Chapter 7
SEVEN
MARNIE
“I hate this,” I mumble as Paul pushes my wheelchair out the back door so I can sit on the porch for a while and breathe in some fresh air.
“It’s just for a time,” he replies, making sure I’m comfortable with a table nearby for my tumbler of water.
“I know but I’m so used to being busy. This lack of activity is driving me nuts!”
He chuckles then says, “Oh, I think Esther is going to be keeping you busy. She’s about to start canning.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“She’s down at the farmer’s market now picking up bushels of green beans, tomatoes, and corn.
You’re going to be shucking corn, breaking the beans down, and probably doing something with the maters as well,” he replies, now laughing hard.
“We had a good crop from our garden, but my wife always does this. Says it helps the neighbors. Oh, and I suspect she’ll be getting zucchini and squash as well. ”
Since I like stewed tomatoes, as well as the other vegetables, I don’t mind helping at all.
It’s the least I can do since they’re helping me.
I’ve been out of the hospital for two weeks now and every day, I feel a little bit better.
I’m still weak, though, so Ash insisted that I have a wheelchair to use so I don’t stumble on my exhausted limbs.
I swear that man is going to drive me crazy!
He tells me I’m his and literally comes over every single day, but other than that brief kiss we shared when I was still laid up in the hospital, he hasn’t done anything else to prove that he means what he said.
Meanwhile, every night, I dream of a life with him by my side.
We’ve built a friendship since I work with him so often, but I honestly never thought it would go any further.
I know Holly tried to encourage it, but I was so afraid because of what happened with Pace.
While I’m not some scared virgin thanks to my high school boyfriend, Pace’s actions terrified me so badly, I was willing to remain single for the rest of my life.
“Well, I’ll definitely help her in any way possible,” I tell him.
“Okay, do you need anything?” he asks. When I shake my head, he continues. “I’m going to the coop to grab the eggs. Don’t go anywhere, Marnie.”
I giggle because my independence has gotten me in trouble a few times.
When I’m inside, I have a walker and one morning, I was thirsty, so I ambled my way into the kitchen.
Paul was in there, sipping on some coffee when I came in huffing and puffing with my tumbler clutched in my hands.
He made me sit down, then cooked me some breakfast. Apparently, Esther had run into town for something, leaving him to take care of me.
“I won’t, Paul, I learned my lesson,” I tease.
Because when Esther got home, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table chopping various peppers, onions, and celery so she could freeze them for soups and whatnot.
Honestly, I didn’t mind helping. While I enjoyed reading and getting caught up on some of the shows I binged, there was only so much I could take just laying around.
I mean, yes, my stomach still hurts like hell thanks to the brutality of the attack.
Inside, my poor guts that are left are still healing, which I refuse to think about since I’m down to one ovary.
Granted, Ash has told me that we can always look into harvesting my eggs then finding a surrogate once he fertilizes them, but to me, that seems like a lot of money to spend considering there are children who are in foster care and up for adoption who need loving families and stable homes.
At least I’m not having to take my pain medication every four to six hours any longer.
While I still use it, I’m down to twice a day; usually after lunch, Esther forces me to nap for a bit during daylight hours, so I take one pill then, and when I go to bed at night, I take another one since rolling around hurts.
Although today, I had physical therapy, so it might end up being three times because my therapist, Monica, put me through my paces with my walker.
That’s one reason I’m in the wheelchair; I get too wobbly after being up and walking.
Actually, Esther makes me rest quite often if I truly think about it.
Sighing, I pick up my sketch pad and start drawing.
That’s probably my biggest secret outside of why I changed my name, of course.
I’ve always loved to sketch and always wanted to go to school to increase my knowledge and enhance my skills.
It’s why I’ve been saving my money; there’s an online program that I’ve earmarked that I want to enroll in so I can see if there are other mediums that I’d be good at doing.
Today, I’m sketching the chicken coop since it’s within my eyesight.
I find it funny that Holly’s little girls ‘helped’ with the colors; most coops I’ve seen are either stained or painted red, but not Esther’s.
Nope, pink and purple with sparkles, no less, which makes me giggle.
Still, I love how much their grandparents love them.
They don’t override Holly’s rules; instead, they reinforce them while giving both girls a safe place to go to, especially now with their mom expecting a baby soon.
“Hiya, Marnie, whatcha doing?” Mina asks, running up the stairs to come stand by me.
“Drawing. What are you doing?” I question, grinning at the little girl.
Both of Holly’s girls are beyond precocious, but they’re not obnoxious like a lot of kids who are smarter than their chronological age.
I think it has a lot to do with how Holly has raised them, along with Esther and Paul’s influence, as well as their stepdad’s input.
Rebel is a no-nonsense kind of man, but he loves all three of them and I know for a fact he’s over the moon about the impending birth of their little boy.
“We’re going to paint today! Daddy and my uncles made the signs you drew and they’re bringing them over here so me and Ruby can help!” she exclaims.
