by Nance Sparks
“Bummer, I was looking forward to tormenting her,” Aren said as they walked into the store. Carol shook her head in response, softly giggling.
“Stop making me laugh! My ribs hurt!” Carol said, poking Aren in the ribs to make her point.
“Hey, Aren, how have you been doing?” Maggie asked as she came from the back office.
“Pretty good, Maggie, how are you?”
“I’m good. I just wanted you to know I fired that cashier later that day. I just couldn’t shake how she treated you. I feel I owe you an apology.” Maggie’s sincerity was clear in her expression.
“It’s okay. I didn’t blame you. Actually, I’m kinda bummed. I brought her a Wyatt present in a paper bag.” Aren winked. “Maggie, I’d like you to meet Carol Matthews. She’s been staying with me. Suzie and Frank Cordes were her aunt and uncle.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Maggie. Aren speaks highly of you,” Carol said, stepping forward to shake Maggie’s hand.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Carol. I’m so sorry for your loss. I knew Suzie and Frank, they were good people.” Maggie turned to Aren and asked, “Hey, I noticed that there isn’t a horse in the parking lot, where’s Wyatt?”
“We came in my car,” Carol said.
“You, the famous hermit cowgirl, rode in a car?” Maggie said, acting shocked. “Whatever will the townsfolk think?”
“Yeah, keep it up, old woman, and I’ll bring Wyatt inside next time I come a calling.” Aren laughed.
“Did she happen to tell you that she worked here during high school and while she was in college? She’d come over after school and work until closing a few days a week for spending money. Then, we’d grab a burger before I dropped her off at home.” Maggie smiled at the old memories.
“I didn’t know that. So, you were a ‘helpful hardware girl’ eh?” Carol teased her.
“Don’t we have paint to pick out?” Aren replied, blushing.
Maggie tilted her head. “Are you painting the barn?” she asked.
Aren lifted her hat and brushed her hair off her forehead before reseating the hat. She’d known this woman for more than half her life. Maggie had been the one who forced her to admit to herself the love she’d felt for Jennifer. Maggie had been a mentor to her, a role model.
“We’re gutting the house and I’m moving in. We’ve pulled up all the carpet. Peeled all the old crappy wallpaper off the walls and scrubbed every surface of the place. We still need to deal with the upstairs. But all in all, it’s coming along nicely. We’re going to do the floors in that old oak that Ron had milled.” Aren smiled. “You’ll have to come out for supper sometime once we get the place finished.”
“I’d like that. I can’t tell you how often I think of you out there. I should have made it out there over the years. I feel all this guilt, but with all that Ruby was going through—”
Aren put her hand up to stop her. “Maggie, please don’t apologize. You were right where you should have been, at Ruby’s side. I harbor no ill feelings. I had no expectations. I imagine we’ve both been dealing with our own demons, and each in our own way. Sometimes we need a little time to heal.”
“You’re an amazing person. God, you look good. What’s up with you two? I heard a lot of ‘we’ on the housework,” Maggie asked.
Aren looked over to Carol who had made her way over to the paint department. She was picking out color chips. What was up with the two of them?
“Like I said, she’s been staying with me while they rebuild her aunt and uncle’s place, well, it’s her place now. She’s great. We’re taking time to get to know each other. I think we both need it.” Aren didn’t have a better answer, since she didn’t know herself.
“Good for you. It’s time, Aren. It’s okay for you to be happy, ya know.” Maggie always had a way of saying the right thing.
“How about you? How are you doing?” Aren asked.
“I’m doing a little better every day. I still miss her like crazy. This place keeps my mind occupied.”
“Well, just remember your own advice. It’s okay for you to find happiness too, ya know.” Aren smiled as she put her sunglasses back on.
“Yeah, I hear you. Thanks, Aren. Well, you’d better go check on the colors before she has them mixing cans.” Maggie nodded toward the paint department.
Aren looked over and saw Carol talking with the clerk. “Roger that. Take care.”
“You too.” Maggie reached out and squeezed Aren’s arm before heading back toward her office.
Aren made her way to the paint department. So much had changed in such a short time, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like this was her home. Carol looked up and smiled as she approached, and she knew full well why she felt that way.
“What do you think of any of these?” Carol asked.
Aren smiled. “Which ones are you expecting me to choose?”
Carol shook her head. “Based on how you did the outside of the house and barn, I’m thinking you’d like this soft beige for a base color, then this sage green for an accent wall or two in the living room, dining room, maybe even the kitchen.”
Smiling her agreement, she asked, “And what’s the deep red for? Where would I like that color?”
Carol looked up into Aren’s eyes, raising her eyebrows mischievously. “You’d like this color behind your bed. The color of passion and heart.”
“You know me too well already.” Aren’s heart leapt at the idea of Carol thinking about her bed.
Aren took the chips and ordered the paint from the young man behind the counter in the small paint center. While they waited for the mechanical shaking machines to blend the dyes to the exact match, she and Carol picked out stain and sealant for the floor, among other items they’d need to restore the lower level of the house. Within a half hour, they were up to the counter with two baskets full of items.
