Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
EVERLEIGH
I walk up the steps to the front door and swear I’m counting down the seconds until I collapse on that couch. My whole body feels like it’s been run over by a Mack truck, front and back. Turning the door handle, I really fucking hope it’s open so I don’t have to fish my keys out of my purse and make me do more work. Closing my eyes and pushing it open, I say a little prayer of relief. “Yesss,” I hiss as I step into the house and immediately kick off my sneakers.
“Hey,” my mother says from the kitchen when she looks over at the door.
“Hey,” I mumble, tossing my purse to the floor, next to my shoes, before dragging my ass to the couch and falling onto my back. “Don’t even try to tell me to move because I’m not doing it.”
I open one of my closed eyes when I hear my mother laughing from the kitchen. “You are lucky you took your shoes off.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lucky I took my shoes off.”
“Are you going to have enough energy to get up and eat?” she asks, and I groan.
“I don’t even have enough energy to walk up those stairs”—I point at the stairs—“and take a shower.”
“A shower will make you feel better,” she advises as she stirs whatever it is in the pot that smells really good.
“This,” I say, pointing at the couch, “makes me feel better. Mom, I swear every single bone in my body hurts.”
“A nice hot shower will make all the aches and pains go away.” I groan when she says that, and I literally roll off the couch.
“You are ruining my peace,” I accuse, walking up the stairs with her laughing the whole time. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower before getting naked. I close my eyes and put my head back as the hot water runs all over my body. The aches and pains from literally gutting out the whole bakery in the past five days are unreal. From sunup to sundown, I’ve been in there along with a demolition crew that showed up the day after the fire. As soon as the fire marshal said we could go back in, which was about ten hours after the fire, they showed up. It took five seconds to realize Charlie had called them.
Walking into the bakery was something I don’t think I was ready for. Seeing everything my mother worked for in a pile of rubble was a bit too much. I swept the front of the bakery with tears running down my face. I don’t know how I am going to do it, but I am going to make it bigger and better. I kept repeating that to myself the whole week when all I wanted to do was go home and bury my head under the covers. Finally, the cleanup is done, and we have a meeting with the contractor this coming Monday.
I stay under the water until it turns warm, getting out and wrapping myself in a towel before walking out and heading to my bedroom. I start going through my clothes when I grab my robe and just slide it on before walking downstairs. “Don’t you feel better?” My mother looks over at me when she puts a plate on the kitchen table.
“No.” I pull out the chair and sit at the table, looking down at the plate of beef stew in front of me. My mouth suddenly waters as I wait for my mother to sit beside me. She puts down a basket of fresh rolls I know she made this morning because she never, ever buys frozen rolls.
Sitting down next to me, she looks at me and smiles. “You can eat,” she urges, picking up her fork. “Tell me about today.”
I grab my fork and stab a piece of meat and carrot. “Cleanup crew is finally done,” I say. “Place is down to the studs, as they said.”
“Took me ten years to build that thing up to what it was, and it took a week to gut it.” She shakes her head as she takes a bite of her food.
“We have to talk about what is going to happen,” I say softly. “I know you said you didn’t want to discuss it, but, Mom?—”
“I know, I know,” she admits, “it’s just I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, why don’t we start with all the medical bills,” I start at the beginning. “They aren’t much since you have insurance, but it’s still a debt that has to be paid.”
She lifts her hand, waving it. “That bill is covered,” she states, and I nod. “I’m more worried about how I’m going to cover building a new bakery.”
“What did the insurance company say?” I ask, and she again makes no eye contact with me. She doesn’t want to show me how scared she really is. “Mom,” I snap. She looks up, and I see big tears in her eyes forming at the bottom. “What is it?”
“They will have to wait for the full investigation to be done in order to tell me if I’m covered or not.”
“What?” I gasp, never thinking it would not be covered. That’s why you have insurance.
