Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

“Clark again? Who is this guy?” my father asked, looking between the two of us.

“I have a pretty good idea,” my mom said, looking at the picture I was showing her. “Is that him?” she asked me.

“Huh? Oh yeah, that’s him.” The porch swing was in the center of the picture, but without realizing it I’d included Clark in the shot. Standing next to it, elbow patches large and in charge, hands on his hips as he wore an assured half grin. He’d thought he’d just won an argument about the status of the baluhwhozit. Little did he know that the longer I was in the house, the more inclined I was to keep it as original as I could. But what would be the fun in letting him know that?

I smiled in spite of myself, noticing the way the late-afternoon sun caught the planes of his face, how strong the jaw, how tousled the tie. Clark let loose a bit later in the day, literally loosening his tie as the day crept on.

“He’s a good-looking man,” my mom said, bringing me back from the little town of Mendocino, where the late-afternoon sun could be very illuminating.

“Yeah, I suppose he is. So annoying, but a pretty good guy.”

She nodded and patted my father’s hand. “Let’s let Vivvie worry about what’s happening with the house. Sounds like she’s got a pretty good handle on it.”

“If you need some help, Peanut, just let us know. Or maybe we should just plan on coming out there—don’t you think this is a lot to take on?” my father said, looking to my mother for support.

I braced myself, knowing I was going to have to fend them both off, but she surprised me when she shook her head.

“Vivvie’s got this. We’ll come out when everything is how you want it,” she told me with a wink.

“Wow. Okay, sounds good,” I said, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Now, let’s talk about helping you pack up and move out of that apartment. If you don’t think you’re going to take much of your furniture, I was thinking that we could donate some of your things to the church. They need a couch for the Sunday school downstairs, and the women’s shelter is always looking for kitchenware. How about we start sorting through those things tomorrow?” My mom had that look on her face whenever she was starting a new project. That look always made me nervous.

“Sure. Let’s start tomorrow.” I nodded, sipping my coffee and looking at my father. He knew that look also, and to not mess with her. So a packing we will go . . .

My phone rang at 1:17 in the morning. One guess who was on the other end . . .

“Explain to me why no one in California can tell time. Is it the laid-back attitude? The sun shining too brightly to see your watch?” I growled.

“Vivian?”

“You called me, Clark. You don’t know who you’re talking to?”

“Let’s see . . . aggressive, sarcastic, an all-around pleasure to be with . . . Yeah, I know exactly who I called,” he said with a low chuckle.

“I’m sound asleep and you’re picking apart my delivery?” I yawned, sinking back and scrunching up my pillow under my head.

“Impossible woman,” he said, almost under his breath. “I was calling about the Legless Knight.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

“To be fair, I’ve never heard you kidding. Who knows what you sound like?”

“You’ve never heard me do a number of things, Vivian. You have no idea what I might sound like.”

Ah. Nighttime Clark. I curled onto my side, cuddling the blanket a little tighter. “Okay, I’ll bite. What in the world is so important about the Legless Knight that you had to call me after one in the morning?”

“You’ll bite?” he asked.

I clutched at the pillow a little more. “Clark . . .” I warned.

I got another chuckle. “I was thinking that perhaps we were a little too quick to get rid of him. After all, he’d been the man around the house for quite some time. Perhaps he should stay around a little longer?”

“You were the one that said that not everything was worth keeping. Which was impressive by the way, and correct. There was entirely too much house packed into that house.” But I had to admit I’d been a little sad to see the knight go. “Besides, who knows where he even is now, since John took him to the antiques store?”

“Actually, the knight stayed with him. He thought he might want it for the restaurant. I think his exact words were ‘might add a touch of class to the patio.’ ”

“Not really sure a medieval theme is the right message you want on a restaurant patio.” I laughed.

“Exactly what I told him when I went to bring it back.”

“Wait, so you already went and got him?”

“I did.”

“You were sure I’d say yes to bringing him back to the house?”

“I was.”

“You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“So what the hell did you call me for? Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out already, Clark,” I said, rolling over on my back. “You sure that’s the only reason you called?”

It was silent on the other end of the phone. Except for the almost imperceptible sound of him taking a sip of what I assumed was Scotch. Water. Neat. An image rose in my mind: Clark, sitting low in a leather armchair, one hand on the phone, the other on his glass. Hair, unparted and messy. Eyeglasses, abandoned for the evening next to a book on the side table. Jeans. White button-down, untucked and the top two buttons undone. Blue tie, loosened but not untied. A five o’clock shadow that had progressed to scruffy goodness.