by T. I. Lowe
“Eclectic? That’s a nice way of putting it.” Lincoln frowned when the other two laughed like he’d said something funny. He slid farther back on the exam table and barely stifled the whimper when he was unable to straighten his leg.
“Enough about that. I want to hear more about you not using your cane.” Marcus closed the lid of the laptop and moved to Lincoln’s side.
Lincoln shot a harsh scowl toward Opal, who was bouncing on a stability ball in the corner. She was wearing one of her floral grandma dresses and oversize sweaters with cowgirl boots on her feet, looking like a little girl playing dress-up.
She smiled innocently. “Did little ole me get you in trouble? Sorry.”
She didn’t look sorry. As a matter of fact, he was thinking she had shown up to do just that. The retort he was forming fled when Marcus pushed the leg of his track pants up and began applying pressure to the area just above his knee. Nostrils flaring, Lincoln almost came off the table.
“Opal, you didn’t need to tattle. This swelling and redness is all the evidence I need to know he’s not been using his cane. Why, man?” Marcus shook his head and didn’t give Lincoln time to form the nonexistent excuse. “Your former therapist warned me about your stubbornness, but there’s a big difference between being stubborn and being stupid. I think you’re a smart enough man to know which one you’re being by not taking care of this leg like you’ve been instructed.”
“Stupid,” Opal whispered, hidden somewhere behind Marcus.
Lincoln spoke out even though he couldn’t see her. “I don’t want you here!”
“Then tell me to leave,” she fired back, the top of her golden curls coming just into view, making it clear she’d stood up from the ball.
“Let me grab some ice packs and see if Dr. Rabin is free to see you.” Marcus hurried out of the room.
Opal was just sitting back down on the ball but jolted to her feet in a tizzy as she zeroed in on his disfigured leg, sending the ball rolling across the room. Gasping, she rushed over and grabbed Lincoln’s hand as if it were the most natural thing to do while eyeing his mangled limb. Apart from the severe swelling, there were pocked areas and spots with purplish scarring that looked so foreign he sometimes couldn’t wrap his mind around it belonging to him.
“This is all my fault.” Opal sniffled while rubbing her other hand over his forearm.
Lincoln came to his senses and shrugged her hands off him. “You hardly know me. Ain’t none of this your fault.” He rolled the pant leg back down to conceal his ruined leg.
“You’ve been helping me and not tending to your leg. I knew yesterday but couldn’t bring myself to send you home.”
“Why not?” He tried to slide over and out of her reach, but Opal just leaned over more and was right back to holding his hand.
“Because I want you to be my friend.” She sniffled again.
“Knock it off. I’m fine. Probably just overdid it and . . .” He wiped the dewy sheen off his forehead as the room grew too warm.
“You’re slurring . . .” Opal’s palm covered his forehead, then tested the temperature on his cheeks. “And you’re burning up.” The door opened, and Marcus and another guy wearing a white exam coat hurried into the room. “He has a fever,” she informed them.
“I thought so,” Marcus admitted while setting down a handful of ice packs and an Ace bandage. “This is Dr. Rabin. I believe you have an appointment with him next month.”
“You just couldn’t wait to meet me, I see,” the doctor quipped while scanning the details Marcus pulled up on the laptop. He moved over to Lincoln. “May I take a look?”
Lincoln grunted out his permission and braced himself. As the doctor’s hands went to pushing around his throbbing knee, Lincoln whimpered. Opal’s grip automatically tightened on his hand and he squeezed it back without realizing his actions.
Dr. Rabin shook his head. “Marcus is going to wrap it with some ice packs while I grab a wheelchair. We need to move you over to the ortho side of the clinic so we can get an IV going to administer a round of antibiotics.”
Before Lincoln could put up a protest, he was being wheeled down a back hall of the building with Opal by his side. She carried his cane and a worried expression, both of which had him feeling even more off-balance. Through a haze of pain and grogginess, he vaguely sensed them giving him something for the pain and fever while the IV delivered antibiotics to war against the infection set in his leg.
