Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  There was something strange, almost vulnerable-feeling, about changing clothes with a man downstairs in her kitchen. She didn’t care much for that feeling, so she rushed, pulling on cutoffs and a T-shirt, opaque this time—she double-checked to be sure—before getting the tangles out of her hair and braiding it back out of her way. Focus. Ryan was probably going to be around a lot today, but today needed to be a work day for her, too. She still had to move all the boxes she’d cleaned out of the about-to-become-a-bathroom closet up to the attic, and make some progress on the sunroom that was going to be Grannie’s new bedroom.

  She got back downstairs just in time to see Ryan draping the kitchen in old sheets, leaving only a pile of sledgehammers and saws uncovered on the floor. With a dust mask over his face and goggles over his eyes, he looked ready to take down the whole house—or possibly reenact a slasher movie.

  He didn’t look up when she came in. “Grab some coffee if you want it, but if you’re staying in here, you’ll need a mask. Sheetrock is dusty stuff.”

  “Are you sure pulling out that wall won’t bring the whole staircase down?”

  “Still don’t trust that I know what I’m doing, do you?”

  She just shrugged as she refilled her coffee.

  He sighed and pulled his mask down. “That wall isn’t even in the original plans for the house. This whole thing was just a big closet until your grandparents decided to add the half bath.” He nodded toward a mask and a pair of work gloves on the table. “You can help if you want. Supervise to make sure I don’t accidentally destroy the house.”

  Put herself into a small confined space with Ryan after she’d already spent a good portion of her morning ogling him? Where she could watch those muscles do their thing all up close and personal? Hell, yeah! her libido shouted. “I’ll pass. I’ve got my own manual labor to do.”

  She grabbed a granola bar out of the pantry and nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to get out of there. A moment later, she heard a bang and figured the destruction was well under way. The noise—okay, the thought of those muscles—was going to distract her, so she needed to throw herself fully into her project. She turned the radio—technology also seemingly circa 1996—up loud and braced herself to face the sunroom.

  Grannie might not be a hoarder yet, but Helena began to wonder if she might be teetering on the edge. Years’ worth of magazines, the pages dog-eared to recipes or knitting projects, went straight into the recycling bin. Books were sorted into boxes and labeled so she could go through them with Grannie later and hopefully donate some to the thrift store.

  Some of the furniture could be redistributed throughout the house, but most of it was going to end up in the attic. As she tugged Grannie’s antique writing desk into the front room, a horrible, morbid thought landed on her shoulders out of nowhere. The next time you do this, it’ll be because Grannie is dead.

  She sat down hard as her feet went out from under her.

  “You okay?”

  She hadn’t heard him come into the room. Hell, the hammering and sawing had become a background noise, and she hadn’t even noticed it had stopped. His goggles were pushed up on the top of his head, and his dust mask hung around his neck. Fine white specks of Sheetrock dust stood out against the tanned skin on his arms and forehead, dusting his hair like snowflakes.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t look all right. Here.” He handed her his water bottle, but she waved it away.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You shouldn’t be trying to move this stuff all by yourself.”

  She bristled, thinking there was censure there, but when she looked at Ryan’s face, all she saw was mild concern. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what’s up?” He sat next to her and took a long drink of water as if the two of them sitting in the hallway chatting were just an ordinary thing. And though he was sweaty and covered in Sheetrock dust, he smelled like clean laundry and that hard-to-describe manly musk that came from physically hard work.

  Down girl.

  She certainly wasn’t going to share her morbid thoughts, but Ryan seemed to be waiting for an explanation. “It’s just the realization that things are only going to get harder. Grannie’s getting older, and I’m so far away. . . .” She sighed. “I’m not sure how it’s all going to work.”

  Ryan shrugged. “It’ll work. Somehow. Ms. Louise is healthy and spry for her age, and she’ll be fine once she’s recovered from this.”

