THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-One
THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-One
I was in the middle of typing an essay early that evening when a whiff of smoke caught my nose. That’s funny. I don’t remember seeing a fireplace in the house. I sniffed again, and finding the smell more like badly burned toast than firewood, I opened my door and followed my nose to the kitchen, where a steady stream of gray smoke was flowing out of the oven vent. I hurried over and looked through the oven window to see a bubbling ooze of blackened crust and cheese—a pizza from hell. Oh no! Quickly, I began flinging open drawers, trying to find a pair of oven mitts while the fire alarm began to make an ear-splitting screech.
There was a loud clomping of shoes in the hallway, followed by Adam Ratliffe’s voice as he entered the kitchen. “What’s going on?” he coughed. I had just settled on some thick dish towels and was removing the scorching hot pizza to the top of the stove, trying not to inhale the smoke. “Hold on,” he shouted, coming to my side and reaching over to turn off the gas as I slammed the oven door shut. “Open the window,” he called, pointing to the one above the sink. “I’ll get the alarm.”
I hurried over to the window, trying to lean far enough over the kitchen sink to reach the latch. My fingers fumbled along the edge of the latch’s arm. Almost got it. But strain as I would, the latch remained just out of reach. I finally resorted to climbing up on the counter to get a better angle while Adam pulled over a chair from the snug and stood on it to press the button on the alarm above the island. Balancing on the edge of the countertop with my knees, I flipped the latch and leaned over to pull up the sash, which resisted every effort. Come on, you stubborn thing!
The alarm was silent now, but my eardrums still throbbed with a phantom echo, and my eyes smarted from the smoke. That’s it. I’m gonna get this thing open. In a final attempt, I leaned over, spread my arms out, and yanked with all my might, only to have the window suddenly fly up while I fell into the sink with a yelp.
I flailed helplessly in the sink, probably looking like an upended crab as I tried to push myself up with my elbows, unable to get any leverage.
“Wait, I’m coming,” Adam said, scrambling down from his chair. He rushed over to me, and halted, looking unsure of himself. “Um, here, give me your hands,” he said. His hands, surprisingly firm, wrapped around mine, and he began to tug me forward.
The sink edge dug into the back of my thighs. “Ouch!” I cried, pulling my arms back in.
“Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Adam asked, looking worried.
“No, it’s just the angle.” I looked to my sides, trying to figure out if I could roll over onto the counter somehow.
“Perhaps I should just, um—” Adam made a sort of forklift motion with his arms “scoop you up?”
I didn’t have a better idea. “Go for it.” I tucked my limbs in, and with a little trial and error, Adam got one arm under my knees and another around my shoulders, and lifted me up. With more grace than I expected, he carried me a little away from the sink, then let my feet drop gently to the floor.
“Thanks,” I said, steadying myself against the counter. I felt a little dizzy; probably the effect of the smoke and the noise.
“What are housemates good for, if not rescuing each other from oven fires and cavernous kitchen sinks?” he quipped.
“True,” I said. Then, without thinking, I added, “You’re welcome.”
Adam raised an eyebrow, but his smile broadened.
Ok, Lucy, don’t push it. You barely know the guy. I knew I needed to redirect, so I gestured to the stove.
“I guess that was the surprise?”
“It was meant to be,” Adam said, frowning as he walked over to examine the oozing mess. He picked up a spatula and poked at the pie, looking puzzled. “I don’t know what went wrong. I followed all the directions.”
“What did you set the heat to?” I asked, coming beside him.
“All the way up, I think.”
I glanced at the stove. It was marked differently than the one at my mom’s house, of course, but I noticed that the BROIL setting was still right beside the highest degree.
“I think you might have set it to broil by accident.”
“What difference does that make? I thought it had to cook at a high heat anyway.”
I took another look at the crispy blackened crust. “Broil heat comes from the top, where the regular heat comes from the bottom and sides to cook the dough evenly without burning the cheese.”
“Quite the pizza expert, aren’t you?” Adam asked, eyes sparkling.
