15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Jane
F or weeks I’d been patching plaster walls and painting and it was getting difficult to see the blue denim through all the splatter covering my overalls. Of course, I washed them all the time, but the paint never came out.
I’d used Victorian colors recommended by the man at the paint shop, and every room had its own personality—though I’d yet to buy much furniture or artwork. I was holding off until the walls and floors were finished, then Meg and I were planning to hit every antique store within a hundred-mile radius.
Fresh paint made the walls come to life. The parlor was a wedgwood blue for daytime tea parties and the drawing room, which the Victorians used for withdrawing after dinner, was a deep burgundy. I painted the dining room a medium hue of gold to coordinate with the chandelier shades I’d ordered from Amazon. The library was a sage green, and the color of the entrance hall reminded me of seafoam.
The bedrooms were an array of colors from salmon to linen to rose madder, and yellow ochre. I’d saved my dressing room for last, for which I’d chosen a soft shade of pink. After taping the molding, floorboards, and doors, I climbed the ladder with my paint can and brush to carefully apply a line of paint beneath the upper molding.
As soon as I dipped the bristles into the thick latex, the front door knocker clapped loudly. I jolted, making the paint can teeter, my brush slipping from my fingertips and smacking me in the face. “Dammit!” I swore, climbing down, the wire handle of the can cutting into my fingers.
After I set the paint on the tarp, I swore again, this time at the purple bruises swelling on the inside of my fingers. I had such ridiculously thin skin, I even managed to break blood vessels when I clapped my hands. Jeez, I hated it when that happened .
The knocker sounded again, and I grabbed a rag, making sure I didn’t have any paint on myself that might rub off onto something as I hurried down the stairs. “Coming!”
Before opening the door, I swiped the cloth across my face.
Leaning against porch rail with his ankles crossed, Bob grinned…I swear he was doing a terrible job of not laughing. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No.” I touched my cheek with the tips of my fingers. Was it still covered with pink paint? “I was just starting in on the dressing room.”
He straightened and dropped his arms to his sides. “You need some help?”
“I thought you said you don’t paint?”
“Not for a living, but I’d do it for a friend.”
I tried not to smile too broadly. The man had done an amazing job trimming back my bushes and had just spread fall fertilizer over the lawn. And hell yes, I could use a friend. “You want to come in for a cup of coffee?”
He looked at his clothes—grass stained, though in a lot better shape than my overalls. “I’m not really dressed for it.”
In my opinion, he was a whole lot cleaner than me, paint-splattered face and all. “Neither am I. We can sit on the stools in the kitchen. It’s a disgusting throwback to the sixties—but my espresso machine works.”
He agreed and I led him through my starkly-furnished house and into my grungy kitchen offset by my brand-new stove and refrigerator.
“When are the guys from Menards going to start installing the new cupboards?” Bob asked, sliding onto a stool.
“Next week, thank goodness.” I pulled the milk out of the fridge and turned on my espresso maker. “Sorry, I forgot to ask if you like latte.”
“Never had one.”
I gawked at him. “Then you haven’t lived.”
“Well then, enlighten me.”
I chuckled. Bob didn’t come across as a typical yard guy. Sure, his skin was sun-bronzed and he had those incredibly well-muscled forearms that come from hours of hard labor. But he used big words like grandiose and floriculture.
The machine started frothing the milk while I measured the espresso. “Have you always been a landscaper?”
“Oh, no. I’m retired.”
“Aren’t you kinda young to be retired?” I put a few slice-and-bake chocolate chip cookies on a plate. When Meg was little and needed to take snacks to school, I quickly learned that slice-and-bake cookies were the closest thing to homemade a working single mom could manage.
“Aren’t you?” he countered.
“Touché.” I poured the coffee, topped each cup with the frothed milk, then joined him, sitting on the second stool. “So, what did you do before you became my extraordinary yard guy?”
“I was a pharmacist. Got burned out when COVID hit and decided to hang up the white coat once and for all.”
