by Monica James
When did this happen? One usually finds their home barren when an intruder enters, not the other way around. Fruit sits overflowing in a bowl which I didn’t even know I owned. Next to it are bags stocked full of everyday household items that my home lacks. Standing on my tippy toes, I see I’m now equipped with all the essentials to bake a cake if I felt the need.
Who on earth bought all this? And more importantly, how did they get in?
The banging is no doubt the key to whoever my intruder is, so I peek out the back door, unsure of whom or what I’ll find. I do a double take when I see Jude hammering away at my staircase, shirtless. I knew he was big, but seeing him in the flesh, literally, makes me realize I’ve underestimated him.
His shoulders are broad; his skin tanned. The valley between his firm pectorals is defined, leading down to rock-hard abs. I’ve never appreciated the term “six-pack” before, but now that I’m confronted with the epitome of the word, I’m a complete convert. A light dusting of dark hair paints his navel, slithering down…down. His V muscles are like a giant arrow pointing, well…downstairs.
I need to stop staring, but dear god, what does this man eat?
His biceps are the size of my head, and I won’t even touch on his muscled flank. Tilting my head to the side, I faintly see a hint of ink running across his obliques. I have no idea what it says, but I suddenly have the urge to find out.
But first things first, I need to stop staring like a creeper and ask why the contents of the corner store are in my kitchen. Attempting a calm demeanor, I open the door and stand at the top of the stairs with my arms crossed. Jude looks up, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “What are you doing?” I decide to ask the obvious.
Jude removes his baseball cap, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Fixing your step. It’s a hazard.”
“I’ve managed just fine,” I state.
His smirk grows wider. “I was talking about it being a hazard to Jäg. I doubt his little legs could make the jump from step to step.”
“Oh.” Now I feel completely stupid.
“Your legs, however”—his eyes drop to my bare thighs—“I’m sure they can manage just fine.”
My hand flutters to my face to ensure my cheeks haven’t set alight because I’m quite certain I’m on fire. He smirks, making me blush even harder.
“I…you…thanks.” I fumble over my words, not even sure what I want to say. Pulling it together, I amend, “Thanks for the food. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get to a bank. It might take a day or two, as I need to figure out if any buses run this far out.” I hate not having a car. One of the many reasons I need to find a job asap.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Jude says, waving me off. The movement highlights the fact he’s still topless. The chain which caught my eye when we first met still hangs between his collarbones. The shine emphasizes his broad upper body.
I force my eyes to stay affixed to his face and not drop to the forbidden land of bulging muscles and washboard abs. “I do worry. It’s too much. I can’t accept it for free.”
He shakes his head playfully. “Well, how about you make me dinner one night, and we can call it even?”
Seems like a fair trade, so why are my hands suddenly shaking?
“Sounds fair, although, I think you’ve got the raw end of the deal here because the food you bought amounts to a lot of dinners.”
“I’m a growing boy. I could always eat two.” He accentuates his comment with a wink.
His entire being this morning is too much. “I’m going to take a shower. Help yourself to some coffee.” I’m surprised at how natural that sounded. “By the way, how did you get inside?”
He replaces his baseball cap with a smile. “Your back door doesn’t lock.”
“What? Yes, it does,” I argue, not believing him.
“No, it doesn’t,” he presses. “Last night, I tried to lock it, but it wouldn’t lock.”
“That’s impossible.” He shrugs, smirking. I have locked the door numerous times. Deciding to test his theory out, I walk inside and close and lock the door. Turning the handle, I pull at the locked door. Just as I’m about to gloat, the door opens, and I yelp, jumping backward. “What in the hell?”
“Told ya,” he singsongs from the doorway.
“I don’t understand.”
“It locks from the inside, but not the outside,” he explains. “I’ve bought a replacement, so it’ll be fixed today.” Taking a step toward me, his commanding presence fills my small kitchen. “You can trust me.”
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly going dry. “T-thanks.” I can’t help but draw in his masculine fragrance. It’s deep, earth peppered with an undercurrent of fresh cologne. My mouth waters at the perfume.
Peering up at him, I see he’s watching me as closely as I’m watching him. He keeps his cards close to his chest, though—the perfect poker face. My heart begins to gallop, and something stirs within. Am I…turned on? No, that’s impossible. My lack of feeling pulverized my libido, and it hasn’t surfaced since. But this fire building low in my belly is a feeling I once knew.
His magnificent body is all too tempting, a true beauty that needs appreciating. My gaze drops low, focusing on the cursive font wrapped around his flank.
Imperfect.
The irony of this tattoo is not lost on me because what stands before me is anything but imperfect.
Thoughts of imperfection have me thinking about what true imperfection is, and I absentmindedly wrap my arms around my chest. “I better take that shower.” My voice is low, my high soon fading.
Jude nods, able to read my retreat. He doesn’t press—another thing I like about him.
Just as I turn my back, Jude’s voice falters as he unnervingly confesses, “By the way, the answer to your question is…I work at Pop’s Hardware Store. I also do handyman jobs for the old man around town.” I don’t understand why he would be embarrassed, but he soon clarifies. “It’s not great money, and it doesn’t require a college education, but it’s a job.”
