Myra stands with her hands on her hips, just staring and shaking her head.
Slowly, she removes her wet socks and holds them by her fingertips. Heading upstairs to her bedroom, she tosses them in the hamper and sighs as she grabs all of her freshly laundered towels. Stomping back downstairs to the kitchen, she starts dragging everything out from underneath the sink, wiping and cleaning as she goes. After drying everything and setting it to the side, she cleans up all of the water under the sink.
“Well, at least I have water,” she says out loud to herself. Grabbing the coffee pot, she sticks it under the faucet and turns it on. She frowns when she hears a loud burp, some popping sounds, a gurgle and then silence. Her mouth drops open. Angrily, she yanks the faucet handle up and down repeatedly and beats on it a couple of times for good measure.
“I can’t believe this,” she shouts. Running down the hallway, she flips the faucet on in the bathroom. No water. Hightailing it upstairs, she tries the faucet in the bathroom sink and the shower. She gets nothing but more burps and popping noises.
Walking slowly down the stairs with her head bowed and her shoulders sagging, she makes her way back to the kitchen where she slumps into a chair and stares at her phone. Finally, she picks it up and dials a number.
“Lawson,” his deep voice answers.
“This is Myra Sommers.”
“Yeah?” he grunts in response.
“I read over the estimate. When can you start?” she asks before biting on her thumbnail.
CHAPTER 5
PURPLE, ANXIETY
“I need caffeine,” Myra shouts with her fists clenched tight at her sides as she shoots a glaring glance at her non-functioning sink. Frantically, she rushes to the refrigerator and yanks open the door searching for water, but she comes up empty-handed. After some more scrambling through Grampie’s pantry, she can’t find a single drop of drinkable water in the house.
Mumbling a stream of curses under her breath, she plops down at the kitchen table and drops her head into her hands. Never has she been this angry in her entire life. But she knows her anger isn’t just from not having coffee.
With a sigh, she finally gets up in search of her hat and coat.
Still mumbling under her breath, Myra heads out to her garage and within minutes, she pulls her car into the parking lot of Marshall’s Grocery. Huffing as she grabs a cart, she quickly makes her way down the aisle, and lugs four giant, economy-size packs of bottled water into it. Making her way to the check-out, she leaves them in the cart hoping she doesn’t have to drag them out onto the conveyor belt.
“Myra? Myra Sommers? What are you doing back in town?” Myra stifles a groan when she looks up at the cashier and into the unwelcome face of Lucia Marshall.
“Hi,” Myra responds with a forced smile.
“So? Why are you back?” Lucia continues probing as she bats her thick, clumpy five-layers-of-mascara-coated eyelashes at Myra.
“I moved back into Grampie’s house.”
“Why?” Lucia asks, her pink bubble gum snapping between her bright red lips. “Why in the world would you move back to Nyssa from Philadelphia?” Lucia says with a snarl.
Myra ignores her. “Do you need me to get these out?” she asks as she gestures towards the cart.
“No.” Lucia raises one overly arched eyebrow as she walks around the cart holding her hand-held scanner.
After ringing them up, Lucia gives her the total while Myra pulls out a twenty and hands it to her. Lucia grabs the phone. “Yeah, Derek? I have a carry-out up front.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m fine. Really,” Myra says, shaking her head.
“Pfft. Derek can take these out for you,” Lucia says as she hands Myra her change. Myra’s eyes fixate on Lucia’s chipped red fingernails and her fingers – all of which are covered in multiple rings.
“Myra?” She hears a surprised male voice behind her as she tries not to cringe. Slowly, she turns to face the pudgy Derek Marshall.
“Hi,” she says as her skin crawls at the sight of him.
“What are you doing back in town so soon?” he asks as he pushes her cart, his nasty eyes roaming up and down her body.
She pulls her coat tighter around herself. “I moved back into Grampie’s house.”
“Wow, that’s great,” he responds with too much enthusiasm as he stares blatantly at her chest.
Myra keeps a safe distance from him as he loads the cases of water into the trunk of her car.
“I’ll have to stop by some time for a visit,” he says in a creepy voice with an even creepier grin on his face.
“I don’t have time for visitors right now. I’m too busy,” Myra replies hurriedly as she snatches open her car door and quickly gets in. “Thanks,” she mumbles before slamming the door fast.
Myra shivers all over – not from the cold weather – as she backs her car up.
* * *
Myra walks the short distance to Jim’s door and knocks.
“Come in,” he says warmly greeting her with a huge smile.
“Sorry to drop by so late, but my water’s not working. I think my pipes are frozen or something. I called the contractor, but he can’t start working until the day after tomorrow. Do you mind if I use your bathroom until then?” Myra asks.
“Of course not. Just think of this as your second home,” Jim says. “Now let me find you a key,” he mumbles as he rummages through several drawers. “Ah, here’s one.” He places a key gently in Myra’s hand and squeezes it. “This unlocks the front door. No need to knock; just come in when you need to.”
“Thank you,” she says.
