After a leisurely, wonderful breakfast, Kiefer spent most of the late morning and early afternoon napping. He'd wake up from time to time for a pee and a drink, but mostly he lazily snoozed. I didn't care. He sprawled on the large sofa in my den, and because it faced the kitchen, I was able to glimpse him frequently as I moved alternately between the kitchen and the breakfast table where my laptop roosted. It was so good to have him here. Sometimes the unexpected visits are the best.
Around 3:00 p.m., Kiefer rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen where I was finishing preparation of our evening meal--pot roast and vegetables. When the time came, I'd also prepare homemade rolls. Kiefer usually took salad duty. Although I had consumed a huge amount of the food that Kiefer had prepared earlier, his morning disinterest in food had caused him to eat sparsely at breakfast. Because of this, I'd already prepared a turkey sandwich for him to keep him from starving before dinner. When he reached the kitchen, he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my left shoulder.
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Choppin' cotton. Wha' choo doin'?"
He unwound his arms and moved away, turning his back to the counter near the sink so he could see my face.
"What the hell is chopping cotton? Is that one of those Southern things? Is that kin to spitting cotton? I've heard you say that before. What's all this cotton shit?"
"Oh, Kiefer. Give me a break. I don't get all your Canuck humor either. God. I can't even believe you ARE a Canuck!"
"Well, technically I'm not, you know."
"Close enough, love. Close enough."
I completed sealing the foil around the dish that held the roast and vegetables and turned to face Kiefer.
"You hungry? I fixed you a sandwich. It's in the fridge."
"And what's a fridge?"
"It's where your sandwich is so you'd better figure it out if you're hungry."
I turned around to move the dish into one of the ovens. Thanks to Kiefer, I now had three ovens. When I'd mentioned remodeling my kitchen a couple of years ago, he'd jumped on the bandwagon, offering suggestions and placing requests. I'd told him to slow down on his requests because I had a budget I was sticking to. He told me the remodel was my birthday present. I told him I didn't want a birthday present that cost that much. He told me to fuck off. I got the remodel.
I only used the third oven at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Kiefer, however, used all three when he stayed here more than a couple of days. He was a really good cook, but he cooked gourmet stuff. I was a plain old Southern cook. Oddly, he liked my cooking. I couldn't imagine him liking all of the relatively heavy fare since he cooked such delicate stuff, but he did. In fact, between Thanksgiving and Christmas in Canada, he always made his way down here for a Southern Thanksgiving meal. He loved the sticky, moist, highly seasoned dressing as opposed to the familiar stuffing he had grown up with. Candied sweet potatoes? He ate his weight in them. But his weight was down, now. Damn that Jack Bauer's heroin habit. Too skinny. I'd been calling him Barney Fife for months.
"Maybe you'd better skip the sandwich, Barney. You wouldn't want to gain an ounce."
"Oh, fuck you. I don't look like Barney Fife." He had already opened the refrigerator door and was pulling out the sandwich.
"Where's your bullet, Barney?" I teased. "Don't lose it. Andy will be pissed."
He ignored me. He moved out of the kitchen and around to the bar separating the kitchen and den where he perched on a barstool and began to eat his sandwich.
Pot roast safely tucked in one of the ovens, I moved to the sink to rinse the few dishes I'd messed up while preparing the evening meal and transferred them to the dishwasher. Oh. One of the two dishwashers that I now had. Wonder how that happened. Two dishwashers. Absurd. Two freakin' dishwashers. Kiefer had three in his kitchen!
"How's the sandwich? O.K.? You want some chips? A pickle?"
"Nah. No chips. I'll take a pickle, though, if it's a dill."
"Sure. I made them this summer. I'll get the jar out of the fridge. You know. That thing where your sandwich was."
He eyed me darkly. He even growled, I think.
I retrieved the pickles from the refrigerator, unscrewed the band and removed the lid, and passed the jar and a fork up to the bar. He plucked a pickle from the jar and took a huge bite.
