by J. Lea
Turning onto my side, I close my eyes. But as usually, dark thoughts enter my mind, preventing me from sleep. When I do manage to nod off, I’m plagued by nightmares that keep waking me up. I toss and turn, finally giving up on sleep at five a.m. and do yoga instead. I started practicing it six years ago, and haven’t stopped since, so I’ve become quite an expert. It helps me relax and put my mind at ease.
After a long, hot shower, I dress in ripped shorts and an oversized grey T-shirt I wear all the time. Like every day, I put on my bracelets and run downstairs to check on Carlos, since Dolores is at work. With a gentle knock on his door, I quietly push it open. He’s lying in his bed, his eyes closed, so I let him rest. As I turn to leave, his raspy voice stops me in my tracks.
“Everly, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. I thought you were sleeping.” Walking to his side, I smile.
“No. Just napping. Could you bring me a glass of water?” Carlos points to the jug on the table across the room, so I fill a glass and help him sit up. I pass him the glass.
“What would you like for breakfast this morning?”
“Nothing. I’m not hungry.”
I take the now empty glass out of his hands and put it on the nightstand. Taking the diabetes kit from the drawer, I gently place his hand in mine, pricking his finger to measure his blood sugar. “You know you need to eat something before you take your medication. So scrambled eggs, pancakes, or toast? Your choice.”
He rubs his forehead. “Now that I think about it, I could go for some chocolate pancakes and whipped cream.”
“Ha, nice try.” I grin. “I’ll make you wholegrain pancakes with sugar-free strawberry jam.”
“Sounds delicious.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Isn’t it too early to ruin an old man’s day?” Carlos pretends to be offended.
I fix his pillow. “After breakfast, we’re going to take a stroll down the street, does that sound better? We could use some fresh air.”
“Ugh,” he groans. “It keeps getting better and better. Why don’t we just sit and relax?”
“Oh, no. You’ll see how much fun it’ll be.” I wink conspiratorially at him.
“For you,” he mumbles. “At least make sure we go past Crowns’ house, that old fart Bert’s gonna be green with envy when he sees me with a beauty like you.”
“That I can do.” I laugh, shaking my head. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
Carlos is a sixty-one-year-old gentleman with hazel eyes, grey hair, and a friendly smile. Dolores showed me their albums the other day, so I know the illness did a lot of damage to this once tall, strong, and vital man who wore a moustache better than any man I know. He had his long hair in a low ponytail. He played sports, loved fishing, and loved life. Now, he’s only a shadow of the man he used to be, and it’s turned him bitter and angry at the world.
The house is silent when I leave Carlos’s room. It looks like everyone’s already left. In the kitchen, I make the pancake batter from scratch and pull the pan out of the cupboard. Since I don’t like silence, I turn on the radio. I love all types of music, but when a catchy pop song starts blasting through the speakers, my hips follow the rhythm. I start dancing around the kitchen, singing along. Just as I’m about to put the first pancake on a platter, I notice Connor leaning against doorframe with his arms crossed. Startled, I almost miss the plate and nearly throw a pancake on the floor.
“Oh, shit.” Blush seers through my cheeks, suddenly feeling awkward.
Connor looks amused with his smirk plastered on his face. “Hey there.”
“How long have you been standing there?” With my luck, he probably saw the whole show.
“Long enough to see you have some wicked moves. But your singing, well, let’s just say we won’t be listening you in a talent show,” he jokes.
Huffing, I grab a rag and throw it at him. It hits him in the chest, falling to the floor, making him chuckle. “Well, luckily for you that’s not my intention.” My brow raises. “Want some pancakes? I’m making enough for whole neighborhood.”
“Sure.” Putting his keys and the rag on the table, as he moves closer. I freeze mid-step as my eyes take him in. I have no idea how I missed it before, probably because I was making a fool of myself. He’s wearing running shorts low on his hips, no shirt, and his chest is glistening with sweat making his abs even more defined by the sunlight peeking through the drapes. I never imagined sweat could be so sexy. His hair is sticking up every which way, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes off him. Get a grip, Ev. He is just a man for crying out loud.
