Flipping to the back page first, I start with the bottom line. $87,500 if we do everything. The amount causes my stomach to lurch. I study the numbers, making little ‘mm-hmm’ sounds, hoping to appear cool and collected.
“It’s a lot all at once,” he says. “You could break it up into smaller bits. Do the musts this year, then wait a while to do more. It’s really all up to you. And don’t feel like you need to decide today. You can think it over and let me know later.”
I lean back in my chair and look up at him. “If we did everything, how long will it take?”
“You’ll be stuck with me hanging around for the better part of six months,” he says, looking almost apologetic. “But it’ll sure be nice once it’s all done.”
True. It’ll be what I thought I was getting. Reaching up for Isaac’s ring, I slide the tip of my index finger through while I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Screw it. I’m in it up to my knees, I might as well dive right in.”
“You can always change your mind, you know. If it feels like too much.”
“I won’t.”
“I didn’t think you would. So, what should we start with?”
“My office. Definitely.”
* * *
I’m out in the yard, mowing the overgrown lawn, which proves much harder than expected. First, I needed to get this ancient lawnmower started, which was a whole mysterious process that forced me to seek out Liam’s help. I found him stripping the hardwood floor in my office. He came outside, quickly changed the oil, and added gas. Then he disappeared back inside, but not before giving me a thumbs up that said he believes me capable of this job.
I’m not so sure I deserve his confidence, though. I only make it a few feet before the bag is filled and I have to empty it, which is a pain in the rear because holding a big black garbage bag open while I also maneuver the mower bag into it seems to require two sets of hands and I’ve only got the one. I’ve stuffed four bags with grass and weeds already, and I’m still not even a quarter of the way done with the front yard. The sun beats down on me as I drag the latest filled bag to the edge of the driveway.
A truck pulls up and I see Gus waving at me from the driver’s seat. Oh, perfect. That’s what I need right now—an insanely long conversation with the utilities big mouth. A young man sits in the passenger seat, wearing headphones and staring at his cell, seemingly oblivious to everything around him. Gus shuts off his engine and gets out of his truck, leaving the door wide open. “Hello, Abby! I see you’ve got quite the job ahead of you.”
I smile, but not so nicely that he thinks I want to visit. “Yup, and I’m hoping to get it done by supper, so I really better get on it.”
He takes on a condescending tone. “By dinner time? Not a chance.” Pointing to a few errant blades of grass, he adds, "You missed a spot.”
“Thanks. That’s just what I wanted to hear,” I say with a deadpan expression.
He stares at me for a moment, then laughs. “God, you’re a quick one. Listen, I got what’s known as a win-win proposition for the two of us. I’m needing to get my useless son, Colton, off my couch, and you’re clearly needing a lot of help with this here yard.”
Holding up one hand, I say, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m afraid I don’t have the budget for another employee.”
“This one’s free of charge.”
“I would have assumed Canadians were against slave labor.”
Gus chuckles again. “It’s not slave labor if he gets paid.”
“You lost me, Gus. Is this some sort of riddle?”
“You pretend to hire him, June and I will pay you, then you pay him.”
“This helps you, how exactly?”
“Because I figure once he’s had a taste of what it’s like to earn for himself, he’ll want to keep going. Hopefully, right out the door. I want to turn his room into a mancave.”
I lean to the left and peer at the young man who is still absorbed in whatever’s happening on the screen in front of him. “Can he hear you?”
“Nah,” Gus says, turning and hollering, “Bee, Colton! There’s a bee in the truck!”
Colton just keeps tapping on his phone with his thumbs.
I give Gus a skeptical look. “I don’t know. Why don’t you just make him get a job at McDonald’s or something?”
“There’s no McDonald’s in town. Besides, June doesn’t want to overwhelm him with a real job.” He rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t think he can handle that much responsibility yet.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-one.”
Twenty-one? I blink a few times in response.
“So you can see why I’m desperate, yeah?” Gus asks.
“Yes, but I really don’t have time to supervise someone.”
“He knows how to work a mower.”
Well, now, this just got interesting. “Really?”
“It’s literally the only thing he can do. How about I drop him here for the afternoon and you see how it goes?”
“All right, why not?”
Without skipping a beat, Gus turns and slaps the seat to get his son’s attention. Colton jumps, then slides his left headphone slightly behind his ear. “What?”
“This is Abby, the widow I was telling you about. She wants to pay you to mow her lawn.”
Colton gives me a nod and says, “Hey.”
“Hi,” I answer.
Gus continues. “If you do a decent job this afternoon, she’ll keep you on for a few weeks. She’s got a ton of stuff to do around here.”
“What does it pay?”
Oh, for God’s sake.
Gus answers for me. “Ten bucks an hour.”
“That’s not even minimum wage,” he answers, wrinkling up his nose.
Lowering his voice, Gus says, “It’s all she can afford. She’s a widow.”
Seriously? I clear my throat to get Gus’s attention. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work.”
