by Shafer, Gina
“Neesey Spencer said her grandma looked creepy when she died,” I admit sheepishly. My mom’s eye’s widen and I can tell she wasn’t expecting me to say this.
“Did she?” She asks. I nod, not meeting her eyes.
“Well baby, sometimes death scares people, but you have nothing to be afraid of. You won’t die for a very long time.” She gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Now, where did I put those sunflowers?” She asks, looking around.
“So you know when you’re going to die?” I ask, plopping another bulb into it’s hole. She stills, offering me a sweet smile.
“No honey. No one knows when they’re going to die. I expect that’s where the fear comes from most of the time. We all have to face it at one point or another, and for some people that’s frightening.”
“What makes you die?” I ask.
“For some people, it’s sickness. Like Neesey’s grandma. For others, it’s an injury or accident. There are a lot of different ways.”
My eyes fill with tears. "I don’t want you to die Mama. I never want you to die.”
She wraps me in her arms tightly. “Well everybody’s parents die, Whitley-bean. We can’t all live forever.” She lifts my chin, giving me a kiss on my forehead. “But by that time, you won’t need me anymore.”
“No Mama, that’s not true. I’ll always need you! Always!” I plead with her to understand me, to agree with me. Instead, she just holds me closer, tighter.
“I’m safe Whitley. I’m safe and you’re safe. Your dad is safe. We’re going to be okay, and we’re going to live for a very long time. One day when you’re older, you’ll understand. You’ll want to get married and have your own children.” I stick my tongue out, pretending to gag at that. She lets out a soft giggle. “It’s true. One day, all of these grown up things won’t seem so grown up anymore. I will be with you the whole way. I’ll help you until there is nothing left for me to teach you, and by that time you’ll be busy teaching your own children.”
“I don’t want to. I want to live with you and Daddy forever. Promise me you’ll never die Mama. Promise!”
“Okay, Whitley. Calm down sweetheart. Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?” She reaches up, holding my cheeks in her palms, leveling me with her stare. “Please don’t worry about that stuff.”
I shake my head up and down, wiping my tears when she releases me.
“I love you, baby. Now what do you say we finish this planter with no more tears?” She asks. I agree, and I put thoughts of death, worry, and Neesey’s grandma out of my mind.
“I think this spot back here would look particularly nice with a row sunflowers, what do you think?” She asks.
I imagine it for a moment. She’s right! They’ll get the most sunlight here. “And we can put the roses over here!” I exclaim, getting back to work.
Little did I know, this one conversation would tie sunflowers to love and life in my mind forever.
“What are you doing all the way out here?” Nick’s voice disturbs me from my reverie. I’ve walked far. Almost too far. The house just a dot in the distance.
“I was just thinking,” I say, my eyes roaming over his handsome face. I snap myself out of it as soon as I realize what I’m doing.
He smiles. “I come here to think sometimes too.”
“What do you think about?” I ask. He strokes his chin, grazing over the light smattering of beard hair there, considering my question.
“Everything,” He says. “Nothing.”
“I’d like to think about nothing for a while,” I admit.
He only nods.
“I’m sorry, I should be getting back,” I tell him.
He stops me with a light grip on my elbow. I try to ignore the tingling sensation that travels up my arm.
“Listen, before you go… I wanted to make sure it was okay that I came over last night. I know I said some things, and I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. I’ve actually heard a lot about you from you parents, so it feels like I’ve already met you.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell him. I know my parents have leaned on him for support, and far be it from me to get in the way of that. I should be thanking him for stepping up in my place, so I say as much.
“It’s no big deal.” He says, looking sheepish. My belly flips at the sight. God, he has no idea how much that looks gets to me.
“It is to me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Whitley. My family has had some hard times too, especially recently. I’ve only helped because I know what it’s like to need it,” He says.
I feel raw, split open. His words bring me solace and discomfort, spinning me into such a web of mixed feelings that I feel I’ll never untangle myself.
