Trouble Don’t Last Always

by Francis Ray

  Dr. Wakefield stood at the foot of the bed, his long-fingered hand clutching the bedpost.

  “The shower is waiting for you. I put clean towels on the rack to the left as you leave the shower.”

  “I ...” he began, then shoved his free hand through his long hair.

  She frowned. In the short space of time she’d known Dr. Wakefield, he’d never been at a loss for words. Then another thought came to her: she had never seen him walk unassisted except for the time he had lunged at her and fallen.

  “All this rushing around has made me thirsty. I’m going to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade before I start on the bed. Can I bring you one?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Crossing the room, she opened the door and closed it with a crisp snap of her wrist.

  Adam heard the door close. He toed off his loafers and moved cautiously toward the sound of the running water in the bathroom. She might be annoying, but she definitely had her moments. Shedding his clothes, he located a washcloth, put the loop of soap around his neck, and found his way beneath the warm spray of water.

  With a minimum amount of effort, he managed to redirect the stream downward. Closing his eyes, he braced both hands securely against the tiled wall, leaned his head forward, and let the water run over him.

  She definitely had her moments.

  How had he thought he could do this?

  The words hammered through Adam’s brain. Head bowed, hands clamped around the edge of the vanity, anger swirled through him. He couldn’t remember where his mother had said she had put his toiletries. She had repeated it to him as if he had lost his mind instead of his sight, and in his anger he had blocked out what she had said.

  He was as helpless as he was useless.

  Two knocks followed by two. “Dr. Wakefield, do you need anything?”

  A new pair of eyes, he thought bitterly, anger surging through him again.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes!” he shouted, his head coming up. If he wanted her gone, he’d have to prove to Jonathan and his mother that he could care for himself. There was nothing wrong with his sense of touch or smell.

  Unclamping his hands, he slid them atop the cold marble, moving from one oval basin to the other. The heel of his hand hit an object, knocking it over. Glass clinked. He reflexively grabbed for it. More glass clinked and clattered.

  The sound of glass shattering on the floor went straight through him. The strong smell of his after-shave filled his nostrils. Liquid tickled his toes.

  “Damn!”

  “Dr. Wakefield, are you all right?” Lilly cried, knocking on the door again. “Dr. Wakefield?”

  “Can’t you tell I’m just fine?” he hissed, balling his hands into fists to keep from sweeping the entire mess onto the floor. The main reason he didn’t was that he remembered Jonathan’s taunt that if he was injured he couldn’t take care of himself.

  “Well, come on in and clean up this mess,” he ordered.

  Moistening her dry lips, Lilly slowly opened the door. The sight of Dr. Wakefield with only a towel wrapped carelessly around his waist, water gleaming on his muscled back and shoulders, caused her to pause, her heart to beat a little faster; then she saw the slivers of broken glass scattered around his feet.

  “Don’t move,” she instructed, rushing forward.

  “I hadn’t planned on it.”

  Reaching for the wastebasket beneath the counter, she picked up the larger pieces, then used a washcloth to pick up the tiny splinters. She didn’t think Dr. Wakefield would wait until she went to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan.

  “I’ll go get your shoes.” Coming to her feet, she rushed back into the bedroom. A quick search in his closet and beside his bed produced a pair of loafers. She guessed he didn’t wear slippers, either. Grabbing the shoes, she went back to the bathroom. Seeing the taut way he held himself, she pulled his robe from the hook on the back of the door.

  “Here’s your robe.” Although her hands were trembling, she draped the garment over his shoulders, then hunkered down. “Raise up your right foot.”

  “Just put them down.”

  “I might have missed some of the glass,” she said quietly.

  After a tension-filled moment, Adam lifted his right foot, then his left.

  Standing, Lilly rubbed her hands on her thighs. Indecision and a small flicker of fear held her still. She’d seen Myron’s body tremble the same way when he raged at her. Afraid the slightest movement on her part would cause him to tear into her, she’d learned to wait until the danger passed.

