The Obsession(54)

“The dog?” When Kevin just snorted, Xander shrugged. “I will move on that. In time.”

“I’ve never known you to take time on a move.”

“She’s skittish.” At least that word came to Xander’s mind. “Don’t you wonder why that is? She doesn’t act especially skittish, look skittish, but she is under there. I’m curious enough to take time. If I just liked the look of her—and I do like the look of her—but if I just, I wouldn’t bother with so much time. Either it’s going to happen or it isn’t. I like that she’s smart. I like the contrasts.”

“Contrasts?”

“Skittish, but ballsy enough to buy that old place, live out there on her own. She handles herself—and makes you think she’s had to. I like what she’s doing to the old place, or paying you to do.”

“She’s got ideas.”

“Yeah. She’s damn good at what she does. You’ve gotta appreciate somebody with talent who knows how to use it. And then . . .” Smiling, Xander took a long drink. “She named the dog.”

“He’s a good dog. He loves her like you love that GTO. He stole Jerry’s hammer the other day.”

“A hammer?”

“Naomi brought it, a sandpaper block, two work gloves, and a pipe fitting back down the other day. He takes them up to her like presents.”

They sat a moment, in companionable silence, looking out toward the road where a few cars passed, the scatter of houses beyond, and the field where they’d both played Little League what seemed like a million years before.

“Tyler’s got a T-ball game on Saturday.”

“I’m sorry I’ll miss that. It’ll probably be more entertaining than the wedding.”

“I remember playing T-ball, right over in the field. You and me and Lelo. Remember?”

“Yeah. Dim, but yeah.”

“Now I’ve got a kid playing. Makes you think.”

It made Xander think, nostalgically, of Lelo, who’d been scarecrow scrawny with beaver teeth. He’d stayed scrawny, Xander considered, but had grown into the teeth. “We sucked at T-ball, man, both of us. Got a groove on in Little League.”

“Kids mostly suck at T-ball, that’s part of the charm. Maddy starts kindergarten next fall.”

Xander turned his head, gave Kevin a long look. “You’re thinking about having another.”

“The subject’s come up a few times.”

“Well, you do good work there.”

“Yeah, we do. We always said two, and when we ended up with one of each, hey, that’s a nice balance. Now Ty’s playing T-ball, Maddy’s going into kindergarten, and we’re talking about starting another from scratch.”

“Three’s a magic number. You can look it up,” Xander added when Kevin just looked at him.

“It’s looking like we’re going for the magic number.”

“Have fun with that.”

“That’s the plus side. It sure is fun working on making one. You’re not looking for sex with Naomi.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I mean not just sex.”

Xander contemplated his beer. “Why do married guys think single guys are only after sex?”

“Because they used to be single guys, and remember. Case in point—what was her name. Shit. Ah, Ari, Alli, Annie. The redhead with the rack and the overbite? Worked at Singler’s last summer?”

“Bonnie.”

“Bonnie? Where’d I get all those A’s from? That was just sex. She was built, so there’s that. But all the work went into the face and body, none into the brain.”

“It was the overbite.” Even now, Xander could sigh over it. “I’ve always been a sucker for an overbite.”

“Naomi doesn’t have one.”

“It’s a flaw I’m overlooking. Sometimes it’s just sex, as Bonnie illustrates and your memory serves. And sometimes, as you ought to remember, you want some conversation, some meat along with the sizzle. Bonnie had the sizzle, but I knew it wasn’t going to be enough, even for the summer, when she picked up a copy of East of Eden I had on the nightstand and said she didn’t know I was religious.”

“Religious?”

“She figured Eden—so it must be a biblical story. She didn’t even know who Steinbeck was.” And he could still shake his head over that. “Even an overbite can’t make up for that.”

“It’s good to have standards.”

“Oh, I’ve got standards. So far, Naomi’s meeting them, so I can take some time.”

“What if she’s lousy in bed?”

“That’d be both surprising and disappointing, but if so, we can still have conversations. Does she ever talk about her family with you?”

“Her brother, her uncles. Little bits and pieces here and there. Not much elaboration, now that you mention it.”

“Exactly. It’s interesting—what she doesn’t say. It’s interesting.”

—

He thought about that, late into the night, long after rehearsal and the cold-cut subs he and his bandmates chowed down on.

In general he liked the company of men more than the company of women. He understood what men didn’t say, didn’t need or want it all laid out in specific words, expressions, freaking tones of voice. Women, to his mind, were work. Often worth it, and he didn’t mind work.