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Thread: Summer's End

  1. #41
    Sad laughter: that was a new one. Tears of happiness was something with which Jim was familiar; hell, he'd laughed until he cried loads of times, but this was something different. While Aimee shook off the first tremors of a break down, Jim watched, frozen with fear, like one staring down the barrel of a gun. Etiquette dictated that a girl didn't want to talk about her feelings unless she talked about her feelings, because that's what they do, girls. But he couldn't just ignore what he saw. Over the previous week, Aimee hoarded her emotions, and was steadfast on the outside, like stone; it was only a matter of time until that reservoir of pain became too great a load to contain. What Jim saw was a crack in the dam, and a trickle of what was to come, and he'd be there when it did. Once she was settled, he spoke:

    "There won't be another drafty warehouse, Aimee. Never again."

  2. #42
    She opened her mouth, trying to think of a quip to deflect his seriousness with, and came up empty. Instead she just nodded, biting her lips.

    A minute of silence stretched to two, punctuated only by high pitched voices in the basement. Aimee gave herself a little shake, as if she were breaking out of their momentary reverie. "So, I guess there's a spare room or three in this house, hmm?" She raised an eyebrow at Jim.

    is purple your favorite color?

  3. #43
    "There's only one room you oughta be thinkin' about right now."

    Jim finished his drink and disposed of the empty bottles. A nod of the head prompted Aimee to climb down from her stool and follow him out of the kitchen. They retraced their steps back to the foyer, where the cackles of cribbage-players sounded dangerously close, and ascended the stairs to the second floor, where it was so clean they could smell it. Jim had forgotten that smell, it was fresh bordering on sterile, and a welcome change. House-proud though she may have been, Anna had the significant disadvantage of sharing her home with a small army of funky teenagers, whereas Francine, on the other hand, had housemaids for company. Jim padded silently over the carpet to one of the many closed doors around them; it opened onto a spacious glistening bathroom.

    "There are fresh towels in the closet. Don't come out until you no longer smell like a dung heap."

  4. #44
    "You smell too," she retorted, letting her backpack dangle from her hand. Aimee stared at the enormous bathroom, and Jim nudged her through the door and closed it behind her. It was like being in a swanky hotel, complete with one of those giant rain showerheads. The backpack was dropped to the fluffy shower mat, and she fiddled with the controls until she got the water nice and warm.

    After days on a bus it was amazing to luxuriate in the shower, though she tried not to linger too long. The mirror was completely fogged up when she finally emerged, wrapping a white towel around herself as she dug through her backpack for some clean clothes. Clean she had - unwrinkled, not so much.

    Aimee rubbed a small section of the mirror clear, and dragged her brush through her long hair, hurriedly bringing order to the wet strands. After a moment of thought she plaited it into a braid, then she shook it out with irritation. Hair half in her face, Aimee stuffed her dirty clothes into her pack, and padded back to the door, opening it hesitantly and looking around.

    "Jim?" Her voice sounded small in the hallway. How long of a shower had she taken?

  5. #45
    "Yeah?"

    Jim's head popped out of a room sporting a bright orange beanie. He too had changed his clothes, and there was also a strong possibility he'd washed; the three days' worth of stubble was gone, and the baby face was back. His eyes swept over Aimee from top to bottom and he gave her a nod of approval.

    "Much better! Come and check out your new room."

    And he was gone again. Inside, the room was rather plain, except for the walls which sported pale patchwork patterns where posters used to be. The wardrobes and drawers were open, and there was a tall bookcase - all of which were conspicuously bare. The only thing of note was a single hardback book that was face-down on the bed. Jim snatched it up and clutched it sheepishly to his chest.

    "Sorry, after I got rid of my old stuff, I decided to check out the new Iain M. Banks. I can tell ya, I did not see that ending coming! So," he glanced around his old room anxiously, "Whatcha think?"
    Last edited by Jim Lewinski; Nov 1st, 2013 at 03:53:53 PM.

  6. #46
    "Looks great," she said, letting her backpack down onto the bed. "Are you sure no one minds?" Aimee looked around, and then back to Jim. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he didn't sleep at all. His room was wholly unnecessary, from a practical point of view.

  7. #47
    "You just met my mom, right?" he asked, incredulous, "Of course I ain't sure!"

