Reviving Jules

by Peggy Trotter

  She sighed heavily and planted her hands on her hips. Where was Rhett when she needed him? Leaping lizards, really? Had she become that dependent? Pitiful. Hating herself for the thought, she glared at the old-fashioned door sticking out three feet above the ground. Now she’d have to bend over, walk like a duck to enter, get the lawn mower, and drag it out. Jules grunted. Great.

  She ducked. And waddled. She towed the lawnmower and exhaled an aggravated breath. This was fun stuff. The long grass would make mowing all the more enjoyable. Not. She filled the gas tank and checked the oil. Fine, moving along. She choked the motor and pulled the rope.

  For some reason the rope resisted. She pulled, slowly, painstakingly. Less choke. Yank. The rope shuddered. This was much easier when Rhett…stop. Just stop.

  Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the rubber end of the cord and pulled for all she was worth. Whirrrr. Jules looked down. Why was the rope still in her hands? Could be because it had disconnected from the mower? And the Comet engine still wasn’t running. She scowled at offending thing. Now what?

  She threw the broken cord on the back porch in frustration. It tumbled into a ball into the corner among the spider webs and paint chips. Such a perfect representation of her life. Useless. Detached. Jules huffed and stalked to the house as tears flooded her eyes. Anger dissolved to helplessness, and she trembled. Everything was just too hard. Too freaking hard. Too painful. Gut wrenching agony. She shambled to the porch and slumped on the pitted concrete. Why did every little thing have to be so doggone difficult? Why…God…why? She covered her face with her hands and wept.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “What?”

  Great. Her plans were not going well. Andi’s Tuesday morning breakfast had been burnt-bottom blueberry muffins, and she’d killed the jeep twice waiting in the school drop off line that never ends. Now this.

  “You’ll need a three hundred dollar deposit.” The heavy-set middle-aged woman peered over her glasses expectantly.

  “Three hundred dollars? Just to turn the electricity on?”

  “You’ll receive a full refund in twelve months.”

  “But…” Jules pressed her lips together. She wasn’t even sure how much was left in her meager bank account. “Fine.”

  Jules bent to retrieve her purse.

  “We also require a piece of mail with your current address and a picture ID.”

  Jules’ mouth parted as she set her purse on the counter. She couldn’t resist a bit of sarcasm. “Is that all?”

  The woman’s brow rose, lips pulled to one side, and she parked three stiff fingers into the flesh of her cheek. “Oaklyn encourages responsible citizens, ma’am. You have a right to issue a complaint with the town board. It meets on the third Thursday of each month.”

  Message loud and clear. She was being a shrew.

  “I’ll be back.” Jules spun on her heel and clutched the strap of her purse. Good grief. A simple trip to turn on the utilities had become an all-day adventure. The jeep door opened with a loud squeak. She climbed in and pressed her head into the top of the steering wheel. Okay, suck it up and get on with it.

  With a sigh, she pushed upright and turned the key. Clicking met her ears. What? She tried again. The rhythmic ticking brought a groan from her throat. Even she knew a dead battery when she heard one. Why did it seem all machinery had teamed up into a mechanical mafia with a personal vendetta against her? So much for getting the electricity turned on before work. She exhaled sharply, setting her lips a flutter.

  The sunshine made Jules’ eyes ache, and birds chirruped all around in stark contrast with her mood. Well, at least she’d worn comfortable shoes. It was a ten block walk home.

  When she entered through the sliding glass doors, the inside heat hit like a metal grill of an eighteen wheeler. She headed for the shower. The problem with the jeep would have to wait. Work couldn’t be postponed. Grrr.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning came round very early, much too early, and she made her way to the Carsen’s on foot. Rhett let her in as normal, and she followed him to the kitchen, as had been their usual routine.

  “You want an omelet?”

  Jules stopped at the island counter. “I thought you had to go to work?”

  Rhett smiled that crooked smile. Hmmm. What had she asked him?

  “Yeah, one of the project coordinators can’t be there until later, so I have a little over an hour before I need to leave.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess I should head home.”

