Chapter Eight
Linden
Maybe if I weren’t raised to be polite, I wouldn’t have such an issue with people walking all over me. My kind nature wouldn’t force me into situations where my brain is screaming at me to get away.
My landlord showed up at my door unannounced as usual, but this time he invited himself in for dinner.
He had mentioned it in the past as a gesture of thanks for renting to me, but I hoped it was just an errant thought, and not something he planned to follow up on.
Now he’s in my kitchen, sitting at the table with my daughter, and I don’t like it. I don’t like the way he looks at her, and the attention he gives her. He isn’t doing anything wrong, at least, nothing that I could call him out for.
But that’s just it… What power do I have? Just like with Avery’s grandparents, one wrong move and he could rip the carpet from beneath my feet. Literally.
My skin is crawling with anxious thoughts.
The food isn’t even ready to eat yet, and I’m juggling ways in my head to get him to leave.
Setting the stove on fire is on the list.
Avery is coloring at the table though, and I’m positive a house fire would cause her significant trauma.
Maybe I’m overreacting. The postpartum anxiety I developed after birth has never gone away, and truly only increased once the issues with her dad worsened. My body has been in a constant state of fight or flight for years now.
I can’t shake the urge to tuck my daughter under my arm and get far away from anyone that could even potentially hurt us.
The oven beeps, signaling that the garlic bread is done, and as I’m bent over retrieving it from the oven, I feel the slimy gaze glued to my backside.
The pan hits the counter with more force than necessary, just as there is a knock on the front door.
Oh, God. Who could that be?
“Avery, do you want to help me answer the door?” I ask because there is no way I’m leaving her in here alone with him.
She jumps up in excitement, always eager to help Mommy with any silly tasks. “Yay!”
“Be right back,” I tell my unwanted guest, letting my fake smile fall as soon as I’m out of the kitchen.
I don’t realize how tight my chest is until the door opens and I see Jack standing there. “Hi,” I state so breathlessly, I have to drag air in just to fill my lungs again.
“Everything okay?” He asks under his breath, and I blink. “He’s been here a while.”
A sound of relief escapes me. At least one other person in the world is as on edge as I am about safety.
“He invited himself in for dinner. I couldn’t say no.”
Jack’s brows furrow deeper than they already are under the brim of his hat. “You can always say no,” his deep voice rolls over me, easing my bunched shoulders.
“I wish I believed that,” I utter softly.
His furrowed brows tighten.
“Are you eating sketti with us, Mr. Jack?” Avery asks, reaching out to tug on his leg.
His eyes settle on her little hands tugging on his pant leg, and I sense his decline brewing.
“Please,” I add.
His gaze snaps to mine, his eyes searching mine so seriously. I feel like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen them so clearly, actually giving me a glimpse into something inside that isn’t so rigid.
There seems to be nothing soft about Jack O’Connor, despite the kindness he’s shown my daughter and me.
Last night when Merrill called me back to the door after we picked up Avery, she questioned the strange mystery man in the truck. And despite all of the unknowns about my neighbor, I found myself defending him.
He is a mystery. But he is my mystery to behold.
Not theirs to judge. To crucify before they’ve even met him.
“Please, Jack. I feel like I’m trapped in here,” I whisper, pitifully.
He gives a simple nod and lets Avery drag him inside.
“Mr. Chaney, this is my neighbor, Jack. He’s having dinner with us.”
“Ah, nice to meet you.” He holds his hand up to shake Jack’s before he really looks. And when he sees the man walking into the kitchen, he blanches slightly.
His discomfort amuses me.
Jack shakes his hand firmly, not exchanging a single word as he looks my landlord dead in his eyes, before sitting in the seat directly across from him.
Avery plops into her seat on the other side of Jack and starts chittering away about the butterfly she’s coloring while I get the food set on the table.
Mr. Chaney reaches for the salad tongs before I’ve sat down, and Jack looks at him sternly, forcing the man’s hand to retreat.
I put Avery’s plain butter noodles in front of her with a piece of garlic bread and take my seat, mentally preparing for this awkward meal.
“According to Avery, any type of noodle is spaghetti, but this is actually chicken fettuccine alfredo. Hopefully you like it. It’s all I had on such short notice.” I smile stiffly.
“Tell me more about yourself, Linden. What brings you to Twinflower?” Mr. Chaney asks, oblivious to my discomfort, loading his plate to the brim with food.
Jack takes more reasonable portions of everything but doesn’t take a bite until I’ve filled my plate.
“Um, I went to school at Virginia Tech. I met Avery’s dad in college. I had her right after I graduated and uh… Haven’t left the area.”
