THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Nine
THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Nine
A little shiver ran down my spine as the heavy sound of Mr. Ratliffe’s step approached the dining room. I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly wondering if I had remembered to put on deodorant after my shower. I had my chin down to my chest, trying to subtly sniff myself when Mr. Ratliffe strode in with an armful of books. He stopped short seeing me.
“Oh. Miss Steppenwolf. How are you?” he asked, clearing his throat as he set his books down on the table. I was trying to reply when he left the room again, telling Mrs. Scott he would wash up and be right back. I rolled my eyes.
Yep. I’m still here. Nice to see you too.
Having already exhausted the contents of the room, my eyes landed on the Mr. Ratliffe’s stack of books. Curiosity got the best of me, and, after a quick peek to be sure no one was coming, I gently turned the spines around to face me so I could read them. The Feminine Mystique. A Room of One’s Own. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. The Second Sex.
What in the world? I’d read excerpts of a couple of these in my English classes, but why did this guy have them? I leaned over a little and lifted the cover of The Feminine Mystique, just to look inside.
“Trying to rip the cover off this one too?”
I yanked my hand back like I’d touched a hot stove and hid it in my lap. I hadn’t even heard him enter this time. He ignored me, of course, and moved the books aside, settling into his seat. I felt a visceral scratch of the match inside me and the heat of it touched my insides as I watched him. Mrs. Scott followed shortly with a tray and began setting down our plates, steaming with the chicken and vegetables.
Mr. Ratliffe thanked her as she set his plate in front of him, and she replied asking if his courses were all settled now.
Mr. Ratliffe grunted. “Yes, although I’ve had to register for Women’s Studies of all things. It was the only course left in the morning session.”
“Oh dear. Well, I suppose it could have been worse. They could have had you take engineering or something.”
“I think I would have preferred the engineering,” he said, tucking a napkin in his lap.
I observed him out of the corner of my eye while Mrs. Scott set out the rest of the food and drink and exited the room. Oh, I get it now. He’s one of those women-hating jerks. That’s why he keeps taking pot shots at me and acting like it’s no big deal.
“I assume you already have your textbooks,” he said to me as he began cutting his into his chicken.
A sudden panic struck me. What time was it? Was the bookstore still open? I didn’t even know how to get there!
Mr. Ratliffe must have noticed my fork frozen mid-air, because he gave me a little look-over, raised an eyebrow, and asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, casually putting down my fork to take a drink of water like it was what I’d meant to do all along. “I mean, I was planning to get them tomorrow.”
“Then I hope your lecture doesn’t start before ten o’clock. That’s when the bookstore opens. Summer hours, you know.”
Crap. I hadn’t even looked at the schedule yet. I’d have to go through the orientation packet again as soon as dinner was over.
“And as promised, here are the house rules.” He reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. I set down my water and took the paper from his outstretched hand, careful not to touch him, and squinted to make out the words. His handwriting was horrible, an ugly mash of print and cursive with flattened loops that made it nearly illegible. “You don’t have to read it right now,” he added.
I took this as a cue that I was being rude or something, so I tucked it away in my pocket, trying silence a weary sigh. I guessed there were written rules and unspoken rules around here, like “Don’t ask someone if you can leave your suitcase near the front desk.” Great. This should be about as fun as playing Blind Man’s Bluff in a knife factory.
We spent the rest of the meal in silence. I was thankful that at least the food tasted as good as it smelled. The roast chicken had a little lemony flavor to it, and the carrots and onions were soft without being mushy. I chewed away and had cleaned my plate by the time Mr. Ratliffe excused himself and left the room.
“Would you care for some pudding, Miss Steppenwolf?” Mrs. Scott asked in her now familiar, friendly voice.
My mind immediately went to Jell-O Snack Packs, and I gagged a little remembering the bland chocolate ooze in a plastic tub my mom used to pack in my lunchbox every Friday. Is that really what they eat for dessert here? Gosh, this place is weird.
“No, thank you,” I said politely. She looked a little surprised but said nothing. As she cleared my plate away, I added, “Oh, and you can just call me Lucy if you want.”
