by L. B. Dunbar
The church is near enough to walk to the diner, but Rita drove, so I follow her. In the short jaunt, I realize I have no idea where Rita lives.
The diner is nothing special—just your typical diner in a small Vermont town—but it’s cozy enough despite the bright fluorescent lights.
“Two coffees,” I state to the waitress behind the counter as we walk toward a booth in the corner. As we sit, I address Rita. “Want anything else?”
“Coffee’s good.” We could have enjoyed a cup outside the meeting, as a percolator pot offers the brew to those who need something to drink or just something to hold in their hands.
The waitress quickly arrives at our table with her pot and fills mugs before dismissing herself when I tell her this is all for now.
“So, what’s your story?” Rita asks as soon as we are alone.
“I thought you said no sob stories,” I tease, lifting my mug for my lips. This coffee could rival the Bean’s. “But it’s not like you don’t know.”
Rita peers at me across the table. “I don’t.”
Setting my mug down, I meet her puzzled gaze. “Ri-ight.”
“No, really. We’re only told who is joining us. The board has to agree on placements, but only Alfred reads a person’s background. He vets the information, mainly assuring there isn’t a concern of physical harm or threat to our team. That’s the truth of it.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “And you haven’t looked me up?” I’m floored that she actually doesn’t know anything else about me. With a quick internet search, I’m certain the once newsworthy story is present somewhere.
“Good people make bad decisions all the time.” She shrugs. “I believe in second chances and don’t want to make a preconceived notion. So nope.”
I take a second to absorb what she said. Good people make bad decisions all the time. Don’t I know it.
“Not even a little social media sleuthing?” I tease, although she wouldn’t find anything. I’m not on any social media sites, having deleted my accounts years ago. Rita shakes her head, and I’m surprised again.
“How about you? Tell me how you got started in Building Buddies.”
Rita slowly smiles. It’s a pleasant smile as though she’s about to share a secret, but a secret she can’t wait to share. I find myself watching her lips move as she speaks.
“My dad was involved in the program. He started it with a group of men looking to do service for others. Construction service specifically.” She shrugs. “My father’s father was a builder of sorts, but my dad became a lawyer. I think a small part of him always felt guilty he didn’t use his hands more than his brain, so he began the program with Alfred and a few business friends.”
That explains her ease with Alfred. Even though I know the answer to what I ask next, I still ask. “And what happened to your dad?”
“He passed almost eight years ago.” Her smile softens with fondness but sorrow. “Second heart attack. We were close, and I worked in his office after his first heart attack. When I finished my law degree at Vermont Law, I became a full-time associate in Kaplan and Associates.” She sits straighter, speaking as if making a proud proclamation.
“My nephew goes to Vermont Law,” I state with as much pride, and her smile deepens.
“My associate went there, too.”
“Impressive.”
“So, you have a nephew. Who else makes up your family?” The shy grin accompanying her question hints at wanting more information—like do I have a wife or a girlfriend.
“It’s my brother Nolan and myself. That’s it. Nolan had my nephew Rory when he was too young to be a dad, and coincidentally, I’ve been acting as Nolan’s father most of his life as ours left when we were little kids.”
“I’m so sorry,” she interjects, and I see she means it, especially as she just told me how close she was to her own father.
“My mother died in an auto accident when I was eighteen. I’d been at Burlington U then, but Nolan was too young to live alone, and then he thought with his dick instead of his head.” I make a face at the crude reference. “Sorry about that.”
Rita shrugs. “It happens. The dick-thinking, that is.”
Softly, I chuckle. “Anyway, so here I am.”
“Wife? Children?” She cuts to the chase.
“I was married once,” I state, lowering my eyes for the mug in my hands on the table. “But we divorced right before I went to prison.”
Silence falls between us a second before Rita quietly responds, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I nod. I’m over it. At the time, I was angry. I thought Lisa was my everything, but I was wrong. Your everything loves you through thick and thin—good times and bad.
