“People are supposed to be on vacation, not work, so why would they need internet?” I really hate when I see families so disconnected with each other because they spend all their time looking at a device.
I walk to the couch and join Nita, flopping down on the cushions.
“I agree with you, but this is not about you. It’s about your customers and what they want, and almost all the customers would want free internet access while they stay. It’s the day and age we live in, and you need to be flexible.”
I nod my head and expel an agitated breath. “Okay, whatever. I get your point.”
“Good. Now, there will need to be a few minor property upgrades, and I need to show you how to maintain the website I created for you. Oh and”—Madison grins like a little kid, and I can’t help smiling back at her—“I called in a favor to a friend who owes me one. She is going to come down and look at the place. Then she is going to write a review in the magazine she works for, which happens to be the most popular travel magazine in the world. So, if she’s onboard with everything, you will have a top-rated review and be featured in a magazine that is circulated all over the world to millions of people every month. That, my friend, is a very big deal.”
I stand from my seat. She has to be kidding, right? I know exactly what magazine she is referring to—Around the World—and never in a million years would I have thought my family’s little bed and breakfast could be listed in it. If only my parents were alive to see this happen. My mother loved that magazine. In fact, she still receives the monthly subscription, even though she has been dead for a few years. I am so surprised and shocked and grateful. I don’t think I could repay her for this.
Being featured alone in that magazine is an honor, but to have her do the rest is simply amazing. Before I can stop myself, I walk to her and pull her in for a hug. I am feeling happy for once in my damn life, and I don’t hold back showing it to her. Holding her in my embrace only reminds me of what used to be, though it also feels new and unnerving as I feel her arms welcome me in.
Despite how comforting it feels, I shrug out of her arms and take a step back, transforming myself back to the indifferent man I have become. I take a second to remind myself of her leaving in a few days. The unwanted feelings toward her are brewing, but I can’t have them.
Then it occurs to me that I don’t have the kind of funds to make major upgrades to the guest house. Granted, it is in pretty good shape as far as the structure, roof, and paint, but I know the inside could use some work. I can’t remember the last time we painted or, in my mother’s case, wallpapered.
“Madison, I don’t have the kind of funds to overhaul the inside. I’ve been making a little money on the side, so I’ve got some stocked away, but not the kind of cash you’re talking about.”
“It’s not going to cost that much, because we can work with stuff you already have. The major project will be removing all the wallpaper and replacing it with clean, crisp paint and adding the playground.”
“We?” I ask, hoping she will stay, but needing her to leave.
“Well, I will be here for a few more days, so I can help. I may not be able to lift and move furniture, but I can paint and tell you where to put stuff.” She smiles. “And, if you need my help past the three days, I don’t have anywhere to go just yet. I submitted some resumes at a few firms in San Diego, but I haven’t heard back yet.”
“San Diego? You’re not going back to New York?” I ask, surprised by her comment.
“Yeah … I’m kind of over New York, if you know what I mean. I need a fresh start, and San Diego is a beautiful place to live, so I thought, what the hell?”
My heart immediately sinks, and it pisses me off. I shouldn’t feel upset over her leaving and moving thousands of miles away. In fact, I should be jumping for joy that she is getting away from me. Still, the disappointment is there, and if I dwell on it long enough, it will end up consuming me, just like it did when she left for New York. I swallow it down and vow to never allow it to control me again.
I move over to her. “Well, let’s get this party started.”
She jumps up and down like a little kid then moves in for a swift hug. I reciprocate and pull away quickly until Nita comes screaming from the couch and holding both of us in her embrace. We spend the rest of the day sitting around the parlor, discussing the plans for the Wakefield Bed and Breakfast beautification project, as Madison likes to call it.
chapter six
“NATE, BE CAREFUL!” I SHOUT over the noise of the steamer as Juanita, Dr. Wellman, and I scrape decades of wallpaper off the walls in one of the bedrooms.
“We are almost done with that thing, thank the Lord,” Juanita says as we finish scraping the very last part of wall around the doorway.
I run my scraper under the layers of paper and shuck off the steamed, wet paper. With every pull, the pile of paper collecting at my feet grows, and I vow to myself I will never— and I do mean never—wallpaper anything in my house. EVER! This job sucks¸ and when you are talking about five layers of wallpaper, it sucks even more.
The downstairs was easy because there were only two layers, so we completed it in two days, but we soon learned it wouldn’t be a breeze upstairs. We have managed to get a room done in one day, but man it sucks.
We have been steaming and scraping for the past few days before finally reaching the room I have been staying in. It’s the final room to be overhauled, and my side hurts, my feet ache, and my arms are incredibly sore. Honestly, I am also dizzy from looking at the obnoxious patterns. As I scrape away one layer, I find the layer underneath it is even worse. I hate flowers. This is a new development, but if I see another flower again, I will most likely lose my mind.
However, I am not going to complain openly to anyone, especially Nate. We have been getting along, and I am not going to say anything to upset the delicate balance.
