“I know,” Myra says before throwing her arms around Jim’s neck, choking on a sob. “Thank you,” she whispers. Jim will never know how much his words mean to her as she tucks them away in her heart.
* * *
“I don’t have much for dinner; how about some turkey sandwiches?” Myra suggests before picking up a box of kitchen utensils.
“Sounds wonderful. Did I ever tell you the story about when your dad went biking?” Jim asks as he follows Myra into the kitchen.
“No,” Myra says, knowing full well she’s heard the story dozens of times, but longs to hear it again. Jim sits at the table as Myra starts preparing the sandwiches.
“Your dad must’ve been around eleven or twelve, and he got a new bike. He was so excited, he could barely contain himself. So he headed off, and it was sunny out so he had sunglasses on, the big kind that were so popular with all the young kids back then.” Jim makes big, comical circles with his hands around his eyes imitating glasses. Myra nods and giggles as she hands Jim a sandwich.
“Your grandfather and I were sitting on the porch, enjoying the beautiful day and drinking a beer when all of a sudden here your father comes, covered in mud from head to toe, except where those sunglasses were. He’d hit a root or a rock or something and went flying over the handlebars face first into a puddle. Your grandfather and I laughed until our sides…”
Jim stops talking when the lights in the kitchen flicker on and off.
“That’s weird,” Myra says as she frowns and looks up at the light fixture on the ceiling. Abruptly, all of the lights in the entire house go off.
“Okay,” Myra says to Jim in the darkness.
A moment later, the lights come back on. Jim’s bushy eyebrows pull together as he stares up at the ceiling. “Hm. You must have an electrical problem somewhere. I guess you've noticed by now this place isn't exactly in the best shape. Your grandfather didn’t do much upkeep the last few years or so.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Myra agrees as she glances at the cabinet door leaning up against the wall and thinks about the hole in the ceiling upstairs.
“For some reason, Davis got very miserly in his last years. Felt like he couldn’t spend a dime on anything other than necessities. I tried to get him to hire someone to do some work, but he wouldn’t do it. You know how stubborn he was.” Jim raises an eyebrow.
Myra smiles and nods in agreement.
“I have someone you can call. He did some work on my house a few months back; did a real good job. Let me run over to the house and get his card.”
Jim returns within minutes handing Myra a business card. “Just call that number and set up an appointment for an estimate. He’ll put everything in writing before you agree to anything.”
Myra glances down at the card.
Dylan Lawson, Contractor
“Thanks,” she says as she tucks the card in her jeans. “Let’s call it a day. I can’t thank you enough for all of your help.” She leans in and gives him a hug.
“Not a problem, sweetheart. I have to go into the bookstore in the morning to take care of a few things, but I should be home by late afternoon. I’ll stop by and see if we can get the rest of these boxes cleared out, all right?”
“Perfect.”
Myra calls out a goodbye as she watches him from her doorway as he makes his way back to his house.
* * *
Myra calls Susie as she lies on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
“Took you long enough to call me back. I was starting to get all pissy,” Susie says.
Myra laughs. “My neighbor Jim stopped by and offered to help me unpack so…”
“Ooooh, Jim, what’s he look like?”
“He’s in his seventies.” Myra shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Is he hot? Sean Connery’s hot. I would bang that man any day, any time, and he’s gotta be at least a hundred.”
“For God’s sake, Jim is like my Grampie. That’s disgusting.”
“All right,” Susie agrees, chuckling. “I’ll give you that one. Grampie-like is gross.”
“Very.”
“So,” Susie says, “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but I need to vent so I really and truly, sincerely apologize in advance, okay?”
“What?” Myra asks.
“Trent won’t leave me the hell alone. He’s driving me insane. He’s at my desk every five minutes asking about you, and he won’t quit calling and emailing me. I can’t set my email up like you did so it goes straight to trash because I have to check his damn emails because of work. If he doesn’t stop, I’m going to report his ass to HR.”