  In the mirror she studied Adam’s hunched shoulders, the head turned away from her. Even with the unkempt beard and hair, he was a handsome man. He would have had a lot of women after him. She briefly wondered if Nicole was one of them. Unreasonable as the thought was, she hoped not. Lord knows she wasn’t in any position to judge others, but Nicole, although beautiful, appeared cold and suspicious. And that would mean Adam was either like her or so blinded by his love that he didn’t see her faults.

  Like Lilly had been with Myron. The thought brought her up short.

  She hadn’t seen beyond Myron’s smooth words to the cruel person he really was. All she’d seen was a man she thought she could love forever, a man who in return would love her and give her the children and loving family she’d always wanted.

  She’d been wrong and paid dearly for her mistake. Just as Dr. Wakefield was paying for his mistake in not giving his keys to the car thieves. She had a chance to correct her mistake, and at the moment her chance was tied to another man who needed but detested her presence.

  Had his blindness made Dr. Wakefield cruel or had he simply hidden his cruelty, as Myron had?

  She studied his rigid reflection, wishing she knew the answer. Although his arms were taut, his body rigid, her fear wasn’t as strong. The more time passed, the less likelihood there had been of Myron striking out. Like a rattler—if it didn’t strike quickly there was always the chance that it would let down its tail and slither off on its belly.

  Unless she wanted to face the possibility of Myron finding her and making her go back, she’d better get beyond her fear and do her job. Mrs. Wakefield didn’t impress Lilly as the kind of person who bluffed.

  She gazed at the heavy cut-glass bottles and tubes with similar shapes scattered on the counter. “What do you want next?”

  Startled, Adam’s head came up and around. She’d been so quiet he thought she had gone. “I don’t like people lurking around.”

  “I wasn’t—yes, sir.”

  The last two words were so soft, he caught himself leaning toward her. He jerked back. Even over the cloying scent of his after-shave he smelled roses. Maybe he was the one insane. “Put everything in the sink, then leave. That’s all for tonight.”

  “Dr.—”

  “Never mind; just leave!”

  Lilly jumped, stepped back to leave, then stopped. How many times had she wished for someone to help, to understand? How many times had she been too ashamed and embarrassed to ask for help?

  Both of them had been kicked in the teeth by life; maybe together they could fight back. “The bottle of after-shave must have been almost empty, because there wasn’t much on the floor, and there’s another bottle. Were you planning to shave?”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  With trembling hands, Lilly placed the assorted bottles and tubes in the sink, ignoring the menacing voice.

  “I’ve broken plenty of things. So has everyone, but it still gets you when it happens. I never thought of it before, but the cologne sprays and aftershave splashes. Your tube of hair cream is softer than your toothpaste. You ever notice how toothpaste falls off the toothbrush? A lot of times I bet it would be easier to just squirt it in your mouth.”

  She stole a look at Dr. Wakefield in the mirror. What she saw wasn’t reassuring. His face was set, his jaw clenched. The lean muscles of his arms were bunched.

  “Yo
ur bed is made up and the covers turned back.” She slid her hands into the pockets of her robe. “Good night, Dr. Wakefield.”

  She was at the door of the bathroom when he said, “What’s your name?”

  “Lilly. Lilly Crawford.”

  He turned and seemed to stare straight at her. “Well, Lilly Crawford, the next time you disobey my order, you’re fired.”

  She was too stunned to speak.

  Turning, he felt in the sink, picked up his toothbrush and the toothpaste dispenser. “And, Lilly?”

  Scared, she wondered what else he was going to say. “Y-Yes, sir?”

  Putting the bristles beneath the opening, he pushed down on the plunger. A mound of toothpaste rolled out on top of the bristles. “Keep your advice to yourself until it’s asked for.”

  Chastised, she left. She didn’t hear Adam curse when the naked bristles reached his mouth.