He looks well-rested even though we talked long into the night. I, on the other hand, look like I’ve been hit by a truck.
“I thought you were at work.” I busy my hands with turning the pancake.
Connor pours himself a glass of water and a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker then plops his ass on the bar stool opposite me. “Not yet, soon. I took Ava to preschool and went for a run afterward. Running in the morning is my drug of choice.”
That’s the reason behind his perfect body then. Running. Ugh. I always hated it and all activities that involved running. I have no idea why some people like to torture themselves like that. It’s so … exhausting. And boring if I may add. “My drug of choice is coffee, lots of it.”
Taking a sip of water, he tries to hide his smile. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” I lie. I feel no need to explain my nightmares to him. “What do you want with your pancakes?” Stepping on my tiptoes, I reach up to grab the syrup, chocolate spread, and jams out of the cupboard.
“Wait, let me help.” He springs out of his seat and rounds the island. I can feel the heat radiating off his body as he steps right behind me, his hard stomach pressing against my back, his breath caressing the sensitive skin of my nape. That sends tickles all the way to my core. His hand brushes my hip as he reaches up, fishing out the condiments from the back of the shelf. Even though he just came from his run, he smells divine. Fresh, salty, and all man. So tempting.
“Thanks.” My voice shakes as I look up to his eyes, our gazes lock.
He clears his throat as I take a step away. “No problem.”
I let out a relieved breath I didn’t know I was holding when he goes back to his seat, the island putting some distance between us.
“What—” I start but the doorbell interrupts me. Connor’s head jerks up. “Finish your breakfast, I’ll go.” He flashes me a grateful smile, and starts to devour a stack of pancakes. His smile is contagious, beautiful; I can see myself easily getting used to seeing it all the time. No doubt all the women in his life are obsessed with his dazzling grins.
“Hello.” There’s a beautiful woman with chestnut hair and medium height standing outside. “Can I help you?”
The woman gives me a once-over before she asks about Connor’s whereabouts.
“He’s having breakfast. Let me go get him.”
“No need to, I’ll get him myself.” She pushes her way inside. “I’m sure he won’t mind. By the way, you look familiar, have we met?” she throws over her back. “I’m Dana.”
I’ve never laid my eyes on her before. I’m good with faces and I would remember her. “I don’t think so.” Trying to be friendly, I smile, but she ignores me as she strides determinedly toward the kitchen.
“Connor, darlin’!” she calls, making him turn toward the direction of her voice.
I give him an apologetic smile from behind her. “She just walked in.”
“It’s fine, Everly.” He shrugs it off. “Dana.” He raises to his feet and kisses her cheek. She’s looking at him like he’s a God who is about to make her his Goddess.
Connor grabs her elbow and leads her to the side while I return to making pancakes and pretend to ignore the couple. But I’m still close and can hear what they’re saying.
“Who is she?” Dana demands, her voice is anything but nice.
“Carlos’s caregiver,” Connor explains calmly.
&nbs
p; “And she lives here, in your house?” she splutters, horrified it seems.
“Yes, she lives here. Why?”
She ignores his question. “She looks a bit young, that’s all. I thought you’ll hire someone older, more experienced.”
“And your point is?” Connor asks dryly.
Sneaking a glance in their direction, I see their profiles; his arms are crossed over his chest while she constantly touches him.
“Nothing, it’s just an observation.” She gives him a saccharine smile, her eyes shining with adoration. “So, are you ready? We should go.”
“Yeah, I just need to take a shower first. Be right back. Make yourself at home.”
“Okay, I’ll wait for you here.”
Connor casts me a quick glance as he’s leaving. Dana’s eyes follow him until he disappears around the corner.
“Caregiver, huh?” She sits in the seat Connor just vacated and helps herself to his coffee. “Do you like it? I mean, you do wipe asses for a living.”