I began to feel a little embarrassed. I hope he doesn’t think I was saying he’s too stupid to operate an oven. “Not really. It’s just that we eat a lot of pizza in Chicago. Except it’s usually deep dish instead of flatbread. More like a pie or casserole.”
“Oh.” I watched Adam give the blackened pizza a fresh look of disappointment.
“But I like all kinds of pizza,” I rushed to add. “I’m sure this one would have been great.” Arg! Great job, Lucy. Need a shovel? I pressed my lips together, hoping I wouldn’t say anything else insulting.
If Adam was bothered, at least he brushed it off easily. He poked the pizza one last time and laid the spatula aside. The dark brow furrowed with thought, then relaxed again when he looked up.
“I don’t suppose you like curry?” he asked. “I could run into town and fetch some takeaway. I won’t subject you to any more of my culinary disasters tonight.”
Relived, I said I loved curry, which was true. There was a little Indian place near Northwestern that had the most amazing butter chicken and just thinking about it made me drool. Anyway, Adam appeared encouraged by my enthusiasm, and promised to return quickly.
“And don’t worry about that monstrosity,” he said, pointing to the pizza. “I can clean it up when I get back.” He suggested I open the window by the snug to get the air flowing, then left by the front door.
After I got the window open, I went back to take another look at the pizza. I could see that although it was made from fresh dough, the crust had been inexpertly rolled instead of tossed, and a peek in the trash can confirmed my suspicions about the jarred sauce. ‘A’ for effort, but the execution … not so much. The pan was cool now, so I figured I’d do Adam a favor and scrape the pizza monster off before it became permanently glued on. Afterwards, I carried the pan to the sink and waited for the water to heat up so I could scrub it. Least I could do for the poor guy.
When I finished, I went back to my room and typed another paragraph of my essay until I heard Adam return by the front door. I met him in the kitchen, where he was unloading two plastic bags. The first was bulging with to-go containers that smelled deliciously exotic, full of coconut and spices. The other bag was thin and flat.
“What’s that?” I asked, hoping the smaller bag might have some cool sauce packets or something inside. I loved trying new sauces every time I went to a restaurant. Trish always said I was going to burn my tongue off someday with an unlabeled bottle of ghost pepper sauce, but I didn’t care. Some of us had to take our adventures where we could get them.
“There’s a little rental shop next door to the restaurant,” Adam said as he pulled some DVDs out of the bag. “Thought you might fancy watching a film. Unless you’re busy with another of your essays.” He talked quickly, like he was expecting me to say no.
“I’m not busy,” I said, peeking at the covers. “Whad’ya get?”
Adam’s green eyes warmed again. “Ah, well, I tried to get something familiar for you. All American films.” He held up the first case. “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Comedy. ‘The Sausage King of Chicago.’ You’ve seen it?”
I giggled. “Like a million times.”
“No need to make it a million and one on my account. How about Independence Day? It’s got aliens, jet planes, rap stars. They literally punch an extraterrestrial in the face.” He held up the case with a cheesy smile.
“Is that one of your favorites?”
“No. I think it’s stupid. Besides, the Fourth of July isn’t a holiday here.”
“Oh, right. Because America won,” I teased.
Adam demurred. “That’s … one way to look at it. Anyway, final selection.” He held up a third case.
“Edward Scissorhands?” I asked, studying the cover. “I haven’t seen that in forever. Like, since middle school.”
“I can’t imagine that was very long ago for you.” Adam’s smooth tenor sounded amused.
“It seems like forever.”
“Fair enough,” he conceded. “But did you enjoy it?”
I reached out and took the case, and flipped it to the back. “I don’t remember much about the story except Edward giving everyone weird haircuts.”
“Naturally.”
I looked up just in time to catch Adam staring at the edges of my trimmed hair. My hand flew up to it at once. So, he does think it looks bad!
“I mean, that’s one of the more memorable parts of the story,” Adam said quickly. “The haircuts, and the ice, and doesn’t he trim the shrubbery too? I think I remember a topiary in there somewhere. Have to watch it again to be sure. Anyway, Edward Scissorhands, then?”
