Driven, page 5
“Oh, you brought another mouth to feed. How nice,” the grumpier of the two said when Simon stepped into the room.
“Oh, you know you love to feed me,” Simon said with a wink before putting his bags on the counter.
“That’s what you think,” the old lady muttered.
Simon laughed. “No worries, Miss Tude, I can’t stay. Got to get back to work on my car. I just stopped to lend a hand.” He cast a meaningful glance to Oliver, who was quick to look away, before planting a chaste kiss on her old papery cheek. “Maybe next time,” he told her before waving to Vera, who had gotten up to start unpacking bags.
Tude followed suit and got up to help her sister put away the groceries. Oliver was at a loss of what to do. Did he offer to help? Slink away to his new, temporary room? Tude cleared her throat, getting his attention and held up a dented box, eyebrow raised. He felt the heat creep up his neck to his cheeks.
“I, umm… accidentally dropped a couple bags. Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes cast down.
“Of course you did. Those skinny arms of yours must have been breaking under the weight of all of these,” Tude said, arm stretched out to indicate the large number of bags, as if Oliver didn’t know.
“Next time, just take the car, dear; then this won’t be an issue,” Vera called over her shoulder while standing on tiptoe trying to get a box on a high shelf. Oliver strode over and gently nudged the box from her hand and onto the shelf. She gave him a grateful smile before returning to unpacking.
“I really don’t think you want me to do that,” Oliver said, leaning against the back counter trying to avoid two sets of inquisitive eyes.
“Were you in jail for car stealin’?” Tude asked. She was rewarded with a weak slap to the hand from her sister.
“That’s none of our business,” Vera said.
Oliver shook his head. “Nope. Not grand theft auto.” He could tell them that much at least.
“Well, then, I don’t think we need to be worrying about you with our car,” Tude said before bending over and disappearing behind the counter to put some cans away.
“I would have to politely disagree,” Oliver said.
The women stopped what they were doing and stood shoulder to shoulder, twin gazes burning questioning holes into Oliver. He could tell them the truth, the whole truth that the last time he drove a car, it ended in the worst kind of disaster and heartbreak. He could let them in on the destructive path it led him down and what he actually ended up in jail for.
The weight of their combined stares almost made him crumble, but then he imagined those caring, concerned eyes turning into orbs of disgust and disappointment. Oliver was surprised to find his pulse racing, and the breaths he took were shaky. No, he’d continue to keep the secret close to his heart. He tried to put on a sheepish smile, hoping the act to come would be convincing enough to keep them off his back on the car issue.
“You don’t want me to take the car, because I don’t know how to drive,” Oliver finally said, looking down after uttering the words and grinding his toe into the linoleum tile, hoping to get that “oh my God, that was embarrassing to say” look.
“Oh, is that all?” Tude said, exasperation evident in her voice.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of dear,” Vera added. “We’ll just get someone to teach you!”
Oliver’s head shot up, eyes wide with panic. The twins were smiling and patting each other on the back for coming up with what they thought was the perfect solution. He felt his breath catch, his heart going off like a horse when it hears the starting shot fired. Air was suddenly extinct in Oliver’s world. His lungs screamed and dots danced before his eyes, getting down to the techno beat of his heart—his own private rave that no one else could hear the music to. He felt his grip tighten on the Formica, and his last thought was he hoped they wouldn’t be pissed about having to clean blood off the floor.
Chapter Ten
“OH MY, do you think he’s hurt his brain? That’s twice in one day.”
“Don’t be silly, Vera. Teens have hard heads. He’ll be fine…. Think we can kick him out of the way? I need to get into that cupboard.”
Oliver could hear the women talking about him, but was loath to open his eyes and have to start up that driving conversation again. He wondered how long he could lie there before they called the paramedics. Maybe their age-addled brains would forget about it by then. Remembering the way Tude had initially tricked him, he knew the chances of them having sudden amnesia on the topic were slim to none. Sighing, he slowly cracked open his eyes to see two wrinkly faces peering down at him. Tude had her foot pulled back slightly, as if she really was going to punt him across the kitchen floor.
“Oh, good, you’re alive. Now get out of the way so we can finish up here,” Tude said, looking disappointed at having to put her foot down.
Vera chastised her sister before bending closer to his face. “Are you okay, dear? Do we need to call someone? Simon, maybe?”
Oliver was quick to sit up at the idea of Simon coming to pick him up off the floor. The blood rushed from his head at the sudden movement, and he was afraid he was going to do another swan dive. At least it’s not so far to fall this time. Thankfully, the moment passed and he stayed upright. The twins still stared at him—Tude with annoyance and Vera with concern.
“I’ll be fine, just… uh, give me a minute or two. Must have been the heat or low blood sugar or something.”
“Oh dear,” Vera said. “Take your time, and I’ll put a sandwich together for you. We can’t have you falling down all over the house.”
“Yeah, I don’t think our insurance covers idiots,” Tude grumbled while turning around to put the box back on the counter when she realized he would continue to block her way for a while longer.
