He sat alone at the breakfast table, just moving his spoon slowly around his cereal bowl. He ignored the stubble building on his chin and cheeks. He found himself staring down at his reflection in the milk; tousled hair, sunken cheeks and all.
"I wonder what crap is going to happen to me today?" Just then, Guster pulled Sam's toothbrush out of the bathroom and began to gnaw on it. "Great!" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just great."
He climbed slowly into the shower, letting the hot water flow over him; feeling himself relax from the anxiety that seemed to have taken hold of his life. He heard the bathroom door open, and shut.
"Hello, Sam."
"You're early," he said.
"Not that early. And I need to get in."
"Alyssa, I can't do this again. Not now."
"Relax," she said, beginning to strip off her clothing. "I'll just wash my hair, and I'll be out in a second."
He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around himself, and stormed out of the bathroom. Doesn't she think she's hurt me enough?
A bit later, he climbed into his truck. He sighed to himself before pulling out of the driveway and setting off down the street towards Lydia's trailer. I won't think of Alyssa, he vowed to himself. But the image of her stripping off her clothing, and knowing what he could have done... No! Sam, stop it. He didn't want to think like that, he just couldn't. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and continued down the street.
He arrived at Lydia's house a few minutes later. Her sixteen-year-old daughter, Chelsea, and another girl were sitting in lawn chairs outside. As he pulled up, the girl that he didn't know burst into violent spurts of giggles. It made him smile. He climbed out of the truck onto the gravel and shut the door.
"Hi, Sam," Chelsea said with a small wave. "This is my friend, Gina."
"Hey, Chel." He turned toward the other girl. "Nice to meet you." He walked into the house.
"So this is the guy you've been in love with for six months now?" Gina said slowly, turning towards her friend.
"Yeah," she replied, blushing slightly.
"He's kinda cute." They both giggled. "And he seems sweet, too."
"He is," Chelsea said with a sigh. "He really is."
Sam could hear the girls behind him laughing again, but he paid them no heed.
"Hello, Sam," said Lydia in her singsong voice as she wheeled herself next to him. "Thanks for coming again."
"Always a pleasure to see you, Lydia."
"Same to you. Ah, you're such a young gentleman. Just like little Eric here." She patted her ten-year-old son on the head, before he ran out the door. "And nothing like Gerome. Ah, no matter."
"I'm so sorry he left."
"Well, it has been a long month without a man in the house, but I will get used to it eventually." She smiled up at him. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all," he said, and pushed her wheelchair up to the table.
They bent over contracts and business for the next hour, and both of them failed to notice that Chelsea's head bent around the doorway every few minutes.