by Kathy Altman
“You’re not in a good place, period. What can I do to help you get clean?”
“You can let me figure out my own goddamned life.” He pushed upright. “I’m out of here.”
“Ferrell—”
“No. I’m done.”
But he didn’t move, and Gil knew he was holding out for cash. He cleared his throat. “I love you.”
Ferrell snorted. “I can tell.” He pulled a set of keys from the front pocket of his khakis. “But that won’t put gas in my car.”
Nice try. “At least let me know where you’re going.”
“I was thinking the Everglades. You know, taking a one-way trip on one of those airboats.”
Gil jerked to attention. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“You mean, like Dad?” Ferrell grimaced. “I know better. He didn’t end his pain, he just passed it on.”
They both fell silent.
Then Gil swore.
“Wait a minute. The Everglades? You’re headed to Florida to bum off of Mom, aren’t you?”
“At least she’s always glad to see me.”
Gil faced the counter, both hands gripping the edge. “You know damned well she can’t afford to help you out.”
“She has friends, doesn’t she?” He rounded the far end of the counter and eyed the cash register.
“Ferrell. Don’t do this.”
“You’re remembering why it’s been so long since we saw each other, am I right? Don’t feel guilty.” He pressed a button and the cash register pinged, but the drawer didn’t open. “We all make our choices and we all have to live with ’em.”
“We can make new choices.”
“Don’t you lecture me, G.” Ferrell stabbed at another button. When he got the same protesting ping, he scrubbed at his moustache and pointed a finger at Gil. “Don’t you goddamn dare. At least I tried with Dad. At least I cared. Now tell me the damned code so I can get some gas money and get the hell out of here.”
Slowly Gil straightened. “I made a mistake with Dad. I just...let him go. I don’t want to make the same mistake with you.”
“I’m not interested in some frickin’ family game night, I’m interested in some funding.” He banged his fist on the cash register keys. “You giving all your money to that bitch upstairs? Is she the reason you don’t have any left for me?”
Even as Gil reminded himself that was the addiction talking, he couldn’t stem the surge of fury behind his breastbone. “You have two minutes to walk out that door,” he said grimly. “Two minutes before I call the cops.”
“So this is you practicing tough love?” Ferrell gave his head a disgusted shake, but it was the register he had his eye on. “Damn it!” he yelled, and stomped back around the counter. “I came here looking for my brother, not some sanctimonious drill sergeant prick.” He stalked to the door and rammed it open with a ninety-degree kick. The glass cracked under his shoe and the cowbells hit the floor with a mournful clatter. “Thanks for nothing, G.”
Ferrell stormed off. Gil closed his eyes and held his breath. Seconds later he heard a metallic whump outside—the exact sound a man’s boot might make when it connected with the side panel of a silver F-150.
Gil rubbed his chest. At least his insurance was paid up.
* * *
KERRY ROLLED OVER onto her back and slowly opened her eyes. She blinked into the dimness, and gradually registered the absence of pain. No more headache, no more nausea.
Thank you, God.
She yawned, and frowned up at the raftered ceiling high above her. Where was she? She moved her legs, and felt the twisted, uncomfortable drag of her jeans. She was still dressed. Right. She’d never left Gil’s. He’d carried her upstairs.
Holy Hannah. The man was lucky he hadn’t put his back out. A humiliated, full-body flush had her kicking off the sheet.
A muttered curse and a rhythmic brushing somewhere to her right brought her up onto her elbows. Through the gloom she could make out Gil working a brush and dustpan as he cleaned up the dirt he’d dumped earlier. Something rattled and he swore again.
Kerry cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t that be easier with the light on?”
He dropped the dustpan and straightened. “Hey. Feeling better?” He took a step toward her, hissed in a breath and jerked up his knee. “Ouch, damn it.” He hopped over to the bed, sat down and leaned over his foot. Two seconds later, something clattered against the opposite wall.
“I forgot there were rocks in the planter,” he said.
“And now it’s out there lurking, just waiting for you to step on it again.”
He shifted around on the bed so he faced her. “You are feeling better.”
“I am, thanks.” She sat up and scooted back against the headboard. His eyes gleamed at her out of the shadows as she ran both hands through her hair.
“So,” she said. “I heard Mrs. Yackley call you Gilbert.”
He grunted. “What did you think ‘Gil’ was short for? Emperor of the Known Universe?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Gilligan.’”
His face scrunched in a mock scowl. “You’re lucky you’re carrying my baby.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” she said softly, and blushed. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
His scowl disappeared, but he didn’t say anything.
She put a hand to her forehead. “I must have really been out of it. Was someone else here?”
He got to his feet. “Let me get you a glass of water. Mind if I turn on a light?”
She shook her head, and watched as he moved away and hit a switch. Soft light filtered out of his kitchen and stretched across the bed.
