Where the Heart Lies

Chapter Two A Budding Friendship

Willard bolted out of bed, shocked and scared by the loud squeaks coming from the basement. He ran down the stairs, not bothering to put on his robe, and cursed to himself as his mother woke, screeching her new name for him. 'Clark.' He ignored her, racing down to the basement, and shone his flashlight on a strange sight.

A small white rat was scooting across the floor, its hindquarters caught in one of the glue traps he had laid out, squeaking madly as it tried to escape. Willard slowly descended the basement steps, a hand trowel clutched in his right fist, and was about to bring it crashing down on the rat when he heard a squeak from above. He looked up and into the eyes of a larger white rat, clearly the younger one's mother. The mother rat gave him a pleading look, and Willard felt a rush of shame. He placed the trowel on a nearby bench, then bent down and scooped up the rat, cooing softly. The rat squeaked in fear, and Willard stroked it, speaking softly.

"There now, it's alright. It's alright." He frowned at the trap-the poor rat was pretty well stuck, and he didn't want to try and pull it off and run the risk of hurting it. He huffed in exasperation-he had thrown away the package the trap came in.

He made his way upstairs, breathing a sigh of relief when his mother didn't start yelling for him. He rifled through the garbage, giving a soft yell of triumph when he found the package, and quickly scanned it-vegetable oil would remove the glue. He grabbed a bottle from the shelf and hurried into the bathroom, locking the door.

He freed the rat, and it chattered at him, rubbing its nose against his hand. Willard grinned. "You know, apart from getting caught in that trap, you're pretty smart. You need a smart name. Socrates."

The rat-Socrates-showed his appreciation of the name by nuzzling Willard, and he smiled. "Hello, Socrates." He groaned as he heard a knock on the door and his mother's querulous voice asking him what he was doing.

"I'm going potty!" He replied, and then groaned again at her reply.

"You've been in there an awful long time!"

Willard clenched his teeth, trying to stay calm.

'Oh for the love of…' "I'm…I'm not feeling good."

"Is it soft…or hard?"

Willard gagged. 'She did not just ask me that!' He sighed, speaking calmly. "I'm…I'm okay. I'm okay."

Mrs. Stiles rattled the knob, speaking in a firm voice. "Let me see. I'm still your mother, Willard! Let me in!"

'Son of a. bitch...' He carefully placed Socrates in a bathroom drawer, and then slipped out, covering his mother's face with his hand and steering her towards her room. "You should be in bed, Mother. You're feverish. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Mrs. Stiles allowed him to lead her, muttering all the while, then stopped, sniffing at his hand. "What's that on your hand?"

"I…it's soap." Willard stammered, and his mother gave him a look of disgust.

"It's cooking oil! Willard, you're far too old to be doing…that! When are you going to find yourself a girl?"

Willard flushed in embarrassment. "Well…I did meet a nice girl at the market last week, but…"

Mrs. Stiles sneered at him. "But you were too much of a mouse to ask for her number, right? It's your name, you know. A weak name makes for a weak person, Willard. That's such an awful name. Clark. Clark is a good, strong name."

Willard gripped her pillow, breathing slowly. "I…I like my name. It's…different."

He propped her up, and she gazed helplessly at him, grabbing his wrist with a bony hand. "Clark, you'll always take care of me, right?"

Willard froze, and then gave her a small smile. "Of course I will, Mother. I'll always look after you."

"You…you won't leave me the way your father did?"

Willard shuddered at the horrible memory, and suddenly it was as though he was back at that awful night all those years ago-forcing the bathroom door open, at first not understanding why it had been locked, then seeing his father's sightless eyes staring at him, the pocketknife still stuck in his wrist and the water in the tub a sickly pink color that shone harshly in the bright glare of the fluorescents. Willard had screamed in horror, and his mother had come running, and the sight of her husband lolling in the tub like a life sized marionette with broken strings sent her into sobbing hysterics. Willard had to drag her out of the bathroom.

"Clark! Clark!"

He snapped back to the present at the sound of his mother's voice, and smiled reassuringly at her. "I'll never do anything like that, I promise. Get some sleep, Mother."