  Helena rubbed a hand over her face. “Yeah. But I have to start thinking ahead, because that’s not always going to be the case. I feel bad, you know, not being here. It’s just the two of us, and this”—she circled her hand to include the house and everything else—“makes me feel like I’m ignoring her.” She couldn’t believe she was admitting that to Ryan.

  “You’ve got a life, Helena, and that’s not a bad thing. And Ms. Louise is proud of you. Living far away doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing—living your life.”

  “So says the person with enough family to fill the high school gym. It’s just me and Grannie.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good point. I knew Ms. Louise didn’t have any other family nearby, but it didn’t seem weird because she’s got so many friends.” He shrugged. “I guess I assumed there was more family somewhere else, though.”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows went up. “None? At all?”

  Boy, he really couldn’t wrap his head around that idea, could he? “My grandfather was an orphan and met Grannie in Virginia when he was stationed there in the military. They moved down here in the sixties. Grannie has a sister up in Wisconsin or Minnesota, maybe, but they had a falling-out twenty-something years ago and haven’t spoken since. Honestly, I’m not sure if she’s even still alive. My dad was an only child, so . . .”

  “What about your mother? I heard she went back to Jacksonville, but she’s still alive, right?”

  There was a small moment of shock. She rarely thought about her mother anymore, and the benefit of time, distance, and therapy had taken the edge off the blade. Hearing Ryan ask, though . . . That was different, somehow, and brought back a wave of emotion she hadn’t felt in years. It shook her composure.

  But Ryan couldn’t know that, could he? The idea of a nonmaternal mother had to be an alien concept to him. A deep breath brought her back into focus, dropping the emotional baggage and returning her to acceptance. And while the last thing she wanted was to overshare with Ryan Tanner, that acceptance meant she had no shame and nothing to hide.

  “I’m not in contact with my mother.” His eyebrows went up, and she saw the well-meaning but unwanted pity there. The questions would be next, so she cut him off at the pass. “She made it very clear when I was about fifteen that she wanted nothing to do with me.”

  She could tell he was weighing whether to ask more questions, and she was thankful he decided against it as her patience for explaining herself had limits. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

  “Don’t be. I’m not. That woman’s so screwed up, she makes my life look like the Road Map of Good Life Decisions. I’m lucky she left me here with Grannie.” Rubbing her hands against her legs, she moved on, putting an end to the discussion she knew she was going to regret having later. “So if there’s family on that side, I don’t know them. It’s pretty much always been just Grannie and me. Which doesn’t seem all that bad until situations like this where I’m the only one to handle things.”

  Ryan, smart boy that he was, took the hint and didn’t ask more. “You can ask for help, you know. Ms. Louise has friends.”

  That fact had been thrown around one too many times, and it was beginning to sound like a slam against her. “Grannie is my responsibility, and I’m not looking to shirk it,” she snapped.

  Ryan held up his hands. “Whoa, there. No on
e said you were.”

  “Once the house is done, it will be much safer for her. I’m going to get her one of those I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up necklace things, too. That’ll help ease my mind some, and we’ll just take it as it comes, I guess.” It occurred to her that no one—not even Grannie—had floated the idea of her moving back to Magnolia Beach, even though the thought loomed in the back of her mind from time to time, which just underscored the fact that even if she wanted to come home, no one really wanted her to actually do it. Whether she deserved it or not, Magnolia Beach had a hell of a way of beating up her ego. Screw it. She might not be wanted here, but she was wanted elsewhere. Intentionally brisk, she pushed to her feet. “Is the wall down?”

  “Almost. The floor looks to be in good shape, so a coat of paint and a new light fixture is about all it needs. Cory texted me to say he’d be here in about an hour or so to run the plumbing. It’s going to be a snug fit in there.”

  “But it beats having her climb the stairs to use the tub up there.”

  “Exactly. Now, do you need some help with this desk?”

  She started to say no, but that was just habit and pride, both of which she was going to have to learn to let go of. “Please.”