“And you?” I eye Rita, lifting my mug once more for another sip.
“No wife. No children,” she teases. I cock a brow at her, wondering if I’ve misread her tastes. “Ian was my fiancé.”
Slowly, I nod again, having made the connection. When Rita doesn’t offer more, I tip my head to catch her lowered gaze. “No sob stories necessary,” I remind her. She dips her chin to agree. “And your mother?”
“My mom stuck around after my dad passed. She was waiting on me to get married. When that didn’t happen, she moved to South Carolina. It’s the place my parents always intended to retire together.”
“Is she on the ocean?” I ask, hoping to keep things light and not backtrack to why she didn’t marry her fiancé.
“She’s not, but she’s close. I visit her twice a year. She doesn’t like to come up here anymore. Too cold in the winter.”
I laugh as I get that about our Northern weather, but I’m also looking forward to winter, when I can go outside and actually move around in the snow without some barbed wire and metal fencing caging me in.
“No siblings?” I inquire, feeling like we’re playing twenty questions.
“Only child syndrome.” She laughs. “It’s why I always want my way.”
“Oldest child here,” I tease. “I never get my way.”
Rita tips her head, giving me a sideways glance. “Why’s that? What would be your way? What would you be doing if you weren’t working for Building Buddies?”
Here comes the tricky part. “Initially, I went to school for environmental studies, think natural resources, but I’d been doing construction work most of my teenage years to help my mom out and save for college. When I returned home to make sure Nolan graduated high school, I took up an electrician apprenticeship but also worked as a volunteer fireman.”
Rita sits up again in her seat. Her eyes focus more intently on me.
“I eventually worked my way into an arson investigator position, doing small electrical jobs on the side.” There should be pride in my voice for what I eventually accomplished and the years it took to get where I was, but none of who I was or what I’d done mattered in the end. I was found guilty of a crime I did not commit because of what others thought.
“That’s how you have the skill to work for Building Buddies.” It’s not so much a question, but a clarification as Rita puts things together.
“It is.”
“And if you could do anything, what would it be?”
As much as I wish I had a solid answer, I don’t. I hadn’t thought much beyond serving the remainder of my time and my desire to leave Vermont. “I want to leave this state and forget all that’s happened here.” The statement comes out harsh, and Rita blinks at my directness.
“Not a fan of Vermont?”
“Not anymore,” I admit because it’s the State’s fault for making budget cuts to our fire safety programs that placed me in the position I’m in. Serving time. On parole. “But my brother has a complicated injury, and I’m not certain I can leave him behind.”
“More sob story?” Rita purses her lips, twisting them a bit as she considers what I’ve said. The truth is, Nolan’s been on his own for a while, and he doesn’t actually need me like he once did. It’s a bit of a relief, but I still feel guilty. I soft
ly chuckle to dismiss explaining Nolan’s condition, and Rita shifts gears. “Do you knit?”
My laugh blurts loud and sharp. “Um, no. Sorry. Why?”
“How about hiking?”
“Uh, sure. I mean, I haven’t been on one in a while.” Hiking reminds me of my past studies in natural resources. I thought I might be a forest ranger or an environmental scientist of some type. At eighteen, I wasn’t certain what path I’d take. Then my life was decided for me with my mother’s death.
Hiking also makes me think of asking Rita if she’d like to take one with me sometime. She’s always wearing those damn boots, so I’m assuming she knows how to use them. But a date would be out of the question. This was only coffee.
Rita doesn’t say any more, taking final sips of her now-cool brew, and I feel like I’ve run out of things to say. I double-tap the table, and Rita startles at the motion. Then I lift my hand for the waitress, signaling I’m ready to pay our bill.
“I should probably get going.” The transition is awkward, but if I sit here any longer, I just might share that sob story Rita doesn’t want to hear, and it’s been nice to chat with someone who doesn’t know of my sordid past.