He watched as they busied themselves with other things around the kitchen, thinking about his traitorous body and how he really needed to get his anxiety issues under control. Twice in one day was troublesome. Not only did it make him look weak, it made others concerned for his well-being and he didn’t want that.
Vera stepped in front of him, plate and full glass in hand. She met his upturned gaze with a smile and cocked her head toward the small table that had earlier been occupied. He watched her place the items on the table and fuss with folding a napkin for him.
Oliver gathered his legs beneath him and took his time getting back to an upright position. Feeling satisfied that his stupid body would allow him to make the short trip to the table, he pushed away from the counter and joined the cheerier of his companions. Vera patted the only open chair left, and he looked toward Tude before sitting.
“Oh, don’t worry about her. She won’t sit to eat until everything’s put away,” Vera said shaking her head slightly.
“A place for everything and everything in its place,” Tude said, closing a cabinet door harder than necessary.
A smile flitted across his face at the credo before he took his seat. Vera pushed the plate toward him, a silent command to eat. He happily obliged. Flavor he wasn’t expecting tickled his taste buds. Something sharp and tangy danced on his tongue, and he closed his eyes to savor the flavor. His artist’s mind imagined trying to represent the delectable condiment as an array of colors: bright and bold with slashes of dark to represent the smoky undertones.
“What. Is. This?” he inquired, his mouth struggling to form the words around the food he had yet to swallow.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Tude snapped from across the room. Oliver flushed and swallowed as the cantankerous woman complained about kids today having no manners.
“Sorry,” he mumbled before taking a swig of milk.
Vera patted his hand. “It’s okay. We always get that kind of reaction.” Tude nodded, backing up her sister’s words.
“You make sandwiches for a lot of folks?”
“We used to own a small café,” Vera explained, leaning back in her chair. Oliver was impressed to find the ladies had been business owners.
“What happened to it?”
“We got too old to run it,” Vera said, a sad smile on her face. A loud “hrmph” came from her sister.
“More like we got ran out of business,” Tude said, slamming a cabinet door, making her sister cringe.
Oliver frowned, putting down the remainder of the sandwich. “How so?”
Tude slapped her palms down on the countertop and leaned all her weight forward. “That fancy chain coffee shop kept hounding us to sell. When we refused, things seemed to just ‘happen.’”
“What kind of things?” Oliver asked.
“Shipments never made it to us. Checks would get ‘lost’ and our power would go out. Can’t make or bake when there’s no ’lectricty.” Vera nodded in agreement. “The final straw was the break-in. My sweet sister was there one night closing up when she heard the sound of breaking glass. She ran out from the back to see some man sticking his hand through the hole he made, trying to reach the lock. Poor Vera almost had a heart attack. She screamed and hit at his hand with a broomstick until the police arrived. Good thing the alarm had been set so they were there right quick and caught the guy.”
“They were wonderful,” Vera chimed in.
“They would have been better if they had gotten the guy to admit he was working for that company,” Tude grumbled.
“We don’t know that for sure, sister dear. It could just have been unfortunate timing.”
“Unfortunate timing, my wrinkly backside,” Tude spat. “We might not have been able to prove it, but I know in my heart of hearts that it was connected.”
Vera stood and crossed to her sister, patting the identically wrinkled hand. “There, there. Don’t go getting yourself all worked up; it’s bad for your blood pressure. Besides, it’s all in the past and we’re too old to handle running the café. Better we can relax and enjoy our twilight.”
“Never too old to cook,” Tude argued halfheartedly.
“What was the place called?” Oliver asked.
Twin heads turned his way, smiles on their faces as they recited in unison, “Double Your Pleasure.”
Oliver bit back a groan. “That wasn’t trademarked?”
The women looked confused. “No. Why would it be?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Ya know, there was that gum company that used it as part of their slogan?”
Tude made a swatting notion. “Oh, they wouldn’t have bothered us. They had bigger fish to fry, I’m sure.”
“I guess….” Oliver figured they just hadn’t caught wind of it.
“You guess right,” Tude said. “Now finish eating. These old bones can’t be standing forever, you know.”
Oliver flushed, having forgotten there were only two chairs available in the kitchen. He hurried to shove the rest of the delicious sandwich in his mouth. Hopefully he wouldn’t choke on it.
Chapter Eleven
THE WOMEN watched him like hawks to make sure he cleaned up his lunch dishes. “Don’t leave a crumb. We don’t need no bugs,” Tude chided him. Oliver was careful to make sure everything was immaculate. Heaven forbid he brought an army of roaches to their humble abode to fight over a sliver of bread.
They then shooed him out of the kitchen, not so gently suggesting he take a shower. Hot running water sounded heavenly to him, but the thought of changing back into dirty clothes wasn’t anywhere near as appealing.
His trip up the stairs was slow and heavy. While he was used to being… not so flower fresh, he was pretty sure the women would put up with his delicate aroma for only so long. It suddenly occurred to him that they probably had a washing machine that didn’t need quarters to make it run. His only change of clothing was also dirty after some rude businessman dumped his coffee out on the sidewalk ignoring the fact that Oliver was sitting there. Maybe Tude and Vera would let him wash them before he showered.