Colton looks at me again, his face softening. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do it.”
“Great,” I answer. A pity mow.
* * *
I leave Colton with a jerry can of gas and a box of garbage bags, then go inside to have a drink of water. When I walk through the front door, I’m greeted by the sound of a sander. Even though a sheet of plastic covers the closed door to my office, fumes of sawdust and wood stain fill my nostrils. Outside, the mower starts up, and although I’m glad to not be the one standing behind it, the reality of the next six months starts to sink in. It’s going to be noisy, dusty, dirty, and sweaty—just what every woman wants.
I busy myself shopping online for kitchen chairs but find nothing that ships here. When I go out to check on Colton, he seems to know what he’s doing. Fifteen bags of grass sit by the roadside now, and I smile a little at the fact that this place looks slightly less abandoned. I give Colton the ‘would you like some water’ gesture. He nods and shouts, “Yeah, please.”
Gus pulls up just as Colton finishes the front yard, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s been watching from the trees or something. He gets out of his pickup and inspects his son’s work. “So, Abby? Is he hired?”
I walk over to Gus. “Yup. He did well.”
He slips me three tens. I tuck them into the front pocket of my jeans, then, feeling foolish, turn to Colton and take the money out. “Thanks very much. Here you go.”
Colton pulls one headphone back, takes the money, and counts it. “Great, okay then,” he says with no enthusiasm whatsoever.
“You should thank her,” Gus says under his breath.
“Thanks.” He slides his headphone back into place and gets in the truck.
“Thank you, Abby,” Gus says with much more sincerity than his offspring. “We’ll be back tomorrow as soon as I drag his lazy ass out of bed.”
“He worked hard,” I answer, feeling a little sorry for Colton.
Gus looks genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“Really.” I nod. �
��It’s actually much better than what I would have done.”
Grinning a little, he says, “Well, I’ll be damned. He might not be completely useless after all.”
I watch as Gus pulls out of the driveway, then look around the yard. It’s still full of weeds, but at least they’re short, and they can’t hide any imaginary rat hybrids. The screen door slams, and I turn to see Liam coming out, covered from head to toe in dust, except for a shockingly clear patch where his protective glasses and mask were. His skin and hair are damp with sweat, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. “Was that Gus?”
“Yes, he brought his son here to get some work experience.”
“Colton? And you agreed to hire him?”
“Only because Gus is secretly paying his wage.”
Liam busts out laughing. “Christ, he’s desperate to get that boy to move out.”
“Apparently. He did well, though.”
“So you’ll keep him on, then?”
“I’d be a fool not to for those rates,” I answer. “I should see if he knows how to do a little of this and a lot of that. Maybe Gus could pay for my entire reno.”
Liam smiles, then says, “Speaking of which, the floor in your office has been sanded and vacuumed. I need to go pick up my daughter at the babysitter. I’ll see you in the morning to start painting the walls and staining the floor. You could save yourself some money, and me some time, if you wipe them down tonight.”
“Deal.”
“Okay, then. Enjoy your evening,” Liam says with a nod.
“You too.”
I walk back inside and stand in the doorway to the office. The floor looks dull now, but by next week, it’ll be a shiny walnut, and this room will be just the right space to pen a bestseller. I hope.
Chapter Ten
I don’t have a short temper, I just have a quick reaction to bullshit.
~ Elizabeth Taylor
I groan when my alarm goes off, my entire body aching from my first few days of homeownership. Colton showed up again yesterday and mowed the backyard while I started on one of the five large flower beds in the front—a kidney-shaped bed that sits at a pleasing angle next to the driveway. After hours of digging, yanking, and disposing of the jungle of weeds, it looked much better, and I looked much worse.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, I stand at the window and survey our progress. From up here, I can see the enormous garbage bin Liam had delivered is almost half full already, and I wonder how many times it’ll need to be emptied before this is all done.
Liam arrives five minutes early, and I offer him a coffee while we have what we’ve started calling our ‘morning site meeting.’ He opens his padfolio and takes out his list.
“I want to give that stain three full days to set before setting that heavy desk on it. I’d like to get started on the master bedroom, so if you think you might change your mind about knocking down that wall, best to do it now.”
I give him a no-nonsense look over my coffee mug. “I don’t change my mind.”
“I almost forgot—you get everything right the first time.”
“Exactly.”
“Must be nice to be perfect,” he says with a grin.
Shrugging, I say, “It’s not that great actually, because I’m surrounded by imperfection everywhere I go.” I do my best to seem serious until I can’t hold it anymore and we both start laughing.
“So, since we’re definitely adding that en suite, why don’t we head into Sydney today to pick out the tub, sink, and everything else you’ll need? Save you a few dollars in delivery and give you a break from all the yard work.”
Happiness surges through me. “My muscles thank you for the temporary reprieve.”
“Tell them they’re welcome. We can stop at the furniture store, too, if you like. I know a guy who’ll give you a good deal on kitchen chairs and whatever else you need.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sick of sitting on that stool.”