Hours passed with the redheaded sprite by his side, offering sips of ice water and kind smiles.
“Go away,” Lincoln muttered off and on.
And off and on Opal would reply, “Play pretty now.”
There was no getting rid of her, and he was too tired to put up much complaint when she agreed to drive him home once the IV bag was empty and some of the fire in his leg had calmed down.
“Your prescriptions should be ready within an hour for pickup. Stay off the leg until our follow-up next week,” Dr. Rabin instructed.
“I have to work.” Lincoln’s protest was weak. Whatever painkiller they had given him had weighed down his mind and limbs considerably. That detached feeling he hated.
“There’s no work to be done at this point. We have to pause while the crew lays new flooring, so it’s perfect timing for you to neglect your health and fall ill.” Opal said this in a reassuring voice, but Lincoln was learning her sweetness was only a tool she used to drive home her true meaning.
The ride home in the van wasn’t his idea of comfortable, but at least he arrived at the beach cottage in one piece. Opal walked him in.
“I got it from here,” he said at the door, motioning for her to go on, but he wasn’t surprised when she flat-out ignored him.
Opal pulled her phone out and was rattling off a food order while moving around his kitchen.
“I ain’t hungry,” Lincoln complained as he propped himself up in the recliner. It was the only piece of furniture he’d handpicked for the new place. It was an oversize chair and could accommodate his long limbs pretty well. He pushed until it reclined way back and shut his eyes, promptly dozing off.
“I have your prescription and the best shrimp burger on the coast.” That whimsical voice penetrated the medicated haze Lincoln was trapped in.
He peeled open one eye to find a plate piled with fries and a bun overflowing with golden shrimp and coleslaw. The other eye opened as his cottony mouth began to water. He heard smacking and looked over to find Carter sitting on his couch eating his own lunch. His friend gave him a nod but kept eating.
“Carter brought over your Jeep and took care of picking everything up,” Opal offered while placing a bottle of Gatorade on the end table beside his chair.
Lincoln sat up just enough to send the footrest down a reclining notch so he could eat properly. Still with a foggy mind, he blinked and found his plate empty and half the bottle of orange drink gone. He looked around and found Carter in the same predicament but wearing a weary expression.
“What?”
Carter shook his head. “Man, you gotta take better care of yourself than this.” He pointed to Lincoln’s leg.
Lincoln looked down where it was elevated on the footrest and found it wrapped with fresh ice packs and resting on a pillow. He glanced around, expecting to find the pixie hovering in her grandma dress, but the only evidence she had been there in the first place was a hint of honey in the air and a seashell resting on the side table. “She gone?”
“Yep.” Carter leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I can’t believe she stuck around as long as she did.”
“What do you mean?” Lincoln set the plate down by the seashell, ignoring it and the small note placed beside it.
“You kept telling her to leave you alone and in the next breath asking for her sandwich. Which she kindly gave you. She made sure you had your medicine while you sat there telling her to hush up.” Carter shook his head. “Dude, I don’t know this Lincoln Cole you’ve turned into. Don’t really care for the
punk. How about taking some time to work this mess out and find the guy I used to know?” He stood up and gathered their lunch trash. After dealing with that, he left without another word.
Ashamed, Lincoln sat there studying the full bottle of painkillers with bleary eyes. He knew he was irritable on his best days anymore, but he refused to go back down the dark rabbit hole where those pills sent him each time he took a dose. They always brought all of his anger to the surface until it spewed out in fits of rage. Apparently that’s what Carter had observed. Lincoln didn’t remember any of it.
Those stinging thoughts didn’t just tap on his shoulder to remind him of his wrongs. They punched him square in the gut and stole his breath. Months of pain meds had helped to morph him into someone he didn’t even recognize and in the end made him act in a way he’d never done sober. It was the reason he couldn’t go back home.