We settled into the living room with our food and drinks, and Adam got the DVD running on the little television on the corner. We seated ourselves on the small sofa, a modest distance between us. All the while, I couldn’t shake the awkward feeling that he was breaking one of the house rules for me. But soon I had something else to distract me: the talking.
Yes, it turned out that Adam Ratliffe was a movie talker. No sooner did the opening shot of candy-colored houses on a suburban street appear than Adam leaned over to ask, “Does your neighborhood in Chicago look like that?”
“No,” I said, “but it does kind of look like where my mom’s parents live in Florida.”
“Interesting. So colorful. You don’t see that much around here, do you?”
I brushed it off, but Adam kept going. As soon as Edward Scissorhands appeared on the screen, timid and disheveled, Adam said, “Looks a bit like my hair this afternoon, I’ll bet.”
I was tempted to say, Way worse, but didn’t want to seem too flirty. I shrugged. The running commentary continued.
“Does your grandparents’ house have a basement? I’ve always wanted a house with a basement.”
And, “I had a friend at uni with a van like that. Smelt of dirty socks and cheese puffs.”
And also, “I knew I remembered topiaries. Though I don’t care much for animal shapes, myself.”
Dude, what gives? During one particularly long commentary, I watched Adam’s face, hoping to find some kind of clue there. He seemed so curious; eyes fixed on the screen with eager excitement for all the little details. He was almost like a little kid in a grown-up body. I decided I could either be annoyed by it or just enjoy the experience. I settled for the latter, and thankfully, as the film progressed, we both became silently engrossed until the ending when I found myself tearing up at Old Lady Kim explaining the snow to her granddaughter while Edward’s flurry of scissors carved away into giant blocks of ice.
“I wonder where he gets the ice. Do you think he has it delivered? Maybe Kim sends it up to him, like a present. But that would arouse suspicion with the neighbors, I think,” Adam said, turning to me. “Why, Lucy, are you crying?”
“No,” I lied, averting my misty eyes. “I just forgot it’s such a sad ending. That they can’t be together ever again.”
“Here,” he said, handing me a napkin. He waited while I dabbed my eyes, then continued. “I don’t think it’s that awful, really. They’re connected by the snow. She’ll always know he loves her and remembers her. More of a happy ending, all things considered.” He watched, and receiving no assent, said, “You disagree. Why?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. This was no ordinary dinner debate, and we were friends now, or at least I thought so. Still, it was hard to explain away something so tender.
“I just wish it was different. They both did the right thing, protecting each other. I wish they could be rewarded for their sacrifice. Instead, it seems like they’re punished. He keeps the memory, and she keeps the pain.”
Adam nodded slowly. “I see what you mean. But perhaps it’s more realistic this way. After all, we all want things we can’t have.”
He got up and went across to the little TV stand to retrieve the DVD, and I began gathering up takeout cartons and drink cans onto the trays sitting on the coffee table. When Adam returned to the sofa, we each carried a tray to the kitchen and began to empty the contents into the trash can.
“I hope I haven’t kept you too long from your studies,” Adam said, shaking one tray empty, and exchanging it for my full one.
“Nah. I typed the last paragraph for my essay right before you got back with the curry.” I followed him to the sink. “How about you?”
Adam sniffed. “To be honest, I’m not sure it matters what I write for my essays. It’s rather difficult to write an acceptable critical analysis from the perspective of the enemy.” He pointed to the tray in my hand. “I’ll take that, if you like. Might as well wash them up a bit while I’m at it.”
“I can dry,” I offered, and had the pleasure of Adam’s gratified smile in response. A dish towel never offered such enticement, and I wondered at myself for spending so many weeks avoiding him like the Black Death. He was sort of fun to be around.
As Adam ran the dishcloth through warm water and began to scrub, I ventured further on the subject that had come between us so often. “Do you really feel like the enemy in your class?”
Adam’s smile cooled, and he pressed his lips together, looking troubled but undecided.
“I just wondered,” I continued, “because I thought you were kind of joking about it sometimes, and other times you seemed really upset. Like the other night when you were talking about marriage and stuff.”
