Shara's Happy New-foundland Year

by Tamie Dearen

  Were it not for the nausea she might’ve been happy, since throwing up would keep her weight-gain to a manageable level. She’d read the baby would get whatever nourishment he or she needed. Most of the danger with malnutrition was to the mother’s health, not the baby’s.

  Still, she tried to eat, following the doctor’s suggestion of sipping on plain broth. But even that made her feel queasy, and soon she lost her hard-won spoonfuls of chicken broth. Now she was feeling so weak, she had to crawl to the bathroom, barely making it in time. Thus, she dragged a trashcan on her return from the bathroom, to avoid the trip and save a possible mess.

  By seven o’ clock, thirty minutes before James was due to arrive, she knew she had to cancel the puppy tradeoff. There was no way she could care for a puppy in her current state. Perhaps in a week or two she would be stable enough to take another turn with Fezzik. On the other hand, faced with the prospect of being a single mother, she would have enough obligations and financial commitments without adding a dog to the list. She ought to declare James the winner, tonight, before she got any more attached to the fluffy bear of a pup.

  She pulled up his contact on her phone, her heart aching when his picture appeared. He was so handsome it hurt to look at him. Her dream had been to marry him. She wanted to believe he truly loved her and would do so for the rest of their lives, though that never happened in her experience. Yet, Noelle’s stories convinced her God could forgive any sin, no matter how awful, so perhaps she should give their relationship another chance. Even if he was ready to commit to marriage, she worried whether he would also be ready to take on the responsibilities of fatherhood.

  The phone rang so long, she thought it might go to voicemail, but he answered at last, sounding completely out of breath. “Hey! What’s up?”

  “You don’t need to come tonight. I’m sick and there’s no way I can take care of Fezzik right now.”

  “Too bad. I’m already here.” Right on cue, a knock sounded. “That’s me.”

  “Okay. I’m not sure I can get to the door.”

  “Seriously? You’re that bad? What’s wrong with you?”

  She heard Fez whining over the phone. “Not sure. Maybe a stomach virus,” she suggested, in an effort to scare him away. A voice in her head told her she shouldn’t lie, but she told it to shut up. Right now, she didn’t she didn’t care.

  “I’m coming in,” he announced, seconds before the door flew open and Fezzik bounded inside.

  The puppy tried to climb onto the couch, and James came behind him, giving him a boost. He bounced his way up to her head and gave her face a bath, while she giggled.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you?” James eyed the trashcan at her side and frowned. He put his hand on her forehead. “Hmm... no fever. Are you getting enough fluids? I don’t see any water by the couch.”

  “I’ve tried, but nothing stays down, not even water.”

  “Let’s try ice chips. Do you want something on TV? Or maybe some music?”

  “I’ll be fine, James. You don’t need to stay.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “I do need to stay. Otherwise, I have to take Fezzik home and take care of him by myself.”

  “I’m not going to be any help, even if you stay here.”

  “We’ll see. I have a feeling this isn’t a virus. I think it’s a bout of anorexia. And if I’m right, you shouldn’t be alone.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears came out despite her efforts. I’m already getting as emotional as Noelle. Hopefully, he won’t notice.

  “Hey...” A gentle finger wiped a tear from her cheek. She opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside her. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She got a whiff of his aftershave, which somehow didn’t send her into a gagging fit as every other strong smell seemed to do. “I don’t want you to take care of me. I don’t want to feel obligated.”

  “You can pay me,” he suggested, as one brow crooked up.

  “I can’t afford—”

  “Not money.” He winked. “I’ll take one date for every four hours I stay.”

  “That’s too much,” she protested. But the truth was the distraction of having him there had already decreased her level of nausea, and she didn’t want him to leave. “One date for every eight hours.”

  “One date for every six hours, and I get to kiss you.”

  “Do you mean, now?” Her heart thumped like a bass drum. “Or on the date?”

  His eyebrows danced. “Can I kiss you now?”

  “No.”

  He was staring at her lips, and she realized her tongue was swiping across them. She tucked it back in and pressed her lips together, and he chuckled.

  “You can’t tease me like that and not expect me to kiss you.”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead before rising to his feet. “I’ll be back with ice chips.”

  “Wait, James... I’m not making any promises. You know that, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Then why are you doing this? Why are you taking care of me?”

  His mouth opened to answer. Then he closed it again, as if he’d changed his mind. When he finally responded, his throat worked, like it was hard to speak. “Shara, I feel like I was made to take care of you. Like it’s the noblest purpose I could find in life. I know it sounds stupid, but that’s how I feel.”

  It didn’t sound stupid—it sounded incredible. But how would he feel if he knew the real reason she was so sick?

  JAMES FOUND HER PANTRY almost empty. It stood to reason, someone with an aversion wouldn’t keep a lot of extra food around. He would have to hit the grocery store after he made her comfortable. He put some ice in a freezer bag and smashed it with the small hammer she kept in her tool drawer.

  Out on the couch, Fezzik nestled in the crook of her arm, sound asleep. James shook his head, anticipating the battle when he forced the pup to sleep in his kennel for the night. Yet, he looked forward to the challenge, because he’d be doing it for Shara.