    Deflated by his own words, Jim wandered to the window, where he was afforded a view of the swimming pool, the guest house, and beyond, a brightly lit tennis court. It was staggering to think that, with all that space, the thought of accomodating a single person in need was a strain on his mother's generosity. He hated having to say it out loud and there was a tiny part of him that resented Aimee for asking such a stupid question. Then he resented himself for that. After all, it wasn't her fault his mom was no Anna Fernandez. When he turned to face her again, he looked defiant, and opened his arms as if to embrace the space around him.

    "See this? This is my room, and it's mine to give to whoever I freakin' wish. Ya got that?"

  8. #48
    "Okay," she said quietly, her face darkening as she blushed. "Sorry. I know - that was dumb. I'm sorry."

    Aimee sat down on the edge of the bed, her bare toes contrasting with the cream colored carpet. She couldn't think of anything to say, so bit her lips as she looked at her feet, her hair falling into her face again.

  9. #49
    In an instant, Jim checked himself: his tone was harsh, his body language, stiff, and aggressive. Upon reflection, it should have came as no surprise to him that Aimee reacted as she did, shrinking onto the bed. There was a tightness in his chest that translated into the tension in his arms, and the edge in his voice. It was anger, and he was venting it on his friend. He cringed at his own terrible misjudgement and joined Aimee on the bed.

    "Don't you apologise. You didn't deserve that. It's me who's sorry, okay? I thought that if I brought you here, I could get you away from all that shit, y'know? You don't need my mom's attitude, and you certainly don't need mine."

    Finally, he tore his gaze from the empty bookcase in front of him, and looked to Aimee in earnest:

    "I suppose what I'm tryin' to say is that this could be your home. We could be like family. And it ain't that bad, if you don't count the drunken snob we keep in the basement."

  10. #50
    It took a moment for her to parse that he meant his mother, and Aimee cracked a grin. "Thanks. I ...this is going to sound super sappy but I think of you as family already Jim." She stared at him, bright eyed as bothersome emotions bubbled up. "Okay, enough of that though, all right? Can we get something to eat? My stomach is telling me it is time for dinner."

  11. #51
    "Uh, sure," Jim glanced at his watch, it was nearly 8 o'clock, "Yikes! That the time? Come on, ya big softie!"

    He sprang up, unhampered by feelings of guilt or anger. Aimee's words had cheered him up considerably. There was a lot they had been through together and it was nice to know his feelings were reciprocated. And then, in typical Aimee fashion, just as there was a shimmer of emotion she snapped shut, guarding her feelings like a clam guards a pearl. Sometimes he thought she was more of a guy than he was.

    "I ain't sure what the plan is. Mom don't cook on a cribbage night. I saw a pizza in the fridge..."

    While Jim weighed up their options, they left the room and headed downstairs. Gone was the ruckus from below, leaving the house conspicuously silent. In his head, Jim imagined the four of them sprawled out upon the table in an inebriated stupor, with playing cards stuck to their faces. He led the way into the parlour when there was a familiar clicking sound from the hall. Jim couldn't move - it felt like an anvil had plunged through his stomach and anchored him to the spot. The front door opened.

  12. #52
    Joe Lewinski
    Guest
    Joe Lewinski shuffled awkwardly into the house. He was carrying four large bags and had a cellphone clamped between his shoulder and ear. Once he was fully inside, he righted himself and crossed the foyer; the person on the other end of the line was getting an earful about a report and a meeting. Behind him a woman appeared, she wore an immaculate white dress suit and carried a briefcase. She closed the door behind her and followed Joe into parlour, where he stopped dead at the sight of the teenagers in the room.

    "Mike, I'll call ya back."

    The bags crumpled to the floor, and the phone was pocketed as Joe swept across the room and threw his arms around Jim. He held fast, lost in the moment with nothing but the warmth of the embrace and the sudden flood of memories conjured by the smell of his son's hair. His eyes closed and he gave Jim another squeeze.

    "My boy! Back home!" he relinquished his grip and beamed, clapping his son's face in his hands, "Finally! How you doin', kiddo?"

  13. #53
    There had been a moment, the barest flicker of doubt, when Jim considered retreat. In the few strides that had closed the space between them, he'd never seen his father looking so serious and it was too his credit that he didn't flinch. There was something very reassuring about the strength of his embrace, as if it were an unspoken oath being made from father to son. When at last he was released, Jim mirrored his father, smiling broadly.

    "I'm good, dad. It's good to see you again."

    Then he cleared his throat, and stiffened, making a gesture to Aimee.

    "I brought a friend. Dad, this is Aimee. She's, uh... she's gonna be stayin' with us a while."