The cashier, glancing up often to sneak a peek at the scars creeping out from behind Aren’s sunglasses, added up their order. She was used to it, and she found it didn’t make her uncomfortable the way it had before. When she smiled at him, he smiled back, and she wondered how much of people’s response to her before had been partly to do with her own insecurities and agitation.
“Thank you, have a nice day,” Aren said, accepting the change. She shook her head while pushing the full cart out of the store, Carol walking at her side. Hope and light weren’t feelings she was familiar with, but damn if they didn’t flow through her now. There was a beautiful woman at her side, for however long that might be, and she was moving away from her past and into the future. She reached for Carol’s hand. Change was a good thing.
Chapter Thirty-three
The golden walls slowly disappeared beneath the soft, warm beige. It had taken two coats of paint yesterday to completely cover the deep golden color, but once the second coat dried, the house quickly released its grasp on days long gone. Carol still had a touch of paint in her shoulder length brown hair from the day before. Aren couldn’t help but stare as Carol carefully stirred the five-gallon bucket of sage green for the long wall that extended from the living room into the dining room. She was stunning, and she looked so relaxed, so at home. She’d become so much a part of Aren’s world in such a short time, and she couldn’t imagine her not being there.
“What are you staring at?” Carol asked, bashfully smiling. She subconsciously rubbed her nose and now had green paint streaked across her cheek and on the tip of her nose.
“The most beautiful woman in the world,” Aren said.
Carol looked at her for a long moment, the air crackling between them, before she grinned and ducked her head, breaking eye contact. She carefully poured paint into two trays before delivering one to Aren. They each took a fine brush and began the daunting task of cutting in the corners and the ceiling before rolling the paint onto the walls. Aren worked on the corner in the living room, while Carol worked on the corner in the dining room.
“What were your mom and da
d like?” Carol asked from across the room, not looking away from her detailed task.
Aren was thoughtful for a moment. “I remember my mom being very gentle and sweet. She made the best grilled cheese sandwiches. She loved to read me stories and later loved to help me read stories. She kept a little flower garden in the front of the house that held all the fragrances of summer. She had big hair and was always teasing and spraying it so it would be tall. She wore an apron that was longer than most of her skirts and she loved to run around the backyard with me.”
“And your dad? What was he like?”
Aren’s back stiffened and her grip on the paintbrush tightened. “My dad was an abusive drunk.”
“What happened to them? Were they killed in an accident like my folks?” Carol asked, continuing to prod. “You’ve just never said how you ended up in foster care.”
Aren inhaled deeply. She finished the section she was working on and left to get the ladder from the kitchen. After setting up the ladder and climbing up four steps, she finally decided to answer. “My dad liked to drink whiskey and play cards. I don’t know what game he liked best, I was too young to care, but he’d cash his check on Friday and take off until he won or ran out of money. He’d win occasionally, but not often, just enough to keep him hooked. One night when I was eight, he came home after a big loss. Some big men came with him and gutted our house. They took everything, even the fridge, food and all!”
She stepped down from the ladder and moved it over a few feet before continuing. “Anyway, our house was empty except for a couple of lawn chairs and some TV trays. My mom put me back to bed on the floor because they even took all our beds. I tried to go to sleep, but they started fighting. Mom was screaming that she was done, she was fed up with his gambling and drinking and that she’d had enough. She said that she was taking me and going home to her folks. I remember being excited that we were leaving him and hoped that this time it was for real. She’d said it before, but he’d talk her out of it. He’d promise that things would change, promise that he’d be different, and he would be for a while, but then the booze and the cards would always win.”
Again, she stepped down from the ladder and again, moved it a few feet down the wall closer to Carol. She was cutting in the green along the ceiling. Aren looked up at the beige cutting crisply to a soft sage green and realized how much she would like the colors once the putrid gold was completely covered up. She stepped up the few steps to reach the ceiling again.
“Did your mom take you away that time?” Carol asked before Aren had a chance to resume the story.
Aren shook her head and took a deep breath. “No, she never got a chance. They kept fighting and pretty soon dishes were crashing in the kitchen and then I heard this loud thwack sound followed by a thud and it went quiet. Somehow, I knew it was bad, that it was worse this time. I snuck down the hallway to check and see if Mom was okay. He’d hit her before, so hard that she was knocked out for a while.” Aren took in a deep breath. “Mom was lying on the floor. Her hair was dark and red in the back and blood started pooling on the floor. She was so still, like she was sleeping. Dad was standing above her with a cast iron frying pan clenched in his fist. He dropped the pan on the floor and called for an ambulance, but she was dead when the paramedics arrived. I watched as he picked up the pan and cleaned it up, and he had it back in the cupboard before they arrived. I snuck back to my room and hid. He never knew what I saw that night.”
Aren stepped off the ladder and moved it farther down the wall. She noticed Carol had finished the corner and was ready to start on the ceiling from her end.
“Do you want to start rolling the paint while I finish the ceiling line? That way you won’t have to try to climb the ladder with your boot.” Aren took the break to settle herself here, in her new reality, rather than back then. It was easier to do now, and that brought some comfort.