  She stirred, her lids fluttering open. “Do you need something?”

  “Yes, I’ve got some ice chips for you. We need to get some fluids to stay down, or I’ll have to take you to the hospital.”

  Her eyebrows lifted, fear written clearly on her face. He’d forgotten she also had an aversion to needles.

  “I’ll try to keep them down.”

  “Here, let me put the TV on for you. It’ll help you to have something else to think about besides your stomach.” He found one of her favorite inane sitcoms, the perfect diversion. “Okay, open up.” He dug an ice chip from the cup.

  “You don’t have to feed them to me.” She struggled to sit up, panting, but making no progress.

  “How about if you let me feed you a couple, and then I’ll hand the job over to you?”

  “Wait... I need to...”

  She groped at the trashcan. James lifted it to her and she bent over the edge of the couch, heaving nothing but air. Tears streamed down her face as she fell back on her pillow. Fez grumbled, shifting to get comfortable again.

  “I’m sorry you feel bad.” He brushed her hair off her face. “But I’m glad I have a chance to prove myself useful. Now open up.”

  She let him feed her a piece of ice. After a few seconds, her lips curved in a weak smile. “So far, so good.”

  Ten minutes later, she’d swallowed about twenty chips, and he decided to make a grocery run. “I’m going to pick up a few things you need, including popsicles, and I’ll get some broth for when you’re feeling more ambitious. Do you have any requests?”

  “Saltines. And lemons. I’ve been living on them for the past week or so.”

  “The past week or so?” He tightened his jaw. “If it’s been going on that long, you had to know it wasn’t a virus. Why would you lie to me?” He knew it was the wrong time to confront her, but it hurt to not be trusted after all they’d been through together.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t explain it right now.”<
br />
  “Fine. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Maybe you can explain it then.”

  She didn’t reply, but her expression said enough. She’d written him off, and she had no intention of giving him a fair chance. How could he defend himself when he didn’t know the accusation?

  He must have been scowling in the register line, because the girl’s fingers shook when she handed him his receipt. “Th-thank you, s-sir,” she mumbled, standing as far away as possible inside the tiny checkout stand.

  By the time he returned, he had a plan of action. He was going to confront Shara about everything that happened. They were going to talk about that night. He was going to apologize, and she was going to listen. Immobile, she was his captive audience. This was his one opportunity to make things right, and he wouldn’t stop until she agreed to forgive him and give their relationship another chance.

  He parked the car as close as possible to her door, and trekked down the dim stairway to her basement apartment with his arms full of groceries. But a man wearing a bulky coat blocked the entry.

  “Hey, you! Freeze!” James shouted, belatedly realizing he couldn’t confront an intruder with grocery bags hanging from his arms. He tensed as the man slowly rotated, pushing his hood back and raising his hands in the air.

  “Don’t shoot. I wasn’t doing anything illegal.” The single bulb illuminated his face, as his brows furrowed. “Wait a minute. You’re not a cop.”

  James tensed, ready to drop everything if the man attacked. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your apartment. A girl lives here.”

  “I know that. I’m her father.” His head tilted. “Who are you?”

  THE DOORKNOB RATTLED and Shara shifted, wishing she had access to a mirror. Chances were she had mascara smeared under her eyes. James acted as if he didn’t care, but that didn’t make her any less self-conscious.

  James’ voice floated inside as the door swung open. “Shara, I’ve brought a visitor.” He leaned his head in and made a face, mouthing a silent, “I’m sorry.”

  Oh, no!

  “Hey, baby! I met your boyfriend.”

  Dad. Her stomach churned with renewed vigor.

  “Your father said he had something for you.” With sacks of groceries dangling from his arms, James headed toward the kitchen. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Lassiter?”

  “That’s right,” he murmured as he followed James into the kitchen, reappearing after a few seconds. “Still no beer, huh?”

  “No, Dad.” Her voice was so weak he probably didn’t hear her.

  “What did you have for Shara, Mr. Lassiter?” James returned and sat on the chair closest to her.

  “Call me Ed.” He took the other chair and perched on the edge, twisting to examine the fabric behind him. “Did you get your fleas taken care of?”

  “We treated the couch,” James answered for her. “But we didn’t have enough for the chairs. I usually only get a bite or two when I sit here. No big deal.”

  Her father crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “James, I’m so glad we got to meet. You know, Shara told me the two of you had broken up.

  “Technically, that’s true, Mr. Lassiter.”

  “Ed.”

  “Right. Ed. It’s true—we broke up. But we’re back together again.”

  She sent James a warning look, but he ignored her.

  “That’s good news, James. Good news. I can still get you in on the ground floor in my new business.”

  “Dad, he’s not interested.”

  “It’s called Man Hands. It’s a rental company, but for handymen. It’s the hottest new franchise, and I’ve got the only one in Denver.”

  “I don’t really have money to invest right now, Ed.”

  “That’s okay. All I need is your word, and I’ll save you a piece of the action. Just get the money to me as soon as you can.”

  Shara groaned. Her worst nightmares had all come true in one day. “Daddy, please...” She sent her most apologetic look to James. He’d been so sweet to her. He didn’t deserve to deal with her charlatan father. Then James got an odd smile on his face, both dimples showing, as he turned his full attention to her dad.

