Empty Nest

At precisely 6:20 I am walking up the short walk to the little navy blue house with white trim Heather had indicated as hers. The house was nice though old and a few years past due for a fresh coat of paint. The small front yard consisted of a two tiny patches of green lawn with narrow beds of bright, cheery flowers bordering the approach. In a word I would describe the place as ‘quaint’. It was a far cry from the huge, almost palatial, two story brick home the Hutton’s had lived back in the old neighborhood. After living there with her husband and kids all those years I could imagine how cold and lonely such a big house would feel.

I smooth out my t shirt and run a hand over my freshly cut hair before feeling my smooth jaw for any spots I might have missed. The barber hadn’t been willing to give me a shave on top of the cut for just 27 bucks but luckily I’d been able to do a fair job with my electric razor in the rear view mirror. After the salon I had less than a fiver to my name but for a meal and a bed for the night I thought it an investment worth making. I mean, how far was that money going to last me anyway? As I stand there mustering my courage I am still counting my blessings for Heather’s generosity. God, the way I spoke to her! She would have been within her rights to spit on me and tell me off, never mind inviting me into her home. This might have been just a reprieve before hitting the gutter tomorrow but after the day I’d had I was so very grateful for it. It made me wonder if I had a pair of guardian angels still looking out for me.

I shake my head and try to banish that thought. Imagining my parents seeing me in my current state was more than I could bare right now. After a deep breath to compose myself I knock on the white wooden door.

Maybe 30 seconds later I hear the last couple of footsteps approaching the door before it swings open. Centered in the white door frame stands Heather just as I had seen her earlier except that her sandals had been traded out for a pair of slippers. Able to look me eye to eye despite her thin slippers she smiles a warm and welcoming smile.

“Hello Elliot.”

“Hello Mrs. Hutton.” She does not correct me to Heather this time. I’d fucked that up by being disrespectful to her.

“Well look at you.” She surprises me by stepping up close and running her fingers through the short hairs just around my ear. I’m a bit weirded out by the unexpected touch, and my hair having just been washed and cut my scalp was ultra-sensitive at the moment, but I do not recoil from her. “That’s much better. I bet it feels better too.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I nod.

Leaning in she gives me a sniff. “I think a shower is in order.”

“Uh, yeah. I meant to…”

Stepping back she waves away whatever excuse I was about to come up with. “Supper will stay warm. Let’s grab go that pile of clothes I saw in your car.”

“Clothes?”

“Your dirty laundry.” She laughs and swats my belly with the back of her hand. “It might be a bit before you can clean them again. Come on.”

Grabbing a pair of laundry baskets that had left beside the front door she hands me one and plants the other against her the curve of her hip. Before I know it Heather is leading back down the sidewalk toward my car. I am terribly embarrassed as we pull my soiled garments from among my other crap to stuff them into the baskets. I mumble a few fibs about why I hadn’t done my laundry in so long but she didn’t seem much interested. Her focus was on the task at hand. Soon we are heading back up the walk with every scrap of clothes I had to my name piled in the baskets.

“Whose this young man?” Comes a creaky voice from the next yard over.

“Ms. Hancock.” Heather greets the elderly woman. “This is Elliot. He’s a friend of Liam’s.”

Friend? More like bitter enemy in an uneasy truce, but who was counting. “Hello Ms. Hancock.”

“Hello dearie.” The wrinkles of her weathered face deepen as she smiles.

“He’s passing through tonight.” Heather says. “I had a spare room and thought I could save him on a hotel.”

“That’s nice.” She says. “Nice to meet you, Elliot.”

“Same to you, Ma’am.”

With that we continue on into the house. As Heather waits for me to slip out of my shoes she says. “It’s nice to see that your manners have returned.”

“Yeah. I’m…not proud of how I talked to you.”

“All is forgiven.” She assures me once more. “Follow along.”

From the entryway we enter into the main room of the house which consisted of both living room and kitchen. Everything was clean and tidy. At just a glance it was as clear as day that this place had not felt a man’s touch as the decor was all soft feminine pastels. A few things stand out right away as I look around the living space. The first, and most obvious, was the potpourri scent that filled the area with the aroma of lavender and who knows what else. Though stronger than I would have liked it was very pleasing on the nose. Second was the lack of television or any kind of home entertainment unit that would have dominated most rooms like this. And finally was the tasteful, good quality, but mismatched furnishings. As someone who had been shopping at second hand shops for his whole adult life I recognized that Heather was shopping at the same kind of places that I was. The more I looked around the more I saw through the facade of doilies and potted ferns and knitted throws and framed family photos to the aging furnishing and older style kitchen appliances the more it began to dawn on me that she might have moved out of her big house for more reasons than mere loneliness.

