Gunnar In The Carrels

A Note to Readers:

Welcome to what I am calling Season 2 of Gunnar In The Carrels. Anyone who hasn't read Parts 1 through 10 (what I am now going to call Season 1), relax! You are officially absolved. But don't let that stop you if you feel inclined as it will certainly help your understanding of events.

What you are reading is the first draft of a potential novelette? novel? written on the fly. Events and timelines are going to shift around as they find their natural level. Go with it.

Most of all, thanks for reading and feel free to comment.

S02 P01
S02 P02
S02 P03

Part 4

I, Too, Beneath Your Moon

I too beneath your moon, almighty Sex,
Go forth at nightfall crying like a cat,
Leaving the lofty tower I laboured at
For birds to foul and boys and girls to vex
With tittering chalk; and you, and the long necks
Of neighbours sitting where their mothers sat
Are well aware of shadowy this and that
In me, that's neither noble nor complex.
Such as I am, however, I have brought
To what it is, this tower; it is my own;
Though it was reared To Beauty, it was wrought
From what I had to build with: honest bone
Is there, and anguish; pride; and burning thought;
And lust is there, and nights not spent alone.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Ron Andersson’s cell phone rang at 4:49 pm. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen but it had a local area code.

“Yallo?”

He heard giggling and muffled conversation. Was this the damn kids? He’d told them not to call him for no reason.

“Ron? Are you there? It’s me.”

“Elsa? Where are you, Honey? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. We’re just laughing. Sorry. Listen, I took that cake over to Ginger’s today.”

“The apple one?” It came out as a whine. “Ginger who?”

“McNally. Lily McNally’s granddaughter. I’m at her place. That’s why I’m calling. She needs some help sorting through some of Lily’s things, so I’m going to stay for a while and help her.”

There was a very loud smashing sound in the background on Elsa’s end, then the sound of breaking glass followed by someone yelling “I’m okay!” and another explosion of giggles.

“What the...are you guys drunk?”

“There’s some frozen lasagna in the back freezer. Take it out of the container before you put in the microwave.”

“I know that, Elsa.”

“Right. Sorry. Is this okay?”

“You know you don’t have to ask me that.” His voice grew intimate. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, “Yeah, I’m good. This is fun.”

“Okay. You want me to come get you later? We can pick up the car tomorrow.”

“Yeah. That might be a good idea. Come get me around 9 or so.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure Eddie brushes his teeth tonight. He’s getting good at faking it.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Sure.”

There was a pause where they both thought maybe they should say I love you, but neither did.

“Okay, Honey, see you soon. Bye.”

Ron continued to look down at his phone for a few minutes after the call ended. He needed time to think about what had just happened.

He remembered Elsa had said she was making the cake for someone. Last night, with the boys in bed, he sat with the laptop opened on the kitchen table, entering receipts into the spreadsheets they used to keep the farm’s books. He sat so that he could see her as she moved around the cupboards, making the cake. He loved watching Elsa in their large farmhouse kitchen. He thought she was at her most lovely then. In her element.

Elsa had a fondness for whimsical aprons. Frilly, gauzy colourful bits of things that could barely be called an apron. They drove Ron crazy. He thought an apron might be the most erotic garment he could think of.

Sometimes he worried about this. He also loved to see his mother cooking in the kitchen, an apron tied around her thick waist. But he didn’t find her sexy. Did he? No, definitely not. Did it mean he was sexist? He wasn’t sure. He knew it wasn’t good to like women in the kitchen.

He was thinking about this last night as he covertly watched Elsa’s wide, rounded buttocks jiggling softly under a generous, cherry red bow as she whisked together ingredients. Was it wrong to find the sight of his fragrant, curvy wife, who was wearing a white apron with large red polka dots and a red tie while baking a cake, so desirable?

He remember now that she had mentioned Lily McNally, but he hadn’t really been listening. This was often the case, but not for the reasons she thought. After fourteen years of marriage, the sight of Elsa still overwhelmed the rest of his senses. There was so much about the physical presence of her to take in - her scent of flowers, her clothes that were always feminine but kind of classy, the big, soft curves of her that he wished he could press up against himself and hold there, protected forever.

It was really good for Elsa to have female company, Ron decided. Let her have some fun and cut loose a little. Maybe they’d have some fun in the bedroom tonight, if she was a little tipsy. Lately, they’d both been too tired and it had been awhile.

He looked up from his phone and realized he was still standing in the parking lot outside the Acropolis Diner in Karlstad. Tucking the phone into his jacket pocket, he headed into the restaurant.

The Acropolis was the place to which most of the surrounding farmers drove their pickups each morning, afternoon and evening for coffee and ‘news’. It was closer than going all the way to Anneville and the Christopoulos brothers, who ran the restaurant, didn’t mind if the farmers stayed for a few hours but only bought coffee.

As he pushed open the door, Ron saw with a sinking heart that John McLean was here, sitting at a booth with Jim Belson and Paul Stuart, guys Ron went to school with and liked. A man and a woman sat at a far table, heads bent close together. There was no one else here - no way for him to avoid sitting with John.

He was pleased when John stood up from the booth just as Ron approached.

“John,” he said, nodding slightly. There was an expression on John’s face that he didn’t like. His gossipy, vicious little mouth was twisted up into a tight knot of a smile that let you know it was at your expense. Not for the first time, Ron wondered how he could feel such enormous loathing for such a tiny old man. He longed to punch his face with all his strength even as he knew it would kill the frail figure in dirty overalls who always smelled of the manure on his barn boots that he didn’t bother to change before coming to town.

“Ron,” smirked John. Then he rapped his knuckles on the table and said, “I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

As he brushed past Ron, he stopped and looked up at him, and then nodded his head slightly toward the table where the couple sat close together.

“Looks like your wife’s man got himself another fish to fry, don’t it?” He took a toothpick from behind his ear, gripped it in his teeth, stuck his hands into his pockets and walked out.

Ron slid into the vacated bench across from the two remaining men, who were now looking down at the table. He turned to look over his shoulder at the other table, where a man and woman hunched towards each other, holding hands.

He didn’t recognize the woman, who was petite with sleek black hair and asian features. She was pretty but looked tired. He thought maybe she was a few years younger than himself. Younger than Elsa too. Although she leaned forward as though in love, there was something about the way she held herself that was...stilted, was that the right word?

He knew who he would see when he turned his eyes to the man. David Fuckin’ Larsson, that son of a bitch. David Larsson had found another young assistant to mess with and he had brought her here, to Ron’s local coffee shop.

Ron turned back around in the booth to meet the eyes of his two schoolmates. They had been on the same basketball teams, the same hockey teams and in the same 4-H clubs all of their lives. Their ancestors had cleared trees and built barns side by side, sometimes intermarrying. Very likely they were both his distant cousins.

Across the table, they met his eyes steadily and waited for Ron to show them what he wanted to do. Whatever it was, they were with him.