Chapter 8

    The doorbell buzzes.

    Damien tugs down his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. He clears this throat and opens his front door.

    “Jacqueline, hello. Marlee. Please come in,” he says. He holds the door open as the two larger women enter.

    Jacqueline is wearing a shapely grey, thigh-length summer dress. She takes off her large sunglasses and wide-brimmed white summer hat. Her platform pumps thump loudly on the old wooden floor. They’re peep toes, with cream blue floral print and beige soles. “Look, I’ve gotten Marlee to wear something somewhat informal for once.”

    Behind her, Marlee is wearing a simple black pleated dress with a thin belt, and black, strappy, wedge sandals. Her hair is combed over to one side today, allowing for a small grey sunhat which she removes along with clip-on shades. Under one arm as always, is her tablet. The two women tower over him even more in their heels.

    “Oh Damien, whatever happened to your face?” Jacqueline says.

    “Oh, uh,” Damien stutters, impulsively touching the bandage on his broken nose, “an accident. Nothing.” He leads them through the living room. He can feel the old wooden floorboards bend beneath the women’s weight as they walk, something he never noticed at his full size. The women glance side to side, inspecting the house as they pass. They see the sooty fireplace, and the two pairs of mounted moose antlers above. One pair is his father’s, the other his grandfather’s. They see the shag rug and the easy chairs where he learned to read from comic books. The coffee table and the lamps with tasseled shades. The shelf with the line of knick-knacks and family photos. A row of memories. Some of are of him and his sister as children. Some are of his grandparents. One is of his father and mother’s wedding.

    They enter the kitchen and he gestures to the island table and cushioned stools. “Coffee or tea?” he asks.

    “Oh, tea I suppose,” Jacqueline says. She and Marlee seat themselves on the raised stools and cross their legs, smoothing out their dresses.

    Damien stands on a stepping stool to pour their tea into separate mugs. He brings them over carefully, the cups large and heavy to him. His face is stiff in concentration as he attempts to hide the fact that his arms are starting to tremble while he tries not to spill. In his focus he accidentally brushes against Jacqueline’s toes and almost splashes. He blushes immediately at the touch of her large foot against his stomach. She appears not to have noticed.

    He finally manages to reach up and place the cups on the table between the women. He breathes a silent sigh of relief. He can smell their scents distinctly from here: sweet, yet brisk and professional, like a bouquet of flowers in an office building.

    As Damien climbs up onto a stool, Jacqueline asks “So, you haven’t gotten the operation done yet?”

    “No,” he says, clearing his throat. “No I… I get by, and there are some issues at work. Some cutbacks. I may be losing my… Anyway, after what happened to Pepsi, and the costs, and… Well, times are tighter around here you know? I mean you wouldn’t know, obviously, but I mean… My job-”

   “Damien. Are you asking me for money? Is that what this is about?” Jacqueline says, leaning forward.

    “No! No, no, sorry, I just… I shouldn’t have… I was just talking. About what happened. I didn’t mean that at all.” His head sinks and he stirs his tea miserably.

    “That’s all right, Damien, no worries.” Jacqueline leans back and takes a sip of her drink and frowns a tiny bit. She wipes her mouth daintily with the back of her hand and sets the cup down. “You have a lovely little home Damien. You must have so many memories here. I can see why you don’t want to give it up.”

    “Yes,” he says, his head rising, “Well, as you may have guessed, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about-”

    He’s interrupted by a dull thudding coming from the stairs. He curses under his breath and jumps down from his stool. “‘S’cuse me,” he mumbles. He rushes to the nearby stairs as the thumping draws nearer. "Dad!" he hisses, stopping. "What're you doing?"

   His father looks down at him in surprise. He sits halfway down the stairs, one hand on the rail, his leg stumps exposed. He's in his boxers and a t-shirt. "I... I was going to wind the grandfather clock. It's stopped."

    "I have guests!" Damien whispers. He glances back to them, and then stands in front of his father to keep him from being seen. "Jacqueline is here. We're going to discuss the house, remember?"

    "Oh... I'm sorry Damien, I didn't..."

    "Yeah fine. Just, let's go okay?" He rushes up the stairs behind his dad to give him a hand back to his room. He tries to hook his arms under his dad's shoulders to drag him up the stairs, but his father shakes him off.

    "I can go back to my damn room on my own," he says, flushing slightly and looking away. Using the wooden railing, he pulls himself back up the creaky stairs in hopping motions. Damien watches him go for a few moments, before turning and taking a deep breath.

    "I'm sorry," he says to his guests as he climbs back up onto his stool, and stares at his tea.

    "Whatever for?" Jacqueline says.

    Damien looks at her for some clue for if she had seen or heard the exchange between him and his father, but she just stirs her tea innocently. "Um, so," he says and clears his throat. "About this house. I've uh..." He pauses and swallows, turning back to his tea, but his gaze is far away.

    "Hmm?" Jacqueline says, bobbing her foot slightly.

    "I've changed my mind," he says, and sighs deeply. "I've... I have to sell it." He looks at Jacqueline. "I'm prepared to accept an offer."

    "Oh, is that what this is?" Jacqueline says, feigning surprise.

    "Y...yes?"

    "Oh, well if that's all, Damien, I have to say I’m not interested anymore." She stands up, and turns to Marlee. Marlee looks up at her in surprise for just a moment before quickly rising.

    "Wait... Woah, wait what?" Damien exclaims behind her. "You... excuse me, how are you not interested anymore?"

    Jacqueline gives him a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised, before following Marlee out of the kitchen. "Find another buyer."

    Damien jumps after them, shouting: "You've bought every piece of property around us! We're literally surrounded by your land, nobody else is going to buy this house!"

    "Really? How unfortunate for you. Best of luck, Damien," she says, striding through the living room. Marlee holds the front door open for her.

    "Jacqueline, you're our only chance here! You have to-" he says grabbing Jacqueline's elbow.

    Marlee snatches his wrist and twists it fiercely, immediately forcing him to contort and squawk in pain as something snaps. She then shoves the small man against the wall, knocking him to the floor and causing the coatrack to fall on him. He fumbles painfully under the large clothes, until Marlee plants her foot firmly on his small chest and presses all the air out of him. His eyes bulge in alarm, and he instinctively grabs at the large shoe, trying to pry it off of him.

    Jacqueline walks over to him slowly. She looms over him, staring disdainfully at his struggles. Eventually she leans down and takes his face in her hand, squeezing his cheeks together. She says, "I will do, whatever, I want. And there is literally, no way, for you to stop me." She lingers there for a moment, a hint of a smirk playing about her lips, before she releases him. She puts her sunglasses on and saunters out the door. Marlee steps off him and follows her out. Damien gasps for breath, clutching at his chest.

    Then he lies there for several minutes, staring at his ceiling. There are light brown splotches, like spilled coffee, where the ceiling had leaked long ago. In the corner, a cobweb floats gently in the breeze from the open door. Turning his head, he looks up from the floor. "Paige?" he says softly. "How...how long...?" But his sister is already turning away.