We don’t talk much, but he is able to stay in a room without sneering at me. We have also managed to laugh at some stupid things I have done or said. Let’s face it, I am not a do-it-yourselfer, and it took me a while to get the hang of scraping. You would think it is an easy job, but there is a certain way to hold the tool and a certain way you scrape to get the most paper off with every pass. Again, I am smart, but home-improvement-smart is not my thing.
We have been working day and night. Juanita and Dr. Wellman usually quit before supper, but Nate and I have been staying up to the wee hours of the morning before we fall asleep for three or four hours then start it all over again. Then, last night, Nate and I were working well after midnight when his cell phone went off in his pocket. After he checked it, he called it quits instantly and left. The next day, I was drinking a cup of coffee, trying to get the desire to return to the wallpaper jungle, when he walked through the door. He was moving slower than normal, and the knuckles on his hands were scabbed, yet the smell of stale booze was missing. Normally, he would be soaked in the smell in the morning; now, it was missing.
I wanted to ask him about it, but I knew it might be the source of another argument, so I decided to drop it. However, now, as the sound of the steamer vibrates my ear drums, and my arms ache with every move, I can hardly think of anything else. I want to know where his injuries come from. In the past, I assumed it was the bar fight, because of that whiskey smell, yet the smell is absent this morning, which tells me he was completely sober when he got into a fight. My curiosity is killing me.
Another thing that is killing me is wondering how I did with the phone interview I had yesterday. I managed to slip away from our endless scraping to talk with the hiring director at a firm in San Diego. I know my resume is impressive, and I am certain I answered the questions appropriately for the interview, but the waiting is killing me.
The director told me he would have his decision in a week or two and to expect to hear from his assistant. My heart sank, knowing if his assistant calls, I probably won’t get the job. Usually, the good news is shared by your future boss or
human resources, and the discards are dismissed by someone else.
Ugh! It is just one more thing to clog my thoughts as I run my damn scrapper under the endless flowers blanketing the wall.
Madison is barking orders at me to watch what I am doing as we wrap up our work with the wallpaper steamer. However, I know exactly what I am doing. My mother loved wallpaper, and we steamed and scraped so many times in my life I have almost lost count. We were simply lucky she didn’t want to tackle the removal project more often in the guest house, because it was a huge project. Our house was a different story, though.
My father and I would groan whenever she would come home with wallpaper sample books, knowing how much it was going to suck. Then again, hanging it is way worse, so I am glad we are going to paint, instead.
We are working on the room Madison is staying in, and I find it a little weird. The last time I was in here, I had to help her up the stairs because her ribs were hurting her. When I walked in the room, her bra and panties were hanging all over the place. I kept the excitement off my face, but the only thought I had in at that moment was ripping off her clothes to see in person what she looks like wearing the delicate lace.
Then, of course, she tells me about the douche she was dating. It torpedoed me back down to earth when she began to finally talk about him, yet I was the sick fuck asking all the questions. I guess I just wanted to feel the rage over the other emotions she has been jarring out of me.
Yet, it is the sweet jasmine smell of the room that has my head spinning. She has always loved the smell of jasmine, and every inch of this room is covered in the scent. I constantly find myself flashing back to the carefree days we used to have as teenagers.
The delicate perfume would linger on my clothes long after we parted, making me miss her minutes after she was gone. In fact, the jasmine scent had me spinning from the moment I spoke to her. After she left, every time I smelled something remotely similar, I always thought of Madison and feel my chest ache with pain moments before the anger had a chance to set in. Currently, it is one more thing to keep me drifting back and forth with my emotions
With every pass I make with the steamer, my side screams in pain, jerking me back to last night instead of focusing on the girl who left me. The damn bastard lit me up. He was able to get me on the ground and wasted no time pounding into my gut. I only had one shot of Bushmills before the fight began, hardly the copious amount I needed to lessen the pain. From the feel of things right now, I might have broken something, but I don’t have time or money to worry about that.
I have been participating in the underground fight scene for the past eight months. I was spiraling straight to hell because of what happened that stormy night a year ago. When I lost the last good part of me and my reason for getting my life on the right path, I needed to destroy something. All was gone. Lisa was gone, and I was alone.
I was drunk and ready for a battle. Whiskey does amazing things to your personality when it is all you have pumping through your veins. Well, that and a furious rage. I was afraid of nothing and needed to release the demon that was quickly consuming my body. I had visited the cliffs several times after Lisa left and dared myself to jump off, but I never did. As a result, when some shady guy approached me at a bar in Providence, I had no problems being some UFC wannabe’s punching bag. Actually, I welcomed it.
I was hoping the man I was fighting would deliver that fatal blow to my skull, taking all my misery away, but the opposite happened. A switch I hadn’t seen since the night I beat the shit out of Madison’s dad flipped on, and it unleashed a freight train of destruction. With my body, I created major cash in less than ten minutes.