“The fact that it was arson, they have to rule out that I wasn’t the one who did it.” I slap my hand on the table. “It’ll be fine.” She tries to hide the fear and her worries. “I’ll take another mortgage out on the house, and I do have some savings.”
“Mom, that is crazy.” I shake my head. “You are going to be working until you’re eighty to pay it off. Is it worth it?”
“How can you ask me that?” she questions, as if I broke her heart. “Besides you, that bakery is the best damn thing I ever did. I had a reason to get up in the morning. I love going to work.”
I’m about to say something else when there is a soft knock on the door. Before either of us can get up and get it, the door opens, and Oliver comes in. He’s been here every single night since Mom has been home. He doesn’t spend the night, but he comes over and sits with her. “Hi, guys,” he says, his voice chipper as he puts down his helmet on the chair by the door. “What’s with the sad faces?”
“Nothing,” my mother quickly denies. “What are you doing here?”
“Was in the neighborhood,” he answers, and I take a bite of my food trying not to laugh in his face.
“Did you eat?” My mother, even though her voice was annoyed not five seconds ago, has not lost her manners. “Let me get you a plate.”
“I got it,” he assures her, walking to her and bending to kiss her cheek. “You sit and relax.”
I watch him walk over to the stove and grab himself a plate, filling it up before walking over and pulling out his chair. Before he sits down, he goes over to the fridge and opens it, grabbing himself a bottle of beer. I look over at my mother, knowing she hates beer. She has always hated beer, and I’ve never seen her stock beer in the fridge before. Ever. “This smells good,” Oliver praises, sitting beside my mother. “So what’s got you all so gloomy?” he asks before he takes a bite of his food.
“We’re discussing how we are going to work out rebuilding the bakery if the insurance doesn’t cover it.”
Oliver’s eyes slide to my mother’s. “It’s fine,” she hisses out, “it’s not for you to worry about.”
“When do they start the rebuild?” Oliver asks, and I know he’s definitely not looking at my mother for the answers.
“Monday,” I relay. “I’m meeting with them tomorrow morning to go over some drawings.”
“Let me know, and I’ll get you a check,” he states, and we both gasp.
“No.” My mother slaps the table.
“It’ll be a loan,” Oliver explains, leaning back in his chair, “and when you get the money, you can pay me back. Everyone wins.” He and my mother go into a staredown, but I see him trying to hide his smirk.
“I was thinking,” I say softly, and they end their staredown to look back at me, “while we go through the rebuild”—I move the food around on my plate—“about maybe getting a food truck to tide us over.” I look at Oliver first and then my mother. “We can serve coffee and cake out of it. And then make donuts here in the morning. Like we used to do at the beginning before you had a shop.”
“I don’t know.” My mother hesitates.
“That’s a great idea,” Oliver praises. “People sure are missing the donuts since last week. I heard at least five nurses complaining about it.” He takes a pull of his beer.
“That’s another added expense,” my mother points out.
“All we need is an old van, and we can, I don’t know, fix it up for cheap. Put in a couple of coffee makers. I don’t know, maybe even serve some sandwiches, or you had a recipe for bagels.”
“I don’t know,” my mother says, not sure.
“I love that idea.” Oliver takes my side. “You can park outside the hospital, and you’ll be sold out in minutes.” I smile at him. “I’ll make a few calls and see if I know anyone with a van.”
“I know someone who might have a van,” my mother admits, and I know exactly who she is talking about.
“I’ll wait for Oliver.” I push away from the table. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed.”
“It’s seven,” my mother points out.
“And I’ve been up since like five.” I put my plate in the sink. “Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them in the morning.” I turn and walk over to kiss my mother on the cheek. “Will you leave them?”
“I can’t go to bed with a dirty kitchen. It’s just gross.” She throws her hands up.
“Close your eyes, then you won’t see it.” I hold up my hand as I walk up the steps, knowing the dishes will not be there in the morning. I’m asleep the minute my head hits the pillow, only waking when I have to go pee at 6:00 a.m.
