Naja Aidt - Rock, Paper, Scissors

“Hey!” Thomas says. “I know what we can do. We’ll put Annie in charge of her training. She can do it. She’s so organized. It’ll be good for her to have that extra responsibility. And if any problems arise, I promise I’ll handle with them. How about that? Come on, Maloney. I sure as hell don’t want her talking on the phone with horny old bastards every night. We need to give her a chance. What do you say? Especially now that she’s your ‘stepdaughter’.” Thomas chuckles briefly. It rings hollow. His laughter turns into a nasty cough. He tosses his cigarette.

“Laugh all you want,” Maloney says darkly. He leans forward and places another log on the block. He raises the ax high over his head with both hands. When it catches the light, the steel of the blade sparkles. Then he lowers the ax until it’s hanging suspended between his legs. He says, “I give up. You have to take care of all this shit on your own.”

“It’s not shit, Maloney. This is a good thing.”

Maloney quickly raises the ax again and hacks at the log. “You know how to fucking complicate things, you know that,” he mumbles. Thomas strolls away. He grabs a towel in the barn and asks Helena whether or not they still have an outdoor shower. They do. He walks around the barn. From here he can see all the way down to the lake. He undresses. And naked under the tepid jet of water, there in the grass — where he has a view of the shimmering lake and the girls and Alice splashing about in the water near the pier, and the evergreens, and the sheep, who’ve now moved away from the pasture, closer to the road, grazing on the slope beside the grove, and with fresh, cool air filling his lungs — he thinks with satisfaction: everything’s been resolved . In the water the three girls are like the Three Graces. Alice’s dark skin, the twins’ ivory. Alice’s ultra-short hair, the girls’ long, wet locks. The two nymphets cling to the young woman’s body, holding her without letting go, clutching her arms and hands, scrabbling onto her shoulders, piggybacking through the water. Shaking off water like dogs, hopping up and down, doing backflips and disappearing under the pier only to pop up on the other side. No one’s allowed to touch those girls, he thinks. I won’t allow any filthy man to touch my girls . And again he’s filled with images: a vision of the new store, his expectations running amok along with a deep, deep sense of peace. The crisis is almost over now. It was a crisis, he thinks in astonishment, watching Alice, who’s elegantly swinging herself up onto the pier. A crisis that I’ve been through. Yes, that’s what it was. Just some ridiculous crisis. Maybe he’s actually free of it now, totally free, and freer than he’s ever been. When the money is spent, he thinks, then he’s free. On top of that, I’ll have shafted the old man. So that, in the end, he was forced to give something to his family after all, the twisted cheapskate asshole. Now he can pay for his grandchild’s education. I’ve shafted him pretty fucking good. He who laughs last, laughs hardest. Thomas rubs the towel on his bony white body, rubs it hard enough to feel it, and then ties it around his waist. Then he fetches clean clothes in the barn and gets dressed, taking short, rapid breaths. Now I want a goddamn drink, he thinks, heading toward the kitchen where the women, little by little, are beginning to prepare dinner.

An enormous leg of lamb rests on the kitchen table, coated in herbs and drenched in red wine. Just as Thomas walks through the door, Kristin roars with laughter, wraps her arms around Helena, and kisses her neck. “My dove,” she says, “That’s so funny !” But Thomas never figures out what’s so funny. Patricia’s sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, and Luke’s massaging her neck. She cocks her head to one side so that he can reach under her ear. Her eyes are closed, her expression blissful. “Mm, mm, mm,” she moans. “Oh, that’s so nice.” Luke gathers her hair and lifts it off one side of her throat, letting it hang down against her cheek. Thomas tenses up. Outside, Alice and the twins emerge, now dressed. Throwing a red ball. “See,” Helena says, pointing through the window at them. “They worship her.” The green grass, the red ball, the low sun in the foliage. The girls throw themselves at the ball, running. And inside the house: Luke is touching Patricia. Someone is touching my girlfriend . Only now does Kristin see him. He’s been standing motionless in the doorway. “Thomas! Why are you standing there like a pillar of salt? Come on in!” Patricia turns and sees him, her gaze veiled and sated. He clears his throat. “I need a drink,” he says. “What would you like? A mojito? Helena just got some mint for the peas.” Luke maneuvers his hands gently across Patricia’s skin. He’s squirted a dollop of olive oil on her neck, the bottle’s on the floor. “My neck’s really sore from sunbathing,” she says. “And I’ve got an awful headache. I couldn’t adjust the deck chair.”

“That’s an old piece of crap. We never use those chairs,” Kristin says, squeezing lime juice into a glass. “We don’t have time for that out here in the country. Lazing about in the sun doing nothing!”

Luke guides his hands down the nape of Patricia’s neck, between her shoulder blades, past her dress. Thomas tries to make eye contact with Patricia, but she only lowers her head, making room for Luke. “I can do that,” Thomas says. “I can give you a massage, hon.” The words come out edgy, tense. “Thanks, but Luke’s much better at it, I think.” Then Patricia whispers, “Oh, yeah, right there. .” Staring watchfully at Luke and Patricia, Thomas crosses the room and leans against the counter. Kristin pours rum and cane sugar in a glass. “Do we have ice, baby?” Helena nods. And Kristin puts the greenish drink in Thomas’s hand. He feels a violent urge to tear Luke away from Patricia. He wants to drown him in oil, pour it down his gullet, listen to him gurgle. Jealousy pecks at his chest, and he’s close to hyperventilating. “How was the hike?” Kristin asks. “Was it tough? You’re no spring chicken any more.” She laughs. “Speak for yourself,” Helena says. “Thomas will always be a young man to me. The young man. Our young man. Luke tells us you got a good glimpse of the coast up on Bearclaw? It’s been a long time since we were up there. .” The two women discuss how they once got lost on that very mountain, because they wanted to veer from the trail; they wanted to venture into the wilderness. “That was back when we insisted on doing everything our own way. We thought everything was so bourgeois, so restrictive — even a forest trail,” Kristin says, and Helena chuckles, placing the lamb in the oven. Kristin observes the girls outside playing ball. She says, “The sun’s setting now. I think I’ll have one of those mint drinks too. Anyone else want one?” Luke and Patricia do. Thomas musters all his strength to bridle his anger. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t leave the kitchen. He offers to wash the dishes. “That would be great,” Helena says, and begins shelling peas. Beyond the trees the sun burns crimson, and the kitchen is temporarily bathed in a heavy, golden light, it’s almost magical — a magical moment — and then the girls come rushing in, their cheeks flushed and sweaty. Alice has promised to braid their hair. “We want many tiny braids. With beads!” Maya says eagerly. She’s morphed from being a sourpuss teenager to a happy little girl, and she doesn’t even realize she’s shouting. “C’mon! Let’s go upstairs!” The girls thump up the stairwell at Alice’s heels, bubbling with excitement.

“Where’s Jenny?” Thomas asks Patricia, wanting to connect with her.