"God, I love your pickles. You know, I'm out of them at home," he hinted.
"Too bad. Have to come here for your pickle fix."
I moved to the breakfast table to finish the review I was working on. Only about a half hour more and I'd be done. I glanced up to see Kiefer finishing his sandwich and fishing another, was it the third, pickle from the jar.
"Whatcha doin' on that thing?" he asked of my work on the computer.
"Oh, writin' a review. I'll be through very soon. Why don't you play with Athos for a while? You promised him last night and he needs some exercise. And you'll be able to work off those sandwich calories, Barney."
Kiefer threw me a truly evil look. He made his way back to the kitchen, tossed the paper plate in the trash, placed the pickles back in the fridge, the fork in the dishwasher, and headed to the French doors leading to the backyard. He opened the right one to step out, hesitated, closed it, turned and walked to me at the table. He leaned down and kissed my head. I reached up and pulled his head down where I could kiss his forehead. He tilted his head to one side and kissed my lower lip. Once. Twice. He pulled away and looked at me. This was too weird. I was getting the same feeling I'd gotten this morning when he kissed me differently. Whaddup with this boy? I hoped I'd find out before he left tomorrow. God, I hated Sundays. They were like the last day of something--last day of spring, last day of summer, last day Six Flags is open, last day he's here.
Kiefer returned to the door and went out to play with Athos. I could hear them through the doors. I was most certain that Athos talked to Kiefer. Even more, I was certain that Kiefer understood him. I think maybe Athos gathered information about me for Kiefer and then related it to him when Kiefer visited. No. I'm not crazy. And I am kidding. Sorta. Kiefer had an amazing way with animals. What were they telling one another, I wondered. I returned to my work, finished up a few minutes earlier than I'd anticipated, and determined to go out and play with the boys.
About the time I had shut down the computer, Kiefer opened the door and came in. He was a mess, grinning from ear to ear. Apparently, the two of them had found the mud at the edge of the garden and attempted to get every drop of it to adhere to them. Beyond the door, Athos was unrecognizable. As I determined that Kiefer was about to step forward, I leapt to my feet and began to scream.
"Kiefer William Frederick Dempsey George Rufus Sutherland! If you take one more step inside this house you are a dead man. Freeze!"
He froze, but he was shaking with a fit of giggles. He obviously didn't know I was serious.
"Strip, young man. I mean it. Right now. Down to the nubbin.'"
The giggling increased, but he managed to choke out a question.
"Wha- - - wha the fuck is a nubbin'?"
"You're gonna find out if you don't get those nasty clothes off. I mean it, Kiefer. I won't have mud all over this house. Get 'em off! Now!"
In the midst of the giggling fit, he managed to get the t-shirt over his head and was about to throw it on the floor as I reached his side and grabbed it away from him. Thank god he'd been barefoot.
"The jeans, please."
"O.K. O.K. Gimme a sec."
Still laughing, he unbuttoned his fly, reached out and touched his left hand to the wall to balance himself, pushed down the jeans with his right hand, and then reached down to pull the jeans off over each foot. Each muddy foot. I grabbed the jeans. I pointed to my immediate left, the door of the utility/shower room. Because I had no outdoor shower for those emerging from the pool, when the kitchen had been remodeled I had also had a shower put in the relatively large room that held my washer, dryer, freezer, and other appliances.
"Get in that shower and get the mud off!"
"Jeez, you're bossy."
"NOW!"
He headed to the shower and I headed outside with the mud encrusted clothing. God. Athos was a mess. I reached the water faucet, turned it on, dialed the 'spray' position on the attached nozzle, and began to rinse Athos and the clothes. A real cleaning would have to come later, but for now this would have to do. I turned off the water, scolded Athos, who was much more chagrined than Kiefer, and re-entered the kitchen. Kiefer was emerging from the utility room, as naked as the day he was born, except for the tattoos. I scowled at him.
"You mad?" he asked.
"Hell, yes, I'm mad. Look at this floor where your muddy damned feet have been!"