I found this amazing outlet for the all-consuming rage, and exploded it on to the guy I was fighting. He wasn’t expecting it. Shit, neither was I. I didn’t know I had the ability to hurt someone the way I did. He left the ring with each arm slung over his friends, blood pouring from his face. I have hurt many people and have a reputation for completely annihilating people to the point where they don’t walk freely on their own. There are rumors around that I have killed people, but they aren’t true.
Now, I crave the escape. In fact, that is what has been keeping me afloat for the past year. I am making a thousand to four thousand dollars per fight, and lately I have been called to fight more. I had almost fifteen thousand stashed away. Last night’s win brought me thirty-five hundred, and I gave that immediately to Nita to shop for last minute painting supplies and her pay for last week.
Nita knows I am doing something illegal to make money. She probably thinks I am dealing drugs, but she has said nothing to me to confirm it. She only shakes her head when fresh wounds show up on my face and hands, and I give her a sad smile, trying to reassure her that I am fine. We both know different, though.
No sane man would participate in underground fighting as a way to pass the time and make money. No sane man would hope the next blow to their head would kill them. All that it proves is that I am fucked up in the head for allowing fighting to be the way I keep most of the rage under control.
However, last night I was doing it stone sober. I was already exhausted from the day of stripping wallpaper and really didn’t want to leave Madison alone, knowing she would be questioning why I had to leave after the phone call. Maybe she will think I went trolling for ass last night. Who am I kidding? She isn’t an idiot. I know she has seen my wounds before, but she hasn’t said a word. She only stares then pretends like she hasn’t noticed anything at all.
This morning, when I showed up, I met her suspicious gaze, and for a moment, I was going to tell her where I went then decided against it. If she questions it, I might share, although I really don’t know what I would say. She is leaving once the work is done, which shouldn’t be too much longer, and I don’t want to give her a reason to stay.
Shaking my head, I turn off the steaming machine and get the scraper off the floor then begin to run it along the wall. As I work on removing the wallpaper, I look out the window to see the playground is almost installed. It is costing about six thousand dollars, which eats up the remainder of my savings after the home repairs, but I can see what an attraction it will be to families. The landscaping crew will be here tomorrow to add some nice touches and finish the fire pit area, and then all the repairs should be complete. Madison and I are going to start painting in her room as soon as we get the shit cleaned up in here.
I debated on going to the bank to get a loan for all the improvements we are making, but I didn’t want to be stuck with the payments. My parents were able to get the majority of this place paid off before they died, and their estate was enough to pay the rest of the mortgage off. There was even a little left afterward for me to repair the roof.
“Nate?” Nita grabs my arm slowly and gives it a little squeeze.
I snap from my thoughts and look around Madison’s room. All the wallpaper is gone, leaving her wall and the rest inside the house a slate gray color. Madison assures me the white paint will brighten up the place and give it a clean look. I nodded in agreement, knowing how right she is.
The day has gotten away from us, and soon it is time to eat a quick bite then move on to painting. I should have looked into hiring commercial painters. I am sure they could get the house painted in a matter of days. After all, Madison may have to leave soon if she gets an interview or placed in a job in San Diego, and Nita and the doc are a great help, but I feel bad making them work so hard. If I get a fight in the next couple of days and the money is good, I will seriously consider getting those painters.
Nita and Dr. Wellman head down stairs to get something whipped up for supper, leaving us to clean up the discarded wallpaper on the floor. Madison and I start getting her room ready as we prep for the painting job. We trudge up and down the stairs, bringing supplies up to her room. We lay out the plastic to cover the flooring, and she gets the rollers and brushes ready to go.
Just as I kneel down to open a can of white paint, the sounds of my
childhood come flooding up the stairs. I immediately smile, knowing what is happening in the dining room, and feel my heart ache a little bit from the loss of my parents. We had so many good memories, and the music from the seventies that is blasting through the house gives me a wonderful reminder of how great they really were. I miss them deeply every single day.
chapter seven
NATE AND I FOLLOW THE infectious sounds of soul down to the bottom of the stairs to find Juanita and Dr. Wellman getting down to “Gotta Give it Up” by Marvin Gaye in the dining room. The furniture is still pushed to the middle, making plenty of room to dance around the pile like a bunch of disco freaks at a bonfire.
Juanita is shuffling around the room with the doc following close behind her. She is rolling her arms in front of her as she shakes her hips, simply grooving to the music. Dr. Wellman is a little less graceful, but that doesn’t stop him from letting loose with the gal he loves.
Nate confessed to me once that his parents and Juanita used to do this all the time when he was kid. They would throw on old records and dance all night. Sometimes, they would have customers here. Then, the next thing you knew, there would be a dance party on. It was a throwback to their youth, or at least that is what Juanita used to tell him.
Nate gives huge grin as he watches them cha-cha around the pile of dining tables and chairs. The loud beats soon take over my body, and I can’t help tapping along with the groove. Juanita begins giggling like a teenager as she and Dr. Wellman freeze then start bumping hips. I can picture her as a young woman, under the lights of the disco, dancing her heart out as she makes the boys’ mouths drop with how well she can move.
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