“Hey, Marnie, how are you feeling?” Holly inquires as she makes her way up the stairs. Her baby bump has grown exponentially, and I worry that she’s doing too much to get the haunted houses ready.
“Still pretty sore,” I admit. “I had a sneezing fit earlier today and by the time I was done, I was crying and reaching for my pain meds. Plus, physical therapy wiped me out. Who knew laying around in a hospital bed for two weeks would make my body forget it was in relatively decent health beforehand!”
“I mean, it’s only been a few weeks,” she replies. “So, I’m positive that things aren’t fully healed yet, right?”
“No, they said upwards of eight to twelve weeks. At least I’m able to eat food now.”
The doctor had a few tests run while I was in the hospital to ensure I’d be able to eat real food instead of the liquid diet they had me on.
Thankfully, I passed, although what I’m allowed to eat is still somewhat limited.
Esther was given the sheet with the acceptable foods I can have, and she’s been an absolute miracle worker in the kitchen.
I have to eat smaller, more frequent meals, so she makes a regular portion, then halves it, placing it into a microwavable container so I can reheat it when my alarm goes off.
Yes, I have to set one of those in order to make sure I’m eating regularly.
It’s a pain in the ass as far as I’m concerned, but I definitely don’t want to cause any problems with my GI system’s healing because I am pretty sure I’d die if I ended up having to have a colostomy while it heals.
“True. Okay, I think Rebel and Ash are bringing over the signs they built from your designs. I’m going to let the girls paint them, then either you or I will add the words. They wanted to help, and I figured this was one way they could,” she says.
“I’m good with that,” I tell her as she sees my sketchbook.
“Can I look?” she asks. At my nod, she sits back in one of the rocking chairs and begins flipping through from the front.
I don’t say anything; while my art is personal to me, I’m kind of anxious to hear what she thinks.
She holds her finger on one of them as she continues looking and by the time she’s done, I’m wringing my hands.
“What do you think?” I question. While the club doesn’t have a tattoo parlor, I’d love to find one and see if I could sell them any of my designs.
“I think these are fantastic, Marnie. And you’ve had no training?”
“Not outside of a community college course I took when I was dual-enrolled while still in high school. Do you… do you think they’d be good enough to sell to a tattoo shop?”
“Hell, I think the guys need to open one, ma’am. That way, you could apprentice and learn how to do them!” she replies just as Rebel and Ash walk up.
Both are carrying the wooden signs they made from my designs for the haunted house. Each one has been etched with the words that Holly and I will paint in red, but initially, the signs will be a weathered black and gray to add to the spooky factor.
“What do we need to open, babe?” Rebel asks Holly as he leans down to kiss her while cupping her burgeoning belly.
“A tattoo shop, honey. Look at these!” she says, handing him my sketchbook.
My heart rate accelerates knowing that there are several pictures of Ash in there. I wasn’t lying when I said he fascinated me from the first time I met him. When I see him glance my way, I roll my eyes, then start to giggle when he winks.
“Can you paint too or just draw?” Rebel questions once they’ve finished looking at my doodles.
“I can sketch, paint, and sculpt, but prefer to sketch and paint,” I admit. “I just haven’t gotten around to getting the supplies I need.”
“What kind of things do you need?” Ash asks, coming to lean against the porch railing so he’s right there and able to reach out and touch me.
“Canvases, an easel, paints, brushes,” I rattle off. “I haven’t gotten any yet because I was paying off the last of my mom’s medical stuff, which I recently completed.”
“Ever wanted to learn to tattoo?” Rebel queries.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it, but I don’t know anyone who does it who could teach me,” I reply.
“Prophet’s done all of our ink, maybe it’s time to open a new business,” Rebel muses, looking at Ash.
“We’ll bring it to the table the next time we have church.
I’m sure he knows of a few more artists we could get onboard so it wouldn’t all be on his shoulders, and we’ll see if he’s willing to teach you, Marnie. ”
My art being put on someone’s skin? Something that’s so permanent? Excitement thrums through me because it would enable me to combine two things—serving people and my art. “Okay, I’d like that, I think,” I say.
“Alrighty, where are my girls at?” Rebel calls out, even though both Mina and Ruby are now standing in the yard doing some kind of silly dance.
“We’re right here, Daddy!” Ruby sing songs.
“Are you two ready to paint?” he continues as he and Ash put a huge tarp down on the grass before they set each sign down.
At least they’re protecting the grass. I don’t think Paul or Esther would mind too much, because their great-granddaughters are the ones who’d be doing it, but this way, the mess will be somewhat contained.
“Let’s go, Daddy, hurry!” Mina exclaims.
I take a good look at both of them and bite back a laugh. They’re in clothes that have seen better days and both of them have their hair somewhat contained in tight French braids. Looking at Holly, I say, “You’re prepared.”
She starts laughing then replies, “You’ll see why they look like that. We’ll have to hose them down in the mudroom.”
“Let the fun begin,” I murmur.