Only then do I realize he hasn’t let go of my arm. I glance down, almost like I’ll be able to see the impact he has on me and not just feel it. Instead, he drops his hand and offers to walk me back.
I shouldn’t agree, but I do anyway. If I have regrets, they can show their faces later.
Three weeks later.
Some parts of North Carolina get hotter than hell’s eternal fucking fire on certain days of the year.
Like this part of North Carolina. On this particular day of the year. It also happens to be the day a humongous pterodactyl-type seagull shit on top of the porch and tagged the hood of my car while he was at it.
I have now officially decided I have a personal vendetta against birds.
I’ve also decided to take it upon myself to removed said prehistoric sized shit that’s baked on like glue. I’m armed with Dad’s electric power washer and a chisel for the really tough spots.
It’s coming along well, despite the blazing temperatures and the fact that I’m giving the sun full privileges to mock me. I’m almost done with the roof and then it’s onto my car. Whoever said taking pride in a job well done wasn’t payment enough?
After a bit more spraying and scraping, the portico looks clean again. I consider nailing in some spikes to keep birds from landing, but I let it go. It’s probably not a good look to have speared birds stuck to the roof of your home.
I take a minute to admire my handy work. Spotless. I move back down the ladder. My foot slips on the last rung and I fall, landing on my back and knocking the wind out of me.
Ouch.
I lay here for a moment, gasping for breath until I feel the most intense stinging engulf my legs. What the hell? I look down in a panic. I’ve fallen into a huge fire ant mound, and they’ve already commenced their attack.
I screech and jump up, hopping on one foot, then the other, and swatting at them. I pull off my shoes and fling them behind me. I hear a grunt. I spin around, feeling like a wild animal as I scratch and whack my legs, trying to remove the ants.
Nick looks at my legs, and his eyes widen. “Oh shit, let me help you!” He rushes over and brushes his hands down my legs. The ants have crawled higher, and at this point I’d rather go naked than get stung anymore.
A few crawl up my thighs, so I whip my shorts off while Nick kneels in front of me, frantically clearing each straggling ant.
As soon as most of them are off me, Nick runs over to the hose and turns it on. I yelp when he returns and sprays me down with freezing cold water, but sweet relief hits me next, and I finally take a deep breath. I realize quickly that I’m standing on my front lawn in a T-shirt and panties, soaking wet, dripping into the mud at my feet.
Nick kinks the hose and then jogs to turn it off, leaving me in a pile of mortification. I look around, searching desperately for the shorts I tossed, but I don’t see them. Nick returns, so I raise my head and carefully hide behind a mask of faux confidence.
“Are you okay?” he says roughly.
“Yes,” I say, “Thank you for your help.”
Nick gazes at my pebbling nipples. I probably couldn’t be more embarrassed at this point. He clears his throat as silence hangs between us. He has the decency to look ashamed. He averts his eyes, handing over the shorts I real
ize were in his hand the whole time.
I quickly pull them on. It’s not much better, but at least he’s not getting an eyeful of the cheeky pink lace panties I decided would be a good idea to wear today.
He winces when he takes in the state of my legs. I’m covered in tiny little raised bumps that are reddening more by the second. Then I’m overtaken by the itch and burn of the blisters.
Do you think it would be socially acceptable to just go ahead and chop off my legs on the front lawn? It wouldn’t be that bad, would it?
“I think I have some calamine lotion,” Nick says, and I eagerly accept his offer. “Let me help you sit down.” Nick holds out his arm, and I hook mine through his. He guides me to the rocking chair on the porch. I limp, because there happens to be a bitch of a bite on the inside of one thigh. And I’m not ashamed to say I’m one of those women whose thighs rub together when they walk.
He grabs my hip as he helps me swivel and sink into the chair. A bead of sweat runs down his neck as he leans over me, getting caught on his light gray T-shirt. I’ve never been attracted to sweaty men, but on him, it’s a whole different story. He wears it well.
