5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Simeon
“ H e’s o-okay.”
Rainbow clutched Ryan’s coat against her chest and eyed me suspiciously.
Well, suspiciously was the wrong word.
Worriedly.
Finally, she handed me the jacket. “Will you talk to Justin before leaving tonight? Or Kennedy?”
I frowned. Ryan specifically asked me not to tell anyone. So either I broke his confidence and spoke to Justin or I held my silence and maybe put my job in jeopardy.
Kennedy’s not going to fire me.
I hope.
Slowly, I shook my head.
She cocked her head. “If he asked you not to, then of course you should respect that.” She shrugged. “If you need Tiffany or Rex, just come back.”
“Tiff was g-great.”
The dog had drunk a bowlful of water then wandered down to Kennedy’s office where she’d gained admittance. Whether she’d get a rest or whether she was helping the next patient, I didn’t know.
Rainbow smiled. “Tiffany’s the best. Why don’t you take a couple of sodas back with you? You might be thirsty—”
Even as she spoke, the sound of an engine starting carried through to where we stood by the sliding glass door facing the riding ring.
She met my gaze. “I guess he didn’t want his coat.”
I darted to the parking lot. I’d assumed if Ryan wanted to leave, that he’d take the direct route through the building that would bring him right by me.
Nope.
He’d gone around the long way—to the seldom-used front yard. Obviously he had his keys in his jeans pocket, because he was driving away.
Instinctively, I checked his jacket pockets. A toonie and a wad of scrunched tissue. Slowly, I returned to Rainbow. She’s stood on the back deck, her face pointed toward the sun. From this angle, I saw her eyes were closed behind her sunglasses. When my boots hit the deck, she turned. “Gone?”
“Y-yes.”
“I’ll let Justin know. You sure you shouldn’t talk to Justin?”
Slowly I shook my head. “S-should I r-return this to Ryan?” I clutched the jacket.
She winced. “I can’t tell you where he lives. Even if the information’s public, which I’m sure it’s not, it’s not really appropriate for some virtual stranger to turn up on his doorstep …” She bit her lower lip. Then shook her head. “Thanks for the offer. I’m going to say no . He knows where to come back for it and he’s not too broke to replace it.”
I nodded. I completely understood. Pointing back to the prefab, I nodded again.
“Yeah, for sure. Do you need help?”
Thinking of the crown molding, reluctantly I nodded for a third time.
She clapped her hands together. “Yay. I can do the horses later. I feel like, I don’t know, sawing some…stuff.” She didn’t swear. I’d never heard anyone here say an expletive. But clearly she’d wanted to say shit .
Slowly, I handed her the jacket. She tucked it inside the house, then joined me. “Ready?”
I nodded. Then laughed at myself. So eloquent.
She grinned. She was okay with me not speaking as much.
I appreciated that because it meant I didn’t have to struggle. For her, though, I would’ve done it.
For Ryan, I had.
Which was something to think about as I drove home that night. I’d enjoyed the afternoon with Rainbow chattering on about anything and everything. The woman never ran out of things to say. Then she’d pointed out she was known as one of the quieter of the sisters.
I’d withhold judgement until I’d actually met all eight. The likelihood of that happening was pretty slim. Which might be a good thing because chatter from a friend could be fun, as long as they let me just listen, but chatter from a stranger wore me out.
I’d also gotten an earful from Torah—the second oldest Dixon sister and the dog trainer—who’d shown up just before I’d quit for the day. She’d introduced herself as well as her dogs King and Bishop. She hadn’t talked my ear off at quite Rainbow’s level. Just had needed to tell someone about the search-and-rescue work she’d done earlier in the day up on one of the local mountains.
Appropriately, I’d been impressed.
Fortunately, she hadn’t required me to say much. Whether that was because she knew about my stutter or because she’d been on such an adrenaline high after the rescue, I couldn’t be certain. But the Dixon sisters were a lot for a guy like me.
Eventually Kennedy had come out to liberate me. She’d smiled, thanked me for my work during the day, and asked me if I’d stay for dinner.
I’d managed to say Nanny was cooking. I didn’t even care how pathetic that might make me sound. Anything was better than joining the assembled crew and worrying I might slip up and say something about Ryan that he didn’t want them to know. I was ninety-nine percent certain I wouldn’t…but that one percent worried me.
Humming, I drove through the back roads north of Mission City. My grandparents owned a place in the Mission City hills—just on the opposite side from Healing Horses. In fact, they weren’t far from the street where all my friends lived.
Where Justin also lived.