Holy Hannah, his place was huge. It was all one room, with dark wood floors and planked walls the color of oak, like the rafters that supported the roof, which had to be a good twenty feet above her head. To her left was the door he’d told her opened into the bathroom, and the door on the other end of the wall led back downstairs to the store. To her right a black metal staircase spiraled upward to a catwalk adjoining a wall of jam-packed bookshelves, and beneath that, the kitchen, a cozy space with teal accents.
Gil, barefoot in steel-blue sweatpants and a tight-fitting tee, stood at the sink, wrestling an ice tray. The muscles in his back and arms flexed as he twisted the white plastic tray, and Kerry’s brain began to sputter, like an engine on its last drop of gas.
“Wow,” she said, suddenly wishing with all her might that she had the freedom to reacquaint herself with those muscles.
He glanced over with a grin. “Some place, right?”
Well, yeah, that too.
He opened a cupboard and grabbed two glasses. She should get up. She should not make him serve her. Not any more than he already had. But a distant pounding in her head signaled that her headache hadn’t entirely given up on her yet.
“Thank you,” she said, as Gil handed her a glass of water.
“You’re welcome. Want to take your clothes off?”
She choked and spewed water. Gil reached behind him and grabbed something off a chair, a T-shirt, and brushed at the droplets.
He tossed the shirt aside. “I only meant you might want to change into something more comfortable. I can loan you a T-shirt—not that wet one—and a pair of boxers if you’d like.”
Her pulse started to race as she eyed his outfit. “Is that what you wear to bed?”
“Too much?” He slid his thumbs behind his waistband. “Want me to take something off?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
YES.
“No! I mean...” Kerry threw back the sheet and sat up. Ignored Gil’s protest and glanced around for her phone, a clock, anything. “What time is it?”
“Around six.”
“Six?” She shot to her feet and instantly felt like her head was about to float away. She dropped back down onto her butt. “Oh, my God. The bar. Who’s at the bar?” She glared up at Gil. “Why did you let me sleep? Now Snoozy will let me go for sure.”
“Because you needed it.” He lowered into a squat and put a hand on her knee. “I called Liz. She’s handling it. She said not to worry, that she and Ruthie have it covered, and they’ll see you for your shift tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”
“She’d have had to ask my dad for time off, which means he knows I blew off the bar today.”
“Hey. You didn’t blow it off. You’re sick.” He gave her knee a squeeze. “How about some soup and crackers? Afterward you can lie back down and get some sleep.”
It sounded divine. It was humbling, the way he was taking care of her. And not something she was used to. But the fact that she enjoyed his caregiving so much was the very reason she couldn’t accept any more of it.
Well, maybe the soup. But that was it. After the soup, she’d be on her way.
“Something to eat sounds wonderful,” she said. “But after that I need to go.”
“Not to the bar.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. As much as she wanted to, she wasn’t feeling up to it. She wasn’t feeling up to Liz, either.
“No,” she said. “Home.”
He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “You stay put while I work my magic with the can opener. After dinner I’ll walk you across the street.”
Canned chicken noodle had never tasted so good. They ate on the couch, their bowls balanced on their knees, in the gloom that wouldn’t aggravate the ache in Kerry’s head.
She ate slowly. She didn’t want to spill. She didn’t want to leave, either.
Neither spoke. The only sounds in the loft were the clank of metal against ceramic, the occasional slurp and the gentle whirring of the overhead fans.
When Gil leaned forward and placed his empty bowl on the coffee table, then turned to face Kerry, she held her breath. If he asked her again to stay, she didn’t know if she could find the energy to refuse him.
“You did see someone,” he said. His clasped hands hung between his knees. “Here, I mean. You weren’t dreaming. It was my brother.”
“Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he still here?”
Gil shook his head. “He’s part of the reason I lost it when you came looking for a job. That comment you made, about entitlement...it reminded me of my brother. He and I don’t get along.”
Somehow she managed to scoot back on the couch and tuck herself into the corner without spilling a drop. “Tell me about him.”
“Another time.”
She lifted her bowl. “As much as you can until I’m done.”
He gave her a look over the top of his glasses. He knew what she was up to, but he didn’t call her on it.
For appearance’s sake, she lifted the empty spoon to her mouth. “Does he live around here?”
“No.” He turned and collapsed against the back of the couch, his thigh inches from her feet. “I don’t know.”
Kerry suppressed a wince. There had to be a lot of unhappy history behind those three words. “What happened?”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, he didn’t put his glasses back on and Kerry couldn’t look away. The intimacy of the moment made her feel outside herself, as if she were watching someone else connect with Gil.
It was familiar, yet not. If they ever hooked up again, there would be no bubbly wonder about the possibility of love. They would be two people connecting because they’d made a baby. Which meant hooking up again would not be a good idea. Reading more into that bond meant certain heartbreak.