Trying really hard not to spill my coffee over her, I just take a breath and reply with, “Yep,” not bothering to tell her more since she’s making fun of what I do. There’s really no point.
“How long will you be staying?” she digs.
“As long as they’ll need me here, I guess.” I never really thought about it. “I like it here. I love the sea, and I’ve always wanted to live right on the beach.” Hopefully small talk will make her less mean.
“Good for you.” She grimaces. “The scene gets old pretty soon, you’ll see.”
“Maybe. But I doubt it. Sun, sea, sand. These things can never get old.”
“Whatever.” Dana does a quick check of her hair and examines her nails. She’s not really interested in talking to me, pulling a tiny mirror out of her purse and reapplying her lipstick.
“Have you known Connor a long time?” I break the silence, leaning against the counter, nursing my cup of coffee.
“A few years.” She smacks her lips together to spread the lipstick, puts away the mirror, and finally looks up at me. “Very intimately, if you must know. So hands off. He’s mine,” she sneers.
Okay. What the hell is wrong with this woman? “You don’t need to worry about me, I’m here to do my job, which I take very seriously.”
“Good for you.” Looking at the stack of pancakes in front of her, she wrinkles her nose in disgust.
“I’m ready. Shall we get going?” Connor is back. He takes a pancake, and stuffs it in his mouth. He’s dressed in jeans, grey this time, tight T-shirt, and old Converse on his feet.
“Of course, baby.” She flutters her eyelashes; her voice is loving. “Thanks for coffee, it was nice chatting with you.” The smile Dana offers is as fake as her hair and plenty of other things on her body.
When Carlos finishes his breakfast, I do the dishes then help him get dressed so we can take our walk. I loop one arm through his, while his other hand is clutching his walking stick. We slowly make our way down the street, chatting animatedly the whole time. We’re sure to pass by Bert’s house. The old men exchange a few words, most of which are swearwords, but judging from their conversation, they are long-time friends who enjoy taunting each other every opportunity they get. Our walk ends at the park where we rest for a while and enjoy the nature before we slowly return home.
Later that day, I’m sitting on a bench in the backyard watching little Ava play. Dolores asked me to look after her while she ran to the grocery store. I readily agreed as I had no plans.
“May I join you?” Ava is holding a big, green caterpillar in one hand and digging a hole in the sandbox with the other when I get to her. This is the first chance I have to get to know her as I usually spend the majority of my mornings with Carlos or running errands on his behalf.
“Sure,” her answer is curt, followed by a shrug. Even though I’m right beside her, I feel like I’m thousands of miles away. She doesn’t really acknowledge me, and that’s perfectly normal I guess; she doesn’t know me yet.
“Do you want to play together?”
She shrugs again. “I want my Daddy.” Placing the caterpillar on a plastic plate in the sand, she puts two leaves next to it.
“I know you do, sweetie. But your Dad is at work, and I’m here. He’ll be back soon. He’s a grown up and has responsibilities. This happens when you are an adult.”
“I don’t want to grow up.”
I grin down at her. “One day you’ll have to, whether you want to or not. But that day is far, far away from today.” Ava keeps digging around in the sand with her tiny shovel. “Can I help? What are you making?”
“A home for the caterpillar.”
I fix her hair back in her ponytail as the majority of has escaped. “Okay, what can I do?”
Ava tells me I need to make four sand pies, then connect them with the fence made out of twigs while she builds a road, connecting the four pies. Every one of them has a purpose – if I understand her correctly, one is the bedroom, the other the bathroom, and then there’s also the kitchen and living room.
“Want to play Pairs?” I ask her once the caterpillar’s new home is finally finished. “And let the caterpillar get used to her new home?” Even though Ava tries to handle the little larvae with care, I bet it isn’t very thrilled being tossed around.
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound much excited about the game. After four rounds, three of which she beat me, she finally speaks up. “Can I do your hair?” her voice is shy. “Grandma and I always play hairdressers.”
“Sure.”
