I look around my dreary apartment with the lackluster white paint on the walls and stupid gray carpet throughout the house. I loathe carpet. Who knows what germs hide in it. My bamboo flooring at my home was beautiful and easy to clean.
Scottie is down for a nap. Teagan came over here on the move-in day with the crib she made from Maguire’s designs. It wasn’t the one he built, but I was touched Teagan gave away her commission for me. I tried to pay her, but neither she nor Ned would have it.
I didn’t have the heart to put as much into my decorating efforts as I had with my place over the garage. I ordered all my furniture from Amazon and had it delivered straight to my new home. I lucked out with the couch and mattress, being comfortable. I went to Walmart, buying everyday white dishes, just a four-piece place setting, Scottie and I don’t need more. While I was there, I purchased enough outfits for Scottie and me to get us through a week. I mean, seven outfits, one for every day—is all I really need. Of course, with a baby, she goes through several items of clothing a day, so her need was more. My heart hasn’t been into it, making this my home. For now, it’s only a dwelling to lay our heads.
The small twenty-inch television in the little-as-crap living room is all I wanted, as I settle down to watch yet another show of Guy’s Grocery Games. And though I usually love all the crazy games, Guy Fieri throws at the contestants, my mind is on other things. No, scratch that, one specific thing—Maguire—who I’ve not seen since the day after the fire. I can’t bring myself to look him in the face—breaking his heart yet again. Telling him the truth we both know to be moral and honorable. We can never be.
I’ve texted her every day and she responds in short sentences. After two weeks in the hospital, Ned’s taking me home. And I’m sure to get to the bottom of this when she and I are under the same roof.
I’ve not regained full mobility in my left hand. I can’t write and with both occupational and physical therapy, I hope to have it fixed, to at least draft and design all the projects for Parrish and Landon Custom Designs.
I’m loaded into Ned’s truck before I realize it and the forty-minute drive to my house is quiet. I’d asked about Holland a couple times, but I get the standard, “It’s a long drive with the baby and all.”
Pulling up the little embankment leading to my property, my heart sinks when my eyes fix on the empty shell at the right-hand side of the garage. Everything within the garage was ruined by the smoke. Ned had removed Scott’s truck to air it out. It hadn’t been completely destroyed, but the beautiful yellow color will need to be repainted. When I open the truck door, my faithful furry friend is greeting me. I’ve missed my dog.
“Elise has the fridge stocked for you and has a couple of meals cooked. She has the instructions marked, and if you need me, I’m ten minutes away.”
Working my way out of the cab, it occurs to me Holland’s SUV is gone. “Where’s Holland?” I ask.
Ned doesn’t answer me at first, only walks with my little suitcase he’d packed for me into the house. “Ned…” I warn, following him into my little home. “What’s going on?” Where would Holland be? To my knowledge, she’s not at his house anymore.
“Have a seat, bud.”
Oh, shit. This is how I talked to Scott when I was about to deliver bad news. I stare at Ned, while he’s wiping his hand over his beard. “Listen, it’s a conversation both of you have to have, eventually, but for now, I thought it best to tell you.”
I’d not seen my darlin’ or little darlin’ for two weeks. It has been the only thing keeping me sane, knowing building furniture may not be in my future. I sit back on the couch carefully; my back is still sore. Fortunately, I only suffered first-degree burns there, but again, I’m pretty sensitive. I breathe in a deep breath of air, releasing the nerves of this evident bad news Ned is about to deliver.
“Listen, I know a little bit of the events leading to the fire.”
I don’t break my eye contact with Ned because it would imply I’m ashamed and after all that’s happened, I’m not. Life is too precious to shy away from and not grab what I need, what I want, and what I desire.
He clears his throat, an indication to me he’s going to continue. “So, Holls, she feels guilty. In her mind, the couple minutes of passion she chose for herself put Scottie in danger. She thinks this is her fault. And she feels she’s responsible and the one guilty for your injury.”
“It was a fucking electrical fire. She couldn’t have seen this coming,” I pause, as my own guilt swims in my head. “But, in all of this, it doesn’t tell me where she is.”
“Yeah, about Holland—she’s gotten herself a little apartment in town, the safest one.” There are only three complexes and two are areas Elise and Ned wouldn’t ever let her move into. “So, she’s asked you to respect her and not push.” He laughs because he knows me too well.
“Shit, Ned.” What do I say? What can I say?
“Yeah, M, I don’t know what to tell you. I mean, I understand the way you look at one another. I'm trying to get my head around this. I get it with her, her fear. She has Scottie to take into account. You get it, right—what Scottie might think one day when she’s older and finds out your connection to her father.”
I shake my head. This is a cluster fuck of mass proportions. “I don’t know why I thought it would be simple, making her understand we belong together.”
“And is it what you want? To be with her?”
My eyes are closed. It’s what I do when I need to shut out the world, and at this moment, it’s all I want.
“Hell, Ned, I don’t know. But I love her. I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. And she’s special. More so, she loves me.”
