Afternoon Nap: A Brett Mccarley Locomotive Engineer Story
Shelley J Alongi

 

Laurie remembered moving into Brett’s house not to live there, her strong commitment to her childhood principals wouldn’t let her do that just yet. She moved her furniture in and Brett gave her the key. The wedding was two weeks away and she had to be out of the apartment a week before the wedding. She thought that all was going well considering that she was pretty organized. There as bound to be a glitch here and there and maybe a bit one, but moving into Brett’s sprawling two-story house wasn’t one. He told her to come any time and so now today she walked into the high-ceilinged living room and put down her purse, black with a silver buckle. She didn’t bring anything to unpack today, she just wanted to look around. He said she could organize the kitchen any way she liked; there was one room that was his, he said, please don’t touch that, but that room and the bedroom and the bath and living rooms were all her’s. He had always let Carol organize them if she wanted to. Did it bother Laurie to move into a house he had shared with his wife and son and daughter? No it didn’t. Probably what her son and daughter thought of her would take time to figure out or there would be time to accept her. Somehow she knew it would be a long road that time would smooth out.

Now in the stillness of that sprawling house with its landscaped front yard and rose bushes crawling up the fence along the side of the house, with sun streaming cheerfully through the plate glass window in this room, she looked up at a pretty brass clock on the wall. Its ornate hands told her it was 11:00 AM. Brett would just be finishing up the morning part of his shift now, on his way home.

“Nap time,” he said to her once before they even considered spending the rest of their days together. “I take it very seriously. This time around I’m lucky because I get to come home for lunch. I don’t have to be back till my evening shift. I start at 6:00 and I sleep from 1:00 to 5:00. I take it very seriously you know. Always have.”

Should she be here to welcome him? It was her house after all now; she was grateful for it; she loved this man; she loved this house. She sat down in a recliner, was it his? He had a bigger one he liked. Now she roused herself as a key sounded in the lock. She sat up, a light turned on in the kitchen.

“Brett?” she called his name coming to where the light shone. She saw his back first, broad shouldered, small enough to climb up into that cab, but with a presence. He turned around and put his hand across his forehead, smiled. He came to her after putting down the glass of water he had drawn from the filtering system. She saw that he held something in his hand.

“Headache?” she asked kindly as he placed his hand on his forehead again.

“Yeah. Nothing sleep won’t cure,” he said. “Sometimes happens when I get up early. I’m okay and it was a bit of a stressful morning.”

He swallowed the medicine in his hand.

“This helps, too,” he said. “God someday I can’t wait not to work for the railroad.”

“No?” She knew he didn’t mean it. When it came right down to it, after all his complains and weekend mumblings about politics and rules and too much testing and this person getting this job and that dispatcher not knowing what he was doing, after all Brett had been around forty years in this business he knew how to run it, when it came right down to brass tacks he was right there every morning, early, cheerful, ready to go. She nodded, sympathizing with him, indulging his morning complaints.
“Some signals were messed up; had to wait a while. Did you do more work on the house today?” he slipped easily into another subject, his complaining over. His words were kind, the gentle quality stirring her love for him. Some days she loved that voice. It could be so expressive.

“No,” she said coming up to him and hugging him. He turned and gathered her to him.

“Just came to look around.”

His mouth stopped her words. She responded to his lazy kiss.

“It’s nice to have you here,” he said quietly. “I feel better already.”

“Well,” she said smoothing back his hair, letting her hand curl across his forehead, “go get into bed, honey. I’ll be gone when you leave.”

“You don’t’ want to stay?”

She hesitated at his words; they seemed more kind than usual, as if he wanted her there. He ran his hands across her back, hugged her against him, she felt the beating of his heart.

“You know my rule,” she said.

“I’m not worried about your rule. I won’t break it, I promise.” He held her away from him, looking into her face. “It’s just nice having you here.”

He had accepted her so naturally in his kitchen even if he hadn’t known she would be there. She returned his look, his gaze weary, but so full of intenseness, his eyes fastened on her.

“How long do you want me to stay? I don’t have to go so early.”

“I leave at 5:30. You know that. Then you can go. I get back at 11:30.”

“I know. I have to go meet Kathy for the flowers tonight. I can stay. But I don’t want to disturb your rest. Go get your sleep.”

Brett was amazed. Carol had never said things like that to him. She resented him for sleeping though it was what helped make him successful.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Come tuck me in like your baby.”

“My sweet baby.”

She let him kiss her and then walked him to his bedroom.

Laurie put down her book. She had to admit it was nice just sitting here on Brett’s wide couch, the l-shaped furniture with the recliner at the end. It was 2:00 pm. The deep throaty rumble of the grandfather clock in the den accentuated the stillness of the mid afternoon. She had to smile. She couldn’t resist one more peek. She quietly slipped up the stairs in her Stockinger feet. Upstairs, standing at the top of the landing, she looked once again at the choices before her. On the right hand side, the hall stretched away to encompass two separate rooms. These were the office and a guest room. Straight ahead sprawled a separate room belonging to Debbie and Randy. Looking to the left, straight down a hall lined with linen closets stretched the master bedroom, the place where she would spend her nights, the sanctuary for her sleeping friend. She gazed at the pictures on the wall, each of them stories she knew, his son Mike, Debbie his daughter, graduation pictures, the crowns of academic achievement for his daughter, a plaque Mike got for being athlete of the year in high school. Pictures covered in glass, surrounded by brass borders, smiles from yesterday asking her why she stood at the top of these stairs looking into their past, asking her why she dared to love this man. Did she imagine the questions in the eyes of the photographs?