After much effort, Lincoln made it out of the chair. With his cane helping to balance him, he grabbed the prescription bottle and limped to the bathroom, where he flushed the pills. Tossing the empty bottle into the trash, he managed to make it to his bed. He hoped he could sleep off the rest of the side effects and maybe some of his awful attitude. Once the fog was lifted and the infection healed, he had a lot of apologizing to do.
6
The seagulls decided the crisp fall morning warranted their melody. As they soared overhead, they each squawked out their salutations. With her face turned heavenward, Opal thanked the Lord for the storm being a blessing in disguise. With the roof torn off, rotting ceiling beams had been discovered. Thank goodness it hadn’t collapsed before that. Also, she would finally be able to act on her idea to enclose the back porch. Now the space could be used as a proper workshop. Shelves and cabinets had been added to help store all of her supplies, which freed up more floor space in the showroom. The paint crew was due soon to finish the trim work and any touch-ups, so it was time to get the workday started. She walked around the building and spotted Josie on a ladder.
Opal looked up. “Whatcha doing?”
Josie placed a piece of tile that helped form an ocean wave in the mosaic back in its rightful spot before peering down at her. “Fixing this.”
“I have a guy coming tomorrow to do that.” Opal shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted up at her friend.
“I don’t mind.” Josie plucked another piece from a bucket and iced the back of it with mortar. “Do you remember us putting this project together?”
“Yeah.” A wide grin spread across her face as she recalled the summer after graduation, when the three friends hung out fixing up the building. “We worked on it for a solid week with Sophia sitting in a lounge chair acting as supervisor.” Opal had come up with the idea of the mosaic with hopes of rekindling Josie’s passion for art, but Josie did as Josie had always done. She viewed it as helping a friend out and nothing more. Soon, Opal was going to set a plan into motion to change that, but for the time being, she had another pressing matter. “I’m worried that giving Lincoln a job was a mistake.”
“Hmm . . . I’m not sure . . .” Josie shook her head and began descending the rungs of the ladder. She set the bucket of mortar down and dusted her hands together.
“Why’s that?” Opal tucked several errant curls behind her ear.
“I think you’ve been good for him.” Josie shrugged. “He seems suited for this place.”
Opal scoffed. “He’d probably tell you differently.”
“Yeah? From what I’ve heard from the Knitting Club, he’s shown up here every day since the doctor released him last week. And every day you send him away spittin’ mad.”
“I knew those old ladies were keeping me supplied with baked goods for no good reason.” Opal’s head rolled back, looking at the blue sky.
Each day Lincoln had shown up to deliver some form of an apology. The first day was a bottle of the raspberry chai tea she loved to have as an afternoon treat. He handed it off and started hobbling toward the tents like nothing had happened. After pointing out his misassumption, she sent him on his way. The next day it was a pint of chili-infused chocolate ice cream along with a few muttered words admitting he had been a jerk. Again, she accepted the little offering and pointed him back to his Jeep.
Opal glanced at the green beaded bracelet on her wrist that was his most recent attempt at apologizing. It had been accompanied with actual words. “I’m sorry for being so mean.” She agreed before telling him to hit the road. And boy, did he sound like a snarling beast as he stomped/limped away. “Lincoln doesn’t take too kindly to being told no.”
“But he keeps coming back anyway. There’s a reason, and I think that reason is you. I really think he needs you. And this job.” Josie paused to take a breath. “What if you make him promise to be more careful with his leg? Would you allow him to come back to work?”
Opal sighed long and loud. “I had no idea how severe his injuries were. I feel so guilty for having him standing hours on end while helping around here. Look where that landed him. I just don’t think this is a good fit for him.” Each time he’d shown up to argue his case of working for her, Lincoln stood there, defeated and desperate for another chance, and her arms ached to reach out and hold him. To reassure him he was going to get through this storm in his life. And it scared the mess out of her to feel so strongly for him.
Josie bent her knees to bring Opal to eye level, looked at her like some weird something was lurking in the green depths of her irises, and twisted her lips. “Who are you? And what have you done with my Opal?”