“That sounds like a deal.” Carol refilled her tray of paint and grabbed the roller with the long pole before walking down to the corner that Aren had finished earlier. “Were the police called?”
“Yeah, someone called them in. I guess all the broken dishes were a clue. He was arrested and I was sent off to a foster home until the trial was over. He convinced them that yes, they had been arguing, but that she’d slipped while throwing a plate at him and then she’d hit her head on the counter. They found him not guilty and released me back to him that same day,” Aren said, again moving the ladder. “He picked me up in the suit he’d worn to court. He told me that I’d have to do Mommy’s work now so that he could go to work. He said he’d try to find me a new mommy but until he could I’d have to step up. Then he had me scrub up my mom’s blood off the kitchen floor. How screwed up is that?”
Carol set the roller down and walked over to the ladder where Aren was still perched up against the ceiling. She rubbed Aren’s calf and asked her if she was okay. Aren looked down and smiled warmly. She realized at that very moment that she was okay, she was actually healing. The emotional memories remained, but the guilt had subsided. She didn’t feel so raw, so intimidated by her father, even in memory, as she had even a few months earlier. Aren nodded that she was doing fine and reached down, gently touching the green paint on Carol’s cheek.
“Is that why you have worked so hard to get Phyllis’s blood off the floor? Does it bring back memories of your mother lying on the floor?” Carol asked a few minutes later, having returned to her job of rolling the green over the gold. The wall was now almost completely painted.
“I never linked the two, not consciously, anyway. I guess it’s possible though.” Aren stepped off the ladder and watched Carol for a moment. Their lives were so incredibly different. In the beginning, Carol had said they could help each other heal. Maybe it was working. Carol was the second person she’d ever told about her mom, about her dad, and while her death was still sad, she found she could talk about it. It felt good to be able to share the truth of that night. Release it to the universe so she could have a life she wanted instead of the one she’d had.
Chapter Thirty-four
It didn’t take Carol long to finish up the green on the dining room wall. Soon she was in the kitchen with Aren, paintbrush in hand. They’d decided to paint the sage green on the island and the space between the countertop and cupboards to keep the room light. Once they finished that area, they only had the red to do in the bedroom and their painting project would be complete.
“Are you still up for talking?” Carol asked.
“Sure. I imagine your mind is spinning with a thousand more questions.” Aren turned and smiled at Carol.
“Did your dad ever remarry?” Carol dipped her brush into the paint and worked at the opposite side of the kitchen.
“No, but he brought plenty of women home. Most of them looked like hookers. They’d smoke and drink right alongside him. I think the nice women, like my mom, could see him for who he really was.” Aren shrugged. “Those women didn’t come around.”
“Well then, did you have to keep being the responsible one? Did you have to keep doing laundry and cooking and all that while going to school?” Carol asked.
“Yep, it was my job and there was no way I’d challenge him. I got up early, made him breakfast and packed his lunch before I went off to school and then hurried home after school to get dinner started and check on laundry. I kept the house clean, did dishes, anything that would keep him from being angry with me. Sometimes nothing made a difference. The house would be spotless and he’d still come home in a foul mood and beat the shit out of me. I remember times that I’d have to wear long sleeves in the summertime just to hide all the bruises.”
“So, eventually they took you away from him?” Carol asked while getting started on painting the island.
“A teacher caught sight of my bruises once and called child protective services, but they stopped by right after school, and for whatever reason Dad came home on time that night and was sober. They inspected the house, but I kept it clean,
and there was food in the cupboards because I did the grocery shopping. Everything looked like a normal house should. So, they left and so did Dad, in a fit of rage. I didn’t want to be home when he got home but I didn’t dare be gone either. That was an especially brutal evening.”
The painting of the sage green was complete. All they had left to do was paint the wall that would be behind Aren’s bed and then they’d be ready to put down the oak planked floor. Aren went outside and washed out the roller and brushes while Carol stirred the brick red. She sat there absorbing this new chapter, the earliest chapter, in Aren’s life. Aunt Suzie had always said that God would never give us more than we could handle. Given all that she was learning about Aren’s life, she didn’t know how that could be the case. Would she have survived if she’d walked Aren’s path? Would she have been strong enough to take it and come out the other side? Carol shook her head. She doubted it. How could she ever trust another human being? Why would she want to? Aren walked into the room and handed Carol a brush.
“Are you up for one last wall?”
“I can be up for one more wall. Please tell me we’ll tackle the upstairs another day.” Carol dramatically flopped backward onto the floor.
“Even I’m not up for tackling the upstairs today. My arms are about spent.” Aren laughed.
Carol still had so many questions. She wondered if she was pushing too hard. She tried to ignore the thoughts swirling in her head. She tried to just focus on keeping the paint line crisp and even.
“Ask.” Aren’s back was to her, in the opposite corner. “You’re chewing on your lip. It’s your tell when you want to ask a question. So, please, ask.”
“I have a tell? Here I thought you’ve been reading my mind all this time.” Carol threw her drip towel at Aren.