He stands, stopping in front of me. “Listen, M—I can’t tell you what to do. I’m your friend at the end of the day, and I got your back, buddy. But I think you need to give her some time.” He laughs again because he must know where I’ll end up today. “Oh, and by the way—it’s number 227.” Stopping for a second, I’m not sure what the number means. It dawns on me what he’s just given me. “Call me if you need me, M.” He’s out of the house. I’m not far behind him. I at least let my friend get down the driveway before I make my way to my truck.
For Coral Creek, these apartments are beautiful and in the best part of town, a half a mile from Ned and Elise’s downtown home. The complex is only two buildings big, it’s not hard to find her building. Making it to the second floor, I find the numbers right away. In a small covered area with four doors, I stand in front of number 227, lightly tapping on the piece of wood separating us.
“Hold on!” she yells. Maybe she’s finally taken my suggestion of getting a sound machine in Scottie’s room since she’s the loudest thing that could wake her up. She opens the door, not questioning who’s behind it, having cash in her hand. When her chocolate eyes reach my own, her smile turns to a look of what I’d guess was indifference. It’s not a frown, but it does something to the ego to see me wipe away her pretty smile.
“Hey, darlin’,” I plainly state, my eyes focusing on her in a tight tank top, decorated with unicorns.
“Sarge,” she counters.
“Um, I’ve missed seeing your pretty face. And I’ve missed my little darlin’, too.” I want to hug her. Shit, I’ve missed her. “I was blindsided coming home to the two of you—well—not there,” I say.
“Look, Maguire…I’m…” She stops mid-sentence. “Fiddlesticks, I don’t know what to say.” Her glance reaches the bandages on my left hand. “And you’re hurt because of me, my selfishness.”
Shit, I don’t want to have this conversation on this landing where anyone coming or going can hear us. “Darlin’, can I come in?” I ask.
She opens her mouth to answer then stops, hesitating. Opening the door all the way, she ushers me in with her hand. “Not sure this is a great idea, but come on.”
I walk in, surveying her new digs. It’s bare, unadorned. Nothing close to what she had just be
yond the gravel driveway at my house. “Where’s my little darlin’?”
“A nap. I think I may have Scotland on some sort of schedule.” She smiles, it’s something she’s been trying hard to make happen. “I’m returning to work next week. I’ve secured a spot for her in the daycare right down the road, so I can still nurse her during lunch.” I’m standing, looking at the small as fuck kitchen and the tiny living room we’re in. “Do you know when you’ll come back to work, Sarge?”
I don’t want to answer her. Holland already takes on all the guilt of my injury. “You know, darlin’, I would have given a lung, a limb, and pretty much anything else, to have kept you and Scottie safe. So, this—is not on you. Hear me?” I step toward her, tipping her chin up toward me. The second my touch hits her, she backs away.
“Listen, Maguire, I can’t. What happened between us, it was wrong. The deities above showed me this.” She walks toward the couch, far from me, sitting down. I follow suit, taking a seat kitty-corner from her in the oversized chair.
“It was dumb luck, Holland.” I want to touch her, but she sits far away, where I can’t reach her.
“I love you. I’m tired of denying it. Hell, you’re all I want. But right is right and wrong is wrong. We can’t be together, Sarge, not ever.” She stops quickly.
“You’re going to tell me—no, you’re going to fucking spell it out for me why we can’t be together, especially after I quaked your body with one hell of an orgasm. We work well as one—a glorious combination of both of us. I understand how fucked up this is. But I love you. It’s simple.” I don’t miss how her pupils widen, taking over almost all the chocolate of her eyes, with my harsh words but more so, using Holland, and not my normal term of darlin’.
The color drains from her cheeks. “Are you kidding me right now, Sarge? You want me to spell it out? Well, here it goes—I could have lost my daughter. Scotland could have been killed. And I’m disgusted by my actions—what I’m doing to Scott’s memory.”
I have a reply on the tip of my tongue when she continues, apparently not finished in her declaration. “And….” She stops but in her three-letter reply, I’m almost knocked down by her harsh tone.
“And what, darlin’?” I ask, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees.
“If you pressure me, push me—I’ll have no choice but to leave. I don’t want to—but I will.”
It’s the last thing I expect. I stand, making my way to the door without another word to Holland.
Chapter 4
One month later
I want a fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Cherry jelly is a necessity. I’m holding the jar with my right hand, as I always do, trying to twist the new jar with my left hand. I have the peanut butter spread on the bread and I can’t get my fucking cherry jelly open. I even try to hold the jar with my left hand to use the right one. But I can’t grasp it.
I don’t eat many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches but today, I felt like one. I’ve barely been off my property. I’ve not had the heart to go to my workshop or inspect the damage to Scott’s truck.
The fucking jelly is still not opening. I finally take the jar at the base of the lid, and strike it against my marble countertop, opening it the only way I can. Glass is everywhere, but cleanliness has not been something I’ve concerned myself with since coming back to my empty home.
Picking out the pieces of glass in the jelly with my butter knife, I spread it on top of the bed of peanut butter finally. Slapping the other piece of white bread onto the sandwich, I walk outside to my back deck. I usually don’t go to this part of my property. The view is better from my front porch but I also can’t look at the shell of the garage where Holland and Scotland lived only six weeks ago.