  “What’s the point? I make a mean omelet. I throw in a bit of bacon, onion, green pepper, and a lot of cheese. How could you pass that up?” As he spoke, he drew out a medium-sized frying pan from the bottom of the kitchen cabinet.

  Oy. Slightly awkward.

  “Okay.” She shrugged and moved closer. She slid her hands into her jean pockets. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You could start the coffee.” He pulled the egg carton out of the stainless steel refrigerator.

  “Uh, you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

  He strolled toward the counter. “That’s right. You’re too young for traditional caffeine.” Another smile. “Okay, whippersnapper. Chuck the coffee. How about you do the toast?”

  Jules’ mouth flew open. “You’re giving me toast? Toast? Why not just put me in charge of salt?”

  Rhett chuckled. “Hey, take it or leave it. I’m fully capable of making the omelet, coffee and toast.”

  Jules smiled and watched him move easily around the kitchen. He seemed used to preparing meals. So comfortable.

  “You actually like this, don’t you?” She fisted her hands on her hips.

  “Like what?” He shot her a quizzical glance.

  “Cooking.” Disdain dripped from her voice, leaving no doubt of her feelings.

  He gave an easy shrug. “Yeah, I actually do. I take it you dislike cooking?”

  Jules made a face, and he chuckled again. “Let me see. Kinda like bamboo shoved beneath my fingernails.” She tilted her head and gave a cocky grin.

  He reciprocated a smile as he turned on the burner under his pan. “Andi told me you make great pancakes, but not so much with the muffins.”

  Jules rolled her eyes. “Great. I’ve been tattled on.”

  He laughed. “Now come on, cooking’s not bad. Think of the results if nothing else.”

  True. Gotta like a man who can cook. “You enjoy preparing food, but you’re an architect. How did that happen?”

  She found the loaf of bread and started scouring the refrigerator for butter and jellies. The pan sizzled as he broke the eggs into the oil.

  “Well, building things always held a fascination for me, even as a kid. So I naturally went toward that tract, especially after I changed my major in college three times.” He set the coffee maker to brewing.

  “Three times?”

  “Yeah, my parents about disowned me.” As the coffee gurgled, he added the extra ingredients to the egg mixture. His long, deft fingers worked with expertise. “I began in engineering and then, on a wild hair, decided to be a lawyer. Finally, I settled on being an architect. It aggravated me too, because my dad’s an architect, and he’d told me all along that’s what I should’ve gone into.”

  She pulled her gaze from his lithe form hovering over the stove. “Yeah, you hate when your parents are right. Until you become a parent.” Jules sobered. The subject area was getting tender.

  “You have any kids?”

  Bingo. Jules swallowed. Suddenly the easy-going companionable atmosphere disappeared. She took a deep breath and stared at the butter she’d opened. Say something witty. Change the subject, anything. Mutter some kind of English words.

  He approached and leaned against the counter. He dipped his head to catch her eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”

  She swallowed the lump. “No.” But even to her ears it sounded strange. “I have a daughter.”

  “She…” he hesitated, “lives with someone else?”
>
  Thankfully the toast popped up. She spun and grabbed the warm, crisp bread.

  “She’s married.” Butter the toast. Butter the toast.

  Rhett wouldn’t let the matter drop. He returned to the stove, thankfully, to retrieve his omelets, and tossed them onto a paper towel covered plate. “There’s no way you are old enough to have a married daughter.”

  Grabbing two plates from the upper cabinets, he paused to search her hot face.

  “She’s is twenty and I’m thirty-nine.” There. Please let this be the end.

  The silence lengthened. Finally she looked at him. He still stood there with the plates, studying her. At last, he took a couple of steps and set the dishes down. Sadness stretched across his face. That haunted sadness.

  “You ever get married?” The softly spoken words tore through her.

  Jules pulled her eyes from his blue ones and laid the meal out on the two plates. If he minded she fingered the food, too bad. This subject was off-limits. It wasn’t fair he asked. He didn’t have permission to discuss this. She clamped her mouth shut. Just don’t say the d-word.