He gently kissed her forehead, and then ventured down to the basement, ready to return Socrates to his family. But the rat had other ideas, and Willard carried him up to his bedroom, gently petting him.

"Goodnight, Socrates. Sleep well."

The next morning dawned grey and drizzly, matching Willard's mood. His morning had been lousy from the moment he woke up. His car wouldn't start, and he was forced to take the bus to work, making him late-again. He trotted across the parking lot as quickly as he could, noting with envy that once again Frank Martin had a brand new car. It was a nice one, too-a Mercedes.

Then he had been locked in the elevator by his asshole of a boss and forced to listen to him pontificate on how he was so much better and more successful than Willard would ever be. Willard bore the abuse as best he could, shaking only when Mr. Martin made a crack at his father. After Mr. Martin had expelled a bit of his venom and stalked off to his office, Willard began to struggle to free the lock from the elevator. "Goddamn bastard…come on…"

Cathryn came forward, sympathy in her gaze, and freed the lock, allowing the elevator to open. Willard quickly stepped out, walking as fast as he could towards the office, ignoring Cathryn's query if he was okay.

Abbie sighed, leaning back in her chair with a groan, and looked at the clock. Eleven thirty, and she was starving. But her boss was strict-lunch was from 12 noon to one pm, no exceptions and no deviations from the schedule, and she knew from experience that she would catch holy hell if she ate at her desk. She had not had a very large breakfast-a piece of toast with jelly and a cup of tea, and her stomach was rumbling. Damn, she thought, I need food!

She sighed, and tried to distract herself by focusing on the brief Mr. Steiner Jr. had asked her to type up. It was all in legal mumbo jumbo, and secretly Abbie wondered if he could actually understand it. She had never said anything out loud, but the younger Steiner creeped her out. Whenever he was in the office, he would stare at her, his piggy eyes bright and hungry. She dressed modestly, but her breasts still showed, and he would let his gaze wander over them while he talked to her in a breathy, nasally voice, sending cold shivers up her spine. But she didn't dare say anything to his father-nepotism was practically a bylaw in the firm, and 'family came far ahead of some airheaded assistant', as she had been told once.

She chanced another look at the clock and sighed in relief. Lunchtime! She grabbed her wallet and ran out the door, heading to the closest fast food joint she could find, and ordered a cheeseburger and fries, then discovered to her shame that she had less money than she thought. She frantically rummaged through her pockets, feeling the glare of the cashier on her back. "I…I think I have another dollar here somewhere…"

A hand with a five dollar bill reached out, and Abbie heard a soft voice. "I'll pay for it." Abbie turned and stared at her benefactor, and he smiled at her. "Remember me?"

Abbie nodded. "Hello, Willard."

Willard smiled at her. "Hello, Abbie. Would you mind if I had lunch with you?"

Abbie blushed, shaking her head, and Willard grinned shyly. "Great! Umm…let's eat outside. It's a bit crowded in here."

Abbie looked around. The booths and tables were jam packed full. "Good idea. We'll be able to hear ourselves think. Outside it is, Willard!"

They found a table under shelter-it was threatening rain-and began eating, a comfortable silence between them. Abbie munched her fries, noticing that Willard's jacket pocket was wriggling. "Willard?"

"Hmm?"

"What's in your pocket?"

He blinked, surprised. "What's in my…Oh! Socrates." He gave her a secretive smile. "It's Socrates."

Abbie stared at him, and then replied drily, "You have a dead philosopher in your jacket pocket? How'd you manage to make him fit?"

Willard stared at her, and then laughed. "No…no, this is Socrates." He gently drew forth the white rat. "Socrates, this is Abbie. Abbie, meet Socrates."

Abbie spoke softly. "Hello, Socrates. Where'd you get him, Willard?"

"My basement. Turns out Mother was right about the rats." He sighed, and then smiled at her. "Would you like to hold him? He's really soft."

Abbie held her hand out, and Willard gently placed Socrates on her palm. She stroked him with the tips of her fingers, speaking in a soothing tone. "Hello there. You are a handsome one, aren't you? And a clever one too, I'd imagine. Nearly as handsome as your owner."