I want to say so many things, but I don’t. I can sense his discomfort at working a job he obviously doesn’t think too highly of, so just as he did for me, I don’t press. Jude has his skeletons, and I have mine.
In the shower, I lather up some soap and commence my washing routine, leaving my chest to last. I hate that I feel this way about myself. I feel ungrateful and undeserving of my life because I’m one of the lucky ones.
I survived.
I may have come out of this a different person, both physically and emotionally, but I walked out of it with my life intact. The same can’t be said for the dozens of people I saw one day and not the next because luck wasn’t on their side. It wasn’t in the cards for them to embrace another sunset and experience a new dawn. But it was in mine. I need to remember that.
I wash over my jagged scar, tears pricking my eyes as I refuse to look down. I may be able to appreciate my survival, but one step at a time.
Once clean, I dry off and dress in jean shorts and a baggy tee. The good thing about having short hair is that it takes no time to style. I run some product through it to tame the flyaways, and then I’m good to go. As I walk past my cosmetic case, some ChapStick catches my eye. I decide to apply some and maybe just a light dusting of powder, too. Once it’s on, I look at myself in the mirror and am surprised to find I look half human.
Voices from downstairs have me wondering who else decided to drop in. The moment I reach the bottom step, I can’t help but smile. “Good morning, Charley,” I say as I enter the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she replies in her usual merry voice. A cup of coffee sits in front of her while Jude is leaning against the counter drinking his. I’m thankful he’s now wearing a T-shirt. “Where’s your car?”
I groan. “Probably still sitting in the ditch I left her in.”
Charley’s eyes grow wide. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I�
�m fine. The same can’t be said for my car, though. I really need to find a job.”
Charley reaches into her bag and pulls out a newspaper. “I can help you job hunt.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”
As I reach for the paper, Charley’s true motives surface. “And while we’re doing that, I thought maybe we could discuss the guest list for your housewarming this weekend.”
Ignoring her, I unfold the paper and flip to the classifieds. Jude mutes his chuckle into his coffee cup.
“C’mon, Tori, it’ll be fun.” Spreading the newspaper onto the counter, I steal her coffee and begin my search. “I promise not to invite anyone you don’t want me to,” she offers as a bargaining chip.
Sipping my coffee, I reply, “Well, that’s easy, then. I don’t want anyone here, so that solves that issue.” She sighs while I continue perusing the paper.
I know I’m being difficult, but the thought of having strangers in my home is as appealing as having another dinner date with the Sands. Speaking of. “Please feel free to leave Henry Sands off your list.”
I’m surprised when Jude asks, “Why’s that?”
Peering up, I see his curiosity is piqued. “Because I had the pleasure of meeting him and his wife the other day, and it was nothing short of awkward. She was lovely, but he was―”
“A jackass?” Jude answers for me.
“Something like that,” I reply, sensing our mutual dislike for the man. I wait for him to elaborate and maybe share some dirt on the sheriff, but he doesn’t. He throws back his coffee before rinsing his cup in the sink.
“I better get back out there. Your step is fixed. I’ll just grab some tools from my truck, then fix your door.” He doesn’t give me a chance to thank him, as he’s out the door in seconds.
My mind runs in circles, and I wonder why the room dropped ten degrees. Henry doesn’t appear to be a people person, and Jude doesn’t appear to take shit from non-people persons. They are neighbors, so it wouldn’t surprise me if Henry has rubbed Jude the wrong way. Yet another mystery to add to the list.
“So when did you and Mr. Handyman get so friendly? Last I heard, you were volunteering at the local cat shelter.”
I can’t help but laugh at Charley’s humor. “Very funny. I don’t know, he’s just been hanging around. He seems nice enough.”
“So what’s his story?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. He knows everything about me, but he doesn’t talk about himself, so I know the bare minimum. And I’m not sure how that happened,” I add, thinking back to the numerous times I’ve purged.
“Everything?” she asks, incredulous.
“Everything,” I confirm with a nod.
“Wow, Tori, that’s great. See, this living isn’t so hard, right?”
“Ask me that after I get my life back on track,” I reply, focusing on the paper in front of me.
“So…” Peering up, I know nothing good can come from her next comment. “Do you think he’s cute?”
“Who?” I reply, playing dumb.
“You know who.” She emphasizes her point by wiggling her eyebrows up and down.
“We are so not having this conversation. Ever. I have no intention of hooking up with anyone. Especially someone whose surname or age or history I don’t even know. He could be a serial killer for all I know. He does an awful lot of skulking around,” I add while Charley cackles. It’s nice to have this conversation, even if I’m not ready to face it.
As much as I don’t want to have this housewarming, I know it’s probably a good excuse to get to know my neighbors. If I’m looking at getting back into teaching, then odds are I’ll be teaching my neighbors’ kids. It wouldn’t hurt to get my foot in the door.
Just as I’m about to tell Charley I’ve caved, I hear a car drive down the road. We both look at one another and decide to find out who it is. Walking into the living room and looking out the window, I see a blonde get out of her white station wagon with her cell pressed to her ear.
