I grabbed another bell pepper and shoved the knife deep inside, cuttin’ it open. As I spun one of the halves around, I grabbed the end with my other hand, and not payin’ attention, sliced my finger open. Pain seared my skin, and I grabbed my finger, holdin’ it tight.
“OUCH!” I ran over to the sink.
“Let me look.”
“I don’t even want to look, how can ya want to?” I shouted, clingin’ to my finger.
“That’s why I will. So you don’t have to.”
I bounced on my toes as I arched my gaze toward the ceilin’ and let go. His hands engulfed mine, his touch was gentle, and yet, I hissed through the pain.
“It’s deep.”
“How—”
“Don’t look at it. Trust me, you don’t want to.” He spun the handle of the faucet, turning on the water and placing my hand under the stream. “Hold your hand here. Don’t move, and don’t look down.”
He darted across the kitchen, openin’ a drawer, then slammin’ it shut after retrievin’ a box from its depths.
“I told Helen she needed this about a year ago. I’m glad she listened.”
“What is it?”
“A first aid kit.” He set it down by the sink, openin’ it. “Although, I don’t know if it will be enough. The cut might need stitches.”
“It stings.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it does. Keep on holding it.”
I closed my eyes as he took my hand in his again. The cool sensation of goo—which I assumed was soap—made the pain worse, as did him rubbin’ it even if he was tryin’ to be gentle.
“Hold it there. This might hurt.”
“It already does.”
“Well, then this won’t make a difference. Hold still.” He patted my hand and finger with a towel then smothered it in ointment before wrappin’ it with a gauze pad. The last of his steps was to wrap it with tape.
“You might not need stitches. You’ll have to just see how it goes. If it closes up on its own, you’ll be all right.”
I held up my hand with my index finger now three times its normal size. “And how do ya propose I finish dinner with this?”
He smiled. “I can’t tell you how, but I can show you.”
He skirted around the counter and grabbed one of the stools Helen used when she sat at the counter cuttin’ apples for a pie or peelin’ shrimp. He set it down next to the counter, pattin’ the top with his hand.
“Um, I didn’t hurt my foot.”
“I know.”
“So what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Sit.”
“Sit?”
“And watch while I finish making dinner.” He winked.
“Ya do know she wanted mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli on the side, too?”
“You didn’t mention she did.” He laughed. “But I think I can accommodate.” He leaned in, his face inches from mine and so close it made me catch my breath. My heart thumped. “I can even make a pie for dessert.” He winked.
FIFTEEN
“I think that box goes in the kitchen.” Nancy moved around me, checkin’ the side of the box. “Yep, it says kitchen.” She brushed my shoulder with hers while she passed me, holdin’ onto another box of her own. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “I think that might be the last of them. Luckily, between the both of us we really don’t have that much stuff.”
“Speak for yourself.” I laughed. “I don’t have much stuff. Ya have way more.”
“True. It’s only because I raided my parent’s house while I was packing. If Mom had three spatulas, I grabbed one.” She winked.
“Helen did the same thing. She even went up into her attic.”
“Thank goodness this place was furnished.” She laughed. “But what we don’t have we can go find at some garage sales next weekend.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Can you believe it’s finally here? Moving day!” She bounced on her toes and darted back out to the car.
With a slight chuckle to my lips, I shoved my way through the front door and into the kitchen, settin’ the box on the floor before wipin’ the sweat from my own forehead. Helen was already inside, placin’ a few different appliances on different parts of the countertop.
“I had these as extra at the inn so I thought you could use them,” she said, pointin’ to the coffee pot and toaster. “I think I have a mixer too. I just need to find it.”
“They are perfect. Thank you.”
“So, we have a crib and highchair for Rachel . . .” She tapped her finger against her lip and clicked her tongue as she thought to herself for a moment. “Is there anything else you can think of that you need?”
“Linens. But we are buying those today.”
“Oh, don’t worry about those. I have tons.”
“Yes, but those are for the inn and the guests.”
She waved her hand as if to wave off my concern. “Oh, I have plenty for the inn. I mean, what is a couple of pairs of sheets and a few towels? It’s not like you need dozens and dozens like me.” She laughed.
“That’s true.”
“I have an extra set of dishes and silverware I found, too. I put them in the car and will have James bring them in. A few of the pieces are chipped, but I didn’t think you would mind. Just starting out and all.”
As she continued to mutter to herself about all the household items she thought I would need, I thought of all the stuff I’d sold when I left Washington. At the time, I just wanted it all gone, along with all the memories. Like the plates we’d picked out together at garage sales or the appliances he brought home to me as gifts. They were never new, of course since we couldn’t afford it, but still I loved the thought he put into each one. Or like the dinin’ room table we flipped over and strapped to the roof of the bug, the entire time laughin’ about how the legs stood straight up into the air and the chairs barely fit in the back seat. Or the couches where we’d spent so many nights watchin’ movies or curled up readin’ to one another. I remembered how, after he died, they felt so uncomfortable.
