I stop hammering the tile and look up at her. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“Yes!” She blinks and crosses her arms. She’s wearing a gray sweater three sizes too big for her. “Why do you have to start so early?”
“I hate to break it to you, princess, but this is starting late.” I hammer another tile, as if to prove a point and it makes her flinch like she’s been physically assaulted by the sound. “I’m planning on starting at seven every morning going forward.”
I hammer a couple more tiles and pieces fly up. She places her hands, covered by the cuffs of the sweater, over her ears. “You’re trying to kill me.”
I laugh at her overdramatic act.
“And where am I supposed to shower? This is the only bathroom!”
“Yeah, I guess that’s why Jude wanted me to do this when the house was supposed to be empty,” I remind her and she narrows her eyes on me, like she’s trying to wither me with her stare. “You can use the bathroom in my trailer while I’m working in here. I’ll pull out the toilet last and turn the water back on so you can use this place at night.”
“Use your trailer?” she repeats, clearly horrified. “For showering?”
“Yeah. The bathroom is pretty decent actually,” I say trying not to sound too defensive. I mean, yeah it’s a trailer, but I’ve made it as nice as possible and I’m not a slob. I keep it neat and clean.
“You think I’m going to shower in your bathroom?” she repeats, still annoyed and somehow offended.
“What’s your problem?” I demand. “Use it or don’t. I don’t care. You can always go stay with your boyfriend, wherever the hell he is. That option would suit me best, actually, if you were just gone completely. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
She’s so defensive and angry all the time I feel like I should be sympathetic, because I was like that once too. But instead it makes me want to challenge her more and push her buttons. It’s a very old, very bad habit I thought I kicked. The fact that she keeps making me realize I haven’t just annoys me more.
I hammer another tile, much harder than required just to make as much noise as possible. She makes this strangled, gurgle of frustration in the back of her throat and storms off. She stomps her way all the way up the stairs.
For the next twenty minutes she’s banging around the house. Her frustration is starting to thicken the air in the whole house. I find myself grinding my teeth and scowling, but at least it seems to make me work harder and faster. I’ve finished breaking up all the tile so I head outside for the big rubber trash can I bought for hauling out debris. It’s around back from the trailer and as I walk by the window in the bathroom I hear the shower running. Good, Princess is taking me up on my offer. I grab the bucket and head back inside.
As I’m hauling out the first load of broken tile, Winnie is walking around the side of the cottage pushing a very ancient looking bike. I have a vague memory of her traipsing around town on it as a kid. She doesn’t say a word to me, just shoots me a quick, penetrating glare, hops on the bike and rides away very unsteadily.
Whatever. At least she’s gone for now.
Winnie doesn’t come back for hours and I’m able to get all the demo done and then I take a quick break for lunch, scarfing a turkey sandwich in front of my sink in the trailer before spending the afternoon clearing out the rest of the debris. As the day went on the temperature rose. It was an abnormally warm September day and since Winnie was gone, I pulled off my shirt and used it to mop my face as I worked. I leave the toilet intact for now and I’m debating whether I should try to haul out that ancient metal shower stall before cleaning up to go meet my sister when I hear the bang of the screen door.
I freeze in the doorway to the bathroom and slowly turn my head toward the porch. Winnie appears and whimpers softly as she steps into the house. I’m instantly concerned. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she says, but it’s through gritted teeth. I turn away from the bathroom so I can face her completely. My eyes sweep over her as she visibly limps and I immediately notice a tear in her jeans, at the knee, that wasn’t there before.
I point to it. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she replies tersely but as she reaches out to balance herself on the nearby table, I notice her palm is full of angry red scrapes. I walk toward her. Her eyes snap up and meet mine. She looks like a wounded animal. “I fell off the bike. It’s nothing.”
As I get closer, I can see the extent of her injuries and I know immediately it’s not nothing. Both her palms are badly scraped up and there are bits of gravel and dirt still in them. I can’t see her skin, where the knee of her jeans has torn away because it’s nothing but a bloody pulp. I wince and when our eyes meet again, hers are watering.
“I just need to clean it up,” she insists.
“You need to see a doctor about that knee,” I argue. “I think it might need stitches.”
She shakes her head furiously. “No. It’s just a scrape.”
“Winnie…” She just keeps shaking her head and she’s got her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes are glassy and she looks like she’s about to come undone under the weight of the lie she’s trying to make me believe. I don’t know if it’s her raw emotions or my own panic that she’s really hurt herself here but for some reason I reach out and gently cup the side of her face. “You’re right. It’s a scratch. But let me help you clean it up, okay?”
She doesn’t want to say yes. I can feel the tension in her neck as she stops herself from shaking her head, no. She bites her lip a little harder, swallows and says, “Sure.”
I help her to the dining room table and get her to sit down in one of the chairs and then I grab some scissors from the kitchen. I start to cut the torn bottom half of her pant leg off. She doesn’t complain, just watches. The jeans are destroyed anyway and I think she knows that. As soon as I have a better look at the wound, I know for a fact she’s entirely wrong. This thing is way worse than a scrape. I’m squatting in front of her knee, my hands gently holding her calf. There are streaks of blood running down it. I look up, and our gazes connect. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my trailer.”