“So here’s the kitchen and dining room.” She nods to that area of the room from which a scrumptious smell was emanating from the hot oven to mingle with the other scents. “Living room.” She nods. Continuing past she nods to each door as we go. “Washroom. Storage. Spare room. I’ve got the bed made up for you. My room, stay out.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“And this is the basement.” She says as she opens the last door. “Laundry is down here.” She leads me down a narrow set of wooden stairs into a partially finished basement with three rooms. When she clicks the light on I can see the first contained the washer and dryer, the second held the furnace and hot water heater, and the last looked to be some kind of office of hobby room. She hoists her basket onto the counter beside the washer and nods to the floor beside her. “You can leave that here.”

“Oh, um, I can do my own laundry.”

“Of course you can.” She chuckles. “But the washer can be tricky if you don’t balance it right. This one time, I got it. You are my guest after all.”

“Well, thank you again!”

“You’re welcome, Elliot.” She grins. “Now you go hop in that shower so I don’t have to smell you all night.”

A blush warms my cheeks. “Oh. Is it that bad?”

“I’ve got a sensitive nose.” She says. “I left you a robe and some jammies on your bed so you don’t have to get back into…those.”

Sheepish about my hygiene I nod without protest. “Yes Mrs. Hutton.” Just as I turn to head upstairs I pause. “Oh, uh, if you don’t mind. What’s the password?”

She tilts her head. “Password?”

“For the wifi.”

“Oh, I don’t have internet.”

“Don’t have internet?” I say, perplexed. “Serious?”

“Never really needed it.” She shrugs. “I just call Lily if I need anything looked up.” She laughs. “Drives her nuts.”

“No internet!?”

“No.” She says. “Did you need it for something?”

“Well…um…everything!” I say. “Who doesn’t have the internet?”

“Just me I guess.” She says as chipper as ever. “Now get on with ya, dirty man, and don’t forget behind your ears.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I leave Heather loading my laundry into the washer and head upstairs. No television? No internet? No wifi at all? I felt like I’d stepped into another time. Ah well, I was only here the night. The spare room I find cozy and as tidy as the rest of the place. The bed I find made and tucked with a homemade quilt as the top layer. On the impeccably made bed was a folded set of men’s blue pajamas that was clearly fresh out of their package. A white bathrobe was laid out beside them.

Peeking through the curtains I see the window looked back out over a very small yard with grass let to grow a bit too tall crossed by laundry lines. The garbage and recycle bins were just behind the fence along with a single parking spot where a familiar gray luxury SUV was parked. I recognized it as the same car she’d been driving back when she was running her kids around to their various activities all those years ago. To the right was a ramshackle shed that looked ready to blow over on the next stiff breeze.

I grab the robe and pajamas, quietly amused at Heather’s use of the term ‘jammies’, and head into the washroom. It was as expected for such a woman’s space as this. There were shells and scented soaps and no end of lotions and ointments. I start the shower going and strip out of my clothes. As I look at them I am again embarrassed that a nice woman like Heather had to see me looking so shabby. It was only moments like this that I was even aware of it anymore. At what point had I stopped giving a fuck about my looks? How long had I let myself fester like this? Fuck, no wonder Blair tossed me to the curb. Maybe, just maybe, she might take me back if I cleaned up and got my life back together. A guy could dream.

As I look over my clothes something Heather had said to me comes to the fore. She was right. Who knows when I would get a chance to get my laundry done again. If she was doing the rest a few more items wouldn’t hurt. I pull on the robe and tie the belt. Collecting up my clothes I pad over to the open basement door then start down the stairs where I hear the hiss of the washing machine starting its cycle. I am halfway down when I dip my head to ask if it would be okay to add more clothes to the load when I freeze in my tracks.

Mrs. Hutton stood facing partly away from me. Held in her left hand was one of my shirts which she had held up to her face as she took long, deep inhaling breaths, clearly smelling my manly funk. Weird. Really weird. Even weirder though…she had the front of her dress pulled up as she manipulated something in front of her crotch with her right hand. What the hell was she doing? I couldn’t see anything, but the way her arm was moving was…odd. For a woman at least. As I watch she lets out a sharp breath, her shoulders heaving forward as she did, then whispers something to herself as her right arm quickens in a sort of stroking motion. Jesus! Did she have some sort of toy that she was rubbing against her snatch? By the angle of her forearm it must have been a long one. Did she have a broom handle or something? Was she getting off to my smell? Or just the fact she had a man in her house? How long had it been since she’d had a man around? Since Mr. Hutton seven years ago? Was she attracted to me!? She wasn’t at all my type, and completely off limits considering who she was, but I couldn’t deny feeling at least a little bit flattered.

Well, whatever the hell she was doing I was pretty damn sure that she would not appreciate an interruption by a nosy guest. Wanting that meal and warm bed I decide to beat a hasty retreat. As quiet as I could I creep back up the stairs and return to the washroom a very confused and curious man.