  14. #54
    Joe Lewinski
    Guest
    While the girl had not gone unnoticed, in the beginning, Joe had eyes only for his son. Now that they were in the thick of introductions, he could see quite plainly that his son had befriended another mutant. That in itself was unsurprising. What did surprise him though was Aimee's purple skin and her bright yellow eyes which, while striking, appeared rather soft. He smiled, and extended a hand in greeting.

    "Aimee, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Joe."

  15. #55
    She'd unconsciously held her breath as soon as Jim's dad had entered the house, and now she released it with a smile, reaching for his hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Joe."

    He hadn't hesitated to greet her, and the was none of the unspoken tension she'd felt from Francine. Aimee relaxed a bit, shoulders loosening. "Jim generously offered me his old room, for ...the time being."

  16. #56
    Joe Lewinski
    Guest
    "You're welcome to stay as long as you want. It's not like we're short on space, right?"

    He gave a devilish grin and clapped Jim on the arm. Already his mind was galloping ahead with insinuations, as he considered the girl, and her relationship with his son. She was pretty in her own way, not his type, but then she reminded him of those girls who go to music festivals in little else but hotpants and body paint. His first impression of Aimee suggested she wasn't quite the hotpants sort, though, which was a shame for Jim.

    Beside him, he noticed his briefcase had been left on the coffee table, and the bags were gone. Mrs. Smith, tactful as ever, had taken the innitiative and excused herself as he was reunited with his son. From the dining room there came a heavy-handed clatter of plates, and his gaze dashed to the door. It sounded like Francine had climbed out of her dungeon then. He looked back to Aimee.

    "I hope you like Chinese, because we got enough noodles to sink a ship."

  17. #57
    "Love it," she said, grinning. "I think we're hungry enough to take care of that, don't you, Jim?" Aimee nudged him, and they followed Joe into the dining room. Francine was setting the table... for three. Belatedly the obviously tipsy woman produced another plate, and Aimee felt her smile begin to freeze on her face.

  18. #58
    Jim was feeling rather pleased with himself, having seen the friendly interplay between Aimee and his dad, who hadn't even for a moment questioned his stance on Aimee's accommodation. Of course, his mom could manhandle the china to her heart's content. It didn't change anything: once his dad was on his side, the matter was closed. Still, that wouldn't stop her from trying to make their new lodger feel unwelcome at every opportunity, he knew that much. In time, however, she'd learn Aimee was much tougher than she looked.

    They took their seats at the end of the table, Jim sat next to Aimee, opposite his parents. His dad unloaded the bags of takeout, laying out a monstrous feast: there was wan tun soup, and spring rolls, sesame king prawns, shredded chilli beef, chicken with cashew nuts, and crispy duck and pancakes, rice, boiled and fried, sauces of every kind, and indeed, enough noodles to sink a ship. One by one, each dish was unveiled with a small mushroom cloud of steam, until they were sat amongst a veritable fog and enough food to feed a small nation. Jim frowned at the disgusting excess.

    "Uh, mom, won't your friends be joining us?"

  19. #59
    Francine Lewinski
    Guest
    "No, sweetie, they're gone," she said, with a sad droop in her tone, "I'm afraid they lost their appetite."

    She heard Joe give a low snort, which distracted her from the unsavoury glance she'd just fired Aimee's way. Swatting aside thick curtains of steam, Francine hovered hawkishly over the cartons before helping herself to some chicken and spring rolls. Mrs. Smith, Joe's raven-haired little gofer, appeared from the kitchen. She sauntered past, and wished them a good evening as she left. Once the sound of clicking heels faded, Francine reached for her wine glass, and gave an amused hmph.

    "I'm surprised your secretary didn't invite herself to dinner this time."

  20. #60
    Joe Lewinski
    Guest
    "That was a business lunch, Francine. Mrs. Smith is my personal assistant."

    "Of course, she is."

    Joe ignored his wife's lazy retort and instead focused on loading his plate with as much food as standards of decorum allowed. Inwardly, he was doing cartwheels for being spared the company of Francine's cribbage trolls; even if it meant good food going to waste, it was a worthy sacrifice. Perhaps when Francine excused herself for another soak, Jim would do his party piece. He saw his son tearing into the duck with gusto. His friend, on the other hand, appeared a little apprehensive.

    "Aimee, try the beef. It'll knock your socks off," he said, as he offered her the carton of chilli beef, "So, how'd you two meet?"

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