  “I’m…” the lump in her throat swelled and a passel of sobs hovered behind it, “divorced.”

  She wanted to hide, to weep. To be anywhere but here. Keeping her head down, she blinked away the tears. His hand settled on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.”

  And he sounded as if he truly was. Whew, she needed space. Distance. Like fourteen hundred miles. She spun, walked from the room, and hurried down the hall to the bathroom. She closed the door with a firm click. The goal—no crying. She exhaled slowly, forming her lips into an ‘o’ to get herself under control. In a way, it cleansed her soul to tell someone, yet exposing the bloody psychological wound stole her breath.

  She covered her face with her hands and leaned her back against the door. How could she eat those omelets over this rubber ball in her throat? A hiccup-giggle bubbled from her at the silliness of this thought.

  No tears. She fanned her cheeks with her hands as if drying her nails. A return trip to the kitchen meant his searching gaze and even more apologies. She would not dissolve into a quivering bubble of goo, boohooing into a pillow for hours. It was time to start eyeballing people face to face about the whole incident. After one last sigh, she lifted her chin and opened the door to make her way down the hall. She paused at the sunroom where he sat on the wicker couch facing the dark windows, his breakfast on his lap. She went to the kitchen to collect her plate. Her favorite soda rested next to her dish. A peace offering, perhaps. With a shadow of a smile, she walked into the sunroom and sat in the chair angled next to the couch.

  “This is the best place to sit when the sun comes up,” he remarked as if nothing had happened.

  Jules rolled her lips together to stifle any more secrets from slipping out. They sat in amicable silence, eating their breakfast and enjoying the quiet. When Rhett finished, he set his plate on the cushion next to him, extended his long legs, and crossed his arms. Jules glanced at the drawer in which Andi’s mother’s photo lay. Is this how it was for him? Gut wrenching grief? Was he thinking of her?

  Almost as if he heard her silent questions, he muttered in a low voice. “It’s hard to lose someone.”

  * * *

  Jules’ thoughts were a jumble as she cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Before he’d left, Rhett had told her not to worry with them, that he’d take care of it later. But busy hands helped one survive the low times. And right now, she’d have to look up to greet an ant. The old resentment and bitterness cascaded over her. It was so hard to rid her mind of it. One stinking circle of painful events that looped around and around as if her brain’s repeat button was jammed.

  She just couldn’t believe Darrell had done this to her. And with Amanda. Pushing the disturbing thoughts away, she scrubbed harder on the frying pan. She finished the dishes and put them away before her heart found a shred of peace. Enough. Time to get Andi up and ready for school. As much as she hated to admit it, Rhett was right. It was pure agony to lose someone.

  * * *

  “What’s your jeep doing at the electric company parking lot?” Rhett leaned against the doorknob the next morning.

  Gnats buzzed around the bright porch light and she swatted at them. Jules crossed her arms and struck an irritated pose. “Really? That’s your best greeting at four a.m.?”

  A grin tugged at his mouth. She was a grumpy morning person, and he loved to push a few buttons to get her riled. “You can think of a better time?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I can think of a better place, like maybe, inside?

  “Inside the garage?” He pulled a serious face and nearly lost it when a flash of annoyance lit her tiger’s eyes.

  “Rhett?” Her voice held a clear warning.

  He raised his brows in mock innocence and stepped back. “Oh, you meant inside the house. Gotcha.”

  She slipped in, sending him optic knives. “Mr. Carsen. You are way too lively in the morning.”

  After shutting the door, he followed her into the living room where she’d collapsed on the couch. Her glance strayed to the end table and her face brightened at the fresh bottle of soda he’d placed there earlier.

  “Thanks.” She held it up in salute. “Maybe you’re not such a morning ogre after all.”

  He laughed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You never answered my question.”

  She took a swig and let out a pent up breath. “My battery’s dead.”

