When I Needed You

by Tina Martin

  “What?”

  “I said, you’ll try again.”

  He shakes his head slightly. “How can you say that with so much confidence?”

  “Because you have to remain positive in life. If you think there won’t be a next time, you’ll pattern your life that way. If you keep a positive outlook, you’ll look to the future with optimism and hope. I see hope when I look into your eyes, Cain. There will be a next time.”

  Our gazes hold for a moment before he breaks the trance and nods. He glances over at my laptop. “What were you doing before I disturbed you?”

  “Stop it. You didn’t disturb me. I was ordering supplies for the store.”

  “What time do you open up tomorrow?”

  “Ten-thirty, but I always get there by ten.”

  “You’ll have to assign me some work to do before you leave in the morning.”

  “There’s nothing pressing unless you want to trim the hedges. All the tools are in the shed.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. Think of more things you need me to do as well. Make a list. I’m not a freeloader. I like to pay my way and when I get back on my feet, I’m paying you back for everything you purchased for me.”

  “That’s not necessary, Cain. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to, and I will.”

  “See…I heard the determination in your voice that time. Now, I know you have it in you for sure.”

  He offers a half-smile. “Thanks for the food. I’m going to go take a shower so I can get out of your way.”

  “Hey—um before you go, are you okay—like physically? I noticed you were shaking and your body temperature was through the roof. I was thinking maybe you should get checked out. There’s an urgent care right down the street.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I don’t believe him, but I can’t make him go to the doctor. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

  He goes inside with his clothes and bag of toiletries. I fold my laptop and lay face-up on the blanket. I stretch my body, close my eyes and touch my necklace. “Love you, mom. Love you, dad.” My heart breaks a little every time I relive beautiful memories we shared, knowing we won’t be able to make more. I miss them more than mere words can express. Their absence has left a permanent hole in my life for sure. It’s given me an excuse to put my life on hold – especially my personal life. How can I think about the things most women long for – falling in love and marriage – when I won’t have a father to walk me down the aisle? How can I be excited about having babies when my mother will never experience the joy of being a grandparent?

  I think about those things constantly. Having Cain here is a welcome distraction from it all. Maybe that’s why he’s here. Mother used to say giving of yourself to help someone soothes the soul – her way of saying there’s more happiness in giving than there is in receiving. I’m a believer in things happening for specific reasons, and so I have to imagine this is Cain’s purpose in my life. Helping him means helping myself. It’ll be hard for me to have a pity party if I’m busy helping someone else who, despite my trials, needs more help than I do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ahmalee

  I get to work around ten and get started on my usual duties. I spruce up the bathroom. I turn on the string lights surrounding the summer display table that showcases the summer scents – Weekend Vibes – the candles that smell like citrus and lavender and Sweet Summer – the ones with the fresh watermelon fragrance. I don’t have to make candles today and on those off days, I’m still not off. I’ll be busy labeling the ones I made last week that have fully cured by now and are ready for sale.

  I light the Sweet Mornings candles and sip the coffee I picked up from McDonald’s this morning.

  And then my thoughts migrate to him.

  To Cain.

  He’s been my company for a few days now and the crazy thing about that is, I like having him at my house. Sometimes, I get so caught up in my introverted ways that I forget how cool it is to have someone around to talk to. It’s been nice having Cain with me. I feel like his presence gives me a layer of security that I haven’t experienced before.

  “Good morning,” Sonji says. The bell chimes over her head as she enters the store. “It’s already hot out there.”

  “Yeah, it is.” It was hot when I left the house this morning. Cain was up early working on the hedges. I waved at him as I was backing out of the driveway, but he didn’t wave back – just stared at me as the sun glistened on his caramel skin, illuminating his muscles making him look like he could be a beloved leader of a tribe in the motherland. Whatever their circumstance, black men come with a level of strength and power that’s unmatched.

  And Cain…

  I don’t know if it’s just me, but something about a man working his way back from adversity is highly attractive. That’s why I almost backed into the ditch this morning – so busy staring at him while he worked. Come to think about it, maybe that’s why he was looking at me. He probably told himself I couldn’t drive.

  “Good morning, y’all,” Jamie says as she enters the store. Jamie is one of those down-to-earth, middle-aged white women who has more tattoos than NBA players and thinks she’s woke – when in reality, she has no idea what woke means. Her voice is raspy due to years of smoking. She’s a good person. Been working with me for a while now.

  “Good morning, Jamie,” Sonji and I both say.

  “Honey, the smell of that coffee candle never gets old, I tell ya.”

  “It doesn’t,” Sonji says. “That’s why it’s a bestseller. Ain’t that right, Ahmalee?”

  I know she said something to me, but my mind is so gone thinking about Cain, I don’t respond right away.

  The way the sun hit his skin…

  The way he looked at me…

  That beard…

  My goodness…

  A few days ago, I thought I was going to get shmurdered. Now, I’m counting down the hours and minutes until I can get home and see him again. Is that normal to be attracted to a stranger – a homeless one? Have I lacked so much attention from men that I find Cain appealing? Or is he just that good looking – homeless or not? Should his status dictate what my level of attraction should be? Okay, I’m officially overthinking this.