  “Ed, I have to say this Man Hand thing sounds pretty good. I assume it’s got something to do with massages, right? Deep tissue massages? Man Hands—massages. Makes total sense.”

  “No, weren’t you listening? It’s a handyman rental service.”

  “But then it should be called Handyman, not Man Hand.”

  “I didn’t name it. It’s a franchise.” His jaw muscles bulged, a vein standing out on his temple.

  “I guess all your customers are women, right?”

  “No, we have plenty of male customers. At least we will once we get rolling.”

  James chuckled. “Right, right. Whatever you say. Have you had one of their massages? I’m guessing they’re pretty good, since they have strong hands. Isn’t that what the reference means?”

  Ed stood abruptly, his hands on his hips. “I’m telling you, there are no massages in this business.”

  “That’s too bad,” said James, his lips pursed in a sad, wistful expression. “I was about to buy in, providing I get to try out the massage first.”

  Her father’s face had progressed from red to purple, and he looked like he might explode. Shara took pity on him and opted to change the subject.

  “Dad, did you need some money?”

  He lifted his chin, sporting an affronted expression. “I didn’t come over for money, if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”

  She made one more futile attempt to sit up, but a queasy wave sent her back down.

  “Do you want the money, or not?” she demanded, albeit in a quiet voice.

  “I’ll take some if it makes you happy.”

  “James.” She waved her hand, motioning him to her, and whispered in his ear the exact location of her money stash. He seemed overly pleased with the request as he hurried into her bedroom to complete the task.

  “The boy seems kind of dense, Shara,” her father commented from the side of his mouth. “I think even a skinny rat like you could do better than that.”

  “Gee thanks, Dad.”

  “Maybe we need to get you some better clothes. Something to show off your body more. Plenty of men are into super skinny women that look like boys. I think they call that metrosexual.”

  “I can’t believe you told me I look like a boy,” she fumed. “And that’s not what metrosexual means.”

  “Whatever... I still say, with your looks, you could land a guy with money and brains.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  James returned with a twenty-dollar bill in hand. “Here you go, Ed. I was wondering if you were named for that famous talking horse.”

  “I was named after my father.” He stiffened, pocketing the twenty. “Bye, baby. Hope you feel better. I should get going, in case you’re contagious. See you later.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ed.” James followed him to the door. “Let me know if a massage appointment comes open for those Man Hands.”

  James watched him depart, peering through the peephole, before he came back to fall into the chair, rolling with laughter. “How did you keep him away the entire time we were dating?”

  “I moved and didn’t give him my new address.” She shook her finger at him. “And it’s so not funny.”

  “I happen to disagree.”

  “You know my father thinks you’re lacking in the brains department.”

  “I don’t care, as long as it gets him off my back.” He grinned as he moved to the couch and scooped Fezzik from where he nestled beside her. “Time for this boy to wake up and play, or he’ll be up all night.”

  As James held Fezzik in one arm, cradled against his chest, Shara got a sudden image of him holding a baby, with dark hair and blue eyes. Standing beside her with a protective arm around her waist. Together. A family. She couldn’t seem to make the picture leave her mind, though she was afraid to ho
pe it could come true.

  “Is it too much to hope you got him crate-trained last week? I’m sorry I let him sleep in the bed with me the first week. To be honest, I was already feeling bad, and I was desperate to get some sleep.”

  “I know what you mean.” He grabbed an old sock from his coat pocket and teased Fez until he started a good game of tug-o-war.

  She noticed for the first time James’ eyes were bloodshot and felt a pang of guilt. “You look almost as bad as me.”

  “You look beautiful.” His gaze met hers, his lids lowering to half-mast.

  “And you lie,” she retorted, knowing better.

  “To me, you’re beautiful.” His chin jutted forward. “And the answer to your question is yes, I made him sleep in the crate all week. He yelped pretty much all night long, like someone was torturing him. But last night, I tried something new. It’s a can of marbles you shake to make him stop crying. I wish I’d known about it a week ago. David told me yesterday.” He glowered as if his brother had withheld the information on purpose.

  “How do you feel about having a puppy, now that you’ve done it for a while?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer, knowing it was a good indicator of his attitude toward fatherhood.

  He tossed the sock across the room and Fez bounded after it. “I think I like dogs, but the responsibility of owning one is more than I thought.”

  “Not your cup of tea? Or is it growing on you?” She kept her tone casual. At least she tried.

  Fez returned, tripping over the sock he dragged back to James.

  “To be honest, I think I’m better with grown dogs than puppies. And I’m kind of worried how that’s going to translate, as far as my new niece or nephew is concerned.”

  Her throat constricted. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that Noelle and David are obsessed with this baby and they’re already talking about how they couldn’t live without it because they love it so much. And David compared it to having a puppy.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I have no idea.” He shrugged, tossing the sock to the far side of the room. Fez scrambled after it. “I like Fezzik and all, but my life certainly won’t end if you win the contest and he lives with you, instead of me. Don’t really think I’m cut out to handle that responsibility, all day, every day.”