Jude appears a moment later and approaches her. There doesn’t appear to be any confusion or animosity, so he obviously knows her. Charley doesn’t say a word; she stands beside me, silently watching the scene unfold.
The girl looks young, barely twenty-one. Although I can’t see her up close, she looks quite attractive from afar. Her blue summer dress, gold sandals, and long braided blonde hair give her a bohemian vibe. I wonder who she is. She looks like a magical nymph out here in the greenery.
They appear to talk for a few moments before she gets back into her car. He watches the car drive down the road, waving goodbye. He only turns back around when the car is no longer in view. Charley and I are still standing by the window when Jude’s gaze lands our way. We both yelp and jump backward. The heavy lace curtain shrouds us from his eyes, but we still scamper off, afraid we’ve been caught.
“Who was that?” Charley whispers as we scurry into the kitchen.
“No idea. Probably his girlfriend,” I offer, opening the fridge as I need some water for my suddenly dry mouth.
“You’re jealous,” Charley teases, pointing an accusing finger at me.
“Am not.” But am I?
Not wishing to discuss this further, I snatch the newspaper off the counter and look around the room for my bag.
“What are you doing?” Charley asks, curiosity lacing her tone.
Holding up the paper, I say, “It’s time to start living.”
“This was a bad idea,” I mumble under my breath as I shuffle in the creaky plastic seat. The receptionist glares down at me from behind her desk, her glasses sliding down her narrow nose.
“Too late now,” Charley says unsympathetically.
Looking at my resume, I go over each point methodically. There isn’t anything more I can add, but I want to ensure it sells me for the wonderful teacher I am. Or was. Who am I kidding? I don’t even know if I want to teach anymore.
“You look great,” Charley whispers, bumping me with her elbow.
Thanks to borrowing a gray tunic, a pair of heels, and some pearls, I look the part of an upstanding, dedicated elementary teacher. Too bad I’m searching for the nearest exit.
Jude and the mystery blonde play over and over in my mind. Who was she? Although they looked close, I didn’t really get the girlfriend vibe. Surely if she was, he’d maybe greet her a little more intimately? Either way, I need to stop thinking about this because it’s none of my business.
Someone clears their throat. “Ms. Armstrong?”
Charley nudges me in the ribs.
Glancing up, I see a plump, balding, middle-aged man standing in the doorway of his office. He is holding a notepad, most likely using it as a shield. His stained, crinkled white shirt sits half tucked into his brown pants, which are two sizes too small. I’m surprised he hasn’t died of a heart attack by now.
Gathering my wits, I remember why I’m here and stand. “Yes, that’s me.”
A strained smile pulls at his thin lips. “I’m Principal Washman. Please, come in.” He stands out of the doorway so I can squeeze past. Charley gives me an encouraging nod. I take a deep breath before walking toward my future.
Henry mentioned Pinewood was looking for a teacher, so I decided to start here. I called up and was pleasantly surprised when Principal Washman agreed to see me. The door closes behind me, sealing my fate.
When Principal Washman sits behind his oak desk, the worn leather seat whines in agony. “Is that your resume, Ms. Armstrong?” He gestures to the paper I’m holding onto for dear life.
“Oh, yes.” I pass him my credentials.
Slipping the silver glasses from his head, he places them onto his splotchy face, perching them on the bridge of his round nose. I look around the office while he reads over my resume. It appears Principal Washman attended Yale and has been teaching for twenty years. A photograph of a woman and two little girls sits on his cluttered desk. From the layer of dust on the glass, I imagine it’s not a picture he ga
zes upon often.
He asks the dreaded question. “Why did you move?”
“I just needed a change of scenery,” I reply, nervously crossing my ankles.
He peers up from examining my paper, his beady eyes focused on me. “And why did you stop teaching? It says here you’ve been out of work for over nine months.” He jabs his chubby finger at my resume.
My foot begins to jiggle on its own accord. “I was ill.” When he makes it clear this response isn’t adequate, I add, “I had PTSD.” His face falls, filled with pity. “But I’m okay now.” That’s not completely the truth, but I’m getting there.
He nods.
I exhale softly, thankful he doesn’t pry.
He flips to the back page and reads over my references. “You can call any of my references. They’ll tell you what a hard worker I am.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he replies, turning the page over.
My heart sinks.
What he says next, however, makes my heart sink even further. “Sheriff Sands has already spoken to me about you. That’s the only reference I need.”
“What?” I don’t keep the surprise from my voice. “Is that why you agreed to see me?”
He nods like I’m slow to have not pieced this together the moment I walked through the door. “Congratulations, Ms. Armstrong. Welcome to Pinewood.”
My head is spinning. I feel an impending headache.
Principal Washman details what’s expected of me, but I’m not listening. I’m indebted to someone who I sure as hell don’t want to be beholden to.
I accept all the paperwork, desperate to flee before I change my mind. If Principal Washman can read my anguish, he hides it well. “See you soon, Ms. Armstrong.”
“Thank you again for this opportunity.” I’m out the door before he can say another word.
Charley stands, the anticipation painting her face. “How’d it―” But I don’t allow her to finish. I latch onto her forearm and drag her out the door, not even bothering to say goodbye to the receptionist.