“Nah, I love it,” he says, with a little grin. “But since you’re so clearly the type to throw fancy dinner parties, I figure you’ll need to seat more than one guest.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Are you making fun of the village recluse?”
“You’re not a real recluse. You just forgot how much fun people can be.”
“I take offense to that, Liam Wright,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “The only good people are cats.”
His face grows serious for a moment, then he says, “Is that because they have nine lives?”
I pause before answering, trying not to think about what he meant by that. “It’s because they mind their own business.”
“Touché,” he says, tipping back his mug.
* * *
The drive to Sydney is over an hour, and although I was temporarily concerned about awkward silences, we’re almost there and we’ve managed to fill them in. Liam has just been telling me about the weekend adventures he and his daughter take during the summer. They sail around to new places every Saturday or Sunday, depending on the weather.
“Gus told me you live on your boat during the summer months. Is that something you’ve always done?”
He shakes his head. “Not until after the accident. Olive had a lot of trouble sleeping. My mom came from New Brunswick to stay with us for the first few weeks and she’d get up in the night to rock her back to sleep, sometimes twice before morning.” He pauses for a second while he passes a slow semi-truck. Once that’s done, he continues, “Anyway, when my mom left, it didn’t take long for it to wear me out—getting up in the night, then up early for work. At some point, I remembered how well Olive slept on the boat, so I took her down there for the night. We both had a solid sleep for once, so we did it again. And after a while, I realized it also didn’t feel as lonely as the house.”
“Did you ever think about moving so you can be closer to your family?”
He shakes his head. “I could never do that to Sarah’s mom and dad, not after everything they’ve been through.”
“Right. Of course,” I say. “I’m just going to keep asking questions that are none of my business.”
“That’s okay, I’m used to it.”
“Good,” I say, with a smile. “Where do you live in the winter?”
“We have a small house up on Todd Hill. If you stand on a stool, you can see the ocean from the bathroom window,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I rent it out for the summer months, then we move back in the fall and ride out the cold.”
“Sounds like a very sensible plan.”
“Yeah, it’s worked out well. It’s not the house I shared with Sarah, actually. I sold that one the year after she died.”
“Fresh start thing?”
He shakes his head. “Money thing. I wanted to put money away for Olive’s education. It’s worked out well for the most part. Olive probably won’t want to live on the boat when she’s a teenager, but for now, it’s been good for both of us.”
I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked. I’ve forced him to think about something that wasn’t on his mind today, and maybe he didn’t want it in there. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, that’s okay. Friends want to know about each other.” He glances at me with that same easy smile he shows the world.
* * *
Liam stands patiently beside me while I test out kitchen chairs. We’re in a small shop, but the owner promises he can have me sitting at my table faster than any of the big box stores. I’ve tried every chair here to the point where I could reasonably say I’ve done dozens of squats today, but I have yet to make a decision. I wind up wishing I were curled up on my couch back in Manhattan, where the only thing I had to decide was what show to watch. Today is filled with countless choices to be made, and I’m never quite sure I’m making the right one. I also have the pressure of needing to hurry because I made such a big deal about never changing my mind, and it’s been nice having someone think I always know what I want.
I sigh, staring at the antiqued black wooden chair I’m considering. “Do you mind giving this one a try?”
He sits in it, and I wait while he pretends to cut a slice of some imaginary food, then mimes putting down his knife before having a bite and chewing thoughtfully. The entire time his expression is so serious that I can’t help but snort-laugh.
Finally, he looks up at me. “Well, it’s sturdy, it allows free movement of my arms, and it’s the right height for me to reach my steak.”
“Oh, is that what that was? Steak?”
“Medium well, a little overcooked if you ask me.” He grins. “But let’s not blame that on the chair, which I’d give a ten out of ten. Solid choice.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I’m still smiling. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”
“I’m just trying to make you laugh. You’re taking it all so seriously, but at the end of the day it comes down to two things—do you like it, and can you afford it, which only you’ll know.”
I open my eyes wide. “But what if the future of mankind rests on which chair I choose?”
“Like some sort of butterfly effect? Pick the wrong one and a month from now, we end up in a full-scale nuclear war?”
“Exactly.”
He pretends to be deep in thought. “Well, in that case, we should probably—”
“Liam? Is that you?”
I turn to see a woman behind me. She looks to be about thirty with long blond hair falling in soft curls around her shoulders. The tight expression on her face tells me she and Liam were once more than friends.
“Hannah, hi.”
I watch as Liam stands and kisses her cheek, suddenly feeling very awkward. She closes her eyes when his lips touch her skin, and there is the tiniest movement of her face toward him when he pulls away.
“How’ve you been?”
“Great. Really happy.” She doesn’t mean it. Her eyes flick over to me, and she looks me up and down before returning her gaze to him. “Wow. Don’t tell me somebody actually passed the Olive test.”
The After Wife Page 8