  He nodded. “Figured. Why didn’t you say so yesterday? I just happened to drive by there last night.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not your problem. Although I must admit, engines of every size are turning against me. It’s motor mayhem.”

  A guffaw shot out of Rhett’s throat. “Wow. That encourages me to lend you my new SUV.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You see, I’d laugh, but it’s four freaking o’clock in the morning.”

  He chuckled, tickled she fought a smile. “You know, if you weren’t so cranky, I might not take so many shots at you.”

  “Well, excuse me for not being all sunshine and butterflies when God hasn’t even deemed it late enough to light the sky.”

  His lips twitched, and he crossed his arms across his chest. “As much fun as sparring with you is, I must hit the road. I take it you’ll be kind and gentle later to my only offspring, and do as much to my sport utility vehicle, which you will be borrowing until I pick up a Jeep battery?”

  “Good gravy, you’re bossy. Yes, yes, you know once I wake up, I’m quite civil, even compassionate with your delightful daughter.” She quirked an eyebrow at him, lips pressed together to suppress a grin.

  He uncrossed his arms and approached the couch. She did look tired. But soft and sleepy, too, in a pink hoodie and sweats. He squatted and searched her eyes. Seriousness dropped his voice a fraction. “If I didn’t know so, you wouldn’t be here.”

  She flashed a smile before scowling and pointing at him. “Your daughter is awesome, and you’re not helping with the battery issue.”

  He threw his head back in a bark of laughter at her bi-polar reaction. “I agree, and try stopping me.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I know she’s home, daddy.” Andi pranced up Jules’ sidewalk.

  Heaven help us if she isn’t. A grin tugged at Rhett’s mouth, and he ran his hand down his raspy face. Usually after work he was beat, but tonight his step radiated energy. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed a conversational exchange, even lighthearted banter. And Jules had plenty of that. He quickened his pace as Andi pounded at the front door.

  “She’s here. I just know it.”

  A few moments of silence passed before Andi pummeled again with both hands.

  “Whoa. She’s not deaf. Must not be home.”

  “Aww…”

  The door opened and Jules stepped onto the concrete porch, clutching a box of fish food.

  “Jules, Jules, I knew you were here
. I just knew it. Yippee!” Andi jumped around her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d stepped out back to feed the fish.”

  Andi squealed and grappled with the box in Jules’ hand. “I wanna feed them. Can I? Huh? Can I?”

  Jules smiled and cut a glance at Rhett who nodded in assent.

  Andi shot around the house, her excited voice trailing her. “Hello, fishies. It’s me.”

  She rubbed her hands down her soiled pants and glanced at him. “If only we were all so easily pleased.”

  This woman’s eyes caught his attention. The muted light shone bright enough to pick out every color. They were topaz, yet many other hues were intricately woven around her pupil. Dark brown, tan, even yellow.

  “Rhett?”

  He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. She wore her work clothes with greasy apron, black pants, and white shirt. Weariness etched every plane of her face, and her hair frizzed a halo.

  “Yeah, uh, long day?”

  She grimaced. “That obvious, huh?”

  He chuckled. “Well, we were wondering if you were ready to get that jeep rolling again.”

  Surprise eased the weariness on her features. “Wow, sure. That would be great.”

  “Good, I’ve got the battery in the back of the truck.”

  Her brows elevated, and her mouth dropped open. “You’ve already purchased one?”

  “Yep.”

  “Rhett…oh, goobers, I’m too tired to fight with you.” She laughed softly and crossed her arms over her chest.

  He grinned and quirked a brow. “Hmm. Sounds like the perfect time to come at you then.”

  Her mouth gaped open, and she slapped his arm. Then her hands flew to her cheeks as her face grew crimson. “Oh, I’m sorry. Just a reflex.”

  “Did you just give me the smack down? Woman, if this is turning physical, I have a decided advantage.” He doubled up his fist and brushed it against her arm.

  Jules giggled and staggered back playfully. She waved surrender in the air. “No, I give. I don’t possess the energy.”

  He snorted. “Well, you owe me.”