I stand up and reach out for her hands. She looks startled and kind of leans back, away from me. “It’s easier if you come with me,” I lie. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
She looks like she knows I’m up to something, but she puts her hands in mine anyway and lets me help her to her feet. But when I quickly step forward and scoop her up so I’m carrying her, she gasps and squirms like an earth worm on a sidewalk. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“You can barely walk,” I remind her and start toward the door. “Now, stop squirming or I’ll drop you.”
She stops moving but not talking, unfortunately. “You do not have to carry me. I am not an invalid. It’s a scratch. I don’t want your help if you’re going to be all Neanderthal about it.”
“You should really stop insulting me as I’m doing you a favor,” I warn and as soon as we’re on the drive, I walk past my trailer and start down the street. That makes her start squirming again and I almost drop her, so I yank her even closer and turn my head to glare directly at her.
Our faces are so close together the tips of our noses are almost touching. Her eyes, although filled with anger and pain, are mesmerizing. I always knew they were hazel, but I thought that just meant a really light brown. This close I can see that there is hardly any brown in them. They are a mix of amber and green and a touch of gray. “You’re incredibly beautiful, despite your personality, you know that?”
She blinks and rears her head back a little. “What the fuck.”
“I’m just saying.” I shrug as best I can with her in my arms. “If you’d just calm the fuck down and maybe cut me some slack you’d be irresistible.”
“So I should what? Smile more?” she asks, seething. “I’m kind of going through something personal and I’m currently being taken against my will God knows where by a
man I dislike immensely, so excuse me if I’m not perky enough for you. And another thing, I don’t want to be irresistible to you or anyone else.”
“Well then, goal crushed!” I announce with mock enthusiasm. She flips me the bird a millimeter from my face and I pretend to bobble her, like I might drop her, so she squeaks and wraps her warms tightly around my neck. “Also you don’t know me.”
“Excuse me?” she asks.
“You’re with a man you don’t know,” I explain. “Not one you don’t like. I was a boy you didn’t like. I’m a man now, and you don’t know me, so you can’t dislike me.”
She stares at me as if to say Get the fuck out. And so I grin at her and wink. “Trust me, sweetheart, Holden Hendricks the teenager was a piece of work worthy of hate. But Holden Hendricks the adult is actually a pretty decent guy.”
“Maybe you can be a decent guy,” she says but she’s still glaring at me. “You coming to make sure I was okay when Ty and I were fighting was a decent thing to do. And I was grateful. But you assuming that I forgave him and calling out my childhood self-esteem issues was a totally judgmental dick move.”
“So he isn’t your boyfriend?”
“What the hell are we doing?” she asks in a heated whisper, ignoring my question. “Tell me or I’ll just start screaming.”
“We’re going to Dr. Whittaker’s place.”
“His house?”
“Yep.” I turn left toward the center of town. “He lifted the cottage and had a small separate office built under it last year so he could still work part-time. Said he wasn’t ready for retirement.”
“Didn’t you knock his kid Robbie’s teeth out in a fight at the beach when you were fourteen?” Winnie questions.
“Wow you have a better memory than an elephant,” I snark back.
“Did you just call me an elephant?” she snaps.
“No,” I retort. “Dr. Whittaker doesn’t even remember that by the way. I know because I apologized to him when I worked on his renos.”
“He forgave you?” She seems so baffled, like it’s an impossibility.
“After I reminded him what I did, yes,” I smile at her. “You can actually blame him while he stitches you up because he’s the reason I’m back in town permanently. When I did the job here for him, Carter Construction was looking for people and I was short on jobs so I came out. When Dr. Whittaker forgave me, I decided to see if I could make amends with everyone and I came back.”
“You can’t,” she says after a moment of silence.
“We’ll see,” I reply as I climb the stairs of the Whittaker house. The shingle on his office door says “closed,” as expected. He only works three days a week and only until three. I had to see him once this summer when I stupidly put a nail through my finger.
I gently place Winnie on her own feet once we hit his large wraparound porch. She immediately pulls away from me, but she can’t put her full weight on her bad knee so she has to reach out and grab my shoulder again. I circle her waist with my right arm to hold her steady and ring Dr. Whittaker’s bell.
He answers right away. I haven’t seen him in a couple months, but he hasn’t changed. He’s still got a slight belly, curly salt-and-pepper hair, kind brown eyes and a warm smile. “Holden! How are you?”
“I’m good, Doc, but my friend Winnie fell off her bike,” I explain as we shake hands and I motion toward Winnie, who is clutching the back of one of the rocking chairs on his porch.
Dr. Whittaker recognizes her immediately. “Winnie Braddock!” he exclaims, and his brown eyes shift to her exposed knee. “Oh dear! Let’s go down to my office so I can get a proper look at that.”