My legs hurt badly, but I could easily forget that if Nick were to kiss me right now. And… I should not be thinking that.
“I’ll be right back. Try not to itch while I’m gone.”
I nod and lean my head back as he jogs across the lawn to his house. How is it possible for a man to be so dominant and endearing at the same time? Does he even know how attractive he is?
Burning pain, unimaginable itch. I keep still and distract myself some more.
Most guys I know, who have even a hint of Nick’s attractiveness and peak physical shape, know it. And they use it. I wonder briefly what it would look like if Nick actually tried using his sexiness to his benefit.
Searing heat. Urge to scratch.
I also wonder how one gets rid of a fire ant nest. I’ve got to get a handle on that before Mama and Dad get home from the doctor. I bet I can google it. Or maybe Nick will know. I wonder if he’ll help me. Oh, and there’s still bird shit on the hood of my car. I’ll be damned if those ants keep me from cleaning that off.
I can’t take it anymore. I smooth my palm down one of my my calves and feel the bumps from all the bites, trying not to scratch. It doesn’t relieve it completely, but it definitely helps.
Nick returns with an armful of first-aid supplies, and I sit back as he squats in front of me, placing everything on the floor.
He pulls my leg into his lap and inspects the bites. I can hardly bear feeling his breath against my skin, so I squirm and look away. I’m sure he thinks I’m just in pain, because he throws a sympathetic glance my way. “Jeez, I can’t believe they did this much damage.”
He coats my leg in disinfectant spray first. It stings a little but not too bad.
“I fell off the ladder. I think they were biting me for a minute or two, and I just didn’t feel it.”
He doesn’t look up as he takes hold of my other leg and does the same. “What were you doing on the ladder?” He wipes a cool cloth over my skin to clean off the mud. I get to see the expanse of bites. Easily about fifty between my two legs, ankles being the worst.
“I was cleaning off some avian fecal matter,” I complain, which elicits a chuckle from Nick. My muscles clench at the sound, but I’m able to play it off as pain when he dots each bite with calamine lotion.
“Avian fecal matter, huh? That’s probably the most scientific version of bird shit I’ve ever heard.” He smirks and blows lightly on each bite, drying the cream and bringing sweet relief to my overheated skin.
I moan unintentionally between each of his breaths, and I catch his jaw tick, along with a hard swallow, as we both try to ignore my noises. Why is everything this man does so sexy? Why am I still thinking about him tackling me on this very porch and making sweet, sweet love to me while I recover?
I have got to get hold of myself. I look away again. I do better when I don’t make eye contact with him. I look at the toppled ladder and things scattered in the mud patch. “This is all a stupid bird’s fault.” I groan, crossing my arms.
His lips curve up, and I peek out of the corner of my eye. His focus remains on my legs as he dots each bite with another coat of calamine lotion. I change my mind on the whole not-looking-at-Nick thing. “You’re laughing at me,” I accuse, narrowing my eyes.
“I’m not,” he says, only he’s still wearing that sexy yet infuriating smirk.
“You think I’m being dramatic,” I say, which makes him chuckle. I start to pull my leg free, but he quickly clamps down above my knee. I still, not able to stop myself from wishing he would keep moving his hand up.
“I don’t think you’re being dramatic,” he says, his eyes locking with mine. “I’m beguiled by you. I’d be willing to bet good money, if that same stupid bird was hungry or needed shelter, you’d be the first to swoop in and “mama bear” the shit out of him.”
I sit up. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“No? So I’m wrong?” He wraps an ice pack around my legs.
I force myself to sit still through the initial pain of the cold. Once the initial shock wears off, I feel better. “I didn’t say that.”
“Hm.” He sits back with my wrapped legs still in his lap. Neither of us acknowledges that nor attempts to move them. He studies me sharply. “I think you have a sensitive side that doesn’t get to see the light of day very often.”
