Gayle Roper - Caught In A Bind

“How did you get here?” Edie asked.

“I rode my bike.” He glanced out the window where we could see it chained to a parking meter. “Only four more months until I get my car. Then I’m never riding a bicycle again in my life!”

He was getting a car for his sixteenth birthday? He bad-mouthed Tom and still expected a car? What gall!

He extended his hand to Edie, palm up. “Money.” It was a command.

“But I gave you your allowance the other night.” Edie scrambled to sound forceful but failed. “You wanted it early because you and the guys were going out somewhere.”

“Well, it’s gone. I need more.” He stared down at her, tall, handsome and hostile.

I wanted to poke him hard, inflict a little pain. Edie just sighed and began rummaging in her purse.

“By the way, Mom.” I could hear the nasty glee in Randy’s voice and knew he was going to say something that would hurt Edie. “The police were at the house.”

“What?” Edie grabbed his arm. “Did they say anything about Tom? Is he hurt? Where is he?”

“Don’t get all overheated, Mom.” Randy pulled free. “They don’t know where Tom-boy is. In fact, they’re looking for him, just like you.”

Edie blinked. “But why?”

I studied the blond man-child with the wicked glint in his eyes. “Exactly what did the police say, Randy?”

“They said—” and he paused for effect. “They said that they needed to talk with Tom.”

“That was it?” Edie asked.

He looked at his mother with a smirk. “Isn’t that enough, Mom? I mean, the cops are after him!”

Jolene opened her mouth to retort when a sweet young voice called, “Hey, Randy.”

Randy jerked like he had been hit with a taser. He spun to look at the lovely girl passing us on her way to a table on the other side of the restaurant. Gone was the smart-mouthed kid who delighted in causing his mother distress and in his place was a self-conscious, thoroughly smitten young man who stared at the little ebony-haired beauty, his heart in his eyes.

“Sherrie,” Randy managed to say. “Hey, yourself.” He wandered after her as if he couldn’t do anything else.

“His tongue’s hanging out so far he’s going to step on it any moment,” Jolene muttered, but she was laughing.

The girl was with a woman who had to be her mother, their hair and eyes showing that relationship clearly. A young man was with them, probably a brother by the casual way he treated Sherrie. When Randy, all charm, took the last seat at the table without waiting for an invitation, the young man looked at his mother and just shook his head.

Edie stared at her son in wonder. “Look at him. He’s being polite.”

“You’ve done a good job as a mom, Edie,” I said. “Maybe a better job than you realized.”

She grunted, unconvinced, and we finished our meal. When the bill came, we gathered our belongings and went to the cash register. Edie glanced toward Randy, but he was studiously avoiding us as he listened attentively to Sherrie’s mother talk.

Edie giggled as we left the restaurant. “He never did get the money he wanted. He’ll ruin any good impression he might be making when he pulls out an empty wallet and that poor girl’s mother has to pay for his food.”

“Serve him right,” Jolene said succinctly.

We walked in the spring dusk to the parking lot behind the News and dispersed to our separate cars. I was just about to put the key in my ignition when a thought struck me. I climbed out of the car and walked to Edie, who sat staring out the windshield of her little red Focus.

“Edie, Tom will be at work for two to three more hours.” Assuming he was at work and not missing. “Let’s stop for a video and watch it together until he gets home.”

I watched Edie’s shoulder sag in relief and knew she’d been afraid to go home. I resisted the urge to pat her, got in my car and followed her to the video store. We argued gently over our choices of films and ended up with a comedy and an action/adventure, both nicely escapist.

I followed Edie to the outskirts of town where she pulled into the driveway of a white and brick split-level with maroon shutters and lots of uninspiring yew bushes. Clumps of daffodils nodded their heads among the yews, warm splashes of sunshine in the glow from the light beside the slightly buckling walk.

Edie unlocked the front door, painted maroon to match the shutters, and we stepped into an entry hall. The first thing I saw was a beautiful cherry pedestal occasional table with a delftware bowl and a pair of matching candlesticks on it. Above it hung what could only be an original Curtis Carlyle.

“Hey, great painting.” I shrugged out of my coat. “Great artist.”

Edie actually smiled. “You’re prejudiced.”

I looked at Curt’s lovely portrayal of a creek running beside a stone farmhouse. The roses and golds of early morning turned the water into a shimmering mirror reflecting the lush greens of the towering evergreens beside the house. I felt restful and serene just looking at the scene. I reached out and ran my fingers over the signature.

“You’re smiling,” Edie observed.

I smiled more broadly. “I’m not surprised.”

“You love him.”

“Very much.”

Edie studied the picture. “I prize this painting. Tom gave it to me for our fifth anniversary last October.” She blinked rapidly, turned and led the way into the living room. She indicated a couch with a wave of her hand and kept on walking. “I’ll just be a minute. I want to check the answering machine.”

“Of course you do. Go right ahead.”

I turned and looked at the living room, really looked at it, and I felt my mouth drop open.

The living room was full of the softest robin’s egg-blue leather furniture I’d ever felt. It sat on the plushest of pastel floral carpets and was lit by Stiffel lamps in glowing brass. The end tables were cherry with a satin sheen, and the coffee table was a great glass and cherry rectangle that took up half the room. The drapes—no, they weren’t drapes; they were window treatments—repeated the blue of the furniture and all the pastels of the rug. The walls were covered with more original watercolors including a Scullthorpe, a Gordinier, a Bollinger and another Carlyle, this one with a dark and stormy sky of deepest purples and blues. As I looked at it, I could feel the heaviness of the storm, hear the crackle of lightning, smell the ozone.

Edie came into the room. “Nothing. Not a single message, let alone one from Tom.”

I turned to tell Edie how sorry I was and my eyes fell on the adjoining dining room. Again the furniture was magnificent. Too overwhelming for the size of the room, but magnificent. Cherry sideboard, table and breakfront gleamed above an oriental rug of luminous crimsons and blues laced with cream. The drapes echoed the colors of the rug, as did the matching seats on the heavy chairs crowded about the table.

I thought of my apartment with its well-used furnishings, most taken from either my bedroom or my parents’ attic when I left Pittsburgh and moved to Amhearst. I had started to slowly buy better pieces, but it’d be years if not forever before I could afford the quality Edie had. Tom must really be doing well at the dealership.

When we slouched on the blue leather sofa to watch the videos, I felt I’d slide right off the cushy piece onto the floor. I pushed myself upright time after time, only to feel myself slip south, a victim of the smooth grain, featherbed softness and gravity.

It was almost eleven when we finished watching both films, and Tom wasn’t yet home.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” I asked. I hated to leave her alone.

She looked momentarily tempted, then shook her head. “No, thanks. Tom’ll be home soon.”