Myra’s brows furrow when she notices Jim’s coffee table covered in photographs. “What’s this?” she asks. He sits down in front of the mess and motions for her to sit by him. “I was going through some old photo albums last night and found some pictures I thought you’d enjoy.” He picks one up and passes it to Myra. “That’s your Grammie and Grampie about twenty-five years ago, probably close to the time you were born.”
Myra eagerly looks at the photo. It was taken inside Jim’s house. Her grandparents are sitting on the couch and Grampie has his arms wrapped tight around Grammie and they both have huge grins on their faces.
“They were so in love,” she murmurs as her fingertips gently touch the photo. She wonders what it felt like for them to experience that kind of love. She never had that with Trent. Her heart longs to have that kind of love someday. But she knows she probably never will.
“Yes, they were,” Jim thoughtfully agrees, looking at the picture with her. “Take a look at this one.” He passes her a photo of her mother, Gina, sitting on the couch in Grampie’s house with Myra – who looks to be about a year old – being bounced playfully on her knee. Gina has her head tossed back, laughing blissfully while Myra’s little hands are in the air. Myra smiles as she stares at her chubby, grinning self. But she blinks back tears when she stares longingly at the face of her beautiful, happy mother whom she misses so terribly.
Quickly wiping away a tear, she picks up a picture of Jim, his wife, Emma, and their daughter, Barbara. “How’s Barbara doing?” she asks while staring intently at the photo.
“She’s doing wonderful. She and John still live in Boise, and she’s still teaching. Did you know they came and spent two weeks with me last summer?” he asks as Myra shakes her head. “We had such a great time together. John’s still an architect and doing really well at the firm he works for.” Jim picks up another photo and hands it to her.
“How’s Jackie? I haven’t seen her in a few years,” she asks while looking at a photo of Barbara holding a tiny Jackie in her arms.
Jim starts laughing. “She’s doing as well as Jackie can be doing, I suppose.” He shakes his head pensively. “That granddaughter of mine is something else. She decided she wants to go to culinary school of all things. She’s always changing her mind: first it was art school, then fashion school, now culinary school. I wouldn’t put it past her to enr
oll in clown school next.” They both break out into a fit of laughter.
The two of them happily spend the next hour going through photo after photo, reliving old memories.
“I want you to take these with you and keep them,” Jim says as he gathers a bundle of photos for her. “I have plenty more. Emma had a bit of an obsession with the camera back in the day.” He shakes his head, smiling. “There are a lot more around here somewhere. I just have to find them.”
“Thank you. These mean so much.”
“I know they do,” Jim says softly with a tender look on his lined face.
* * *
As Myra lies in her bed staring intently at the wall, her mind races as she pours over the events of the day. There are so many things to think about: the sink, the water outage, the contractor, Derek – she shivers at just the thought of him – Jim, the photos. She can’t quiet her thoughts enough to even begin to try to sleep. Huffing, she flips on her back and stares up at the ceiling.
She freezes. Her eyes widen. She heard a noise. Almost like someone tapped on the wall. Her heart stutters before beating painfully in her chest as the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Holding her breath, she remains stock still as her ears strain. She listens intently for the sound again.
Hearing nothing, she lets out a breath and her chest heaves. Reaching towards the nightstand, she quickly flips the light on and grabs the quilt tightly with both fists as her eyes dart around the room.
With her heart still pounding, she grabs a book off of the nightstand, hoping it will distract her from the terrifying noises in her old house.
* * *
The next morning, Myra picks up her cell to call Susie, but instead, just holds the phone in her hand, staring down at it. She really wants to ask her about Trent. But she knows they’ve probably already made up over the little fight they had and are the happy little family right now. Just the thought of that makes Myra’s chest hurt. So she decides she doesn’t want to know.
Sighing, she dials Susie’s number.
“Hi, hon. Is the contractor there?” Susie asks immediately.
“Don’t start. I’m not in the mood.”
“No, I’m being serious. Is he there? You did hire him, right?”
“Listen, I had a really bad day yesterday. I had a pipe in the kitchen leak and now my water’s not working. Then I had to go to the grocery store and endure disgusting stares from Derek Marshall.
“And for your information, I decided I wasn’t going to hire that guy so I tried contacting a couple of other contractors in town, but they didn’t work out.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Is he there?”
Myra groans, rolling her eyes. “No. He starts tomorrow,” she mumbles.
“Yes,” Susie shouts.
“You are so annoying sometimes.”
“I know,” Susie says. “So who’s Derek Marshall?”
“Some creep I went to high school with who’s married now and still a creep.”
“Ew. And no water? That means no shower. You’ll have to do the old PTA,” Susie says.
“Huh? What’s a PTA?”
“You don’t know what a PTA is?” Susie asks, laughing. “It’s the old Pussy, Tits, and Armpits bath; you know, where you scrub your PTA.”
Myra wants to stay annoyed at her friend but can’t as she snickers. “Okay, that’s funny. But no, Jim’s going to let me use his bathroom. So no PTA’s for me.”
“Well, that’s good to hear since the hot contractor is coming tomorrow,” Susie says. “Hey, guess what? I weighed this morning and lost eight pounds. Oh yeah, yes sir,” she shouts gleefully. “Of course the only reason I lost that much is because I shit myself to death. But with those kinds of results, I’m cool with it. I need to get the shits more often. I was thinking that if I could shit myself about once a month, I’d be skinny by summer.”