Ava claps her little hands in excitement, and runs inside the house. She quickly returns with a small case in her hand and places it on the table next to me. In it are several brushes, a dryer, colorful clips, beads and hair ties, and a bunch of things I don’t even recognize. She instructs me to sit down while she climbs on the table and settles behind my back.
“First, I’m going to wash your hair,” she explains. She then proceeds to pretend-shampoo my hair, and comments on how soft it’ll feel once she’s done. After thirty minutes of creating an elaborate hairstyle, she’s finally satisfied with the result. “Done,” she claps her hands cheerfully, looking through the case until she retrieves a miniature mirror, and she pushes it in front of my nose. “You look pretty. Do you like the braid?” Stroking her fingers over it, her eyes are wide with anticipation.
My hair looks like it’s going to take two weeks to untangle, but I eagerly nod my head. “It looks great! I love it.”
“Me, too.” And she’s back to rummaging through the case.
“You know what I’ve been thinking?” I say thoughtfully as I return the mirror to her. “A birdie told me you love ice cream. What if we made our own?”
“Make ice cream? Ourselves?” Her eyes bulge out. “Really?”
“Yes. It’s not that hard. You’ll see. And you will get to help.” I press my finger gently to her little nose.
“Okay.” She finally awards me the smile I was waiting for, but it quickly falls. “But I don’t know how.” With that, her shoulders drop.
“No worries. I’ll show you. We’re gonna have so much fun!” I noticed a whole bowl of strawberries in the kitchen earlier. I know Ava’s favorite flavor is chocolate, but strawberry will have to do this time.
After we thoroughly wash our hands after our playtime, Ava removes the stems off of strawberries with my help. Some strawberries end up in her mouth, and she even offers me one. Then I show her how to mix them with a hand blender.
“Where did you learn how to make ice cream?”
“My Mom taught me.” I add a spoonful of honey to the mix. “Here you go, add this.” I hand her an opened bag of vanilla sugar.
“Is your Mommy an angel, too?” The hurt in her voice makes my heart break.
I slouch my shoulders. “No, not my Mommy. But other people I love are. They look after me, just like your Mommy looks after you.” I bite the inside of my lip to hide my pain.
“That’s w
hat Daddy says.”
We add the remaining ingredients, and I hand Ava cute little cups so we can pour the mixture into them. I help her as the bowl is pretty heavy.
“That’s perfect, Ava, you did great,” I cheer her on.
“I don’t remember my Mommy. Dad says I was very little when she became an angel. She was beautiful. I look at her pictures a lot. Grandma says I look just like her.”
My gut clenches, and a lump the size of the moon forms in my throat. It’s not fair she lost her Mom so young. Damn it, it’s not fair she lost her at all. Before I can say something, she spills some of the mixture on the counter.
“Whoops,” Ava covers her mouth. She looks at me with fear, certain I’m going to scold her.
“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Instead, I dip my finger into the spilled mixture and poke her nose with it playfully.
“Hey! You made me dirty.” A naughty grin splits her face right after, and, dipping both her tiny hands in the spill, she smears the mixture all over my shirt. Gasping in fake horror, I smear some more of it over her face. Ava squeals, running behind the kitchen island, her laughter filling the room. “You can’t catch me, you can’t catch me,” she sings, wriggling her little butt, taunting me. “Look how dirty you are.”
“So are you,” I smile. “What do you say, shall we clean up the mess?” Taking a break from our messy play, we put the cups in the freezer and tidy up the kitchen afterwards.
“I had fun,” Ava announces. “Can we do it again sometime?”
“Of course.”
I t’s been little over three weeks since Everly moved into the house. She and Ava have become really close in such a short time. My little girl tells me all about their adventures before I read her a bedtime story. Everly taught her to rollerblade, they cook, and play with dolls. They even made homemade ice cream, which Ava still can’t stop raving about. And the most interesting part is that Everly hangs out with Ava because she wants to. This isn’t her job, nobody asked her to do it. Instead, she spends time with my daughter because she likes her.