Willard blushed at hearing Abbie call him handsome and Socrates chittered softly and ran up Abbie's arm to nuzzle her cheek. "He likes you."

Abbie grinned. "Well, I like him too."

Willard smiled, and then toyed with his fries, trying to think of something clever to say, or hell-trying to think of anything to say. He took a breath, and words tumbled out of his mouth. "You're a very beautiful woman." He clamped his mouth shut, horrified, certain he had blown everything. "I…I'm sorry, that was…I…"

He rose to leave, and Abbie placed her hand on his arm. "You don't have to go yet. I've still got…ten minutes of lunch time left, and I'd much rather spend it talking to you. And thank you for the compliment, by the way."

Willard looked at her, uncertain. "You sure?" She nodded, and he smiled in relief and sat back down, giving a cry of protest when she snitched three of his fries. "Hey!"

Abbie smirked at him. "Mine were getting cold."

He raised his eyes at her, skeptical, but decided to say nothing. "Where are you from, Abbie?"

"I was born in Roanoke."

"Virginia?"

Abbie nodded. "That's where Roanoke is."

"You don't have an accent."

Abbie nodded. "I know. I only lived there for five years. My Dad was a Lieutenant in the Army, active duty, and we moved a lot. I've lived in Georgia, Kentucky, California, Nevada, Texas, Kansas, Missouri, South Carolina, and Germany."

"That must have been hard on you, having to move so often."

"It was, but it's something I got used to eventually. When I was fifteen, Dad got an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart, and we settled down in North Carolina." She shut her eyes, then opened them and stared at him in slight grief and anger. "One year later, a drunk college boy on his way home from a party slams into their car at over a hundred miles an hour. All three died instantly."

Willard flinched, and placed his hand on top of hers. "I'm sorry. My dad died when I was young as well, and my mother…she hasn't been the same since. I know what it's like to lose a parent."

Abbie nodded sadly. "If it's not too forward of me, how did he die?"

"It's not too forward. He…killed himself. Slashed his wrists in the tub with a pocketknife. I was the one that found him."

Abbie's hand flew to her mouth in sympathy. "Oh, Willard, I'm so sorry. That must have been devastating."

He nodded. "It was, but I've done my share of grieving. I honestly don't mind your asking."

Abbie sighed in relief. "Good, then…" her eyes went wide as she caught sight of his watch. "Is that watch right? !"

Willard glanced at it. "Yes, why?" He blinked in shock as Abbie stood up, cursing.

"Shit! I'm ten minutes over my lunch hour! I have to go, Willard! Oh, I'm going to catch holy hell from my boss!" She handed him back Socrates, then tossed her leftover food in the garbage and took off, leaving him stunned.

He had returned to the office and tried to work, but the thought of Abbie kept distracting him.

Later that night, he worked up the courage to try and call her. He picked up and put down the phone five times before finally dialing her number, hoping it was still connected. "Come on…pick up…"

"Hello?"

"Abbie?"

"Mmm hmm. Who's this?"

"It's Willard. I…I hope you didn't get in too much trouble because of me."

"Oh, no. I still have a job. I told my boss the buses were running slow. He believed me."

Willard smiled in relief. "So…I'm still on your good side?"

"You bet, handsome."

Willard chuckled, and then took a breath. "Abbie, would you maybe like to go see a movie on Saturday? My treat. I'll even spring for the popcorn."

"I'd love to!"

Willard felt his heart soar. "Great! Ummm…I'll pick you up at seven, we could maybe grab a bite to eat after?"

"It's a date."

"Great. Well…I'll…see you then…I…ummm…should probably let you go, it's late…"

"Yeah, but I'm not real tired. Are you?"

Willard smiled, knowing she couldn't see him. "Not really. My mother's sound asleep, so if you want to, we could talk for a little bit?"

"Sounds like a plan."

A 'little bit' turned into eight hours. When Willard finally hung up the phone, his ear ached and he was bone-tired, but happier than he had ever been in his life.

He laid back, his arms above his head, and smiled. 'I have two friends now.'

His life was starting to look up.