34. Sully
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
sully
“AND WHAT TROUBLE DO we have going on here?”
I stopped short at the sound of Susan Summers’ voice floating across the street. Ellie, who’d already gotten out of the car with two bags of painting supplies in her hand, seemed to have frozen, too.
“No trouble here, Mrs. Summers!” I yelled back through the open car window and then forced myself to move, kicking the door ajar.
I’d just asked Ellie about talking to her mom, and she hadn’t been sure if she was ready.
So if I needed to spearhead this conversation, I would. “Just doing a few house projects.”
“Does Annie know what you’re up to?”
I laughed as I got out of the car and grabbed the paint samples from the back seat. “Believe it or not, she has given me—us—free rein.”
“You don’t say?” Ellie’s mom was shutting the door to her own car, leaning against it with her keys in hand. She still wore her Patio uniform, making me wonder if we’d been following her home without even realizing it. “And you know you can call me Susan, Sullivan.”
I flashed her a grin, nodding. “I know. How are you, Susan?”
“Good,” she said, and I searched for Ellie in my peripheral, wanting to gauge how she was doing. “Just getting home from a shift.”
“Summer rush slowing down?” Ellie asked, and something inside me settled as she came around the car to stand next to me. Her expression remained neutral, but she moved like she was a little unsure of herself.
“A bit, yeah,” Susan said before sighing. “Well, you kids have fun. Do you need anything? It’s been, well, a while since I’ve done any painting, but I could probably dig some supplies out if you need something.”
Even as she said the words, Susan grimaced a little, and Ellie shifted on her feet.
Unspoken words lingered between them, and I knew Ellie had her doubts that her mom would be able to find any supplies in the house, which created a familiar pang of sadness in my chest. I’d spent most of my teenage years making sure Ellie knew she had a home across the street if she ever needed it, and I was doing the same thing now.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t wish she could have something that was hers, too.
Her room in her house that she could go home to.
“We picked up a lot of stuff at Bud’s today, but if you stumble on any step stools, we could use them,” Ellie said with a half-smile, surprising me.
We had step stools in our garage, but maybe she wanted to give her mom a chance.
“I’ll take a look,” Susan said, matching her daughter’s expression—a little wary, a little hopeful.
“Thanks, Mom,” El replied. “Maybe after we’re done painting, we could do that dinner we talked about? We could probably get Theo to come over and cook for us.” She laughed, and it was only a little strained.
“Hey, hey.” I gave a pointed look between the two women. “I can cook, too, you know.”
Ellie raised a playful brow while Susan’s lips curved into a bigger smile.
“Dinner sounds nice,” she said. “I’ll let y’all fight over who gets to cook. I’ll bring pie.”
“Susan.” I put a hand to my chest. “You know I love pie.”
“I do.” She pointed a finger as she began walking back to the house. “Cherry, right?”
“You bet!” I called, and then I slipped my hand into Eleanor’s once her mom’s back was turned, and I led her home.
We decided to paint the living room yellow first.
It was the room we’d been spending the most time in, so even though it meant we had to temporarily relocate the Millennium Falcon while we covered the floor in paint cloths, it seemed like the best starting point.
It also gave me an excuse to strip the weird wallpaper border that circled the room and rip down the horrendous curtains, which let a lot of light back into the house.
It had taken two additional trips to Bud’s over a handful of days to find the right color, but one titled Buttermilk ended up being the winner. It was a soft yellow that had enough boldness to still feel invigorating.
Nothing made me feel more alive, though, than the sight of Ellie bouncing down the stairs after she finished work for the day, wearing a pair of overall shorts with a white tank top underneath.
Her bare feet padded on the hardwood floor while strands of hair fell from her half-up sloppy bun, and my brain tumbled through flashbacks of summers.
“Are you okay if those get paint on them?” I asked after I got a hold of myself, pointing to her outfit.
“Oh, yeah.” Her enthusiastic grin nearly blew me away as she patted her overalls.
She’d seemed perkier the last couple of days.
Her mom had surprised us, dropping an old step stool on the porch one morning before she headed into work, and Ellie had spent a long time staring at it.
She’d even smiled some more. “These are old.”
I knew they were old. I’d seen her wear them a million times. I wanted her to keep wearing them.
But all I said was, “Okay, just checking.”
“Are you afraid that I was going to sit back and let you do all the work?”
Her gentle laugh made my lips twitch.
“No, Eleanor. I couldn’t be less worried about that.” I watched her cross the room to pick up a paintbrush. “You could just sit there and look pretty, and I’d be more than okay with that.”
It had been over two weeks since the miscarriage, so beyond the time that the doctor had told her to rest and restrict her activity, but still.
When Ellie got into a project, she sometimes didn’t know how to stop working on it.
Honestly, I was surprised she was willing to ration her time spent on the Millennium Falcon to help me with this.
Maybe she was just that sick of the decor in here. I couldn’t blame her for that.
Ellie rolled her eyes at me and then used her paintbrush as a pointer stick to gesture toward the ceiling. “Do you want to do the trim? Or roll the walls?”
I shot her a look. “No offense, El, but logistically, I’m not sure how that’s a question.”
She frowned and planted her hands on her hips. “What do you mean?”
“How exactly do you plan to reach the trim up there?”
“Ummm, easily,” she rebuffed, clicking her tongue. “With a very tall chair.”
Pursing my lips, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t know. That sounds like an OSHA violation.”
“Oh, is this a paying job now?”
“It could be. I’d be more than happy to discuss an hourly wage. How does…a few hundred dollars an hour sound?”
Maybe it would cover the costs she’d incurred to move back here. Her medical bills. The cost of the Lovenox that sat unused.
“Oh my God,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Keep your money, Sawyer.”
“Fine.” Closing the space between us, I plucked the angled brush from her hands. “But you’re not standing on a chair.”
I needed her to stay flat on the ground, thank you very much. I’d seen her in a hospital bed two too many times in my life.
Ellie’s expression gave me sass, but all she said was, “I hope you have a very long handle for that roller, then.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” I walked around to the side of the couch, where I’d left some of the supplies, and grabbed the extension to show her. “Perfect for very—”
She lifted a warning finger. “If I were you, I’d be careful about calling me sh—”
“Capable women like yourself, Eleanor.”
She reached out and snatched the roller extension from me. “Capable women who just need an extra foot or so, huh?”
“Nah, that’s not what I meant,” I said to the most perfect woman I’d ever met. “I’ve got all the extra inches you need.”
I tossed her a wink that had her flushing scarlet, and a funny little noise emerged from Ellie’s throat as she turned her attention to securing the roller brush on the handle, twisting it with very little success.
I watched, amused but not daring to offer help, as she eventually got it on.
And then I watched as she popped the lid off the paint can with a flathead screwdriver and poured the Buttermilk into the tray.
It was a nice color.
We picked well.
When Ellie glanced up to find me sitting back and enjoying the show, she lifted a brow.
“If you’re not careful, I’m going to roll this paint all over you, too,” she muttered.
“You should know better than to threaten me with a dirty time, darling.”
A sharp, amused sound burst out of her, and she was such a delightful shade of pink.
God, I just wanted to eat it up. Soak it up.
Savor it and her and every second of this.
“Oh, shut up,” she murmured, swatting a hand at me.
But she was laughing. And smiling as she dipped the roller into the yellow paint.
I stood by what I’d told her while we stood in Bud’s.
She made me happy like no one else could.
And yellow was a happy color.