21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Jane
B ob opened the aluminum ladder and placed it beside the wall. “You okay to start with the crown molding?”
I turned full circle in the drawing room of a Victorian where we’d been contracted to restore the wood, including the window frames, the molding, and doors. Thanks to Bob, all it had taken was a few phone calls to his contractor buddies and we booked two restoration jobs. Maybe word of mouth wasn’t dead in advertising, at least in small towns.
“Sure thing,” I replied, opening the container of paint stripper and pouring a dollop into a pint-sized plastic bucket.
Bob plugged in the sander. “I’m going to hit these window ledges—see if I can smooth out the water damage.”
The molding had been painted white, but it was made of walnut and the homeowner wanted it restored to the natural wood. I used a small brush, doing my best not to touch the plaster, even though we were going to paint the entire room after we stripped the wood. I let it sit for the requisite ten minutes, then used a scraper to remove the paint. It was tedious work because of the grooves, but it would be worth it because I could already tell the wood underneath was pristine—vibrant and dark which was very important to the Victorians as a show of wealth.
The noise from Bob’s sander made my brain rattle. It wasn’t just the noise, but the frequency was barely tolerable. After trying to ignore it, I climbed down the ladder and headed for my toolbox, except the toe of my tennis shoe caught on the tarp, sending me stumbling face-first into the metal box.
“Ow!” I shouted, clapping my hands over my chin. In seconds, blood streamed through my fingers and dripped down my shirt and onto the tarp.
“Oh, my God!” Bob turned off the sander and kneeled beside me, grabbing a clean white rag. “Are you okay? ”
I took the rag, wincing at the searing pain made worse by the thundering heartbeat at the back of my head. “I’m a klutz.”
“Could have happened to anyone.”
I’d been having the odd dizzy spell now and again, but I wasn’t going to tell Bob or else he’d ban me from climbing ladders. I’d never been klutzy in my life. I had taken twenty years of ballet lessons. That combined with my martial arts training gave me a good center—I was balanced.
Usually.
But at the moment, nothing was going according to plan. I moved to La Crosse to be closer to Meg, not to be an invalid. All this FMD crap could stop right now. I was healthy, vivacious, and fit.
“Let me have a look at your chin.” Bob tipped the cloth down slightly and hissed. “You’re going to need stitches.”
I leaned away. “Oh, please. It will stop bleeding in a few minutes.”
“Not likely.” He grabbed another cloth out of the bag and handed it to me. “You’ve already bled through that one. Come on, I’ll drive you.”
I gave him a dour frown. “I don’t want to go to the emergency room.”
“Okay. There’s an urgent care clinic on Losey Boulevard that’s close.”
After he twisted my arm, Bob marshalled me into his truck, pointing out that my knee had bled through my jeans. Great. First day on the job and I was already an OSHA statistic. Good thing I didn’t still work for Bethany Plastics or else they’d make me take a course on safety in the workplace.
How did I trip? Was there something sticking up under the tarp? Was there something wrong with my ears? I’ll admit to being unusually tired and possibly overwhelmed after Thanksgiving. I had no idea that Meg would get so upset about Bob. I suppose I should have told her about the aneurysms, too. Except I had been in a state of denial. Or maybe it was a state of shock. But I needed to face reality. I had been insensitive by not telling her. I needed to work on opening up, on putting myself in her shoes. My idea to have her go into the appointment without preconceived notions was flawed. Meg deserved a mom who was candid. I wanted her to trust me. I wanted to be there for her. More than anything, I wanted us to be close, not just now but always.
Dr. Davis had spoken to me as if having FMD along with four aneurysms was perfectly normal. But upon reflection, I wonder if she was trained to act that way—or she just saw a lot of devastating vascular stuff on a daily basis. After all, how would any patient feel if their doctor freaked out? Thinking back, in Denver Dr. Panda had been alarmed while, conversely, Dr. Vaughn behaved as if my CT scan was superfluous.
Rare diseases obviously weren’t studied by the average doc. I guess that’s why there were so many tales of woe in the FMD Facebook group. I’d seen post after post from people who had been diagnosed with FMD and couldn’t find a local doctor to take them seriously about a litany of issues, including dizziness and migraines.
I wanted to ignore my results and hide them away in my attic, but they kept rearing their ugly heads. I owed it to Meg to be truthful with her. I had intended to compare notes after her appointment, which wasn’t until January second, but she was impatient just like me. Really, what did it matter? She was my beloved daughter. I hated to admit that it appeared as though she inherited my vascular stuff, which I suppose I inherited from my dad.
“Why did you climb down from the ladder?” Bob jolted me from my thoughts as he put on his blinker and turned a corner. “Hadn’t you just moved it?”
For better absorption, I folded the rag I was holding against my chin. “Yeah, but I couldn’t bear the sander noise any longer. I was going to get some earplugs out of my toolbox.”
“An orbital sander was too loud?”
“It was the frequency more than anything. Sometimes I get migraines and I never know what’s going to set them off—a noise, light, thinking too hard.”
“Thinking too hard?” he asked, chuckling.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Maybe I should have said trying too hard.”
“Now that I can believe.”
He pulled into the parking lot at Festival Foods of all places, but sure enough, on the south end was an urgent care clinic. I unfastened my seatbelt. “I can take an Uber if you want to go back to work.”
“Hell no. You’ve already gone through three rags. I’m not leaving you to bleed to death.”
“Believe me, this is nothing.”
“Huh?” he asked, but I wasn’t about to explain my ancient history of bleeding profusely. I also didn’t let him go into the exam room with me.
Four stiches later, I sat in the recliner in my TV room with an ice pack on my chin and another on my knee which had a bruise the size of a ribeye steak. The urgent care doc consulted with Dr. Wahl and then referred me to a vascular neurologist for my headaches and dizziness, but my appointment wasn’t until May.
