*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
*.*
Working on hands and knees, laying the four by four inch ceramic tile in the ten by twelve kitchen was hard, back-breaking work. Ronnie Jackson meticulously applied the bead of glue to the next tile, then matched it with the spacer. The grout bubbled up and he nodded with satisfaction.
A couple of millimeters off here, a couple of millimeters off there could throw the project off. And since Eckles Renovation & Remodeling had a 100% satisfaction guaranteed policy, Ronnie made sure each tile was precise in its placement before moving on.
As if she could sense that he'd reached the end of the row, Charlotte, Ronnie's wife called.
"Eckles Renovation and remodeling, Ronnie speaking," Ronnie answered his cell phone.
"Ronnie, it's me," Charlotte snapped, irritated.
"Uh huh," Ronnie said, already reaching for the box of spacers to begin the next row of tile.
There was a time that Ronnie would have answered the phone and his wife would have giggled and said "Hi Honey, it's me."
Ronnie couldn't remember the last time she'd said "Hi Honey."
"When are you going be finished?" Charlotte snapped.
"I'm on the Pritchard kitchen," Ronnie mused, looking at the nearly eight feet he'd completed. "Hmm, take me about three hours, give or take I guess."
"Fine," Charlotte snapped and ended the call.
Ronnie had an urge to hurry. He had an urge to cut this job short, but forced himself to move slowly, methodically.
But even as his hands did the work, his mind thought about his wife of twenty one, almost twenty two years.
Ronnie had met Charlotte Eckles on his second day with Eckles Renovation & Remodeling. Charlotte had come into John Eckles's office, excuses and apologies dripping from her lips over her latest bad report card from John W. Dawson High School.
She had been a portly brunette with long wavy hair and splotches of severe acne. Ronnie had looked at the two basketball sized buttocks bursting out of her jean cutoffs, then had returned his attention to the selection of hand tools in John's tool shed.
"My daughter," John had growled at Ronnie. "Got me? My daughter."
"Yes sir," Ronnie had said, fighting against shrugging in disinterest.
Somehow sensing that her father did not want her associating with the newest of his employees, Charlotte made a habit of smiling coquettishly and greeting Ronnie whenever their paths crossed. For his part, Ronnie was always polite to the girl, but did not encourage the attention.
"What'd I tell you, huh?" John snarled at Ronnie. "Don't need be chasing after my daughter, all right?"
"Sir, I am not chasing after your daughter," Ronnie said truthfully.
The truth was, twenty one year old Ronnie found the seventeen year old Charlotte Rayner Eckles little more than an annoyance. She was at least fifty pounds overweight, had horrible acne, and had an air of entitlement about her. Ronnie also found Charlotte to be quite immature.
"Hey, Ronnie," Charlotte simpered one day as Ronnie and another Eckles employee were unloading their equipment after a long day.
"Uh huh," Ronnie said, struggling with the unopened bag of quick drying cement.
"Listen, I'm going be eighteen on Saturday," Charlotte leaned forward, giving Ronnie an unobstructed view down the front of her blouse.
"That's nice," Ronnie said.
"Well, happy birthday," the other employee smiled.
"So, Ronnie, what you giving me for my birthday?" Charlotte cooed.
"Hmm, close your eyes," Ronnie suggested, managing to pull the bag to the tailgate of the pickup truck.
"Okay," Charlotte giggled.
"What do you see?" Ronnie asked as he slid the bag into the wheelbarrow.
"Uh, nothing," Charlotte said.
"There you go. Happy birthday," Ronnie said and wheeled the bag of cement toward the shed.
But Lois Eckles made John Eckles invite Ronnie Jackson to their home for Charlotte's birthday party. A drugstore in Dolenz, Utah sold Ronnie a nice birthday card and a Cash for Gold pawnshop in Fairway, Utah sold Ronnie a nice silver bracelet for twenty dollars.
Lois made John ask Ronnie to escort Charlotte to her senior year prom. Ronnie did escort Charlotte, wincing at the sight of her in a snug fitting sleeveless gown. Ronnie was very accommodating, though. He pose for pictures, danced with Charlotte, then took her home and kissed her good night.
A few days later, John snarled at Ronnie that Charlotte was broken-hearted; Ronnie had not called her. Ronnie pursed his lips, but did call Charlotte and asked her for a date. That date led to another date. On the fifth date, Charlotte gave Ronnie her virginity.
Tracy Lois Jackson was born five months after their wedding. And for the next ten years, Ronnie Jackson was given the shittiest of jobs that Eckles Renovations & Remodeling secured. Ronnie was sure that some of these jobs, John Eckles went out of his way to make sure Eckles Renovation & Remodeling got the jobs, just so that he could turn around and foist these back breaking jobs onto his son in law.