Heavy silence surrounded these halls. Shadows played across the carpet let in by a sky light, perhaps they made the questions. She only knew one thing. She loved him. She would make peace with those photographs.

Now she made her way quietly down the hall, stood quietly at the open Dorr of Brett’s room. No one was here today, there was no reason to close off the door. A welcoming light burned dimly in the hallway just before the room, its shadows played on her auburn hair, seemed to answer the questions in the eyes of the photographs, a gentle reassuring conversation. She moved softly into this richly carpeted room, a door on the right carved leading to a sprawling master bathroom, a place of relaxation, peace, relief. The door stood slightly open, she walked to it and peeked in, carpet, the marble sink, all the accoutrements, a picture on the far wall, blue curtains over the shower. These were muted additions she had made to the decor. A place that saw just opening eyes in the morning needed to be welcoming, not too bright, not too dark, just quiet, comforting, easy. She moved a little further into the bedroom itself, eying the mirrored closet doors, an oak dresser, Brett’s keys and change scattered haphazardly across its top, his elegant gold watch with its leather strap strangely comforting to her. It was part of him. The picture window across from the bed with the carved headboard shrouded against the early autumn sunshine, keeping its interior dark for the sleeping figure. The high bed now called to her, she would-be here soon, sleeping right here. Her eyes strayed to Brett curled up on this bed, covered to his neck, his head quiet on the pillow, his eyes closed. She watched him, his chest rose and fell easily, his hands lay across the coverlet, the little straggling bits of hair curling across his forehead. She had never really watched him sleep; their relationship had always been a little distant till he had changed everything. It had been three months since that day when they met for coffee at Union Station. Maybe it was a little fast, but when one got to be a certain age you just knew whether it would work or not. They knew it would work. They would adjust. There was plenty of space. Now she watched Brett turn, she stood still not wanting to disturb his much needed and required sleep. He moved his hand over his eyes, stretched, sighed and returned to his recumbent position. Her heart ached with love for him. He moaned in his sleep, his hand pulled a blanket more securely around him. He turned and looked toward the place where she stood. He sat up slowly, motioned her to him.

“Is everything okay?”

He reached out a hand and gently and firmly guided her down next to him. She moved a little bit. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” The corners of her mouth tucked down into a frown. Brett turned and looked at the clock on his nightstand. “Come here,” he said softly. “Come here sweet girl. You’re the best.” He moved over, curled her hands to him, helped her onto the bed. “I promise I won’t touch you,” he said. “Just come nap with me. I’m too old and tired for afternoon play anyway.”

“Not too old,” she said keeping her voice quiet, trying not to sound seductive, “too tired, maybe. Besides,” now she rubbed his shoulder, let herself relax with him, “I just wanted to watch you sleeping. You look so sweet. I love you.”

His hands coaxed her to him, she stretched out beside him, stroked his head, his body warmed her, invited her, comforted her. He kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re my wife or you’re going to be. You have bed privileges. You can nap with me in the afternoon.”

The sheets rustled as he turned into them and put his head on the pillow.

“Your headache” she said gently.

“Better.”

He touched her side with his hand, gently lay it next to her. A comforting presence eased its way onto the bed. Zipper, Brett’s black and white cat, curled up at Brett’s right hip. Laurie stretched out in this man’s bed. Soon he slept quietly, breathed easily, he moved sometimes against her, she turned gently, drew his hand into her’s, held it. He sighed responding, not waking. His hand, it was scarred, fingers cool, a few dents here, a scratch, the nails short, round, a patch of dry skin on his thumb. She lay beside him, her book forgotten, listening to him breathe peacefully. The cat purred, rubbed Brett’s side, his hand slackened in Laurie’s soft clasp. His head fell against her shoulder, he moved a little, sleeping deeply, his hair tickling her, her mouth forming a smile. She lay awake listening, feeling, his clock ticked on the nightstand, outside the sun crept across the sky. Someone’s sprinklers went on, the birds in Brett’s back yard nourished themselves at the feeder. Zipper got up and made his way out of the bedroom. Probably, thought Laurie, he was heading for the litter box in the master bathroom.

Brett sighed and turned away from her, resuming his peaceful slumber. Now Laurie didn’t dare move. She wanted to be here but she wasn’t sleepy now. She looked around the room. It was a muted affair, if there was one thing she would change it would be the placement of a wooden and wrought iron lamp in one corner. It seemed it would look better over there, she drew a picture in her head. It was a nice lamp, it was just in the wrong place. But never mind that now. She stretched out on this bed, closed her eyes, felt the quiet, imagined spending the rest of her days here. Her mind wondered back to the photographs in the hall; the questions. Somehow she would make peace with them. This man had accepted her into his life, into his house, and perhaps into that most personal of spaces, his heart. Yes, she smiled, turning and laying her hand gently on his warm head, she would make peace with those photographs.

 

 

Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"