“My parents invested everything they had in this store,” Gil said. “When the economy took a nosedive, their relationship did, too. Running a business—it’s tough. It made my mom hard. It wasn’t a complete surprise but it hurt like hell when we found out Dad was cheating on her. My mom kicked him out. He moved two states away and I never saw him again. I talked to him on the phone a few times, but...it never went well.”
The weariness in his voice pinched at her heart. She touched a foot to his thigh, and his hand came down to rest on her ankle.
“He wanted her to sell the store, but she always thought he’d come back, and she wanted Cooper’s to be here for him when he did.”
“He never did?”
“After his girlfriend left him, he fell into a depression. My brother talked with him a few times, but every day I was faced with the mess his leaving had made and I refused to speak to him. Ferrell mentioned Dad seemed down, but we didn’t realize how bad off he was until we got the call that he’d shot himself.”
God. “Gil. I’m so sorry.” She set her soup aside and squeezed his arm. “How long has it been?”
“Six years. I see it now, that he needed an escape, but at the time Ferrell and I were in our early twenties, wrapped up in our own lives and always griping about not having any free time.” He shrugged. “So here I am, fighting to keep the store open because the Cooper family has put so much into it. Time, money, heartache... Mom lives in Florida now, with her sister, but if she ever comes back, the store will be waiting.”
Kerry bit her lip. She was here to listen, not judge. “That explains your reaction that night at the bar when I made that stupid joke about pouring you a suicide.”
He stroked her ankle. “You didn’t know.” He put his glasses back on and pointed at her bowl. “Finished?”
She shook her head and picked it up again. There were maybe two spoonfuls of soup left. She swallowed one. “Is that why you and your brother don’t get along? Because you wouldn’t talk to your father?”
“That’s one reason. Mostly it’s because he was stealing.”
Kerry blanched.
“He’d found a buddy who could turn inventory into cash. It took us a while to figure it out and even when we did, Mom didn’t want to believe it. Turned out he was using the money for drugs.”
“So with your dad gone, your mom struggling with her new reality and your brother on drugs, you were the one holding it all together.”
“Not very well. I should have handled the situation with Ferrell better. He left not long after my dad died. He wanted us to sell, but only so he could get his hands on his share of the proceeds. Considering the hole we were in, there wouldn’t have been anything left. He took off in the middle of the night, sent us a postcard a couple months later, saying he’d found a job working construction. I didn’t hear from him again until...well, around the time you and I met.”
Kerry twisted her lips. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in six years? “Is he still on drugs?”
“Yeah.” His hand tightened on her ankle. “He said he was clean, but he lied.”
“Maybe he hasn’t hit rock bottom yet,” she said softly. After a couple beats of silence, she asked, “So he won’t be back?”
“No. I can’t have that around my kid.”
His response reassured her and saddened her at the same time. “You and I seem to have family estrangement in common.”
Abruptly Gil sat up and held out a hand for her bowl.
She passed it over without protest, and watched as he stacked his bowl on top of hers. “Actually, I guess I have more in common with your brother, since he was the source of the estrangement.”
“Can I get you anything else?”
Hurt collected in her throat. That was a dismissal if ever she’d heard one.
A swallow scattered the ache as she stood and walked stiffly back to the bed. “Did you ever involve the police?”
Gil spoke over his shoulder as he moved into the kitchen. “My mother made it clear that if I
did she’d never talk to me again. I figured I had to leave her one family member in her life.”
“But you don’t keep in touch with her.”
“Not as much as I should.”
Kerry sat on the end of the bed and pulled on her socks. “You should call her. I’d give anything to be able to talk to mine.”
Dishes thunked into his stainless-steel sink. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a sigh Kerry finished tying her shoes, then gathered up her purse. She opened her mouth to ask Gil about her phone, then remembered he’d tucked it under the pillow. As Gil stood at the sink, hands braced and arms stick-straight, she retrieved her phone and crossed the loft to the outside door.
“Gil, I’m sorry. This is none of my business. It’s just...having someone do what you did for me today, and sharing a quiet meal...it’s been nice. But in a false way. I get that.” With her shoulder, she pushed her hair away from her cheek. “Thank you for getting me through a tough time. I won’t make sick days a habit, I promise. As long as the baby cooperates, anyway. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes” was all he said. He didn’t try to talk her into staying, or insist on walking her across the street, or even advise her to watch out for traffic.
That casual yes neutralized the closeness they’d established. Which was a good thing, right? She had to focus on the reason she was here in the first place.
But the words were practically slamming against her teeth, so she opened up and let them out. “Can I ask you something?”
“Kerry.” A two-syllable warning.
She ignored it. “You seem to really love the hardware store. The work, not so much.”
He straightened and faced her. “What do you mean?”
“You’re distracted. I know you’re worried about finances, and now there’s the baby to complicate things, but I was wondering if you’re happy running Cooper’s.”
His gaze narrowed. “It pisses me off when my buddy Seth says things like that. Imagine how it makes me feel when you say them.”
Okay, then. “It’s just that you seem more passionate about math, and teaching.”