For the first sixteen years of their marriage, Charlotte Jackson was a good wife. She did make the effort to learn her husband's likes and dislikes. She did learn to cook his favorite meals. On Sundays, she did learn to be quiet when the Denver Broncos were on television.
Charlotte Jackson also did manage to whittle off thirty pounds. Then she gained them back. Then she'd lose ten, twenty pounds, only to pack them on again, plus an additional thirty to forty pounds.
Charlotte's skin did clear up somewhat, but she would always bear acne scars on her cheeks. Cosmetics did lessen the severity of the appearance of the scarring, but they were always visible.
When Tracy started school at Grover Cleveland Elementary school, Charlotte was hired by Garland County Public Library. The pay was minimal at best, but the benefits were tremendous. The health insurance, dental insurance was well worth the low salary.
Then, just after they'd celebrated their sixteenth year of marriage, Charlotte's cousin Darlene returned to Dolenz, Utah, from parts unknown. Darlene had husband number three or four in tow.
Darlene was loud, brash, profane, and Gary, her husband was not much better. Worse than that, Gary was a Dallas Cowboys fan.
Darlene was not a good influence on her cousin. Charlotte became loud, brash, and complaining. She became neglectful in household duties, including cooking.
Ronnie didn't mind picking up the slack. He was a sufficient cook; he wasn't a stranger to scrubbing a bot or pan or two. But picking up the slack once in a while suddenly became nearly every single night as Charlotte and Darlene and Gary found things to do outside of the Jackson home.
Tracy also learned to clean and cook and sew buttons onto her school uniforms. But somehow, it seemed that Tracy resented her father, rather than her mother for her mother's neglectful behavior.
Ronnie had timed his job nearly perfectly. Three hours after Charlotte's phone call, he was finishing the border at the entrance from kitchen to living room. Slowly, he stood, slowly he straightened his back.
"Good God, I am getting too old for this," Ronnie thought as he gathered his tools and the few tiles left over.
Leaving the Pritchard house, Ronnie called John Eckles. He still winced whenever he heard the man's slurred speech. The stroke had nearly killed the large man, and his recovery was slow.
John had suffered his massive stroke moments after his wife, Lois had confessed to having breast cancer. So, even after having a double mastectomy, while undergoing radiation, Lois was saddled with caring for her husband. Dennis Eckles, Brian Eckles, and Paul Eckles did what they could to help. Ronnie Jackson also assisted with the care of John Eckles when called upon to do so.
Charlotte Eckles, the only girl of the family, and the baby of the family was a constant companion to her mother. It was Charlotte that drove her mother to the hospital in Fairway, Utah, held her mother's hand while her mother weakly sobbed in pain.
Lois lost the fight, succumbing to the disease. John also seemed to lose the will to live, but Death did not seem to want to take Jonathon Dennis Eckles just yet.
So, John was wheeled into the office, day after day. Day after day, John sat behind his desk, and cursed his useless left arm as he attempted to type on the computer keyboard. Then, at the end of the day, Dennis, Brian, or Paul would drive John home.
"Yes sir, leaving the Pritchard job now; it's finished up," Ronnie said as John grunted, barked and wheezed into the phone.
At home, Ronnie sniffed the air appreciatively. Pork chops, mashed potatoes and French cut green beans was one of his favorite meals. After John's debilitating stroke, Charlotte had switched the Jackson household to a heart healthy diet. The diet had helped Charlotte whittle forty pounds off, but she was still quite rotund.
Ronnie had accused Tracy of leaving home, going to Brigham Young University just to get out of eating the cardboard meals Charlotte was feeding them. And Tracy had not denied this fact.
Ronnie moved to kiss his wife as she puttered at the stove. She waved him off and pinched her nostrils.
After dumping his clothes into his hamper, Ronnie washed that day's sweat from his stiff, sore body. This work had been grueling enough when he had been a young man of twenty one years. Now, at forty three years old, it was nearly impossible, certainly impractical to do. But Dennis, Brian, and Paul weren't going to subject their bodies to the demands. And with the mounting medical bills from John Eckles's rehabilitation, Dennis, Brian and Paul declared there was no money in the budget to hire anyone new.
Toweling off, Ronnie ignored the handsome, muscled man in the steamed up mirror. Ronnie dressed in pull over shirt and shorts. Then he came downstairs just as Charlotte was placing his plate in front of his chair.
"And, there's a hot apple pie for dessert," Charlotte announced as she put a frosted mug and a can of beer in front of him.
"Oh boy," Ronnie said, even as a ball of bile was forming in his stomach.
Ronnie remembered the last time Charlotte had poured him a frosted mug of beer. At that time, he had smiled, happy for the refreshing beverage.
On her thirty fifth birthday, a few months before their seventeenth anniversary, while Tracy was out with friends, Charlotte poured Ronnie a beer into a frosted mug. Ronnie sipped the ice cold beverage, relishing the crisp taste.