  Those biceps flexed as Ryan lifted the desk easily, placing it carefully in a sunny corner of the front room. “Just yell for help next time. No sense in hurting yourself,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Yell for whom? Him? She thought of the furniture in Grannie’s room that would need to come downstairs. There was no way she’d get a dresser or a mattress down here by herself. She could call Tate—he’d definitely come to help—but after hearing about all he was involved with the other night, she was hesitant to put more on his plate.

  A wave of self-pity hit her hard. She wanted to go home. She might not have a large circle of friends in Atlanta, but she did have them. And they were good friends, the kind you could call to help move heavy furniture when necessary.

  More importantly, they liked her. They wanted her around. They didn’t carry decades-old grudges or judge her based on her mother’s actions. She had nothing to live down or live up to in Atlanta—unlike Magnolia Beach, where no one seemed to think or care that she might not be the same person she was before. It was both frustrating and depressing.

  She gave herself a strong mental shake. No time for pity parties. She’d let one morbid thought send her down a depressing spiral—but that ended here and now. She’d get Grannie settled and life would go back to the way it was, and when circumstances called for a change, she’d deal with that then.

  There was no sense borrowing trouble. She already had plenty.

  Chapter 6

  At two o’clock sharp, Ryan was in his grandmother’s parlor, properly attired in a collared shirt, khakis, and real shoes—not boots, not tennis shoes, but proper shoes. His grandmother had rules about attire and punctuality—just to name a few—none of which had relaxed in her golden years. In Gran’s opinion, civilization rested on the foundation of the family, and Sunday lunch was the cornerstone of that foundation. Neither tardiness nor tennis shoes were acceptable.

  Of course, there were so many freakin’ people here, Ryan had yet to figure out how anyone took attendance. Aunts, uncles, cousins . . . They’d long outgrown the dining room, and satellite tables were set up in the kitchen, the parlor, and the den. If anyone else got married or procreated, they’d have to set up tables in the hall or on the porch.

  His mother greeted him with a kiss, then wiped the lipstick mark off his cheek, simultaneously handing off silverware and napkins to his cousin Shelby to set the tables and directing Jamie and Adam to get the chairs from the attic. “Hello, sweetheart. I didn’t see you at church this morning.”

  “I had a late night last night—at Ms. Louise’s,” he clarified as his mother raised a disapproving eyebrow. “We ran into some problems when the plumbing for her new bathroom went in, and I stayed late trying to get it straightened out.”

  She couldn’t really claim disapproval of that. “Maybe next week, then.”

  “I’ll try.” They had the same conversation every Sunday afternoon, yet the thought of it was still not enough to pull him out of bed on Sunday morning. He knew it and Mom knew it, yet Mom still persisted, possibly just out of pure stubbornness. She gave him “the Look” as she went back to the kitchen.

  Shelby shook her head at him as she set the table. “Your mother is only concerned about the state of your soul.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you dragged yourself to church today?”

  Shelby smirked. “Of course not. But I showed up last Wednesday, so I’m good. The trick is to show up more often than just Easter and Christmas. That way they know you’re trying, at least.” She tossed a blond ponytail back over her shoulder and smiled smugly at him. “And therefore, they leave you alone about it.”

  “I’ll remember that. Nice dress, by the way.” Shelby rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, exactly as he intended. She, too, conformed to Gran’s dress code, although under greater protest than most of the other cousins. Shelby was a proud tomboy, and her work at the marina catered to that choice, allowing her to live in T-shirts and shorts and deck shoes most of the year—except on Sundays, when she buckled to familial pressure and wore a dress. It really did look nice on her, though, not that she’d ever believe a compliment from him about it was sincere.

  The tables were segregated by age—what had been his “children’s table” had become a teenager’s table, then an adult table of its own. He, Adam, Eli, Jamie, and Shelby made up the table for years, but Tucker had managed to squeeze in recently, despite the age difference, as the cousins who were closer to his age were off at college. Ryan often wondered what would happen when any of them eventually married and wanted to bring that spouse to lunch.