  Chapter Six

  Adam had a restless night. He wasn’t very proud of himself. He hadn’t been in a long time. His life had been hell since the carjacking and he had selfishly made everyone else suffer right along with him.

  Last night he had reached a new low. He’d never been deliberately cruel, hadn’t known he could be. Yet that was exactly what he had been.

  Anger had clouded his judgment and he had said things to the woman he shouldn’t. She’d tried to help, yet somehow she had made him feel utterly useless. Like a spiteful child, he had struck back.

  Initially, her thin, unsteady voice had meant nothing to him, but as his anger cooled and he had time to think he recalled another voice that was just as unsteady and unsure, Kristen’s. He’d heard the same uncertainty in his sister’s voice too many times to count. Beautiful, talented, shy, and unassuming, she reached to the deepest part of him when no one else could.

  He owed Lilly an apology, owed his entire family and Nicole one. The jury was still out on Jonathan, but that didn’t mean Adam had changed his mind about being left alone.

  He’d regain his sight soon. They just had to give him space until he did.

  Two brief knocks, followed by two more.

  He stopped pacing in front of his bedroom door. She hadn’t called his name and inexplicably he missed the breathless, hesitant catch in the soft drawl of her voice. Texas, he’d bet. She must be angry with him.

  Good. It was better if she remained pissed and out of his way. An apology from him would be an open invitation for her to start giving him advice again.

  Opening the door, he stepped aside. “You know where to place the tray.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silently she passed back by him. The only reason he knew was the hint of roses. Without thought, he leaned into the smell. Then he realized what he was doing and swung the door shut.

  Over her shoulder Lilly glanced back at the slammed door, then continued down the stairs to the kitchen for her own breakfast. She detested cold eggs and usually waited until she returned from Dr. Wakefield’s room before cooking hers. This morning there had been no need. He didn’t want to talk to her any more than she wanted to be in his presence or be reminded of what had happened last night.

  Picking up the stoneware plate, she took a seat in the breakfast nook in one of the ladder-back chairs facing the curtainless arched window. Absently munching on a strip of bacon, she watched two squirrels chase each other across the green lawn, then spring onto the trunk of an oak tree and disappear into the leafy foliage.

  Beyond the trees she could see pink azaleas in full bloom beneath a cloudless pale blue sky. The day would be perfect.

  But not for her. Her appetite gone, she dropped the bacon back on the plate and leaned back in her chair.

  She had been so proud of herself, so hopeful that Dr. Wakefield had finally begun to accept her. She’d been wrong. Last night he had made that painfully clear.

  “Keep your advice to yourself until it’s asked for.”

  The harshly spoken words still had the ability to make her flinch. They were too much of a reminder of how Myron had treated her, what he might have said to her. Only, with him, she would have been too afraid to voice her opinion. From the mess she had made of things, maybe she should have dealt the same way with Dr. Wakefield.

  She hadn’t, and now she wasn’t sure how to proceed or even if she would have the chance. Mrs. Wakefield had been very clear; if Lilly couldn’t do the job she’d have to hire someone who could.

  Then where would she go?

  She’d have money coming to her, but she wasn’t sure how much, since she wasn’t sure if Mrs. Wakefield planned to take out taxes. After paying for car repairs, she didn’t know what she’d have left…if any at all.

  Sighing, Lilly picked up her fork and dug into her eggs. She might as well eat while she had the chance. Her meals might become few and far between after leaving. As soon as the eggs settled on her tongue, she frowned and reached for the salt, then the pepper shaker. She was so upset she must have forgotten—

  Her head came up; her hand paused. She had prepared Dr. Wakefield’s eggs the same way. She was getting up with the salt and pepper shakers when she glanced back at her plate. The salt was indistinguishable, but there was a scattering of the black specks of the pepper.

  People usually seasoned to sight just as she had. He wouldn’t be able to do it. A simple thing…if you could see. Her hand clutched the small glass containers. What would it be like to live in a world of darkness? To be dependent on others?