Myra sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“Honey, it’s not your fault. He just pisses me off. The man still doesn’t know that you moved. I’m so glad he never knew the address of your apartment after you guys broke up because I swear that shithead would’ve been standing on your doorstep stalking you. And just so you know, things aren’t going so well for him and his little skankmeister right now either.” Myra’s ears perk up at this bit of gossip.
“I guess she went and blabbed to Miranda about the preggo thing, and you know Miranda’s loose fish lips; the whole office knew in about ten minutes. And Trent was fit to be tied. They had a knock-down, drag-out shout fest right in the office. Of course I missed the whole thing because my sorry ass was downstairs buying a snack. Can you believe my luck? Damn it,” she says as she pauses. “I wonder if the company has it on video somewhere because I would give my right boob to see that.”
“I don’t care what happens with them anymore,” Myra says, but secretly, she’s thrilled at the news. She’d never tell anyone, but she wouldn’t mind seeing Trent suffer a little. He needs to feel just a small amount of the pain that she’s had to endure because of him.
“Well, I gotta go, hon. I need to get the boys ready for bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love ya, girlie,” Susie says.
“Love you, too.”
* * *
Myra climbs the squeaky staircase clutching her pillow. She glances at the closed door of the master bedroom at the end of the hallway before her hand reaches out and opens the door to the guest bedroom. This was the room she stayed in whenever she spent the night at her grandparent’s home as a child. It feels comfortable and secure to her. This will be her bedroom because the master bedroom just doesn’t feel right. That was a special place just for her grandparents, and she doesn’t want to mar their memory.
After switching the light off and pulling down the patchwork quilt, she snuggles under the covers. But within minutes, she tosses and turns, staring into the darkness, unable to get used to her new surroundings. The darkness of the old house makes her feel even more alone and isolated. When Myra thinks about Susie and how much she misses her, she wonders if she made the right decision moving out here like she did.
Abruptly, she sits up, frowning. Twisting her head slightly, she holds her breath. She heard something. A noise. Almost like a tapping on the wall. As she continues listening, her heart beats rapidly and her mouth goes dry. Slowly, she crawls out of bed. Opening the bedroom door, she freezes her ears straining. Her eyes widen, and her breath catches in her throat when she hears it again. The sound seems to be coming from the master bedroom.
Constantly looking over her shoulder, she creeps down the dark hallway. Her shaky hand hovers over the door knob for a second. Swallowing hard, she listens intently.
Slowly, she pushes open the creaky door to the master bedroom. Her fingers fumble for the light switch.
As her eyes adjust, she swiftly looks around the room for what could have made that noise. She startles when she hears it again.
“What the hell?” she mumbles as she frowns up at the ceiling in the corner. A huge brown spot surrounds a large portion of sagging ceiling. The roof must be leaking quite a bit to cause such substantial damage. Looking down to the floor beneath the water stain, Myra sees a puddle of standing water in the center of several warped and damaged wooden fl
oorboards.
With a sigh, she cleans up the water and puts pots on the floor to catch the drips. Finally, she slips back into her room and into bed. Unfortunately, sleep only comes in short spurts.
* * *
The next morning, after downing several cups of coffee, Myra finds the jeans she wore the day before and digs out the card Jim gave her. She quickly dials a number.
“Myra! Did you make it back to Philly safely?” Porter asks in a booming voice. She can picture his salt and pepper gray hair and big smiling face.
“Yeah, but I’m back in Nyssa. I just moved into Grampie’s house.”
“No kidding? That’s great. Jack and Davis would be so happy. I’ll let the boys here know you’re in town so we can all keep an eye on you, make sure you’re safe and all.”
“Thanks. Jim gave me the name of a contractor because the house needs some work. I hate to ask this, but could you run a background check on him? It’s that cop’s daughter thing coming out in me.”