I scoff and turn my head. I’d like to pretend I don’t know why he’s so aggravating right now, but that would be a lie. I know exactly why, and it’s because he’s hitting the nail on the head. Feeling this transparent in front of someone I barely know is disturbing. “It takes a sensitive person to recognize one of their own.” I expect this to hit hard, but I’m met with only an irritating shrug and the same damn smirk that started this whole thing. “You’re too cocky for your own good.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re too sassy for your own good.”
Sassy? I run my hands over my hair and mutter, “You’re infuriating.”
He barks out a laugh. “I have never had a conversation like this with anyone else.” He adjusts the ice pack.
I haven’t either. I don’t make it a point to go around calling people on their bullshit and getting my own thrown back in my face. It feels strange, but I wonder how it feels for him. I let my insecurity poke its head out. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Seriously? No. It’s refreshing as hell.”
And then I feel something. His thumb glides softly over my foot the way a lover’s would. I don’t even think he’s realizes he’s doing it, but dear god; I will never get over this feeling.
I pull out of his grasp and stand like I’ve been bitten on the ass, and just in time too, because Dad’s car pulls into the driveway before either of us gets the chance to acknowledge what just occurred.
“Whitley, what the hell happened?” Dad says as he helps Mama from the car.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing, Dad. Just had a bad encounter with that fire ant mound.” I point it out.
“Why are you here?” Mama scolds Nick when they near the porch steps. We’re taken aback, because Mama isn’t normally rude.
Dad and I look to each other, clambering over our apologies, but Nick smiles at Mama and speaks to her as if nothing is wrong. “I was helping Whitley.”
Mama looks me up and down. “I’m tired,” she says.
Dad moves her slowly toward the door. “I’m glad you’re all right, Whit,” he says and then turns to Nick. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
He pats Nick on the shoulder as they go inside.
“I’ll be inside in a second, Dad. I want to hear about the appointment,” I say.
“Are your legs okay?” Nick asks.
“They’re much better. Thank you.”
He offers me the calamine lotion. “Take this. I’m sure you’ll need it the next couple of day
s.”
“I’ll buy you some the next time I’m at the store.”
He smiles politely, but I know he doesn’t give a shit about the lotion. And his smile still makes my stomach flip. “I should get back home. I promised my sister a homemade dinner tonight, and I have a lot of work ahead of me. I saw you fall off the ladder from my kitchen window, and I dropped everything.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” I say and then a thought hits me. “What are you making?”
“Her favorite is Beef Wellington.”
“Let me know if you need any help with that. I definitely owe you.”
He thanks me and goes on his way. I clean up the mess we made on the porch.
When I go inside, I find Dad fixing Mom a bowl of watermelon I diced earlier. She fidgets with the salt and pepper shakers on the table, picking them up and switching them around obsessively. Dad gives me a pointed look, and I realize what he’s seeing.
Before the bird poo incident, I went around the house child-locking all the cabinets that weren’t already safeguarded. I meant to warn him, but the fire ant mess distracted me. Now that Mom is progressing into the later stages of Alzheimer’s, her dementia can get her into dangerous situations. I show him quickly how to lock and unlock the drawer next to him without saying a word.
He nods and then asks, “You want some?”
I decline. I already ate far too much of it when I cut it up. I sit at the table and he brings her bowl over. I move it close to her and urge her to eat. She finally forgets about the salt and pepper shakers and spoons a piece of watermelon into her mouth. I swipe the shakers when I get up from the table.
Dad notices and ignores it. I shove them into one of the locked drawers in the kitchen. “How are your legs?” Dad asks as I’m bumping the drawer closed with my hip.
I re-lock it and turn to him. “They hurt pretty bad, but Nick gave me some calamine lotion. I’ll probably reapply soon.”
Dad nods, sitting at the table with his own bowl of melon. “Good. I’m glad he was here to help you. Next time you have the urge to do yard work, think you could let me know?” he jokes.