  If she’d been blinded, Myron would have kicked her out or put her in a home just as he had wanted to do to his mother. He hadn’t because he didn’t want to ruin his good standing in the community and because he just as badly wanted his mother’s house and her rental property. Mother Crawford had come up in the Depression and could pinch pennies with the best of them.

  Setting the shakers aside, Lilly closed her eyes, felt around on the table for her fork, then proceeded to eat. Two frustrating minutes later, she was on her feet heading for the stairs. If she couldn’t last two minutes, how had a man of Dr. Wakefield’s stature lasted five weeks?

  “Dr. Wakefield. Dr. Wakefield!” she called through the door. “Don’t eat the eggs. I left the seasoning out. I’ll remake your breakfast if you’ll wait. Dr. Wake—”

  The door opened. He stood, shades in place, the plate in his hand, a hard frown on his face. “I believe you left something out of the biscuits as well.”

  “I’m sorry.” She swallowed and reached for the plate. He didn’t release it. She lifted questioning eyes to his. “I have it.”

  “Did you do it on purpose?”

  “No.” She shook her head wildly, then realized he couldn’t see. “I…I was upset about last night and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize until I began to eat.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t to teach me a lesson?”

  “I wouldn’t do anything like that to you or anyone,” she said. “I was upset.”

  He didn’t release the plate. “You’ve been upset before, and this is the first time the food has been unpalatable.”

  She threw a wild glance at the three perfectly browned biscuits with a bite missing out of one, the scrambled eggs barely touched. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “You meant it, and I got the message.” Finally he released the plate and stepped back to close the door.

  “Wait!” she yelled, using the flat of her hand to keep the door open. His jaw was clenched, his body taut. “I promise I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  He stopped but didn’t say anything, just slanted his head down toward her. Knowing he couldn’t see behind his shades didn’t lessen his power to intimidate. Lilly could well imagine he had been a formidable man before his accident.

  “I have no place else to go if I lose this job,” she told him, unsure if she should have admitted how vulnerable she was.

  His dark head twisted to one side. “My mother hired a homeless woman?”

  She shifted uneasily. “Not exactly. I was passing through on my way
to New Orleans. My car broke down near here. She needed someone immediately and I needed a job.”

  “Serendipity.”

  “What?”

  Two lost souls thrust together. “How much is she paying you?”

  Lilly’s other hand clamped around the plate. “I think you should ask your mother that.”

  “I’m asking you.” He hadn’t stooped so low that he’d fire her if she didn’t have enough money to fix her car and leave, preferably getting as far away from him as possible.

  “Please, Dr. Wakefield, ask your mother.”

  The slight tremble in her voice got to him. He wished she didn’t remind him so much of Kristen, lost and trying to find her way. “Are you from Texas?”

  “H-How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess. Now go fix my breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She was as skittish as a foal, probably had legs just as long from the sound of her running steps. For a brief moment, he recalled nurses and interns scurrying the same way to carry out his orders. They would again.

  Thankfully the kitchen had plenty of clean skillets and bowls. Lilly whipped the four eggs, then added the cold, crumbled bacon, chives, green and red peppers, and cheese to make an omelet. Myron had gone to Las Vegas with some of his hunting buddies and come back insisting she learn how to make them for him. For the first time, she was glad he had.

  Sliding the steaming omelet onto a clean plate, she then buttered four slices of toast. Rubbing her palms against the sides of her dress, she stared at the tray. At least the chilled fruit was still good.

  Picking up the wooden tray, she went upstairs and knocked. “Dr. Wake-field.”

  The door swung open. “What took you so long?”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled out of habit. She hadn’t been gone over ten minutes. Rushing across the room, she put the tray on the bed, then came back to the door. “Your omelet is at twelve, your toast at six. The fruit is at nine and your juice is to the right of your toast. I’ll serve lunch early.”

  “What’s wrong with your car?”