by Shafer, Gina
“Oh.” He lets out a strong breath and then I feel the cushions give beside me. He puts an arm around my shoulders, and I fall into his embrace.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice muffled by his shirt.
“She doesn’t do that very often, but it can sometimes happen. It’s been a while so it must have left my mind. I’m sorry too. You must have been worried.”
I pull back, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and grabbed hold of her. If it wasn’t for the man at the beach, I’m not sure what would have happened.”
Dad stiffens slightly, but it’s noticeable. “What man on the beach?”
“He seemed to know Mama. I was distracted and totally freaked out, so I hardly had a chance to look at him. Brown hair and brown eyes, I think.
“Hm, sounds like the neighbor.” He stands.
The neighbor? The one I saw arguing with that girl the other night? But it can’t be. That man had the harshest eyes I’ve ever seen, but the guy on the beach… his eyes were so gentle, I can only compare them to the way warm feels on my tongue.
“I’m going to check on your mom again.” He starts toward the hall.
“Wait, Dad. Why are you home so early? I figured you’d be gone until later.”
“I didn’t like being away, and I wanted to come be with your mom.” he admits, and before I can question him further, he disappears down the hall.
The afternoon ticks by slowly, and I meander around the house, completing little chores and playing with Coconut to pass the time. After straightening up the house, I sit near the beach and listen to an audiobook on Alzheimer’s.
Mama is asleep. I bring it up to my dad, wondering if she should be sleeping so long, but he says we should let her rest after the upset she had. She doesn’t get out that much anymore, and he thinks maybe we overdid it that morning. I don’t argue with him. I also learn through the audiobook that it’s common for Alzheimer’s patients to sleep more and more throughout the progression of their disease.
I call Maggie and bring her up to speed, telling her about the beach incident and how awful I feel about it.
“Give yourself some time to learn,” she says.
Once it settles into evening, I prepare dinner. I root through the fridge, finding salmon steaks and asparagus. I decide to grill the salmon with a sweet chili glaze and sauté the asparagus with tons of fresh garlic and chili oil. Something simple, but delicious. I also make a fresh salad with mango and cucumber. Dad says Mama likes more bland things, so I keep one salmon steak plain for her and give her a side of sliced fruit.
I’m halfway through the grilling when I go back inside the house for salt. I leave the door ajar on the way in, and a ball of white fur darts past me and disappears from sight.
“Damn you, Nutty.” I whisper harshly. I run to the grill, shutting off the flame before rushing after my cat.
“Nutty! Get back here!” I whisper-yell at the cat that’s currently driving my blood pressure through the roof. What is it about felines? It’s like they deliberately want to prove that we, mere humans, have no power over them. Nutty emphasizes my point by raising his tail, and ever so light on his feet, dashes like a maniac into the neighbor’s wide open back door.
I’m screwed.
Now what am I supposed to do? It’s not as if I can march right in there and say, “Um, excuse me. I know you’re deathly allergic to cats, like you explained earlier, but mine happens to be accidentally roaming free in your home.”
“Can I help you?” A deep voice comes from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin. All of the sudden, I’m thrown back to when I was a little girl, messing in Mom’s makeup. When she caught me, I threw the lipstick across the room like it was on fire and denied vehemently that I had ever touched it. I even swore up and down I had no idea how the cherry color had gotten on my mouth.
Part of me wonders if playing dumb will get me out of this one, but as I take in the stranger who caught me peeping in the back door, I lose every word that has ever graced my tongue.
Gone.
Poof.
What are words? I don’t know them anymore.
The man who stands in front of me is beautiful, so ruggedly handsome I am stuck in this idiotic crouching position, gaping like a buffoon at the pure maleness before me.
Then it dawns on me. He isn’t a stranger at all. He’s the man who helped me at the beach with Mom. Our neighbor. The very same guy I spied on while he was arguing with his sister., the sexy shirtless jogger I ogled through the kitchen window the other night. Oh this is just great…
“I... uh… I’m sorry but I think my cat just ran into your house. I know there’s a girl living there who’s allergic, and like I said, I’m really sorry, but I need to get him out of there, like right now.” I fumble like an idiot, standing and brushing a few wild strands of hair from my face.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, gliding past me like a powerful male gazelle. I take a moment to check out my appearance in the reflection of his back window. Jean shorts and a mustard yellow blouse with little white flowers peppered over the fabric. I haven’t brushed my hair today, and it’s comfortably knotted of top of my head. I’m sans makeup. Not exactly how I would wish to meet such an attractive man, but there’s no room in my life for a guy anyway, so.... I squash the thought of running my hands down his muscular chest.
Seriously. Thought squashed.
He soon reappears with Coconut clutched to his l shoulder like he’s been rescued from a fire. “Cooking?” he questions as he comes closer, scanning me with what looks like interest.
“I’m sorry, what?” I stand straighter, distracted by his presence.
“You still have a spatula in your hand.”
I look down at the cooking utensil like it’s magically appeared there. “Oh… uh, yeah. I didn’t realize I was still holding it.” I smile, embarrassed. “My cat has a mind of his own sometimes, and he just darted out while I was cooking dinner.” Pink warms my cheeks.