Myra laughs. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Yes, I am quite aware of that fact. So anyway, I told Jeff how much I lost, and of course he was excited. He keeps giving me these pep talks like some kind of drill sergeant. He said this would be a great time to start my diet since I have a head start. I told him yeah, yeah but that I needed help and some kind of incentive to keep me motivated. Myra, are you sitting down?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Are you ready for this?” Susie asks excitedly.
“Yes,” Myra yells back.
“Okay. Drum roll, please,” she says as she tries to imitate drums with her mouth, but it sounds more like a baby blowing raspberries. “Jeff told me that if I lost thirty pounds, he would give me – wait for it – wait for it – five hundred dollars for a shopping spree,” Susie shouts.
“Oh my God. That’s awesome. That should totally keep you motivated.”
“Do you know how much shit I could buy with five hundred dollars? You know how cheap I am. I swear I would go to the thrift store and buy them out. You know how I am at bargain shopping and using coupons. I can sense a sales rack a mile away,” she says with a sigh. “I could make that money stretch like some melted taffy. So I’m going to do it. Starting tomorrow. Jeff said he’d help me out at the gym, too. He wants to show me what kinds of things I need to do to burn fat. I’m so excited.”
“I’m so happy for you. You can do it this time, I know you can. And I’ll be here for you whenever you need me.”
“I know you will. I think I can do it.”
“You can and you will.”
“That’s right. Well, I gotta run. I’ll talk to you soon.”
* * *
“Thanks for letting me use your shower. I feel so much better,” Myra says to Jim the following morning as she slips her coat on. She stares down at her shoes uncomfortably. “I had to come over. In the middle of the night. I hope that was okay.”
Jim chuckles. “I was sound asleep. Besides, I told you to come over any time you need to.”
After she thanks him again, Myra runs quickly back to her house. She hurriedly makes her way to the fireplace and starts a fire, warming her frozen hands and backside against the flickering flames.
With her computer in hand, she sinks down into the worn leather recliner snuggling a knit blanket that her Grammie made around her legs. She begins work on her book starting with some character development. Flashes of the old West dance through her mind: visions of dusty cowboy boots and spurs, gun-slinging, and a tall, lean man with angry eyes, peeping out from underneath a dark cowboy hat. She frowns because for some reason, the cowboy in her imagination looks vaguely like her contractor.
After getting some thoughts down about her story, she makes her way into the kitchen and grabs a couple of water bottles to start some coffee. Stepping into the bathroom, she starts to sit on the toilet when she remembers that she doesn’t have a working toilet right now. Slamming the bathroom door shut and stomping into the living room, she throws her coat back on and makes her way back over to Jim’s house. Quietly letting herself in, she uses his restroom and starts counting down the minutes for the contractor’s arrival.
* * *
When Myra hears his truck pull in the driveway, she excitedly jumps off the couch and opens the door before Dylan even gets out of his truck. She watches as he hefts a bucket of tools from the back and carries it with him.
She patiently holds the door open for him. “Hi,” she says with a warm smile. She feels confident that she can tolerate his hateful self as long as he gets her house fixed up as quickly as possible. Desperation does things to a person.
Dylan simply nods, his eyes flashing to hers for a moment before he steps inside.
“I need to take a look at the pipes. I’ll track down the water issue then I’ll re-do the estimate,” he says in an unfriendly voice.
“Sure. Do whatever you need to do,” she says, smiling as she waves him into the kitchen.
* * *
When Dylan drops his tool bucket on the kitchen floor, it makes a loud
clanging sound. He can’t believe this woman has more shit to add to the list of shit that she needs done to her shitty house. And he especially doesn’t like the fact that she seemed so happy to see him this morning, opening the door like she did and looking so damn excited.
Shrugging out of his coat, he tosses it on one of the kitchen chairs. Bending his tall body down into a squatting position, he looks under the sink and scowls because he can’t get a good look at the pipes. Huffing, he lies on his back and scoots himself backwards into the cabinet. His awkward angle and large shoulders barely fit, causing his shoulder blades to ache in the small space. Once he gets a good look at everything, he slides his long torso back out.
Standing up, he groans and stretches out his sore back before jotting down some notes on his clipboard. Grabbing his coat, he steps out the back door and takes a look at the water line and finds a busted pipe. Lucky for her, it looks like something he can fix without calling in a plumber. Back in the kitchen, he sets the clipboard on the kitchen counter, leaning his elbow against it, and quickly writes up the additional costs for the extra work.
Dylan steps back into the living room and hands Myra the paperwork. “Here’s the amended estimate,” he says. She quickly reads it, signs and hands it back to him.
“Do you think you can get my water working today?” she asks.
“Don’t know.” He wants to roll his eyes at her because he hasn’t even started on the job yet.
“Okay,” she mumbles, staring down at the floor.
* * *
Myra watches out the window as Dylan drags tools out of the back of his truck. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.
“Hey.”
“Is he there yet?” Susie asks.
Color of Loneliness Page 6