Until today, that hadn’t meant much. When my friends got together and included both of us, Justin and I had never discussed his work. Heck, we hadn’t discussed mine either. Mine was boring as hell. No one wanted to hear about drywall, leaky roofs, installing laminate floor, or chasing bats out of rafters. Yet I’d done all of those things. I loved being a jack-of-all trades. I hadn’t yet been asked to get a cat out of a tree, but that might happen. Especially since the local firefighters didn’t generally do that.
Justin.
I passed the street where he lived as I continued on my way.
Hopefully Ryan would talk to Justin, explain what happened, and everything would be okay.
Except…what had happened? Something clearly triggered him into a panic attack. I hoped it wasn’t something I’d done, but I had to suspect the loud sounds of my nail gun. Which super sucked.
I made the left turn onto Ferrars Street. I’d made this journey with my parents only monthly for the first nineteen years of my life.
Then my life changed in an instant. My parents had been on a train headed from Vancouver to San Fransisco for their twentieth anniversary when the train derailed. Four people died, my parents among them.
I’d flown down to Portland and arranged, with the help of the Canadian government, to get them repatriated, but I was a mess, shaken, wavering between conflicting emotions—what I thought I should feel, and what I actually felt—and unable to get words out when I needed them. Nanny and Bops pretty much took care of the remaining details, choosing a cemetery in Mission City, where my mother grew up with them, for a final resting place.
My father’s parents, instead of supporting me, picked up stakes and moved to Costa Rica. I hadn’t heard from them since. My own grandparents. Of course, I didn’t really miss them. Their idea of support would probably have been more yelling and demeaning me. They’d encouraged my father to criticize me continuously—as if they could harangue the stutter out of me.
Like that hadn’t failed for nineteen years.
I’d never received so much as a postcard since. Which was absolutely fine. My mother had loved me unconditionally. Her parents, my maternal grandparents, loved me unconditionally. So what if I could rarely get out an entire sentence without stuttering? Most people figured out what I was trying to say. Most people didn’t run out of patience. And I was very careful to keep those who did out of my orbit. Good riddance to them.
My phone rang through the Bluetooth.
“Simeon.” It’d taken years, but I could get my name out without stuttering. Unless under extreme duress.
“Hey, it’s Gio.”
“Hi.” I eyed the community mailboxes as I drove by. I can go tomorrow. “I w-was going to text.”
“Thought I’d save you the trouble. We good for tomorrow?”
“Y-yep.”
“Mercer doesn’t need his SUV, so I’m going to drive it up. That way you don’t have to come all the way into town to get me.”
“Don’t m-mind.” I signaled to pull into my driveway even though there wasn’t another car for miles.
“Yeah, but that way you’re not tied to me. And it’s a pain for you to come to town.”
I almost repeated I didn’t mind—because I didn’t. I enjoyed grabbing a Starbucks latté as a treat and then sitting back and letting Giovani talk for the entire trip. Apparently he’d been surrounded by guys who didn’t speak English while in prison. He’d tried to learn their language, but didn’t have a knack.
Gio maintained that after all those years of enforced silence, if he found someone willing to listen, he was willing to talk.
I would’ve thought the opposite. If I’d spent all those years in prison, I wouldn’t have wanted to share anything. I would’ve been too ashamed.
My employee—and now friend—was more philosophical. If someone heard his story and stayed away from breaking the law, that wasn’t a bad thing. Marijuana might be legal in Canada, but other drugs weren’t. And although he’d only been caught with a couple of joints, he’d actually been more of a dealer—helping the local tourists get high. If he’d been caught with his entire stash, he would’ve likely been sentenced to death.
Philosophical.
“Okay.” I stopped before the garage, engaged the parking brake, and was about to turn off the engine. “You all right?”
“I’m awesome.” He chuckled. “I have news.”
“I c-can’t wait to hear it.”
“Tell you tomorrow.” He cut the line.
I killed the engine, grabbed my empty lunch bag, and exited the truck, using the remote to lock it. The alarm engaged, and I headed into the house. Often I was exhausted after a day’s work, but today I had a pep in my step.
Our four-bedroom rancher sat on several acres. My grandparents’ property was pie-shaped at the end of a cul-de-sac. Very narrow by the street and wide at the back in the wilderness area they let grow wild. The property sloped down, so we had a walkout basement. That was my space. Neither grandparent could make it down the stairs easily anymore, making me super grateful the main part was one story. I was sad that Nanny couldn’t wander down with cookies anymore, but glad I could help them stay in their familiar home.
