Homebody: A Novel by Orson Scott Card Page B
Authors: Orson Scott Card
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Fantasy, Thrillers, Horror, SF, Epic, supernatural, Horror Tales; American, Horror Fiction, Dwellings, Ghost stories; American, Gothic fiction (Literary genre); American, Dwellings - Conservation and restoration, Greensboro (N.C.)
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When your ex-wife dies, does that count? Only if you still loved her, Don decided. Only if you grieved. And he was still too angry with her for that. The one he grieved for was his baby. Why didn't they have a word for a father who'd lost his child?
All this reflection only took a moment or two, but he realized that the hesitation had been obvious to Cindy and she was beginning to laugh off her request and excuse herself.
"No, no," he said. "I'll be glad to take you on the grand tour of the plumbing."
She searched his face for a moment. He knew what she was looking for—some sign of interest on his part, some reassurance that his hesitation was not because he didn't want to spend time with her. He had no idea what that sign would be or whether he gave it. He just turned toward the house and said "Come on" and when he got to the porch she was right behind him so whatever she was looking for she must have found it.
Each of the downstairs apartments had its own bathroom, but the tubs were sludgy and filthy and the sinks had the streaking and wear that spoke of constant leaks. He'd leave the water off in those bathrooms, except maybe for the toilet in the north apartment, which would be the one most convenient to his workspace. He showed Cindy how there was no warping or staining of the floor around the toilet, so it wasn't a leaker. "I'll probably have to replace all the rubber parts in the tank, but that's no big deal."
She nodded, but he could see that she didn't much care for the brown gunk that lined the dry bowl up to the old waterline.
"That's not what you think," said Don. He pulled a rag out of his pocket and wiped it away. Didn't even take much rubbing. "I think it's a kind of mildew or something that grew when they left the water standing here for a few years." He tossed the rag on the floor.
"I don't envy you your job," she said. "It looks to be hard and sweaty and unpleasant."
"Wouldn't trade for yours, either," he said. "Having to be nice to people all day."
She laughed. "That just shows you don't know me."
"What, you aren't nice?"
"I'm legendary in my office as a real estate terrorist."
Don was puzzled. How could she stay in business if people didn't like her?
"No, no, don't get the wrong idea," she said. "I'm always cheerful and polite. But when it matters I say what I think—cheerfully and politely."
"And you're in sales?"
"It doesn't require any skills," she said.
"Hardest skills of all."
"You think?"
"I work in wood, I know what I'm getting. I can see the grain, I can see the knots."
"People aren't much different," she said with a shrug.
"Harder to read."
"Easier to bend."
Cramped together in that bathroom, neither of them willing to lean against anything because it was so dirty, they were so close together Don could feel her breath against his shirt, against his face, could smell her, a light perfume but behind that, her, a little musky maybe, but the womanliness of her almost hurt, it took him so much by surprise. He hadn't been this close to a woman in a long time. And not just any woman, either. He liked her.
"You bending me?" he asked.
She smiled. "You feeling bent?"
He knew it as if he was in a play and the script said
They kiss
. Now was the time for him to bend over—not that far, really—and kiss her. He even knew how it would feel, lips brushing lips, mouths melting softly against each other, not passionate but warm and sweet.
"Better check upstairs to see if that bathroom has a usable shower," he said.
He could hardly believe he said it. But in fact, while he was standing there looking at her and wanting to kiss her, his mind had raced ahead: I can't hold this woman close to me, I'm dirty and sweaty and I need a bath, she'll be disgusted. And then he thought: Even if the water got hooked up right now, there's probably not a shower I could use here. And so he blurted out the next thought and the moment passed.
But it was a real moment, he could see that from the amused
All this reflection only took a moment or two, but he realized that the hesitation had been obvious to Cindy and she was beginning to laugh off her request and excuse herself.
"No, no," he said. "I'll be glad to take you on the grand tour of the plumbing."
She searched his face for a moment. He knew what she was looking for—some sign of interest on his part, some reassurance that his hesitation was not because he didn't want to spend time with her. He had no idea what that sign would be or whether he gave it. He just turned toward the house and said "Come on" and when he got to the porch she was right behind him so whatever she was looking for she must have found it.
Each of the downstairs apartments had its own bathroom, but the tubs were sludgy and filthy and the sinks had the streaking and wear that spoke of constant leaks. He'd leave the water off in those bathrooms, except maybe for the toilet in the north apartment, which would be the one most convenient to his workspace. He showed Cindy how there was no warping or staining of the floor around the toilet, so it wasn't a leaker. "I'll probably have to replace all the rubber parts in the tank, but that's no big deal."
She nodded, but he could see that she didn't much care for the brown gunk that lined the dry bowl up to the old waterline.
"That's not what you think," said Don. He pulled a rag out of his pocket and wiped it away. Didn't even take much rubbing. "I think it's a kind of mildew or something that grew when they left the water standing here for a few years." He tossed the rag on the floor.
"I don't envy you your job," she said. "It looks to be hard and sweaty and unpleasant."
"Wouldn't trade for yours, either," he said. "Having to be nice to people all day."
She laughed. "That just shows you don't know me."
"What, you aren't nice?"
"I'm legendary in my office as a real estate terrorist."
Don was puzzled. How could she stay in business if people didn't like her?
"No, no, don't get the wrong idea," she said. "I'm always cheerful and polite. But when it matters I say what I think—cheerfully and politely."
"And you're in sales?"
"It doesn't require any skills," she said.
"Hardest skills of all."
"You think?"
"I work in wood, I know what I'm getting. I can see the grain, I can see the knots."
"People aren't much different," she said with a shrug.
"Harder to read."
"Easier to bend."
Cramped together in that bathroom, neither of them willing to lean against anything because it was so dirty, they were so close together Don could feel her breath against his shirt, against his face, could smell her, a light perfume but behind that, her, a little musky maybe, but the womanliness of her almost hurt, it took him so much by surprise. He hadn't been this close to a woman in a long time. And not just any woman, either. He liked her.
"You bending me?" he asked.
She smiled. "You feeling bent?"
He knew it as if he was in a play and the script said
They kiss
. Now was the time for him to bend over—not that far, really—and kiss her. He even knew how it would feel, lips brushing lips, mouths melting softly against each other, not passionate but warm and sweet.
"Better check upstairs to see if that bathroom has a usable shower," he said.
He could hardly believe he said it. But in fact, while he was standing there looking at her and wanting to kiss her, his mind had raced ahead: I can't hold this woman close to me, I'm dirty and sweaty and I need a bath, she'll be disgusted. And then he thought: Even if the water got hooked up right now, there's probably not a shower I could use here. And so he blurted out the next thought and the moment passed.
But it was a real moment, he could see that from the amused
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