  A smart spouse would have it written into the wedding vows that they didn’t have to come.

  Oddly, that made him think of Helena struggling to move that antique desk by herself. Since he could have at least twenty people at his house by just making one phone call, it wasn’t something he could identify with. If Gran was in Ms. Louise’s situation, he’d be lucky to even offer his opinion on what to do or make a single decision—much less all of the decisions. He might get frustrated with the constant intrusions, lack of privacy, unsolicited advice, and general meddling that came with his large family, but, hey, if he ever needed furniture moved or a barn raised, he had the manpower.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Eli asked.

  “Just picturing a Tanner family barn raising.” He got matching “you’re crazy” looks from his siblings and cousins for that. “Don’t worry. I’m not expecting y’all to actually come build a barn.”

  “Good,” Jamie said, loading up his fork with ham and sweet potatoes, “because I really don’t want to have to think of a good excuse not to.”

  Okay, make that nineteen people. Jamie didn’t like manual labor. He barely tolerated being outside, which put him in the Tanner minority and really called the whole “nature versus nurture” argument into question.

  “Great game Friday, by the way,” Adam said. “Rumor has it there was a scout from Ole Miss there.”

  “Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Scott Smith had a personal rushing best—”

  “So,” Shelby said loudly, effectively derailing a play-by-play rehash, “did you see the high school this morning? Someone bought the jumbo pack of toilet paper and had a good time.”

  “Not again.” Ryan sighed and made a mental note to keep the principal and custodian off the agenda at the next town council meeting. He was not going to sit through another “kids today are out of control” diatribe. Then he noticed Tucker intently contemplating his collard greens. “Do you happen to know anything about this, Tucker?”

  “It wasn’t me this time, I swear.�
�

  Skeptical, Shelby frowned at him. “Someone’s protesting a bit too much, I think.”

  “I have an alibi,” Tucker insisted. “Anyway, I heard Mrs. Riley say at church this morning that someone should talk to Helena Wheeler about it.”

  Ryan nearly spit sweet tea across the table. “Seriously?”

  Tucker nodded.

  “Trust Mrs. Riley to give everyone the benefit of the doubt,” Adam said.

  Eli snorted. “Particularly at church.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Like an adult woman would have any interest in toilet papering the high school. Mrs. Riley has finally gone senile.”

  “She’s got a grudge against Helena,” Shelby said.

  “Who doesn’t,” Jamie muttered.

  “Grow up,” Eli and Shelby said at the same time.

  Jamie put down his fork. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “Because you really need to,” Shelby said. “You were stupid enough to antagonize her, and you got what you deserved, so get over it, you big baby.”

  Jamie shot his sister an evil look. “Since when are you Hell-on-Wheels’s champion?”

  “I’m not. I just can’t bear to see a thirty-year-old man whine over something that happened nearly fifteen years ago.”

  “She’s got a point,” Adam said.

  “I didn’t ask you,” Jamie snapped in reply.

  Maybe I am still at the children’s table.

  “Shelby was too young to be in Helena’s direct line of fire,” Eli said, trying to be the peacemaker as usual. “She doesn’t really understand—”

  “Oh, I totally understand. I caught my fair share, too. The girl has always been bad news—”

  Ryan tried to focus on his plate as the bickering kicked up. It was usually amusing to watch his cousins and brothers go at one another, but something about this conversation annoyed him. He’d gotten an unexpected glimpse into Helena’s psyche yesterday, and it bothered him. He worked with teenagers, for God’s sake, and he knew how easy it was to mess with their heads. That level of rejection from a parent could do all kinds of damage, and fifteen was about the age at which Helena had really gone off the rails. It was no wonder, really, that she’d been like that, and it was actually pretty amazing she’d managed to turn it around. And while that information might be something to shut down his cousins’ escalating spat, it wasn’t his place to tell Helena’s business.