After an epic debate, they allowed me to hire a young woman to clean the house once a week. I made it seem like they were doing her a favor and she needed the money, which was only half true. She did—badly. She worked at the seniors’ home five days a week and cleaned houses on her two ‘days off’. She had six siblings to support back in Honduras. Although she was paid well as a nurse—now here on a work visa—living in Mission City wasn’t cheap, and she still needed to send every penny home. But she could’ve found a different client so I was glad she’d taken my grandparents on.
I used my key to gain admittance to the house. The scent of garlic wafted through the air. And tomato sauce.
Nanny’s had a good day . She was having fewer of those, which hurt my heart. Need to cook up some meals this weekend so she’ll have something to heat up next week on the bad days. I told Nanny that I needed to practice for when I got married. Which was a joke, but one I didn’t share with her. I was never getting married. However, one day she wouldn’t be here, and knowing how to cook would be a good thing. Under her tutelage for the past seventeen years, I did okay.
I removed my coat and boots in the main hall. I really should go downstairs and change into clean clothes, but I didn’t want to make my grandparents wait for me if I didn’t need to. Tonight, I’d managed to get most of the sawdust off my clothes. I stepped into the family room.
Bops sat in his recliner watching the local five o’clock news. “Some stabbing in Surrey. So glad you don’t live there anymore.”
I nodded. I was too…but not for the reason he thought. Bad memories. Odds of me getting stabbed these days would be pretty slim. That many people on the streets and in the stores? I shivered. I didn’t do people. Not my thing. “Me t-too.”
He grinned. “Nanny cooked up lasagna. Made three batches. You’ll need to take one down to the freezer. She’ll freeze one up here, and tonight we feast.” He met my gaze.
The message went unsaid. She’s had a very good day .
Guilt still swamped me, thinking about how much work went into making lasagna. My favorite. If I’d known how hard it was, I would’ve picked something much simpler when she asked me. Like grilled cheese sandwiches. Which were a close second. I stepped into the kitchen.
“Perfect timing.” Nanny sat at the table, chopping carrots. “These are for your lunch tomorrow. With a slice of lasagna. Will they let you use the microwave?”
The prefab didn’t have one yet, but the answer came easily. “Rainbow will l-let me heat up the slice in the m-main house.” I kissed my grandmother on her cheek.
Her skin was cool against my lips. She wore a turtleneck under a crew-neck sweater and a cardigan, with wool pants, thick socks, and sturdy faux fur-lined slippers. And she was still always cold.
“This is g-great.”
“We can eat at the table.” She pointed to the seat next to her.
The seating arrangements were always a dance. Bops liked to sit in the living room and watch his news, but he could be pressed upon to join us. Nanny wanted to hear all about my day—which proved annoying to Bops if we sat in the family room while he tried to watch television. We ate on TV trays no less, when we gave in to his preference. True relics of the sixties.
“I d-don’t have much to say…”
“Well, then, let’s make Bops happy tonight, and you can say it during commercials.”
Which meant two hours of news and then Wheel of Fortune. I could usually escape by the time Jeopardy came on—but not always. Nanny thought I needed my education expanded. Half the time, I didn’t even understand the categories. Just…the trivia show didn’t hold my interest. Neither did Wheel with the odd expressions that people used.
Still, I could use advice. “I m-met someone at w-work today.”
“Oh?” Nanny perked up.
I grabbed the carrot peelings from the sink and put them into the compost container. Enough to run it out later. Have to remember . Our bear-proof container did a good job of making compost I would use come summer. I didn’t have much time to spend in the garden, but I planted various hearty fruits and vegetables so Nanny would have fresh ingredients to work with.
“N-not a girl.” I grinned as she pursed her lips. I gave her another kiss. “N-not romantic. Sorry. B-but I could use your advice.” I wasn’t ever going to see Ryan again, but some sage words from my grandparents would help soothe my jangled nerves.
And they loved being useful. They couldn’t help on advice about renovations. My grandmother had been a secretary at Mission Collegiate and my grandfather an accountant. He knew a hammer from a hacksaw—he’d cared for this place for more than sixty years—but I’d long ago learned all he could teach me about tools. They were in their early nineties and wouldn’t be around much longer. A miracle they still were. They didn’t go out anymore. Thanks to me, they had everything they needed here at home. Most of their friends were gone as well. That made me sad.
When I drove them to a funeral, I was reminded one day I’d be doing that for them.
“T-television it is.” I helped Nanny up. While she made her way to the family room, I organized three plates of lasagna—all apportioned with the amount each of us ate. I stuck the carrots in a container and loaded them into the fridge.
Finally, I poured three glasses of milk. The sounds of the TV carried from the living room in a familiar background. I heard Bops greet Nanny and tell her to take a load off her feet.
Yeah, we’re going to be okay.