“Very well, Miss Lucy,” she said, with a bob of her curls.
I relaxed a little. At least the ladies here are nicer than Mr. Ratliffe.
Happier, I went to my room to unpack and sort through my orientation packet. It wasn’t until I changed for bed that I rediscovered the wrinkled list of rules in my jeans pocket. With a groan, I flopped down on my bed and rolled over to my belly to try and decipher Mr. Ratliffe’s scrawl by the yellow glow of the bedside lamp.
House Rules
1. Please no food outside the kitchen and dining room.
2. Please do not adjust the thermostat.
3. Please be mindful of the delicate plumbing.
4. Please be mindful of noise levels.
5. Please do not cut flowers from the garden.
6. Please, no pets or animals.
7. Please, no overnight guests.
I stuck out my tongue. Okay, so pretend I’m dead and I’ll get along just fine. I slid open the bedside drawer and threw the list in there with my key, then looked at the clock. 8:30 p.m. local time. I looked at my watch. 2:30 p.m. Chicago time. I started synchronizing it to the local time, knowing I probably couldn’t fall asleep until at least midnight here. It would be a few hours before anyone back home was around to talk or chat on Instant Messenger.
What to do? It was too late and dark to go for a walk. Definitely didn’t want to curl up on the couch and watch the evening news with Mr. Ratliffe. Shudder. I hadn’t brought any books with me, but I had my iPod and my laptop, so I popped my earbuds in and put on my favorite “Dad’s Jazz” playlist while I set up my computer. Maybe I could waste some time surfing the internet until Trish got online.
I was expecting a fuzzy Wi-Fi signal at best, but while I looked for an outlet to plug in my converter, I noticed there was actually a CAT-5 outlet in the wall. After booting up, I was surprised to find the connection was super-fast. Nice! It seemed that barely a few minutes had passed before I got a ping on IM from Trish.
T: Girl! You’re alive!
L: LOL yeah I made it.
T: Is it amazing? Did you meet the queen yet? Who’s your favorite, William or Harry?
L: Uh, no, no, and I don’t know.
T: But it’s awesome, right?
L: Eh…
T: So … not awesome?
L: Just a weird day. Apparently the university got my arrival date wrong and gave my room to someone else.
T: What??? Are you living on the street now? Are you writing from an internet café? Do not try to sleep there, BTW, they will kick you out.
L: LOL no. They found me a place off campus.
T: Sweet! No scuzzy dorm for you, girl!
L: Yeah I mean it’s nice but the guy who lives here already is kind of awful.
L: He’s old and mean and has all these rules and stuff.
T: um, what?
T: You’re living with an old man?
T: That is creepy.
T: Please tell me you locked your door.
T: Also, please tell me there is a lock on your door.
I paused for a second and glanced at the door. There was a little lock in the doorknob. I got up, twisted it, and came back to the computer.
L: Yeah, of course. I’m not dumb.
T: So, is he like a professor or something? That just seems really weird.
L: No. He’s like, a student now. I think his mom is a professor but she doesn’t live here anymore.
L: I mean, he’s not that old. Like maybe … 35
T: Creepy.
T: Does your mom know?
L: No. And she’s not gonna know.
T: Why not?
L: Because she’ll ruin everything and make me come back home.
T: okay … well if you’re sure
L: I’m sure.
T: Well I g2g get some dinner. TTYL.
L: yeah tell me about your first day @ the Trib later.
T: will do.
L: bye
T: bye
Trish put up her away message, and I signed off. I played on the internet for another hour, and then figured I should try to get some sleep. After double-checking the lock on my bedroom door, I set my computer alarm for seven the next morning, plugged in my cell phone, and snuggled in under the blankets, ready for this day to be over and done.
I was just getting comfortable when I heard a swishing, whirring sound coming from upstairs. Hmm. Must be a circular fan or something. It was summer, after all, and I had noticed that these people apparently did not believe in central air conditioning, with the only heat source being radiator boxes under all the windows in the house. Still, my room was comfortable enough in the cool of the evening. The sheets were soft, the pillow nice and fluffy, so laid down my head once more as the smooth wishing of the upstairs fan rocked me to sleep.
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