“Was it awful dealing with the pandemic?”
“Yes. It changed how we did everything. They didn’t just change something here and there, either. The powers that be threw new stuff at us daily . Of course, the pharmacy stayed open when the country shut down and we were trying to help patients yet were constantly required to be on phone calls and Zoom chats with corporate.”
“Which took you away from your job.” I knew all too well what it must have been like. I’d been in the middle of a firestorm at Bethany at the time.
Bob shook his head. “Technicians quit in droves, then we couldn’t hire people, so those who were left had to take extra shifts. I worked six months without a day off. That’s when I decided I’d had enough.”
He sipped his coffee while his eyebrows shot up. “Mm. This is good.”
As I drank, warmth meandered all the way down to my stomach, but for some reason, I doubted the sensation was caused by the coffee. “Thanks.”
“So, what’s your story?” he asked.
I hadn’t talked to anyone but Meg about the disaster with Hydroade and I wasn’t about to start. Taking a deep breath, I looked to the ceiling fan above. “Well,” I said, wanting to be truthful, yet not wanting him to look upon me as a complete failure. “I was a high-level executive at a Fortune 500 corporation based in Denver. It was stressful, not that I didn’t relish the challenge, but after years of excessive hours and little thanks, like you, I’d had enough.”
“But why La Crosse? You don’t have a Wisconsin accent.”
“My daughter does—we lived here when she was in high school. After she got her master’s degree she settled in this lovely town. I decided I wanted to be closer to her. On top of that, my mother was— is suffering from Alzheimer’s and moving here allows me to spend more time with her, as well.”
He looked from one wall to the other of my dilapidated kitchen and rubbed the back of his neck. “So you bought a fixer? ”
“Yep.” I dipped my chin and gave him an innocent smile, though not flirting. Definitely not flirting. “I need a big project to keep myself out of trouble.”
“Really?” He sipped his coffee, licking the foam from a full bottom lip. “What are you going to do once it’s done?”
I regarded my disgusting mustard-yellow cupboards. “I don’t think it will be for a long time,” I said, avoiding his question. “As soon as I finish painting, I have to start on the floors.”
“Big job—sanding, staining, applying the finish.”
I glanced at the linoleum that had been worn through to the floorboards in places. “At least there’s solid oak under that awful lino.”
“You need a hand?”
I couldn’t help but shift my gaze to his left ring finger. It was bare. Was he flirting or just being friendly? “After we finish painting my dressing room?”
“Sure. Business is winding down for the season, and I need an excuse to get out of the house—it’s too quiet there.”
I spooned a bit of froth off the rim of my cup. “Do you live alone?”
“Yeah. It’s been twenty-three years since my wife left me—”
The back door burst open. “Mom!” Meg cried, falling into my arms, bawling hysterically. “H-h-he’s m-marrieeeeed!”
Bob took his cup to the sink, then moved a box of tissues beside me. “I believe this my cue to disappear,” he said, backing away and showing himself out.
“W-who was that?” Meg asked, wiping her eyes with her hand, which did no good at all. She was hyperventilating with sobs. Tears welled and spilled onto her cheeks as I reached for a tissue.
“Just Bob. He’s my yard guy.” I wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Tell me what happened, Sweetie. Is this about Lance?”
Meg cried so hard, she couldn’t answer at first. The lout was married? I should have realized he was a scoundrel the moment I set eyes on that smug bastard.
All the emotion of motherhood coursed through me with Meg perched on the stool between my legs, my lips caressing her forehead as I whispered soft words, “That’s right, Baby, let it all out. Let all that pain and hurt burst forth. You’re safe here. You’ll always be safe here.”
Was I wrong to sense a tad of triumph to have my daughter in my arms? To finally live close enough to provide a shoulder for her to cry on? I gave her another tissue.
As Meg’s hiccups subsided and she gradually regained control, she told me about her research—that the charlatan had lied about being a doctor. Not only that, he worked for solid waste. Meg told me about his wife’s Facebook profile—that the poor woman was a cruise ship entertainer and her husband obviously played around when she was away at sea.