He steps onto the porch, but reaches back in and grabs something from a hook by the door—a white lab coat. He closes his front door, slips the lab coat on over his checkered blue shirt, and starts for the stairs. I lift Winnie back up before she can object and the look on her face says that she wants to, wholeheartedly. By the time I get us down the stairs, Dr. Whittaker has already opened the door to his small office. As he turns on the lights, I stride right in and drop her butt onto the exam table. She looks angrier than a nest of hornets, but she manages a “thank you.”
Dr. Whittaker puts on his glasses and some weird headgear thing with a light on it I swear he must have gotten at an antique sale and bends down over her knee. “Yeah. You’re gonna need some butterfly tape or maybe even a stitch or two. But first, we have to clean it up. There’s still gravel in this. When did you have your last tetanus shot, Winnie?”
“I have no idea,” she answers back.
“Okay, well you’re getting one today,” the doctor says and I watch her groan and drop back on the table. I glance at my phone and realize it’s almost six thirty. I was supposed to be at Bradie’s house long before now.
“Shit.” They both turn and stare at me. “I’m so sorry. I have to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”
I step out of the office and, once on the sidewalk outside I dial Bradie’s number. She doesn’t answer so I dial again. She still doesn’t answer. I dial again.
When she finally answers, she doesn’t let me get a word in. “I get it. You’re not coming. I’m already on my way to the bus station with Duke. Your car is in front of my place. Keys are in the wheel well. Pick it up when you want but that’s it. I don’t want to see you.”
She hangs up just as I’m about to say I’m sorry.
“Fuck!” I hiss and fight the urge to punch the tree I’m leaning on. I totally fucked that up. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her why, not that it matters. I had one chance to fix things, or at least start to, with my sister and I blew it.
I decide to text her anyway, even though I don’t think she’ll even read it. I send three texts in a row explaining Winnie was hurt and I was helping her out. She’s here alone, no family, and I didn’t want to leave her. And I beg Bradie’s forgiveness.
I don’t get a response, just as I expected. The door to the office opens a second later and Winnie hobbles out followed by Dr. Whittaker. Her knee is now wrapped in white gauze. “Thank you so much,” she tells him. “I’m so sorry to bother you after hours and I insist you bill my insurance, Dr. Whittaker.”
“I’ll do that, if I get around to it,” he replies and winks before turning to me. “She’s going to be just fine. No stitches, just some butterfly tape.”
I nod and shake his hand. “Thanks again.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Dr. Whittaker starts up his stairs to his house but stops for a moment. “Winnie, be sure to keep it clean and no baths or swimming for seven days.”
She nods and turns hobbling down the street back to her house. I fall in step beside her. “You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t want to see a doctor,” she replies tersely.
“You needed to see one. If you didn’t get the doc to patch it up, you’d have a big nasty scar,” I tell her.
“Oh no. What would I ever do with a scar on my knee,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who would want me without perfect knees?”
“With that sparkling personality, you need all the help you can get,” I reply.
She’s stopped walking now, stunned by my comment. “Fuck you.”
“Yeah fuck me,” I bark back. “I’m such an asshole for trying to make sure you don’t die from your own stupidity. Dumbass me should have ignored you and all your blood just like I’m trying to ignore the bitter sadness on your face every minute of the day and the sobbing you do at night that gets so loud, it’s like you’re a wounded animal. I should have just walked out of the house when I saw you hobble in all bloody and broken. I should have just gone about my day. But I didn’t. And now I’ve got a sister who hates me, still…or again, not sure which, and I can’t even get a thanks from you. So yeah. Fuck me!”
I storm off and leave her standing in the middle of the sidewalk. I don’t head home, I head toward my sister’s house and I curse Winnie Braddock with every step.
8
Winnie
Two hours later, I feel like shit—emotionally and physically. The physical part is from the knee, but the emotional part is from the way I treated Holden. I was way harsher than he deserved. I know that. I knew it when I was doing it, yet I still did it. He’s not home when I get home, so I can’t fix the situation, not that I know exactly how to do that, but I was hoping to start with an apology.
I don’t know where he went, but I expect he’ll be home eventually so I grab a bottle of wine and sit on the porch and wait. My phone rings and for a fleeting moment I find myself wishing it was him, which is crazy because he doesn’t have my number. It turns out it’s Dixie. I answer it, even though I don’t want to. I’ve been avoiding calls from my entire family since I didn’t get on that plane to Toronto, but I know if I do it for much longer they’ll call Ty and then my alone time will turn into family time because they’ll all show up here and try to fix me.
“Hey, Dix,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she replies. “Just driving home from work and I wanted to check in. How’s Toronto?”
“Good,” I lie without even thinking about it. I don’t want her to know I’m here. Not yet. “Same as always.”
“Does it still feel like home?” she asks, but she answers the question before I can. “I’m sure it does because of Ty. So how is living together going? Is it a permanent thing or are you going to look for your own place?”
“I want my own place,” I repeat a little too firmly. “I just spent the last two years living with half my family. I deserve my own space.”
“Okay, relax,” Dixie replies. “I just…I don’t know. I can’t imagine not living with Eli.”
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