“It’s all good. I think you may have gotten some misinformation from my sister, Rosalie. She can be difficult, but she’s not allergic to cats or anything else for that matter.”
Not allergic? Ugh. I push the annoyance away, waving him off like its no big deal. He smiles as I reach for Nutty, pulling him into my arms. Though it didn’t seem like he was in much of a hurry to get back to me, considering his heavy purr and the way he nuzzled into Nick’s chest. The traitor.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I already know it, but I’m not going to tell him that.
“What’s your name?”
Oh shit, are we flirting? Is that what’s happening? “I asked you first.”
“And I asked second.”
I frown. “Right… so?”
His smirk is both extremely sexy and infuriating. “So?”
“You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
“You’re really not going to tell me yours?”
“Wow. You’re almost as infuriating as your sister.”
He chuckles.
“Whitley!” Dad calls from the deck, startling us both. “Why don’t you invite him over for dinner? Nick, you’ll love it! Whitley’s an amazing cook.”
I turn to him. “Yeah, Nick, why don’t you join us?”
“It would be my pleasure, Whitley.” He smiles. I hold my arm out and gesturing for him to lead the way, but before he can get past me, I wrap my fingers around his bicep. Huge mistake, because his muscles flex under my fingertips, and I completely lose my train of thought.
“Yes?” he asks, brows furrowing.
“It’s just that my Mom—”
“I know,” he says.
I drop my hand, knowing I’ve held onto him far too long. “Okay.” I’m grateful there’s no need for explanation, but also a little ashamed. He’s obviously had more interaction with my parents than I have in the past year. “Lead the way.”
Nick disappears inside and I follow, putting Coco
nut in my room so he doesn’t get any bright ideas of escaping again.
When I resurface in the living room, Mom is smiling brightly at Nick and embracing him in a hug. It stops me in my tracks and takes me a moment to try and smother my emotions.
I get a glimpse of her, the real her, in the twinkle of her eyes, and I can hardly stand to watch it disappear again. I take a deep breath and tack a smile on my face, inviting everyone to the table.
I serve rice pilaf with the cucumber and mango salad, followed by a slice of the grilled salmon, finishing it off with a dash of freshly ground pepper. It looks so yummy, I almost lose my anxiety at the thought of sitting down to dinner with Nick.
“This looks great,” he says.
God, he’s so attractive. That slight curve of his lip… I bite mine to stifle my reaction to him, but then he focuses on my teeth, and my belly tingles.
“Thanks... umm, would you mind grabbing a bottle of wine from the fridge?” I ask.
He nods, and his arm brushes mine as he rises and moves past me.
Then I see Mom with a confused look on her face, and I’m launched back into reality.
What the hell am I doing, drooling over a guy right now?
“You hungry, Mama?” I ask, placing her food in front of her. I break up her salmon as she struggles with finding words.
“When... are you... leaving, Whitley?” she asks, growing frustrated.
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re having dinner. I cooked salmon, and Dad and Nick are joining us.”
Nick reappears with a bottle of wine and a carafe of ice water.
“Are you cold, Caroline? You can wear this if you like.” Dad holds up a sweater.
She nods, and the two of us help her stand, guiding her arms into the holes and adjusting it on her shoulders. Nick is dealing with the drinks.
Sweet. He’s sweet. And thoughtful, bringing in napkins and arranging silverware before I even had to ask.
Stop it. Now is not the time. I chide myself. How many times am I going to have to mentally bitch slap myself around this guy?
“What are we doing?” she asks as we take our seats.
“We’re having dinner, Caroline. Are you hungry?” Dad says.
“I don’t k-know. I... just don’t know.”
“You should try the salmon. It’s really good.” Nick says, forking a piece from his plate and devouring it. Mom copies him, though she is still distraught.
For a while, everything goes well, but she gets more distressed and tired as the evening goes on. Dad takes her to her room after we’ve finished, so it’s just Nick and me… and the silence.
“Well, I should clean up,” I say, standing.
“I’ll help.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. I want to hear more about you. You can talk and dry a dish at the same time, right?” he asks, smiling.
I’m quiet for the first ten minutes, drying each thing he hands me before putting it away. His fingers skim mine from time to time, and I know he’s flirting with me. At any other time, I would be flirting back.
From dinner conversation, to every little thing I’ve picked up about him tonight, I can tell he’s an amazing guy. Not just one of those men who can fake it for the time being, and not someone who does it to reap benefits. He’s one of those four-leaf clover guys. A rare find. My heart and head are screaming two completely different things at the moment.
“How are you liking it here?” Nick asks.
“It’s, um, really something. I can see why my parents decided to retire here.”
“I’m sensing a but....” He laughs.
“I guess I’m more of a cold, rainy, dreary, looks like the apocalypse might be starting a mile away, thunder shaking the house type of person.”
He looks through the kitchen window at the striking sunset, then back at me, his brow lifted in question.
“The sun and I... we don’t see eye to eye.” I shrug.