He picked up speed, taking two steps at a time, giddy at the thought of clean clothes and a clean body. Long strides had him at the door to his temporary resting ground. He swung it open and stopped short, stunned by the sight in front of him.
The desk that had been in front of the window had been removed—where to he had no clue. In its place was an easel, just as he had imagined when he first walked into the room earlier that day. Next to it stood a rolling cart chock full of painting supplies: brushes, oils, acrylics, palette knives. A veritable rainbow beckoned him to drop everything and paint. A small stool sat on the other side of the cart, giving him the option to sit if he preferred. He allowed himself a brief daydream of spending all day sitting there, painting the view out the window, not having to worry about who saw him or whether it was going to rain on his creation.
“Happy?” came a voice from behind him. Oliver spun around, so lost in his dreaming that he hadn’t heard the sisters follow him.
“I don’t understand…,” he started, unsure how everything got there and why they did it.
“You said you liked to paint,” Tude said.
“And we had all these supplies in the attic already,” Vera added.
“They were just collecting dust, so someone might as well put them to use,” Tude finished. Oliver didn’t see a speck of dirt on the items. In fact, they looked brand-new. He was suspicious. People didn’t just give him stuff without expecting something in return. What would these women want?
“A thank-you would be nice,” Tude grunted.
“I… of course, thank you… but….”
“But what? We’re done. You say thank you for a gift and that’s that.”
“Not in my world,” Oliver muttered.
“Oh, you poor dear.” Vera stroked his arm. It made Oliver uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to… friendly touches anymore.
“You do still need to shower,” Tude said, breaking the tension.
“Sorry,” Oliver replied, “but I could stand to wash some clothes first, if that would be possible.”
“Of course you can wash clothes,” Vera said, “but we’ve got some clean ones you can wear in the meantime.” She walked over to the dresser and pulled out drawers showing clean T-shirts, jeans, and underwear. Oliver was a bit freaked-out. Why would they have all those clothes? Did they randomly take people in? Make a project out of them? Then what? He had visions of them fattening him up and then shoving him in the oven. Maybe that sandwich he ate earlier had been made out of previous projects!
“Thank… you?” Oliver finally said, slowly pulling a pair of pants from the drawer. Surreptitiously, he checked the label. Close in size, but not exact. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or not. It was still very odd that they had all this stuff all of a sudden. Were they hiding it somewhere or did they race out to get things while he was food shopping? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“There are towels in the linen closet next to the bathroom,” Vera said, pointing at the other end of the hallway.
“Thanks,” Oliver said before the two women headed out of the room to give him some privacy.
HIS SHOWER had been a blissful experience. The whole drawers of clothes thing was definitely weird, but it sure was nice to put on something clean that wasn’t threadbare and falling apart. When he had gotten back into his room, he noticed there was still time to get some painting in before he lost the light. Looking down at his pristine clothes, he wondered if he should change back into his dirty stuff. He’d hate to get paint on the new items they had given him. Glancing around, he realized his dirty clothes were gone, both sets. One of the twins must have grabbed them to wash. Oliver let out a long sigh and grabbed his fresh, clean shirt at the hem. In one fluid motion, he had it up and over his head. Folding it neatly, he laid it on the end of the bed, out of harm’s way.
There was a slight chill in the air and the little hairs on his body stood at attention. A brisk rub to both arms had him feeling more comfortable. He dragged the little stool around the cart and set it in front of the easel. A blank canvas was put into place before he started squeezing different tubes of paint onto a palette. An image formed in his head as he mixed the paints and contemplated which brush to use. Typically he painted abstract art on small canvases that easily fit in his average-sized backpack, choosing to express his emotions through color and brushstroke, but this time he was drawn to the flowering tree outside his window. Its trunk was wide and strong, but its branches willowy, blowing in the wind. Petals showered down with every movement, covering the freshly shorn lawn with what was probably a fragrant pink blanket. The setting sun streamed through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on top of the fallen petals.
Oliver kept his eyes on the tree, barely looking toward what he was putting on the canvas. His hands moved like a man possessed, smearing paint on the piece before dipping in for a new color. He discarded brushes and grabbed new ones for different textures and strokes.
An undetermined amount of time passed him by. It was often like that, that he’d lose hours while working on a painting. Not necessarily the brightest idea when he was on the streets, but he would try to find what he deemed a safe place before he set down to work. It was nice not to have to worry about that aspect while he painted the scene outside his window.
Eventually he put the brush down and turned his head, unsure what he’d see on the canvas. The image that greeted him was ethereal. There were aspects that screamed tree, but the petals were just abstract dots and dashes. The bark was lined and mottled with color and texture. The streaming light, blocks of fire falling from above. It was stunning, and Oliver was surprised it came from his hand.
“Huh. No wonder why the Wonder Twins want to keep you around.”
A masculine voice had Oliver swinging his head toward the door. Leaning against the jamb, looking like someone out of a greaser movie, was Simon, his eyes focused on Oliver, rather than the work of art that had just been created. Looking down, Oliver was reminded that he was shirtless. While he was in decent shape—hard to be fat when you barely ate—Oliver was always self-conscious about the scars that marred his chest and back.
