I decided I’d go for a run out on the dirt roads. It would make me feel better. It always did. I went to the bathroom first, and as I was rising from the toilet, Mitch walked in. Instead of turning around and walking out apologizing, he stood in the doorway.
“Take your time,” he said, keeping his eyes on me.
I struggled to get my pants up, my face burning, and flushed the toilet.
When I didn’t say anything, he said, “Don’t be embarrassed. We’re family.”
I wanted to tell him that he needed to knock before busting in the bathroom, but this was his house. I was a visitor. Plus I’d walked into Dekker’s room this morning without knocking, so maybe this was normal.
“So I was thinking,” Mitch said, cheery. “After my nap, I’ll run into town and get us some steaks and a bottle of wine, some candles, have a nice dinner. I’ll cook for you and we can really get to know each other now that the boy is gone.”
Every muscle in my body was rigid with awkwardness and humiliation. The bathroom felt close and too warm, but Mitch was gripping the doorjambs with both hands.
“I’ll get out of here so you can use the bathroom,” I said.
Mitch didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a moment, deep in thought.
I walked toward him, assuming he’d back through the doorway and let me out. Instead, he shifted his hips, keeping his hands on the jambs, and left a narrow space for me to squeeze through.
I tried to exit the bathroom but he caught me in his arms.
“Oh, Marianne,” he said, holding me tight. He kissed the top of my head repeatedly, and I stood frozen to the spot before I pressed my wrists together, bent my knees and slipped his grip. His face clouded over.
“Mitch, you need to understand something,” I said, breathless, in the same coaxing tone I’d always used when Michael Rhones was agitated. “I’m not used to -people touching me, not at all. I need a little time to get used to everything. And I’ve told you. My name is Petty. It’s not Anne Marie, and it’s definitely not Marianne.”
The hurt on his face tugged at my conscience.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, I’m sorry,” Mitch said. “I guess it’s too much to hope for that you’d love me the way I love you.” He hung his head, his hands dangling loose.
Even though we were related by blood, it seemed strange for him to say he loved me. “I don’t know you yet,” I said. “Maybe you ought to take your nap and I’ll go for a run. Then we’ll both feel better.”
His head snapped up. “I told you no. And that’s that.”
“I’ve got a gun,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Oh, but I do,” Mitch said, smiling at me. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to put my foot down, young lady.”
I wondered how Detective Deirdre Walsh would react to this, being told she couldn’t do something. She wouldn’t put up with it, that was for sure. But I had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t afford to upset Mitch. This was familiar territory. I’d had to walk on eggshells around Michael Rhones those last years of his life to keep him from giving me the silent treatment.
“Okay,” I said.
“Instead, why don’t you get prettied up for dinner while I’m asleep.”
“Prettied up?”
“You know. Put on your makeup and do something with that hair. That’s not your natural color, is it?”
My hands tugged at my hair, the hair that Roxanne had been so complimentary about.
“We’ll want to dye it back,” he said. “I’ll bet you could actually be sort of attractive if you did yourself up.”
“I don’t wear makeup.”
He looked away. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Oh, nothing,” Mitch said.
What did it explain? I suddenly felt awkward and unattractive, although that word had never been part of my vocabulary until this moment.
“I’m going to try to sleep now. But first, come give your dad a hug.” Mitch held his arms out.
I forced myself to walk to him and let him pull me into his arms again. He rubbed his huge hands up and down my back, stopping just short of my butt.
“Mmmm,” he said into the top of my head. “I just want to eat you up.”
I stood there, not wanting to think about why I needed to breathe through my mouth when he was near. He finally let me go.
He blinked at me. “Do you think you’ll ever warm up to me?” His tone was petulant, whiny, and it made my skin crawl.
“I think it’s going to take a little longer than eighteen hours,” I said, forcing a smile, wishing he’d leave already.
He brushed the tip of my nose with his knuckles and said, “You have no idea how badly you hurt -people, do you?”
I almost looked behind me to see who he was talking to. Ever since he came into the bathroom, I’d had the sense that it wasn’t really me.
He smiled sadly, went into his bedroom and closed the door.