Cul-de-Sac Read Free

pinched expression, he disapproved of her cursing.
    A lock clicked, the door opening slowly. Annie intended to throw her arms around him and give Paul a big kiss but, shocked by his appearance, she just stood there in the doorway and stared.
    “You shouldn’t have come.”
    “What’s happened to you?”
    He raised a hand to his face.
    “You look like you’ve been beat up.” When she reached for him Paul leaned away. “What happened?”
    “Nothing.”
    The usual impression of Paul Milton might be that of a handsome young college professor on whom students, male and female alike, had crushes … five-ten but appearing taller because he was slender and long-legged, flat-stomached and smooth-skinned, blond hair and blue eyes, wire-rimmed glasses, a face that promised to remain forever boyish.
    But that promise had been broken in the month since Annie last saw her husband, his face now haggard and hollow-eyed, his expression nervous and frightened. Bruises discolored his left cheek and temple, his left eye was blackened, his normally thin lips were swollen fat.
    Usually fastidious about his appearance Paul was filthy, his hair so greasy it stuck together in clumps and didn’t look blond, his jeans actually stiff having been worn so long without a wash. Paul’s once-white shirt had big underarm stains, the outer rings dark brown, the inner ones urine-yellow. When Annie finally stepped close to hug him she could smell his rank body odor, his bad breath.
    Paul endured the hug as if it were a medical procedure he’d been warned would hurt a little.
    She asked again what had happened to him, he didn’t answer and wouldn’t look her in the eye.
    “Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”
    He mumbled something about putting in a lot of hours, not getting any sleep.
    No, Annie thought, it’s worse than that. She looked over his shoulder … the room, Paul’s workshop, was large and tall-ceilinged, had obviously once been a library with hardwood paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were now filled with power tools, some of them brand-new still in their boxes. This was an interior room, no windows. Most of the far wall was taken up by a massive fireplace of red brick, in the middle of the room was a big camel-backed couch covered in black leather cracked and split, horsehair stuffing sticking out in several places. Paul had apparently been using the couch as his bed, a blanket draped on one end, food wrappers and milk cartons on the floor.
    He cleared his throat.
    Annie waited but Paul said nothing. The old-fashioned cast-iron radiators around the walls must’ve been operating at full tilt because the room was stifling hot.
    Bringing her things in she avoided looking at Paul, his condition made them both self-conscious. “Why is it so warm in here?” She took off the denim jacket hoping that Paul’s Favorite Dress would earn a comment.
    It didn’t. He mumbled something about being cold all the time, Annie didn’t catch every word. As if to illustrate the point, he tucked both hands deep into his filthy armpits and hugged himself.
    “You bought new tools?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light and unaccusing.
    “You can’t stay here.”
    Annie went over and stood right in front of him. “Why not?”
    “It’s … not safe.”
    “You mean the building, the structure, isn’t safe?”
    Paul didn’t answer.
    “I’m not leaving until I find out what’s wrong.”
    “Wrong,” he said, repeating the word in a monotone.
    “You look … like you’ve been through something terrible.” He looked like a mental patient who’d been turned out on the streets without medication or hope.
    “Cul-De-Sac,” he whispered as if the name was a secret or terrible profanity.
    “It’s too much isn’t it … too big to renovate by yourself.”
    “You have to leave.”
    She tried hugging him again but he went stiff in her arms. Annie drew back and smiled. “You’re going to be okay, I’m here