Meg blew her nose. “No wonder he ignored me so much. No wonder he never posted a picture of me on his fake Facebook page.”
Every muscle in my body clenched, my lips curled. “I wish he were here so I could practice karate on his face.”
“Would you?” Meg managed to let a sad smile shine through her anguish.
I snarled, molten blood pulsing through my veins. “Damn straight. Anyone messes with my kin, and I’ll taser their eyeballs!”
“Whoa, Mom. I’ve never heard you sound so savage.”
I squared my shoulders, though I wasn’t going to take back my words. I wanted that man’s head. “I think we all have a bit of savagery inside of us. We’ve just learned to tame it. I know I have.”
Meg moved to the stool where Bob had been sitting and dropped her head into her hands. “What am I going to do?”
Send out a hit squad? Deflate all the tires on his car? Put a wild badger in the cab of his garbage truck?
I gulped back my vengeful thoughts. “You need to confront him.”
“Sure, but a guy like that is pathological. It’s not going faze him when I tell him he’s a scumbag. I’ll bet the jerk knows he’s a slimebucket and he thinks it’s cool.”
“I wonder if his wife has any idea what he’s up to while she’s working. I’ll bet she makes a lot more money than he does, too.” Visions of my ex sitting on the couch drinking beer while I worked shook me to my core. It was a damned good thing Meg found out about this now before she wasted her time pining for a guy who was already married. “I’ll bet he lives pretty comfortably because of her—gets to go on cruises for free. The contemptable, advantage-taking fraud!”
Meg curled over, a wail erupting from the back of her throat. “I can’t believe I’m so gullible.”
“You? You’re not at fault for any of this.” I pounded my fist on the counter. “He’s the prick. Do not for one second blame yourself.”
“But I’m such a loser when it comes to men. What am I, a dickhead magnet? ”
“No!” I said emphatically, yet I’d given her a lousy example. After Meg was born, her father hadn’t worked, mooched off me, and I’d put up with his laziness and excuses for seven unbearable years. Once I won the majority custody in the divorce, I took my daughter and moved back to the States where I’d married myself to my job. “There are nice men out there.”
“Like whom?”
“Well, I guess Bob, my yard guy is pretty nice.”
“Oh…” Meg glanced through the butler’s pantry, leading through the house. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Absolutely not. We just took a break for coffee and that was all.” I gestured to my overalls. “Look at me, I’m not exactly dressed to impress.”
Meg chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t want Lance…Virgil or whoever he is sailing to Bermuda and hooking up with unsuspecting librarians ever again.”
“You said his wife is on Facebook?” I asked, an idea forming.
Meg’s bottom lip pushed out like she was about to burst into tears again, but she just hid her face in her hands. “Yes, and she’s gorgeous, and skinny.”
“Well, you are gorgeous and voluptuous. In my book you win over the Barbie dolls every time.”
With a huff, my daughter opened her fingers wide enough to give me a sober expression of disbelief. We’d been down this road too many times. No matter what I said, in her opinion I was petite and skinny and had no right to make any comment about her figure whatsoever.
I drank my last sip of coffee. “I think you ought to friend the wife on Facebook.”
Meg’s breath hitched as she dropped her hands. “Seriously?”
“I would.”
Her puffy eyes widened. “And then what, tell her I’ve been having an affair with her husband?”
“I don’t think you need to be quite so direct. Maybe just ask if she’s seen Lance’s other profile.”
“You mean Virgil’s other profile?”
A grin slowly stretched my lips. “Exactly.”
“Um…” Meg looked out the window as if mulling over the idea. “If I friend her, she might see a couple of selfies I’ve taken of us.”
“Hmm. You could always bury them or at least make sure you have a few innocuous photos at the top of your recent feed.” I took my coffee cup to the sink and rinsed it. “You decide what is best.”