“Virginia Tech? You should have some fancy career in D.C.”
“Yeah. Things change. I’m where I need to be.”
He scoffs, and I can feel Jack’s energy shifting beside me despite him listening to Avery’s endless chatter.
“Shame not to use a degree. What was it in?”
“Early Childhood Development.”
“Sounds like she is using her degree then,” Jack grumbles, breaking his silence. When I look at him, he’s holding Mr. Chaney’s gaze pointedly.
Suddenly, I don’t think it was a very good idea to invite Jack to dinner. He looks like he could kill him. Which seems ridiculous, except that Jack looks like a man who could kill him.
“Mommy, I done.”
“You didn’t eat very much, sweetie.”
“I wanna play.”
“Eat your bread first.”
Her bottom lip starts to quiver. Oh no. The last thing I want to deal with is a meltdown at the dinner table.
Not because I can’t handle it, but because I don’t think she should have to experience big feelings in front of a man she doesn’t know, and Jack.
“Can I have your bread?” Jack asks her quietly, leaning in as if it’s a secret.
“No, it’s mine.” Her charm bracelets jingle as she clutches her bread to her chest.
“But you’re not eating it.” He pretends to grab for it.
“I will.”
“You will? I don’t believe you.”
Her eyes narrow, and she lifts her half piece of bread to take a giant bite out of the middle. “See,” she says with a mouthful.
“You’re right. You win.”
She smiles proudly, none the wiser from the trick he played.
I smile proudly because any bit of calories she gets in her belly thrills me.
“She’s going to be trouble.” Mr. Chaney’s foot finds mine under the table, giving it a nudge, but it lingers, resting against mine. “Especially when she’s a teenager.”
I hate that sentiment, and I don’t like him forming any type of opinion of my daughter. I snatch my foot back as I stand from my seat.
“Got any dessert?” He leans back in his chair, patting his stomach, but looking at me like I’m the treat he’s requesting.
“Dinner is over,” Jack states gruffly.
Mr. Chaney looks at me and to Jack, not taking the hint. I don’t know what gives me the nerve to do it- maybe my need to get this man out of my house, or just the misplaced anger turning into desperation, but I step behind Jack’s chair, trepidly sliding my hand across his broad shoulder.
“No dessert, Mr. Chaney.” I leave my palm resting near the base of Jack’s neck, so he gets the hint that only he is welcome to stay.
Mr. Chaney looks at where my hand lies for so long that I can feel Jack’s pulse thrumming against my thumb.
“Right, well, thanks for having me.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Jack stands so fast, I have to snatch my hand back as if I burned it.
My cheeks heat in embarrassment. Why did I think it was okay to touch him?
I’m so damaged from my years with Turner, I don’t even remember how to behave properly in social settings. Isolation stunted me.
Jack’s gone so long, I assume he went straight home without saying goodbye. He probably did not like that I just used him like a prop. He’s been gracious enough to get me out of a couple of binds, and I couldn’t even give him a peaceful meal.
Maybe I should pack up some leftovers to take to him…
I glance out the window to see if he’s in his driveway, but immediately snap the curtains shut.
He didn’t go home… He has the back of Mr. Chaney’s neck in one hand, and his right hand in the other, holding him against the hood of his car.
“Avery, go in your playroom and put Barney on!” I shoo her.
“Yay!”
I sprint back to the kitchen and panic-clean dinner up. I knew what inviting Jack over might do. I suspected that he isn’t a docile man.
What if he hurts him?
Oh God. Why doesn’t that scare me?
By the time he knocks lightly, warning that he’s coming back inside, the table is clear, and all the dishes are scraped off and soaking in the sink, and I have leftovers sitting on the counter.
“Thank you for staying, and I’m sorry for using you like that,” I admit shamefully, not daring to look him in the eye.
“He won’t be back.”
“Really? Why?” I feign confusion, but I’m no actress. I let my eyes lift slowly, hoping he isn’t looking at me closely.
He is.
He pulls a tri-folded paper out of his back pocket. “Your new lease.”
“You’re kidding?” I grab the paper, unfolding it manically so that I can read it. “How did you get this?”
“He had copies in his car. I encouraged him to sign it.”
Yeah, pinned to the hood of his car…
“That’s it?” I squeak.
He shrugs. “Don’t let him inside anymore. It’s all in there. He has to give you notice before he shows up, and this won’t jeopardize your job across the street. I made sure of it.”
My fingers cover my mouth as I nod. This single sheet of paper is such a relief. Right next to the envelope with my Social Security card that’s sitting on the counter.