“Hm,” is all he says. The smirk on his lips is both infuriating and hunger inducing. And I don’t mean for food.
“Hm? What does that mean?” I stick my hip out and rest it against the countertop as he hands me another plate.
His eyes skim my body as he hands me the last glass. “I find it odd that someone with your golden skin and hair has any feeling about the sun that isn’t love.” He pulls the plug from the sink, draining the sudsy water.
“Well, I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover,” I say, putting the glass in the cabinet.
“I don’t buy it,” he says, leaning against the counter. “Everybody knows the cover is the most important part. It’s what draws you in.”
“That’s very superficial of you,” I tell him, crossing my arms.
“Some might think that. I’d like the think I’m just realistic. Yeah, you could say that looks aren’t everything, and I wholeheartedly agree with that. But lets not pretend there’s any denying what you’re attracted to. And there’s no avoiding it either. Like the way a book cover invites you in, makes you rub your fingers down the spine, urges you to crack open that first page and devour the words like they’re food you’ve been starving for.”
It’s almost like he’s opened his own book and given me a peek at the first page. All I want is to read on. “You certainly have a way with words.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you so honest?”
“Honestly?” He smirks, and I fight to control a bubble of laughter that threatens to spill from my chest. “I made it my goal in life to say what I’m thinking.”
I frown. “And what if what you’re thinking isn’t polite or even nice?”
“I haven’t had an issue with it so far.” He takes a step closer to me.
Dad interrupts us, breaking the almost tangible connection that was flowing between us. We move apart like two teenagers caught making out.
Dad clears his throat. “Uh, Nick, do you mind helping me lock up the shed ’round back? The door’s been giving me trouble.”
“Sure. I can give it a look.” He glances at me, tilting his head goodbye, and I offer an awkward wave.
I go straight to my room and replay the entire conversation multiple times. I’m in over my head with someone like Nick. I should stay far away from him.
I send Maggie a text: Mayday, mayday! Impossibly cute neighbor pops up at the most inopportune time in my life.
It takes a minute for her to text back, but when she does I know I’ve hooked her.
Maggie: Spill it.
Me: There’s not much to tell. I ‘m inexcusably attracted to a man who lives next door to my parents.
Maggie: And the problem is?
Me: Besides the obvious? I don’t have room in my life for a crush right now.
Maggie: Wow.
Me: What?
Maggie: A couple of weeks ago you were a different person.
Me: I honestly don’t know what to say to that. Was I that bad?
Maggie: No. You just couldn’t see the bigger picture. And I have to disagree with you. Who says you can’t have a crush? Doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it.
Me: But that’s the problem. I want to do something about it.
Maggie: You’re in deep, sister.
Me: Tell me about it. I’ll call you tomorrow.
I close the text screen. There’s a knock on my door. “Come in.”
Dad pokes his head in. “I’m off to bed, sweetheart.”
“Okay. I’ll be up early. I got the stuff for banana pancakes.”
“Sounds good, honey,” he says with a troubled look on his face.
“Is something wrong? I can make something else.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that I noticed you and Nick were talking a lot tonight, and I wanted you to know he’s a really good guy. He’s helped your Mom and me out a lot, and, well, I don’t know. I guess I wanted you to know.”
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I get the feeling he’s trying to tell me he approves of a non-existent, never-going-to-happen-but-I-so-wish-it-would relationship. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiles and closes my door, and I fall back on my pillows, dreaming my life isn’t in shambles and my mother is healthy.
* * *
When morning comes, I feel a little more myself. The drugging haze of Nick’s presence has worn off. Thankfully.
I make pancakes for my parents, and then finish off the rest of the morning cleaning to give my dad a break. When I’m done, I realize it’s still only… midmorning.
I groan.
Without work to do, my days are growing slower and slower.I hate it. I don’t like too much idle time. So I do what I’ve always done best, distract myself.
I let my dad know I’m heading out, deciding to take a walk on the beach and finish the audiobook about Alzheimer’s I’ve been listening to. Better late than never to get informed, I keep telling myself. I have quite a bit of catching up to do, but it’s been helping me understand quite a bit.
Fifteen minutes into it, and I come to regret it. I end up on a chapter about the passing of someone with Alzheimer’s, and what to expect. Suddenly, I’m launched back into a memory of a conversation with my mom when I was seven.
“Mom, what happens when you die?”
She looks up at me, a tendril of her curly blond hair hangs between her eyes. She sits back on her ankles and wipes the sweat from her brow. We’ve been planting flowers in our new raised garden bed that Daddy built us. I’d been planning on asking her about death for three days, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Neesey Spencer was telling everyone in class how her grandma passed away from cancer. She was in the room when she took her last breath, and she said that her grandma’s eyes were stuck open for hours. I shudder at the thought.
“What do you mean, baby?”
I think for a moment before asking, “Does it hurt?”
She’s quiet for a minute or two before she answers. “I’m not sure sweetheart. I’ve never experienced it myself.” She smiles.
I let my head hang as I shovel a little dirt out of the way to make room for the tulip bulb I gently place into it’s new home. I cover the bulb with more dirt, unsatisfied with her answer.