“Oh. Oh,” Rita says, looking over her shoulder as the waitress approaches. Twisting back to the table, she fumbles in her pocket.
“I got this,” I offer. I’d never let a woman pay. Rita’s face pinkens for some reason, and I hand over a twenty. Sliding out of the booth, I wait for Rita to stand and then escort her to the parking lot.
“You okay to drive home?” It’s dark out, and I glance up at the sky, noting the ink black color and the brilliant display of stars. The freedom to enjoy the night is something I won’t ever take for granted again.
“It’s not far. I’m good, handsome.”
“Handsome, again?” I laugh, noting she didn’t give me more information as to where ‘far’ is. She dismisses me with a wave of her hand as we stand beside her SUV. Stepping closer to her, I ask, “You think I’m handsome?”
“As if you don’t already know it. Your good looks have already gone to your head, or I’d warn you against letting it get there.”
“Ri-ta.” I drag out her name. Everything in me wants to kiss this pretty woman under a starlit sky right now, but I’ve already taken advantage of her once before. This night was my apology.
“I gotta go,” she says, while her blue eyes say otherwise, and her body leans against her driver door. I want to pin her against the metal and have my way with her sassy mouth. She’s so close I could stroke her cheek and marvel at the softness of her skin. Or better yet, clutch the back of her neck and drag her to me, closing the distance, and crushing my mouth to hers.
But I’m not looking to cross any more lines with Rita Kaplan, so I take a step back, and Rita rolls against the door, quickly flicking the handle and opening it. I wait as she climbs inside and watches as she backs out of the parking spot, wondering if I’ll ever feel free enough to kiss a pretty woman under a star-bright sky again.
9
Jake
It’s a few days before I see Rita again. The weekend interfered with work, and although the project continues, I’m not obligated to be there, allowing for volunteers to take over and push things ahead. On Monday, we’re just finishing up when Rita arrives.
“What’s this?” Rita questions. She does a check-in at the end of the day, but I don’t understand why Sullivan can’t just call her with updates on our progress. Then again, I’m not disappointed she’s here. I’ve strangely missed her the past few days, and I can’t help the smile on my face when I see her.
“It’s a couch,” I state, noting the piece of furniture that arrived in the middle of a construction site.
Her head pops up, glaring at me as I’ve stated the obvious. “Yes, but what’s it doing here? Furniture doesn’t arrive until the end of the project.”
I shrug, having no idea, and Sullivan interjects. “Some mistake at the warehouse. The date said May, not July, so here it is.”
We don’t have a garage yet that we can store it in, and it’s too large to lug to the basement. We’ll just have to work around it. The item is wrapped in plastic, so it should be safe enough.
Rita sighs, rubbing at her forehead like I’ve seen her do from time to time.
“Better get a move on,” Sullivan warns. “Storm’s coming.” We’ve had tons of rain lately, making the yard a soggy mess of streams and mini mudslides. I notice Rita is not wearing her heels but returned to her hiking boots along with dress pants, but she’s still wearing a fancy, feminine blouse.
“Okay,” Rita says to him. “I’ll be right after you. I’m just going to cover this.” She turns around looking for something to give the couch an extra layer of protection.
“I can wait,” Sullivan offers, glancing at me before back at Rita. I see the longing in his eyes, and I feel for the guy as Rita doesn’t look at him the same way. She sees him as an asset to Building Buddies and a hard worker, but nothing more.
“No, you go. You put in another long day.” Rita’s encouraging words hit me wrong. Sullivan is the construction manager, and it’s his job to be here. Strangely, I want praise from her myself, but I bite my tongue. Sullivan eyes me once more.
“There are drop cloths in the back room. I’ll go get one.” While I turn away from Rita and Sullivan, I don’t miss him grumbling to Rita. Reminding myself I don’t need Sullivan’s approval, I retrieve the heavy cloth, and when I return to the front room, Sullivan is gone. We have electricity in the house now, no longer using the generator from before, but we only have temporary outlets until the drywall is complete. Within seconds, the weather seems like a faucet from heaven turned on, and the rain intensifies, coating the front window in a sheet of water.
