funky shape of the house—not quite a Cape, not a ranch, not a farmhouse—as I followed Joe up the path to the back door.

“Now I wasn’t exactly expecting you, so it might be a little messy,” he warned me. “But I’m glad you’re here.” Another kiss. His hands wandered down my back, and more heat threaded through me. I had a feeling that our sex life was about to go from mediocre to unbelievable in about half an hour, and it would be about time.

He opened the door and let me in. The blood drained from my face.

Might be a little messy. A little messy. The words echoed in my head.

The large room I surveyed was under construction. Most of it was framed out, but not in a new, expectant way. In a way that said, “A few years ago, somebody started doing this to me, but I don’t know what happened.” The wooden studs were grayish-brown, not the creamy-blond of new lumber. Pink insulation sagged wearily between them, defeated. The floor, at least the part that could be seen, consisted of warped sheets of old plywood. A stained, bluish-gray square of carpeting, edges curling and frayed, covered the living-room area. From a liver-colored couch with a tear in the back drifted a very unpleasant damp, moldy smell. I forced myself to close my gaping mouth.

“I still have a lot of work to do,” Joe explained, tossing his keys on a…table? No, a giant wooden spool, the kind that holds cable or wire, a big, rough thing lurking before the couch. It was covered with two pizza boxes, a couple of beer bottles and old newspapers. Oblivious to my horror, Joe wandered into the kitchen, a crude area containing a fridge, stove covered in dirty pots, and a huge black plastic trash barrel filled to the brim. Two sawhorses supported another sheet of plywood. The kitchen table, I presumed. It was covered with a half-dozen cereal boxes and some cans, as Joe apparently had no cupboards. A bare lightbulb swayed from a thick wire in the middle of the room. Perched precariously on a stack of crumbling Sheetrock sat an enormous, early-model microwave.

“I don’t have too much time to work on it, but it’s getting there. Little by little. You want a beer or anything?”

“Oh…uh, no, I’m okay.” Dazed, I tried to take it all in. Through a partially opened door, I glimpsed Joe’s bedroom: a mattress on the floor, a tangle of sheets and blankets wadded at the bottom, clothes scattered on the floor. Underwear. Socks. Paint-smeared jeans.

There was a metallic clatter, and pain shot through my foot—I had stubbed my toe on a toolbox lying in the middle of the floor.

“So what are you in the mood for?” Joe asked blithely. “Whoops, before you answer that, let me see what I have.” He opened the fridge and I smothered a scream. Mold-covered, graying Chinese food boxes. An orange, so old it was no longer round, had sunken in on its own weight. A few grease-stained paper bags held God-knew-what.

“Some of this stuff doesn’t look too good,” Joe murmured, tossing the Chinese food cartons into the huge trash can. I leaped out of the way. My bladder ached after all day on the boat, but I would kill myself before going into his bathroom.

“Do you live alone, Joe?” I squeaked, wondering if there was someone else to blame for this horror.

“Oh, sure. This is my mom’s house, really, but she moved off Cape when she got remarried a couple years ago, so it’s just me.” He closed the fridge and put his arms around me. “So, okay, it’s messy, but what do you think?”

Disgusting. Repellant. Abhorrent. Unhealthful. “Oh, well, I think it’s got potential.” I swallowed and forced a smile.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? It’s got potential! One of these days I’ll finish it up. But right now, you know what I’d really like to do?”

“Move?”

He threw back his golden head and laughed. “No, not move. Be with my Millie.” He kissed me, and I was too numb with shock to resist or respond. Taking my hand, he started to lead me to the bedroom. I planted my heels like a mule and stopped. There was no way on earth I was going to lie down in this house.

“You know what?” I said, scrabbling for a distraction. “Um, I—I’d like to see the back. Is that a deck out there?”

“Yup. Sure, let’s go outside.”

Bravo, Millie. At least the smell wasn’t so pervasive out on the deck. I sucked in the pine-scented air and looked around. Joe’s scrubby little yard was enclosed by bayberry, cedars and dwarfed oak trees. I stared down at that yard as if it were a lifeboat and I was standing on the deck of the Titanic.

“So, Millie,” Joe whispered, kissing me on the neck from behind. “Seen enough? Want to go back inside?”

“No!” I whirled around. “I mean, um, let’s go down into the yard. It’s cute.” Looking a little confused, Joe nonetheless followed me down the rickety stairs. Just tell him that you don’t feel like fooling around. Tell him you want to go home and shower. Tell him his house is disgusting. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to say any of those things.