Opal focused anywhere but on her friend’s scrutiny. “I . . . He . . . We . . . I don’t know, okay?” She waved her hands in the air, conceding defeat in the great battle of Lincoln Cole. Admitting that she liked him and wanted to be his friend was a cinch. Easy-peasy. That was her nature, after all. But seeing him sick had flipped some switch in her and had her wanting more than friendship, and each time he barked at her to leave or to hush up was a blaring reminder she couldn’t have it. Clearly the man wasn’t in a place in his life to invest in a romantic relationship, any more than she was. If she was going to keep him as a part of the business aspect of her life, Opal was going to have to be extra careful not to blur the line between work and friendship.
“Just think about it.” Josie hitched a thumb toward the two tents. “You’re going to need extra sets of hands in another day or two to get that stuff moved back into the store.”
Opal nodded but chose not to comment. Her friend seemed to read that as the conversation’s closure. She picked up the bucket and moved to another section of the fairy mural.
Opal watched Josie climb a few rungs and go to work patching a section of gold-and-orange hair before moving her attention over to the large tents. If only she could think of a way to fit Lincoln Cole into her life that would be beneficial to them both while keeping them both intact—Lincoln’s leg and her heart.
The following morning, a plan was sort of in place by the time she noticed the Jeep parking at the curb. Lincoln limped toward her, using his cane. He had his hair pulled back, giving her a direct view of his features, which were set in a scowl. His lips were already moving back to say something before she could interrupt him.
“I’m a man,” he announced abruptly, that deep voice booming around the small yard. She was about to agree wholeheartedly, a mighty handsome one at that, but he plowed on, raising his left leg slightly. “This makes me feel less of one.”
She stepped closer, shuffling the store’s floor plans into one hand so she could reach the other out to grasp his forearm. “Linc—”
“But working here . . . doing something useful in the last few weeks . . . it made me feel closer to being whole again.” He took a step back to get away from her touch, clearly not there for her pity.
She dropped her hand and fiddled with the large papers, determined not to give him any. “Good, because I need your help and don’t really have time for any more of this chitchat.”
Lincoln�
��s lip curled back to protest, but he paused in confusion at her words. Obviously he had been expecting her to send him away once more. “Come again?”
Opal held up the plans. “I need your help. I have more floor space now with the addition, and to be honest, the former layout wasn’t working so well. Now I have this clean slate, and I’m at a loss as to how to arrange it.”
Lincoln took the floor plans and studied them. His eyes narrowed while he looked them over. “Are the floors dry yet?”
Opal clapped her hands. “Oh yes. The crew only put a clear sealant on them so all the natural beauty can show off, and they turned out so gorgeous. I knew all that old barn wood I had in storage would come in handy someday.” She took the plans back and clutched his free hand. “Come see!”
They moved inside, where the sharp aroma of fresh paint and wood sealer met them. She already had a large table set in the middle of the space with two chairs tucked underneath. The plan was for Lincoln to sit down and figure out the puzzle of the furniture arrangements. She sat and spread the plans out. He took the seat beside her and swiped a pencil that was beginning to roll away.
“You need to place the bigger pieces around the perimeter. The first time I walked in, it was like walking into a wall . . .” He began drawing out the plan while discussing ideas with Opal. By the time the morning was gone and their stomachs were rumbling, they had a pretty good idea where all the furniture would be placed.
Opal hung up from ordering a pizza and asked for the third time, “You sure we can’t hang the chairs back on the ceiling? I thought they looked so cute up there.”
“Look, I gave in to your pizza choice. I’m not budging on the chairs.” Lincoln sat back and scanned the warehouse-size room. “Tell ya what, if it’s a light fixture, we can hang it. If it’s just a chair, we can look at retrofitting some racks on the walls to hang them. That will be a less haphazard way to approach it.”
Opal studied the pale-teal walls, imagining his idea, and found it rather pleasing. “I love it. Our chairs can be art!” She beamed and clapped her hands.