Ugh…yet another doctor appointment. When would it end?
Bob came in, carrying a tray with herbal tea and slice-and-bake chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. “Here we are.”
I took one, my eyes rolling when I bit into it. “These are delicious.”
He set the tray on the coffee table. “I’ve already had four—couldn’t help myself.”
I snorted. “Four?”
He slid onto the couch. “We skipped lunch.”
“Sorry,” I hissed through my teeth. “What are the homeowners going to think when they see blood all over the tarp?”
“They’re going to think it’s paint. Good thing the tarp is old. There have to be at least seven different colors of latex on it.” He handed me a mug of steaming tea, the scent of cinnamon making me sigh. “By the way you were bleeding I’m surprised you only ended up with four stitches.”
After blowing on the hot tea, I took a slow sip. “I’m more mortified with the fact that it was my first day on the job.”
“First day of a paid job. You did well on your floors. The sander didn’t seem to bother you then.”
“Yeah, but I was wearing earplugs.”
“Note to self, make sure Jane has hearing protection any time we use power tools.”
“So, you’re not going to fire me?” I asked, trying to be funny, but posing the question hit a raw nerve. Before I could cover up the raw wounds made by my former boss, I groaned and hunched forward.
“Hey.” He reached over from the couch and rubbed my back, his touch way too soothing. “You okay?”
“Maybe I’m pushing myself too hard,” I said, clenching my teeth. I’ve always been tough—fought my way through every problem. But of late, circumstances have left me vulnerable and weak, like my body was failing me. And I didn’t want to look as if I couldn’t cut it to Bob. I liked him a lot. At last, I had a friend and it felt amazing to be close to somebody my age. To have someone actually care (besides Meg, of course) .
“Probably, but I’ve been around you long enough to know you’ve been through something bad. What happened at that high-flying job of yours, anyway?”
Leon’s heartless laser eyes drilled through my mind as if they’d addled my brain permanently. “You don’t want to know.”
Bob took my hand and clasped it between his warm palms. “Look at me.”
I didn’t turn my head but regarded him out of the corners of my eyes.
“Come on, look at me,” he said, his tone caring, but commanding at the same time.
I heaved a deep sigh and lowered my ice bag so I could stare at those kind, concerned, green eyes.
“I know you were VP of Operations. And a woman with your kind of moxie is too young to retire. You moved to La Crosse and bought a fixer where you worked like a fiend. Hell, woman, you haven’t taken a break. You run around like your hair’s on fire from dawn till well after dark, and I’ll bet you fall into bed in a comatose sleep because you’re exhausted. Am I wrong?”
I set the mug on the tray. “If I don’t push myself, I think about it.”
“Think about what?”
Oh, God, here goes.
“About getting fired,” I blurted, the words like acid on my tongue.
“What?” Bob sat back and coughed out an expression of utter bewilderment. “That’s unbelievable. Horrible. Man, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The responsibility came with the territory.”
“What happened?”
“I’d like to say it wasn’t my fault, but when you’re the vice president, everything is your fault even though there are some things you can’t possibly prevent.”
Bob urged me to move from the recliner onto the couch beside him. “I know how that can turn out. I’ve seen pharmacists lose their jobs because they didn’t question a doctor after over-prescribing opioids. Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. Sure, I suggested forming a partnership because you work hard and you don’t leave things half-done. But when I dig right down to it, I like you. I like being with you. Doing things like holding your hand, baking you cookies makes me happy.”
“Slice-and-bake cookies,” I said, even though they were my go-to, not necessarily Bob’s.
He kissed the back of my hand. “If you want me to go downstairs and make a batch from scratch, I’ll do it right now. ”
“No, no.”
“I’m not going to judge you, Jane. Just open up a little and tell me what happened.” He kissed my cheek this time. Even though it was just meant to be nothing more than a kind gesture, my resolve melted a little along with the ice encasing my heart. “But only if you want to.”
I glanced to our joined hands and realized how much I had been aching for his touch. Sitting beside Bob was comforting. It felt like we had been together for years, as if the two of us were destined to be in this place at this time.
“My company had a contamination issue with a high-profile customer…” Once I began, it was hard to stop. As I relayed the events leading to the loss of my job, Bob stroked my hair, rubbed my shoulders, as if I were worth something to him. His human touch reminded me how good it was to be loved and cared for, something I’d been missing for so long, I’d forgotten what it was like to have a man’s affection. But the words tumbling from my lips were anything other than romantic. I have to admit I sat taller when I told him about sticking to my guns and watching the warehouse film for mindless hours on end. It also felt good to tell him about contacting the FBI.
“So.” I drew in a deep breath. “After Leon gave me the axe, I moved to La Crosse and bought this house to have a project while I figured out what I was going to do.”
Bob brushed my cheek with his knuckle. “Have you decided yet?”
“Before today, I believed our little renovation business might pose the perfect challenge—as long as we don’t take on too much work and overextend ourselves.”
“Agreed. But…” He looked down.
“But?” I grazed my teeth over my bottom lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have exposed my past. What if he had second thoughts?
“I wasn’t exaggerating before when I said I like you. I’m not great at being romantic—obviously, because instead of asking you on a date, I came up with the partnership idea.”
The stitches on my chin seared with my grin. “You mean you weren’t serious about starting up a renovation business?”
“No, no. I was very serious about that. Your detail work is top shelf. I just…um…well…um…”
I kissed Bob’s cheek. “Do you want to go out to dinner sometime—just the two of us?”
You know the serene smile a man gets on his face when he slides into a hot tub and all his tension whisks away? When he’s completely content? When he receives the very thing for which he has been yearning? Well, Bob’s expression pushed those buttons. It even made me forget about my stitches. “I never thought you’d ask.”