  Jamie whispers to Sonji, “Ay, what’s going on with her?” like I’m not even here.

  I say, “I’m fine, Jamie…just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I’m sure you do. That homeless man…is he still down behind you or what?”

  “He’s not down behind me,” I say, sounding defensive. They’re not about to be talking about my homeless man like that.

  “He showed up at your house,” Sonji says. “He’s done crossed over into stalker territory.”

  There she goes with that again after we already had this discussion on Saturday.

  “I agree,” Jamie says. Now, Sonji’s got Jamie backing her up. “You got to be careful these days, suga. I heard a girl over in Fuquay-Varina got murdered. Police ain’t got no leads. If ol’ boy shows up here again, I say we call the cops.”

  “Agreed,” Sonji chimes in. “It ain’t safe out here in these streets. Me and Khalid just bought an alarm system.”

  “Well, I appreciate the concern, ladies, I do, but I’m not calling the cops. I don’t want to bring negative energy to my store.”

  “Negative energy?” Sonji is beside herself. “That guy literally followed you home, Ahmalee.”

  I shrug. “So what? I’m not scared.”

  Sonji’s mouth falls open in disbelief.

  Jamie grins. “Ahmalee, what you do, hun? Went out and bought yourself a piece over the weekend?”

  “No, I don’t have a piece. Look—I’m not scared of him, okay. He’s just a man who fell on hard times and needs a little boost. That’s all.”

  I can feel their eyes digging into my skin.

  “How do you know all of that?” Jamie asks.

  “Because—I—I talked to him. He�
�s at my house right now.”

  Sonji erupts in laughter. “Shut up, Ahmalee. This ain’t funny.”

  “I’m not kidding, y’all. I talked to him. We have an understanding. I agreed to help him if he does some work for me. This morning, he was trimming the hedges.”

  Their faces fall flat.

  “Don’t tell me you got that guy living in your house,” Jamie says.

  “He’s not in my house necessarily. He’s staying in the camper behind my house.”

  They’re quiet for a moment, soaking it all in. Jamie walks to the back, then comes back tying on an apron. “I think those fragrance fumes gettin’ to you, hun. It’s never a good idea to befriend somebody like that.”

  “Somebody like that,” I say. “What does that mean?”

  “He’s a—a—bum.” She whispers the word bum like she’s afraid of being overheard, or as if the ignorant low-blow of calling somebody a bum doesn’t hit as hard if you whisper it.

  “He’s not a bum,” I say. “He’s a person.”

  Sonji jumps in. “Yeah, a person you don’t know.”

  “I know him. A little.”

  “Really?” Jamie says, her tone challenging. “What’s his name?”

  “Cain.”

  “Cain?” They both nearly shout his name in question form.

  Jamie says, “Cain? Like the Cain from the Bible who murdered his brother and then acted like he didn’t know what happened when God called him out on it? That Cain?”

  “Okay, listen up, ladies. If I thought I was in danger, I wouldn’t have entertained the idea of him working for me. I’m fine. He won’t harm me in any way.”

  “How do you know that for certain?” Sonji asks, crossing her arms.

  “Because I know. I have intuition and a strong sense about him and his motives.”

  “Lemme guess,” Jamie says. “He gives off good vibes.”

  “Yes! Exactly.”

  She shakes her head and wants to continue, but we get our first customers of the day. I’m saved by the bell. I whisper to Sonji and Jamie to get to work while I make my escape to the back room where I resume labeling candles.

  * * *

  I close the store on time so I can get back to Cain. When I pull up in the driveway, I see him up on a ladder cleaning out the gutters. I’m impressed. He’s doing this without me having to ask. He’s taking the initiative to tackle whatever he sees needs to be done. I like that, but at the same time, I don’t want him working too hard out here in this heat.

  He comes down from the ladder wearing one of those white tank tops that shows off his beefy man muscles, looking like a caramel piece of candy. How’d I miss those biceps before?

  Did men have permanent biceps? If he was on the street, homeless and starving, shouldn’t he have lost some of that muscle mass? Or maybe they used to be bigger. Whatever the case, they look nice. I like the bulkiness of his arms and shoulders. He looks like a man who doesn’t mind taking care of business and he got all the muscles and stamina to do it with.

  I exit the car, take my bag from the back and say, “Hi,” as he approaches.

  “Hey.”

  “The shrubs look good. What are you doing with the ladder?” I ask like I don’t already know. I just want to hear him talk.

  “I was cleaning the gutters.”

  “Oh,” I say and begin walking to the house. He falls in stride beside me as naturally as a husband greeting his wife after a long day at work. It just kinda flows.

  “Do you have any special requests for dinner?”

  “No. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

  I unlock the door, then turn around to notice he’s standing on the ground. He didn’t come up on the porch. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No. I have water back there in the mini fridge and you just got home from work. I don’t want to be in your way.”