The look of indecision became one of resolution. “I suppose you could say I try to keep a sense of humor in most of it. Chin up, you know. Not always a happy ending to everything in life. I know that my attitude’s come off to you as coarse sometimes, and I’m sorry. But the marriage bit, well, that is a sore point.”
He rinsed his tray and handed it to me. I wonder if he was engaged or something. But I didn’t remember Mrs. Scott saying anything about an ex-fiancé. And his parents were still together from what I could tell. Since Adam didn’t volunteer anything more, I pressed a little further.
“Can I ask why?”
Adam glanced at me for a moment, and seemed to wonder if I was sincere. Something in my look, whether it was naiveté or innocent curiosity, was enough to encourage him. He turned his gaze to the open window above the sink.
“I used to think it was just me,” he said. His tenor, smooth and cool, seemed to match the night air that seeped in from the window. “You meet someone, take an interest, go on a date or two at most, and it seems promising. Lots in common, mutual admiration, attraction. But then the conversation turns to something more serious, and you find out that even though you’re interested in marriage and starting a family, perhaps before thirty or even forty, her intentions lie elsewhere. In fact, she’s put off, insulted that you’d ask her to sacrifice any part of her career for a relationship or children. Those things are distractions at best, hindrances at most. Really, how could you ask such a thing?”
He shook his head and looked down at the other tray, and began scrubbing it with a vigor that the few crumbs of spilled rice and chicken could hardly warrant. I grimaced. Sore point indeed. After a moment, when he was satisfied, he rinsed the tray and handed it to me, turning off the tap with finality.
“Anyway,” he continued as I dried, “now I find it’s not only my personal taste in women. It’s an entire philosophy, a cultural phenomenon. And since I’m male, it turns out that that I’m actively participating in some larger form of societal oppression by, heaven forbid, wanting to share my life with someone.” He wrung out his dish cloth with white knuckles and then, relenting with a sigh, shook it out and laid it neatly over the neck of the faucet.
“I suppose you could say that on the whole, the course has been entertaining, not that I’m sure it was meant to be, and occasionally it’s been insightful. But that last part … that was discouraging.” He met my gaze, the green eyes darker than usual. “I thought I was doing all the right things, you know? Or at least, the most important ones. But it doesn’t matter what I do. The only thing I’m wanted for is to get out of the way.”
His eyes fell to the pizza pan, resting beside the trays in the drying rack. “Thanks for washing that. You didn’t have to.” A hint of humor returned to his voice. “Though I was worried the pizza would be stuck on so badly I’d have to bury whole thing in the yard by cover of moonlight and buy Mrs. Ashby another before she returned.”
“It was nothing,” I said, heart full. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Poor guy. Should I give him a hug? No, that would be weird.
“Was your curry alright, at least?” Adam asked.
“Yeah, it was great. I think the coconut one was the best I’ve ever had.”
He smiled a little. “That’s my favorite too.”
There was a moment, a very small moment, that I thought about how soft that hunter plaid shirt had felt against my cheek when he lifted me from the sink, and I wondered if I might ever feel it again.
“You’re a good sport, Lucy,” Adam said, reaching around to close the kitchen window. “Mind getting the other one?” He nodded his head to the window across the room.
Pop! A little blue balloon burst inside me, and as I laid my towel beside the dishcloth and shuffled across the kitchen, I humbly picked up the small, leathery pieces. Good sport? He may as well have patted me on the head like my summer camp counselor after a softball game. But what did I expect? We were just housemates.
I pulled down the window and twisted the lock in one fluid motion. Enough. Crushing on Adam Ratliffe when we’d only made peace two days ago was stupid, extra stupid, and a bad idea. But still … the mystery of the sphinx had all the undeniable allure of a Rubik’s Cube. Just a few more twists, and surely, I would solve the puzzle. Tonight, I was closer than ever.
I met Adam in the middle of the kitchen, where we each said goodnight and went our separate ways to different ends of the house. I turned at the last moment to watch his feet ascend from a square of light at the bottom of the stairs, which disappeared when he closed the door behind him. Now it was me and my thoughts alone. Another twist, another turn.
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