I hadn’t thought of the day I left or the house we shared in a long time, and how as our belongin’s left and with every hollowed room, I felt a sense of relief and yet heartbreak. I didn’t know what was worse: being around other people while I just wanted to be alone or watchin’ other couples and families leave with our stuff—especially one thing in particular, the bed I’d shared with my husband.
One of those lucky finds when we had little money; we’d combed through the wanted ads for days lookin’ for a bed. I remembered each of the nights we would sit with our backs propped up against the thick piece of wood, talkin’ and laughin’, sometimes about our future, but mostly about nothin’ at all. Just mindless conversation and jokes between a couple who, even in the short time we’d known each other, knew all there was about one another. And now another couple had those moments. Another couple would share their stories while leanin’ upon it. Another couple would grab it in a moment of heated passion between them.
I hated watchin’ it leave, and yet, I didn’t want to ever see it again.
And I haven’t.
It was somewhere thousands of miles away and I didn’t even know the names of the couple that took it.
“Maggie? Maggie?” Helen touched my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Huh? Oh, yes.” I shook my head. “Fine. Just lost my thoughts there for a moment.” By the time I finished my sentence, my voice dropped to a whisper. It was as though the loss of volume helped me say the words I hated to say the most.
“You know you can tell me anything,” she said. “Anything you want to or need to . . .”
“I know. I was just thinkin’ about some things me might need.”
She eyed me for a moment. “Oh! Before I forget, that reminds me, I noticed a box in the office today. I’m assuming it’s yours because it has your handwriting on it.”
“Yeah, it’s just some old journals and a few things. I was going to put it up
in the attic.”
“Don’t you want it with you in the house?”
I shook my head. Not only to say no, but I hoped the movement would distract me from thinkin’ about the contents of the box. While I hadn’t lied, there were journals inside, there were also love letters I didn’t wish to think about right now—or ever—and the thought of them now only made my whole-body itch.
“They are better off in the attic.”
“Suit yourself.”
Rachel screamed from outside and I darted back through the kitchen and out onto the front porch, stoppin’ as I hit the railin’ near the stairs.
She screamed again, but it wasn’t a scared scream. It was a fun-filled, playful scream as James threw her high into the air and caught her. She laughed and pointed toward the sky as if to ask him to do it again.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Again? You are sure going to make me work today, aren’t you?”
He threw her again, this time catchin’ her and swingin’ her down toward the ground before he brought her back up to his chest level. While she pointed toward the clouds again, he panted with heavy breaths.
“You’re killing me, girl. I’ve been moving boxes all morning and now you want more?”
A big grin spread across her face, showin’ the few teeth she had.
“Now, how am I supposed to say no to a smile like that?”
He threw her back up a couple more times before he set her in the grass and collapsed, flat out on his back. “You’ve done it, Rach, you’ve killed me.”
She crawled over to him and climbed up on his chest, laughin’. Her little hands clutched his shirt and she laid her head on his chest as if listenin’ to his heartbeat.
“He’s good with her,” Helen whispered, comin’ up from behind me. She leaned on the railin’ next to me.
“Yeah, he is.”
“He’s going to make a great dad one day.” She paused, givin’ me a sideways glance. “Whether it’s to his own children or to someone else’s.”
I snorted. “What are ya gettin’ at, Helen?”
“I’m just saying he’s a good man, and seems great with children that aren’t his own.”
“I understand what ya said.” I faced her. “But why are ya sayin’ it?”
She shrugged. “Just saying it for the sake of saying it.”
We both continued to watch James and Rachel while they played in the grass a few more minutes before moving onto the slide. His huge body barely fit down the thing as he held Rachel in his arms. Her laughs echoed in the trees along the boundary of the front yard.
“Can I say something without you getting mad?” Helen finally asked.
“Depends. I mean, I think I know what it is, and I can’t say I wish to hear it right now. However, I don’t think I could ever get mad at ya.”
“Nancy told me about Rachel’s father.”
I dropped my gaze to the railin’, tracin’ the lines of the wood and pale blue paint. “Oh, she did, did she?”
“Please don’t be mad at her. She just did because, well, she’s worried.”
“About what?”
“About you going through something so painful alone.”
“Helen, that’s all I know—being alone. At least that’s how I’ve been since he died.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way. You have Nancy. You have me.” She bit her lip for a moment then motioned toward the man now sittin’ on a too-tight swing with my daughter in his arms. “And you have James.”
“I do?”
“Yes, I think you do. You just need to realize it.”
“Realize what exactly?”
“That a good man has fallen head over heels in love with you and your daughter.”
“He barely knows me.”
“How quickly did you fall in love with your husband?”
“That’s . . . not fair.”
“Not fair?” Her eyebrows scrunched together as she furrowed her brow. “Why are you so darn set on not being happy?”
Tears filled my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I didn’t have the energy to cry anymore, and yet, they didn’t care. Instead they tortured me, wastin’ not even a second to gut me with a sharp knife. Facin’ her again, I wiped them away.
“Because it’s too soon. Because I lost the love of my life. And because I don’t think anyone will ever replace him.”
