11. Ed
11
ED
L ater that evening, I’m heating a meal in the microwave when there’s a knock on the door. I leave my chicken curry, which I already know will taste nothing like chicken curry, and head to the entryway.
Avery stands on my doorstep looking like a picture. She has tied up her hair, and loose strands frame her face. My breath catches in my throat and I stand there like a dumbass, unable to speak even if I could.
“Mom made this for you.” She holds up a dish wrapped in tin foil. “It’s lasagna.”
My stomach growls at the smell wafting from under the tin foil.
I twist my mouth around to say thank you, but all that comes out is a grunt. Avery’s eyes light up at my sorry attempt to speak. “You’re improving.”
I wouldn’t call being able to grunt in distinct tones improving, but seeing her smile makes me want to try harder.
I step into the house and gesture for her to enter. She comes in and walks through to the kitchen, placing the lasagna on the side.
Her gaze moves around the open space and to the bare shelves of the living room.
“You’ve gotten rid of his stuff.” Her hand goes to her throat, and for a horrible moment I think she’s going to cry again.
Her lips press together and she swallows hard. “What are you going to do with it?”
That’s the question I’ve been mulling over for the last few days. But I have an idea.
I grab my notepad and scribble some words. She waits until I push the notepad over to her, then reads out loud.
“Take anything you want. The rest I’m going to sell to raise money for Joel’s veteran’s center.”
She looks up at me, and her eyes are wet.
“That’s…” she trails off, and I hate that I’ve made her cry again. I wonder if coming into this house will always have this effect on her.
She swallows hard and straightens her shoulders. “I like that.”
She looks around, and her gaze rests on the sofa. “Are you going to keep the furniture?”
I shake my head no. It’s all got to go, and I can’t think of a better cause then to raise funds for Joel’s veteran’s retreat.
A thought occurs to me. I scribble on the pad.
Unless you want it?
She shakes her head.
“No. I couldn’t stand to own anything of Jake’s. I’ll go through his personal things with Mom and take a few items, but everything else can go.”
I thought as much. I wish I could erase Avery’s pain, but I can’t. The best I can do is make sure there are no reminders slapping her in the face every time she stops by.
“What will you do for furniture?”
I write a note.
I don’t need much.
Since I moved in I’ve kept to the attic, the kitchen, and the bathroom. Long before my SEAL training toughened me up to be able to live and sleep anywhere, I was used to small rooms and shared spaces. Making do with whatever furniture available. I mean it when I say I don’t need a lot.
“Are you going to redecorate?” Avery’s expression perks up.
I shrug. The paint job still looks good, and there aren’t a lot of scuffs on the walls. There’s no need to redecorate but Avery looks around the place with her hands clasped together.
“I’d paint a feature wall behind the TV, something calming like a forest green.” She turns around slowly. “You could add color with bright cushions and rugs and a colorful throw for the back of the couch. It wouldn’t take much to make it more homey and less sterile.”
I smile at her choice of words. I like the plain white walls and gray furniture. It never occurred to me that there was anything wrong with the way the place is decorated.
He gaze goes to the peace lily she gave me which I’ve put on the kitchen counter. There are two buds almost ready to open.
“It’s still alive.” She seems surprised.
Her fingers run over the silky leaves. “You have to make sure they don’t get dusty, and they like indirect sunlight.”
I make a mental note to dust the plant.
There’s an awkward silence, and it’s moments like this when I wish I could talk.
I’d ask her how her day was and how her mom is. But instead I stand there like a big awkward lump, trying to keep the scarred side of my face turned away from her.
“I can help you with Jake’s stuff,” Avery says.
I run a little water and drip it into the soil of the peace lily.
“It’s a lot to do on your own, and it’ll give me a chance to go through his things as we sort it out.”
It makes sense. But I don’t know if I can be around Avery. Every time she’s near, I can’t stop watching her. I have to keep my hands busy to stop from touching her. Her scent invades my senses and leaves an ache in my loins that I can’t satisfy on my own.
“It means Mom won’t have to go through it,” she says quietly.
I set the plant down and face Avery. She looks down at her hands, worrying a jagged edge of her nail.
I don’t want to cause that family any more pain. I don’t want to cause Avery anymore pain. But they will have to go through Jake’s things at some point. At least this way I’ll be there with her.
I nod once.
Avery sighs, no doubt realizing the heaviness of the task she’s agreed to. “Is tomorrow evening okay?”
I nod again, and she gives me a faint smile. “Don’t forget our session in the morning.”
How could I forget?
All week I’ve thought about calling it quits with the speech therapy. Who needs to talk anyway? But it might mess up my insurance from the VA. If I refuse one treatment, they might take away another. Besides, Avery gets a kick out of helping me.
I’ll do it for her.