  I don’t know why my eyes migrate to his chest – probably because it’s so wide and pronounced, but I make the correction and revert to his eyes. “You—you won’t be in my way.”

  “Thank you, but I have to finish up out here. When I start a job, I like to finish it.”

  “Right,” I say. He told me that before.

  “I’ll put the ladder back in the shed when I’m done.”

  “Okay, and I’ll have dinner ready by seven-thirty. Maybe eight.”

  He does that single-nod-thing again and walks away from me.

  I go inside to get comfortable while he finishes up outside. I slip into a pair of dark grey cotton shorts and a white t-shirt. I head to the kitchen to prepare something simple – a creamy chicken and broccoli stir-fry. I make a pitcher of sweet tea to go along with it.

  I hear knuckles tapping on the back door when I set the pitcher in the fridge. Cain’s here promptly at 7:30 p.m.

  “Come in,” I say.

  He steps inside looking flushed like the heat has gotten the best of him.

  “May I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure,” I say. I don’t know how many times I have to tell him not to ask. I guess he just considers it the polite thing to do.

  I prepare plates and fill our glasses with ice and tea. Cain pulls out a chair and sits down when he’s back. I set the plate in front of him, feeling the heat of his gaze crawl over me.

  I connect to his vision. He doesn’t smile with his eyes or lips. The look on his face is neutral. When I sit down, I can still feel his eyes on me.

  I look up at him.

  Cain doesn’t hide the fact that he’s staring me down. He looks up at my hair and his eyes slowly crawl down my legs to my feet, then back up to my eyes again where he holds my gaze. I feel like we’re in a staring match – like he’s waiting for me to come to some sort of conclusion and I have no idea what.

  When it becomes too much, I ask, “Is something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I—I sort of had a revelation today while I was working around here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know much about you besides the fact that you love making candles and cooking for strange, homeless men.”

  I snicker. “I don’t cook for just anyone, Cain.”

  “You’ve never done this before?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you cook for me. You gave me a place to stay.”

  “You asked for it.”

  “And you obliged. You didn’t have to. You could’ve sent me away.”

  “You’re right. I could have.”

  “Why didn’t you? Why do you do this for me when you’ve never done it before?”

  I shrug. “First off, I tried to send you away. You persisted, and since you did, I felt like you really needed the help. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not one-hundred percent comfortable with it. After all, you are a stranger. My employees—my friends—think you’re going to kill me.”

  I glance up at him, catch his eyes quickly and look away.

  “What do you think, Ahmalee?”

  “I don’t think you’d hurt me. Then again, sometimes when you look at me—like that hard stare you do—it makes me a little nervous.”

  “Sorry. It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

  “Why do you look at me like that then?”

  “Because it’s hard for me to believe you’re real. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  Dang. He has been checking me out? What if Sonji and Jamie were on to something? Is this man going to be standing over my bed one night while I’m sleeping, waiting to pounce with his beastly muscles and lion-like mane? Then again, what room do I have to talk when I was checking him out?

  “Just for the record and for your peace of mind, I will never hurt you, Ahmalee. I don’t hurt people and I’m certainly not going to bite the hand that feeds me.”

  “I appreciate that. I don’t want to be bitten.”

  He finally picks up his fork and starts on his food. “Mmm—this is good.”
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  “I’m glad you like it. You deserve a hearty meal after all that work you did today.”

  We eat more.

  He moans. They’re softer now, but still he does so consistently. He takes a break from chewing to say, “The clothes—they all fit. The shoes, too. You’re very observant.”

  “It’s the job. I have to be observant and exact.”

  “How so?’

  “In the candle-making process, the measurements have to be just right. Too much fragrance oil to the ratio of soy wax can ruin a candle. Not enough can, too. I’ve learned to be precise.”

  “I can see that. I also noticed how you like things in a certain order. Your house is perfectly coordinated – like the pale blue walls in the living room that match your sofa set and the light green walls in your bathroom that goes with the palm trees on the white bath rugs. It’s nice. You have good taste. And you’re an excellent cook.”

  “Thank you,” I say smiling.

  He stares again, then asks, “What life do you have outside of your work?”

  “Wait—you shower me with compliments and now you’re insinuating I don’t have a life?”

  “No. That’s not at all what I’m doing. Besides, that would be me with no life,” he jokes. “Your life looks good. Perfect almost. It’s why I was curious.”

  “Well, I can tell you right off the bat—nothing’s perfect about me or my life. I have my woes.”

  “What woes do you have?”

  “Um…”

  I don’t know where to start or if I should start at all. It’s kind of nice for someone to think I’m flawless when in reality, I’m one disaster away from being in the nuthouse.

  I say, “Well, I’m somewhat okay now, but I lost both of my parents in the same year—last year—so there’s that.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah…”

  “It still hurts.”

  “It does. They were my family. I have extended family—don’t know them that well, though. My parents were pretty much all I had.”

  “What happened to them if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Umm—” I frown. I can hardly talk about my parents without tearing up, which is why I would much rather avoid the subject now.