Could I call my withdrawal from society PTSD or depression? Fuck, I don’t know. I lost the use of my hand and the two girls I love without question. I can call it whatever the hell I want to. I think I’ve earned it.
Though I’m not in the front of the house, the crackle of the gravel tells me it’s time for my bi-weekly intervention with Ned. His visits are always the same, telling me I’m not the man he knew. If I were, I’d grab life by the balls and find a way to make lemonade from it.
Three minutes later, he finds his way around the house, a kind smile on his face. I don’t let it fool me though, his words will be harsh. They’ll be meant to hit me in the face, to make me change.
“I’m not in the mood today, Ned.”
He has a six-pack of beer in his hands. “Are you in the mood for this?”
Ah, he thinks getting some alcohol in me will loosen me up for the heart to heart he thinks I need. But, I’ve never said no to a good beer. “Now, that’s my fucking love language.” Handing me one, he pops his head in my house then back, his eyes narrowing in on me.
“Going for some new decorating?” Shutting the door, he pops the lid off the bottle and I try to, but like the fucking jelly, I can’t. He gives me his and takes mine. “What’s up with all the glass on the counter near the jar of jelly?”
Lifting up my sandwich, I wave it in the air. “I needed jelly for my peanut butter.” It’s all I share with him but it’s really all the explanation he needs.
“Are we going to play this song and dance today, M?” He pulls his beer back, taking an unusually long swig of it.
“Shit, Ned. I lost my son, the ability to build, and the woman I love. I know you don’t approve, but I have a right to pout for fuck’s sake.”
I stand, this lecture is over before it begins.
“We miss you, we all miss you.”
I know who he means when he emphasizes we all.
“Well, you’re so fucking funny. Everyone knows where to fucking find me.” I stomp into my house, slamming the door behind me—locking it.
The sunset beckons me to the front of the house. It’s the first time I’ve come to my front deck. I’m not sure why, but besides the sun, I’m staring at the mess of my son’s truck. The part of the garage housing his truck didn’t get burned, but the smoke sure fucked up the paint job. I’ll need to strip it before it gets repainted. I mean, technically it’s Holland’s truck, but I gather she’s as heartbroken over his prized possession as I am.
I don’t think about it until I’m so close to it I can touch the ruined paint. The words of Ned from the past month hit me and I walk into my new workshop. When I find the sanding machine, I attach the correct grit to it and grab my respirator.
Beginning on the bed of the truck, I start to sand, relying heavily on my right hand. I’ve always been a little ambidextrous with specific tools, the sander being one of them. However, it’s only five minutes before my left-hand experiences so much pain, I chuck the sander across the bed of the truck.
“Wow, what did the power tool ever do to you?” A sweet voice fills the night air while I twist my body around, tossing the respirator to the ground. I wondered if fumes seeped into my mask in the five minutes I had been working on the truck and am hallucinating. When I realize Holland is not a figment of my imagination, I wonder if this is the handiwork of Ned.
“So, what was that all about?” She continues to question me.
“Hey, darlin’, it’s good to see you.” Good to see you. Those words don’t do justice to what I’m feeling and experiencing with her just mere feet from me.
“Sarge, what are you doing? You hide out here? You hide from us? I mean, I know what I told you, but holy poop on a corndog stick, I miss you.”
She’s less than five feet from me. I want to close the space between us and hold her. I want to smell what aroma of hers will fill my nostrils today. But I stay planted.
“Fuck, darlin’, I miss you so much but…”
“We can’t be together. I haven’t change my mind. But, you’re so much more to me, Sarge.”
I scrub the scruff taking over my face. It’s been weeks since I’ve shaved. “Care to tell me again, why we can’t. And using Scott as a reason won
’t do.” I empty the space between us, my fingers a mere millimeter from caressing her delicate skin. “You’re only hurting us, denying this, Holland.” And just like a month ago, my pleas are the same but I don’t stop there. “I don’t care if we have to hide on my land.” I concede, sharing just a little of the plan I’ve dreamt in my last month of solitude. I want her more than I ever have. But for now, seeing her beautiful face and hearing her loud voice is more precious to me than any measure of money.
She’s so close, she crumbles into my arms. “It doesn’t mean we can be together—but I want you back in my life.” She leans back, running her fingers through my beard. “We all need you back. Back at work, back in our lives. You may not be able to do what you’ve done before. Let us help you, let me help you.”
She removes her hands quickly from me—remembering her own rules. “Please, don’t withdraw from us,” she almost begs.
“I’d do anything to keep this smile on your face, darlin’,” I say.
“Good, because you and I are going to fix Scott’s truck together,” Holland declares.
And as I did the night I talked her out of moving before Scotland was born, I tip her face toward me. “As long as you never leave me again.”
I’m in the middle of a custom order for one of my best clients, a hotel in Miami, when loud cheers and applause halt my work. Through the windows looking out into the warehouse, the carpenters stop mid-project and crowd around something or someone. Tears fill my eyes when some of the people move and I realize it’s Maguire they’re all around.
Different as Night and Day Page 3