Porter chuckles. “Jack trained you well. Never hire anyone without getting them checked out first. Give me the info and about an hour and I’ll get back with you.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
* * *
Myra’s phone rings an hour later.
“Hi,” she answers softly.
“I’ve got good news,” Porter says. “This Mr. Lawson checked out fine. No criminal record and I haven’t been able to find any complaints filed against him. He’s originally from Boise. I also checked him out with some of the locals. Does excellent work from what everyone says. Not the friendliest of people; kind of a loner, but I feel safe having you hire him. And Jim’s an excellent judge of character. But if he gives you an ounce of trouble, you let me know immediately, okay?”
“I will. Once again, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Anything for you, Myra.”
* * *
Myra pulls the business card out of her pocket and dials the number on it.
“Lawson,” a brusque voice answers.
“Yeah, I wanted to get an estimate on getting some work done on my house,” Myra says.
He sighs. “Can you hold?” he asks in an annoyed voice.
“Sure.” Myra frowns when she hears what sounds like tools are being moved around and some shuffling noises followed by a mumbled curse.
He huffs when he gets back on the phone. “Name?”
“Myra Sommers.”
“Address?”
She rattles off her address to him.
“I can do tomorrow afternoon,” he says gruffly. “Two?”
“Yeah, that’ll work,” Myra replies.
“Two o’clock,” he repeats before hanging up.
“Bye,” Myra says to the dial tone, noting that Porter appeared to be quite right about the not-friendly thing.
Myra wonders how Dylan Lawson manages to get new business if he’s as short with all his customers as he was with her. She decides that his demeanor means nothing so long as he can do a good job on the repairs. Smiling at the prospect of once again turning Grampie’s place into a home – her home – Myra gets back to the business of unpacking boxes.
CHAPTER 4
ORANGE, FRUSTRATION
Myra stares down at the toilet, plunger in hand. “No,” she shouts as she hears a gurgling sound. Screaming obscenities, she jumps back as water cascades over the toilet bowl and onto the floor, splashing her socked feet. “This cannot be happening,” she mumbles under her breath.
After numerous unsuccessful plunging attempts, she finally gets the water in the toilet to go down. She uses every towel she owns to mop up the mess on the floor. Carrying the soaked, heavy towels to the basement, she throws them into the washing machine.
Once she gets a load started, she turns and looks around. No visible light enters the two small windows; a thick layer of dirt and cobwebs, and what looks like bushes on the outside, completely masks them both. Dirt and dust cover the concrete floor. A single bulb hanging in the center of the room serves as the only light. Several standing racks of shelving units filled with paint cans, bug sprays, and an assortment of boxes covered in dust line the walls.
The creepy-looking basement looks like something straight out of a horror film. Afraid that at any minute something might jump out and grab her, Myra, with her heart racing, makes a mad dash for the staircase. Hanging on tightly to the railing, her wide, frightened eyes watch the basement behind her as she quickly scrambles up the rickety stairs.
* * *
Myra picks up her cell and dials her friend.
“Myra…” Susie says before she coughs and wheezes loudly in Myra’s ear. “I am so sick. I’m dying.”
“You sound terrible. What’s wrong?” Myra patiently waits as Susie proceeds to practically cough up a lung in her ear.
“Tucker was sick last week with the flu. I think he caught it at school or something. So I disinfected the shit out of everything and bragged about how I never get sick, and now…” Susie stops again to hack some more. “It just hit me all of a sudden, out of nowhere. And I’ve had vomiting and diarrhea to top it off. It’s been coming out both ends, at the same time. I’ve had to sit on the crapper with the trash can in my lap barfing and shitting simultaneously. And I’ve had to change my drawers like five times because I shit myself. No, I meant to say I’ve had to throw away five pairs of rotten cottons because no way in hell am I touching those putrid, shitty things. Instead of Jeff running to buy me drugs, he’s going to have to make a panty run,” Susie says with a giggle which turns into another massive coughing spell.