“Think it might be best to wait this out a few minutes,” I suggest as Rita doesn’t have a raincoat or an umbrella. She glances at the window but doesn’t respond to my warning.
“Help me cover this thing.” An early arrival couch doesn’t seem like it should irritate her as much as it does, but I don’t question her mood. We cover the thing, and just as we stand back to inspect our work, the light nearest us goes off.
“What the hell?” I mutter, stalking over to the outlet and pulling the cord from an industrial work lamp. Plugging it back in, I see the electricity is out. The room is pretty dark due to the gloom of the late afternoon and the enclosed space. The sheet of rain coating the window isn’t helping either.
“Now what?” Rita grumbles.
“Bad day at the office, dear?” I jest, and Rita snorts that honking sound she makes. I have to admit the noise is growing on me.
“It’s nothing,” she mutters, and I toss myself down on the newly covered couch. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“I’m not running out in that rain. I’d be drenched before I shut the front door,” I state. Rita glances back at the three-panel window, streaming with a deluge of water. It’s beautiful and alarming.
“We can’t stay here,” Rita snaps.
“Why not?” I question, pulling my phone from my pocket and wondering if I can get cell service. I send a quick text to Nolan, hoping it goes through to him.
“We just can’t,” Rita says, placing her hands on her hips, but her sight drifts to the window once more.
“You go right ahead and leave.”
“I can’t leave you here alone,” she reminds me.
“Afraid I might burn the place down?” I ask, an edge to my voice.
“That isn’t funny,” she remarks, and I have to agree.
“I guess you’re stuck, then. And if you think you’re not, your SUV will be if you try to peel out in this downpour.”
“Ugh.” Rita tosses herself on the opposite end of the couch, which crinkles under her slight weight and the plastic underneath us. I scroll on my phone, finding it won’t power up to data, but I have another idea.
“How about some music?” I don’t wait for her reply before I find my downl
oads and click a song. Music reminiscent of the 1980s fills the dark living room, and I spring upward.
“What are you doing?” Rita’s voice still holds an edge, but I’m not letting her sour my mood. I start moving to the beat with a little hop left and hop right, kicking out my feet to match. The lyrics begin, and I start to sing along, ignoring Rita as I dance around the room.
“You’re acting like a nut,” Rita says over the music, but her voice holds more humor.
“You wanted to see my moves, so I’m showing you.” Continuing to dance, I turn to her. “Dance with me.”
Rita crosses her arms from her position on the couch. “I don’t dance.”
“Everybody dances,” I tell her, singing with the lyrics and then changing them when the chorus hits. “Rain on me,” I belt out, and Rita laughs.
“Those aren’t the words,” she teases, but I continue singing off-key and ad-libbing the refrain to match our current situation. The song is actually “Take On Me” by A-ha. It’s got a bouncy beat, and my feet match the rhythm.
“Rain on me,” I draw out again, holding out both my hands and wiggling my fingers at Rita, implying she should stand. She waves a hand at me and turns her head, but she can’t fight a grin. I do a spin and slide side to side, holding my hand at my waistline. I love to dance, and I haven’t done it in years. I also want to make Rita smile and wipe away whatever has her in a bad mood. My show carries on until the end of the song, and then I bow. Rita laughs harder and gives me a slow clap.
“Alright.” Reaching out for her hand, I catch one before she claps again and pull her upward. She stumbles into my chest, and I grab her other hand.
“I can’t dance,” she states, holding out her ankle to show me her hiking boot, but I kick out my foot to show her mine. Rita huffs, closing her eyes while I remain holding her hand in mine. “No, really. I can’t dance, as in I don’t know how.”
I stare, disbelieving her. “Rita. That can’t be true. Everyone can dance. It’s like sex. You just know how to do it, and you use your body in almost the same way.”