She moved toward me, clutchin’ my shoulders. “No one is saying you need to replace him. We just don’t want you to miss out on something that could be really good for you and for Rachel. The timing of it all be damned. Sometimes life hands us stuff we aren’t ready for. We just need to make sure not to let it slip away.”
“Ya talk as though ya have experience.”
“Because I do. And I’ve had to live with the mistakes I’ve made for a long time.” She heaved a deep sigh. “I just don’t want you to follow down the same path.”
“I’ve already made plenty of mistakes. Believe me.”
“That doesn’t mean you should make any more.”
As she walked away, leavin’ me standing on the porch alone, I continued to watch James and Rachel. He laughed, she laughed, he’d run around her while she sat in the grass then fall down next to her, pretendin’ to scream as she climbed on top of him. It was the exact image I’d always imagined for a daddy and daughter on a lazy afternoon at home.
Only she was spendin’ it with the wrong man.
As if to read my thoughts, James glanced up at me and smiled. “Did you need help?” he called out.
I shook my head, and spun around, inhalin’ and exhalin’ several deep breaths to ward off tears. I thought of Helen’s words about not makin’ any more mistakes and passin’ up on a good man who would love my daughter and me. But to love him in return? To let him in as I had my husband? To give him everythin’? To give him all of me? I didn’t know if I had the courage or strength to do it.
“It’s too soon,” I said to myself. “It’s just too soon.”
“What’s too soon?” James asked behind me.
I faced him as he walked up the stairs with Rachel in his arms. He looked like the perfect father with her, holdin’ her while she played with his hair and then the buttons on the collar of his shirt.
“Oh, nothin’.”
“I think someone is ready for a nap.” He handed her over and she cried as she struggled to get back to him.
“I think someone likes ya better than me.”
He laughed, grabbin’ her tiny hand. “Well, I am a lot of fun.”
My cheeks flushed with heat and I bit back my smile.
He paused, pointin’ toward me as he cocked his head to the side. “You know, I think that came out wrong.”
We both laughed.
“I meant . . . nope, I don’t know how else to say it to not make it weird.”
“How about then ya just don’t say anythin’.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” He laughed again, lettin’ it die down in our silence. “So, did you need anything else brought in?”
“No, I think we’re good. Thank you for the help with the bigger stuff.”
“Sure. No problem. Don’t hesitate to ask if you ever need anything.”
I nodded, adjustin’ Rachel in my arms. Her eyes fluttered with sleep. “Well, I should get her down.”
“Hey, Maggie,” he said as I turned. “May I . . . would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
“Tonight? Um, I don’t know. It’s been a rather long day with movin’ in.”
“Yeah, I know. I just thought a good meal might ease the soreness I know we are going to feel tomorrow.”
“She’d love to have dinner.” Helen darted through the door, makin’ her way to my side. “Is around six o’clock good?”
“Helen, I—”
“I, what? You’re going.”
“But I really should unpack.”
“I’ll give you tomorrow off to do that.” She waved her hand. “And I’ll watch Rach
el tonight. You just go . . . have fun. Have a good time, you deserve it.”
Go. Have fun. Have a good time.
The words Helen said to me as I left the house repeated in my head as I weaved the bicycle through town and up the long road toward the lighthouse and James’s cabin.
Have fun.
I still didn’t know if I could allow myself to fully feel the weight of those words. Nor did I know if I could do just as she said. I knew I needed to laugh. I knew I needed to have joy and enjoy each day. I knew I needed to see the good and the light. And I knew I needed to find love again.
My mind couldn’t even comprehend the thought much less ask the possibility.
And yet, I needed to do just that.
I swallowed at the lump in my throat as I swung my leg over and dismounted the bicycle.
Nestled along the trees, what James’s cabin lacked in size, it gained in a view of the beach and the ocean. Overlookin’ the bay, it sat on the beach with the sand ticklin’ around it and the waves lappin’ just feet from his front door. Seagulls cawed to one another while they scoured the beach and water for scraps of food, and their white feathers glowed with the pale orange color from the settin’ sun. The early spring afternoon had given way to the evenin’, and the mid-May weather brought an itch for warmth, somethin’, it seemed everyone—me included—was ready to enjoy.
“I was hoping you didn’t get lost.” James ambled out of his front door, wipin’ his hands with a red and white-checkered dish rag.
“Sorry if I’m late. It took longer than I thought.”
“You aren’t late. In fact, you’re right on time.” He smiled, outstretchin’ his hand toward inside. “Well, come in and sit down. May I get you a glass of wine?”
“Not old enough, remember?” I said, sittin’ at one of the bar stools at the island counter.
“Right. I forgot.”
“Would you like a glass of iced tea or water?”
“Iced tea would be lovely.”
“Tea it is.”
After pourin’ me a glass, he handed it to me. “Do you need sugar?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He held my gaze for a moment before he turned back toward the corner of the kitchen, grabbed a few chopped tomatoes, and tossed them into a bowl filled with salad. “So, I thought and thought about what I wanted to make for you this evening.”
Another Yesterday Page 16