Myra laughs while Susie coughs. “You poor thing. I wish I was there. I can’t do anything to help.”
“You do not want to be anywhere near me right now, trust me. Oh God, the hurl is here. I gotta go,” she says hurriedly before immediately hanging up.
* * *
At two o’clock on the nose, Myra hears the sound of tires crunching on the gravel of her driveway. When she opens the door, she just stands there with her mouth slightly gaping, frozen and unable to move as she stares at the contractor.
His brow furrows and his eyes flash with anger. “You wanted an estimate?” he asks in a gruff voice.
She straightens her shoulders. “Oh, oh yes, please come in,” she says, moving to the side so he can pass. He towers over her as his tall, lean frame enters her living room.
Once again, her ability to speak seems to have disappeared. Continuing to gawk at him and tugging on the hem of her sweater, she clears her throat, trying to get her voice back. “I’m probably going to need a new roof,” she says in a timid voice as she gestures with her hand and starts walking towards the stairs. “It’s leaking upstairs in the master bedroom so, I’ll show you,” she mumbles as she turns her head for a quick peek to see if he’s following her.
She prays she doesn’t fall up the stairs.
Somehow she manages to make it to the master bedroom without embarrassing herself. “Right there,” she says as she points to the ceiling in the corner.
Cold eyes meet hers. “I’ll need to get up on the roof to take a look.”
“There’s a ladder in the garage…”
“I have my own ladder,” he snaps back, cutting her off before he turns and exits the bedroom.
Frowning, Myra just stands there staring, not sure what to make of the incredibly attractive but seemingly hostile man. She continues standing for a few more moments as she listens to his work boots stomp down the stairs and out the front door.
* * *
As Myra waits on the contractor to finish looking at the roof, she sits on the couch, nibbling on her already chewed fingernails. She continues chewing and gnawing on her cuticles until she accidentally makes one of them bleed. When she hears his heavy boots on the porch, her heart rate kicks up a notch. She quickly pinches her finger to stop the bleeding as she stands and opens the door.
His eyes lock with hers. “Your roof’s in terrible shape. Everything’s
gonna need to be replaced, including the decking,” he says, his tone sharp as he reaches his hand up and scratches at his unshaven chin.
“I was afraid of that,” she says, her eyes still on his. For some reason, she can’t look away. The hostility and harshness in them startles her yet somehow she finds herself drawn to them. She can feel her face warming as her gaze drops to the floor and her fingers play with the sleeves of her oversized sweater.
“What else?”
“Um…” She quickly clears her throat. “I’m having a problem with the plumbing. The toilets keep backing up, and the bathtub and shower will probably need to be replaced. We’ll have to go back upstairs,” she mumbles, gesturing towards the stairs. He follows after her again, and she swallows heavily as she opens the bathroom door for him.
When he steps past her, she doesn’t know where to stand or what to do so she ends up waiting kind of half in the doorway and half in the hallway. She tugs constantly on the sleeves of her sweater as she watches him, feeling awkward and out of sorts.
“What did you put down this damn toilet?” he angrily mumbles under his breath.
“Excuse me?” she asks.
“Nothing.” The animosity rolls off of him in waves.
Frowning, she continues waiting and watching as he inspects the bathroom. The uncomfortable feeling she had earlier still lingers but now she feels like a nuisance or almost an aggravation to him, which doesn’t make sense because he should be the one trying to make a good impression to get hired for the job.
Not wanting to make contact again with those hate-filled eyes, she keeps hers focused on his clipboard when he turns to face her. She continues to watch it as he tucks it under his left arm and shoves his right hand into his coat pocket.
“Anything else?”
She hums and nods before silently walking down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing. “The kitchen needs work,” she says, as they enter it. “The cabinets are in really bad shape.” She points to the fallen door leaning up against the wall.
Color of Loneliness Page 4