Stretching as I get out of bed, I go to the bathroom. I brush my teeth before going back and putting on a pair of yoga pants and a white top, then heading downstairs to make my coffee.
The house is quiet, and the kitchen is clean, which isn’t a surprise. Until I hear movement to the side and look over to see Oliver trying to tiptoe out of my mother’s bedroom. “Busted.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“I fell asleep.” He holds up his hands. “On top of the covers, fully dressed. Guess I was tired.”
“Would you like a coffee before you go?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“I’m going to get out of here before she wakes up and sees me, and then I’m never allowed back in here.” He puts on his boots before grabbing his helmet.
I’m taking my first sip of coffee when my mother comes out of her room in a robe. “Morning, Mom,” I greet her, and she glares at me. “I’m going to be going now.” I put my coffee in a stainless-steel mug. “Your boyfriend just left.”
“I thought you were leaving,” she snaps, and I shake my head, laughing as I walk out of the house.
I’m walking down the quiet street, about to cross it, when I hear cursing and a loud cry of pain coming from the mechanic shop. Looking over, I see Brock’s truck parked on the side. “Walk away,” I tell myself, but my feet move toward the shop. Pushing open the glass door, I hear the bells over the door ring. “Hello,” I call as I hear rustling coming from the side where the office is. “Hello.”
I stick my head in the office at the same time the bathroom door opens, and I see Brock walk out with a rag wrapped around his finger, oozing with blood. “I was walking by, and I heard you cry out in pain.”
“I didn’t cry out in pain,” he snaps. “I was hissing out.”
I roll my eyes, walking over to him. “What did you do?”
“Slipped out of my hands,” he says as he applies pressure to his finger. “Landed on my finger, and I think sliced it open.” I stand in front of him. “I’m fine.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, “and let me help, you stubborn mule.” He glares at me, but he lets me unwrap the rag, and I see the gash. “I don’t think you need stitches. I mean, not like you’d go anyway, but let’s get this cleaned up and bandaged.” I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Well, I know why I’m doing this, because someone is hurt and I’ve been raised to help. We walk over to the bathroom off his office. It’s a lot cleaner than I thought it would be. I turn the water on and feel it with my finger before taking his hand and putting it under the stream. The river of light red blood fills the bottom of the sink. I wait a couple of minutes before grabbing the towel in his hand and wrapping it to apply pressure. “Where is the first-aid kit?”
“At the front, under the desk,” he gruffs out, so I walk to the front and find the square white plastic box with the red cross on the front. I go back in and find him near his desk. Opening it up, I grab the antiseptic pads and wipe down the cut before grabbing the big bandage. “You might have to wear gloves today,” I advise him as I put the bandage on his finger, wrapping it around, “or not, it’s up to you.”
He grunts out a thank-you as I lean forward to toss the bandage wrapper, not realizing I’m in his space and my chest is pushed against his arm. I stand as he looks down at me. “Sorry,” I say, and it’s like the moment is frozen in time. Like we’ve done this before, and I’m sure after dating for seven years, we may have done this before. I don’t even know. “I’ll just—” I point over my shoulder. “Go.” But my feet stay rooted in the spot as our chests practically touch. His hands come up, and he grips the sides of my neck before his mouth slams down on mine. My mouth opens for him, as if I was waiting for this moment. His tongue comes out to play with mine. My body wakes up as if it’s been asleep for so long that this is what it needs to survive. The minute his hands grip my neck, I think I melt into him. I know I shouldn’t want this. I know I shouldn’t even be here. But what I also know is this kiss is something I might have been waiting for this whole fucking week. A little bit of comfort I didn’t know I was missing.
The kiss is almost tender until the bell on top of the door rings again, and I jump back from him. His hands fall to his sides, and I shake my head as the air hits my wet lips. I turn to storm out of the room. “You lost the privilege to do that ever again.”