That Marriageable Man!. Barbara Boswell
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people’s, not their own—who’d worked them over so thoroughly that their sexual drive had been effectively obliterated. The species had faded from sheer lack of time, interest and energy in sex.
Rafe could definitely relate. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had sex. Certainly before Camryn and Kaylin had moved in with him. Before his Little Brother Trent and Trent’s kid brother Tony had gradually become residents instead of visitors to his house. His last few dates, months and months ago, had ended in disaster because crises with the kids had disrupted them in grand style.
Lorna Larson pressed her business card into Rafe’s hand as they reached for their carry-on luggage stored in the overhead compartments. “I wrote the name of the hotel where I’m staying while I’m here in town. Give me a call and we can get together for drinks.” Her smile promised much more. She was clearly in the mood for some action during her stay in Sioux Falls.
Rafe murmured a polite response and tucked the card into the pocket of his suit jacket, knowing he wouldn’t call. He wouldn’t be up to drinks or anything else after dealing with those kids. Especially after his overnight absence. God only knew what they’d gotten into while on their own. At least he’d had the foresight to have his pal on the police force, Joe Stone, regularly check the house during his absence, thereby guaranteeing that the entire adolescent population of Sioux Falls would not have been partying there.
He remembered that first fateful time he’d gone away on an overnight business trip, not long after the kids’ arrival. He had naively expected them to carry on as if he were home. Oh, they’d carried on, all right. His house had been the sight of a teen saturnalia that would have done the ancient Romans proud. The two little guys, Trent and Tony, had their own fun, as well, inventing in-the-house versions of baseball, football, hockey and golf. Never mind pesky obstacles such as lamps and windows that happened to get in the way of a flying ball or puck and break into pieces.
Once again, thinking about the kids had supplanted thoughts of anything or anyone else, he realized. Already, the willing and ready Lorna Larson had been relegated to the realm of forgotten in his mind.
Rafe picked up his car in the parking lot. While driving on Interstate 90 toward home, the urge to keep going—all the way to the west coast without turning around—struck him hard. It was a tempting notion indeed.
But his sense of duty and responsibility was stronger than his longing for freedom. Rafe Paradise headed home.
“We’re gettin’ new neighbors and it’s gonna be cool. Maybe there’s a kid and he’ll go to our school. We can play golf an—” Ten-year-old Trent paused in the middle of the rap song he was composing. “What rhymes with golf?” He kept up his beat, hitting the edge of the coffee table with two wooden rulers.
“Nothing rhymes with golf,” said Kaylin, sixteen. “Why don’t you try another word? Like ball. Lots of things rhyme with ball. Call, fall, mall, tall.”
“Stop! I feel like I’m trapped in a Dr. Seuss book.” Seventeen-year-old Camryn, lying prone on the sofa, adjusted the ice bag on her forehead. “Trent, will you puh-leese quit that pounding! Every beat feels like a nail being driven into my head.”
“Call me Lion,” demanded Trent. “Did you get drunk again last night, Camryn?”
“Like I’d ever tell you! You’d run straight to Rafe and squeal on me, you weaselly little tattletale.” Camryn heaved a groan. “Kaylin, get me a couple Excedrin. And a cola. And some ice cream.”
“Sure.” Kaylin scurried into the kitchen to do her sister’s bidding.
“She’s not your slave, y’know,” Trent declared. “Slavery is against the law.”
“So is murder, but if you don’t stop making so much noise, I’m going to kill you,” Camryn warned.
Trent resumed his ruler beat, this time with a new rap. “I’m not scared of Camryn, even though she’s mean. She’s ugly, too, so bad she’ll make you scream.”
Camryn threw the ice bag at him and he deftly dodged it, laughing. Unfortunately, the ice bag hit the overweight mixed-breed dog dozing in the patch of sunlight in the middle of the room. The dog awoke and began to bark.
“Aw, poor Hot Dog.” Trent tried to comfort the animal by patting its head. Hot Dog snapped at him.
Trent quickly pulled his hand back. “How come Hot Dog hates me?”
“He doesn’t hate you, he’s just grouchy when he wakes up,” said Camryn. “C’mon, Hot Dog. Come here, sweetie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“Yeah, she wanted to smack me, not you, boy.” Trent attempted to pat Hot Dog again. The dog bared his teeth and growled at him. “Y’know, he’s grouchy all the time, not just when he wakes up.”
“That’s ’cause he hates it here,” explained Camryn. “He liked living in Las Vegas. Me, too. Of course, who wouldn’t like Las Vegas better than Sioux Falls?”
“Me!” crowed Trent. “I love Sioux Falls.”
“That’s because you and your little brother have been stuck here all your lives. You can’t compare it to anything else.” Camryn heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Hey, where is that kid, anyway? Why isn’t he here making my headache even worse?”
“Tony slept over at the Steens’ last night. They’re going to the zoo today, they said we could both come along, too. Hey, know what, Camryn? When I’m as good a golfer as Tiger Woods I’ll go lots of places besides Sioux Falls,” Trent vowed. “I’ll go to Las Vegas.”
“And you’ll probably blow all your golf tournament winnings in the slot machines. All five dollars of it.” Camryn snickered at her own joke.
“I think that Trent is going to be a great golfer.” Kaylin rejoined them with Camryn’s order. “He’ll be the next Tiger Woods. Maybe even better.”
Trent beamed. “I’ll buy a big house in Las Vegas and you can live there, Kaylin. It’ll be a mansion and we can all live there, me and you and Tony and Camryn and Rate and Hot Dog. And my mom, too, if she wants to.”
“What about Flint? And Eva?” Camryn sat up to swallow the pills with a gulp of cola from the can. “Are they going to be living in the mansion with us, too?”
“No.” Trent shook his head decisively. “Flint will want to stay here and work and Eva—”
“Wouldn’t live with us if you paid her to,” Camryn finished for him. “She hates us too much.”
“Wonder why?” Trent looked glum. “Wish she didn’t.”
“If pigs were wishes, we could fly.” Kaylin shrugged philosophically. “Or something like that.”
A few minutes later Rafe Paradise walked into his living room to find Camryn breakfasting on cola and strawberry ice cream and Kaylin in his chair, a massive blue recliner. She was cuddling Hot Dog, the fattest, homeliest, worst-tempered beast Rafe had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Now he lived with the creature. And Hot Dog, with his imperious sense of canine entitlement, was drooling on the chair’s textured upholstery as well as shedding all over it.
Young Trent was stretched out on the floor on his stomach watching TV. Not quality children’s programming, Rafe noted dourly, but a poorly drawn cartoon that featured stick figures blasting other stick figures with some version of nuclear weaponry.
Rafe hardly knew where to begin. Since Trent jumped to his feet and ran to greet him joyously, Rafe decided to let the issue of violent cartoons slide—for now. Trent stopped just a few inches in front of Rafe, his arms at his sides, and beamed. A hug would’ve seemed natural to some, but Trent was wary of physical contact, and Rafe hadn’t been raised to be physically demonstrative. So the two smiled their mutual affection.
“Hi, Rafe. Did you have a good trip?” asked