Chapter 5 #2
“Yeah, and no, we’re not doing that,” he told her, getting up to check she hadn’t damaged the spring mechanism in the ancient roller.
“If I couldn’t manage to fix my issues in order to keep the woman I loved from leaving me, I doubt very much you shaking your metaphorical finger at me is going to make a difference. ”
“Alicia, then, is it?” Stephanie asked, stopping in his doorway to lean against the frame.
Steven pulled the blind down. “Alicia.”
It rolled back up, more gently this time. “No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think it’s weird that Kreed knew his house’s name within the first month of living there? And Lucky knew Emma Joy before he even started renovating her to be a shelter? And we’ve lived here our whole lives and have no idea what ours is called.”
“Dad knew.”
“You think?”
“Sure.” He patted the windowsill, then turned to Stephanie. “I thought you were late for an appointment or something.”
“Bob texted back. He has to drive right past the store, so he’s going to pick me up.”
“Oh, Bob. Bob, Bob, Bob.”
“What?”
“You know he’s going to keep doing nice things like this because he figures if he just keeps on keeping on, eventually you’ll let him take you on a date.”
“First off, he’s, like, eighty, so no.”
“He’s probably not even fifty, but go on.”
“And second, he and I have had a long talk about my orientation, so he knows I don’t do romance. He’s just being nice because he’s nice. And we’re friends.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.”
A horn honked at the front of the house, and she jumped straight. “That’s him. Gotta go.”
“Have fun!”
“I will.”
The cheerful certainty in her voice and fast thudding of her feet down the stairs made him wonder if maybe Bob wasn’t onto something with his persistence.
If his friendship made her this happy, Steven would take it.
She deserved some good things for herself now that Jake was doing well on his own.
There didn’t need to be two of them moping around this old house.
A soft, warm breeze drifted in through the window he hadn’t opened, but that was, in fact, now open. It was nice for a late June evening, and he smiled. Maybe the porch. He could probably do the porch with a good book and a cup of tea.
Jake did bring over boxes when asked, though they came with a fair amount of attitude.
“It’s just across the street,” he pointed out. “Even I can cross the street by myself.”
“It’s not about crossing the street, Jake. How many boxes did you bring?”
“Four.”
“Thanks. That should be enough.”
He grunted, crossed his arms, and leaned in the doorway, watching as Steven piled more of Becca’s belongings on top of the dresser. “You can’t stay in the house all the time.”
“I don’t. I have coffee on the porch almost every morning.” He thought about the new guests across the street and found a smile sneaking up on him. “And some afternoons.”
“Still under the roof.”
“So?”
“So. It’s not good for you.”
Steven bit his tongue, because it wasn’t fair to point out Jake wasn’t the best judge of healthy emotional behavior. It wasn’t his fault his autism got in his way sometimes, and using it against him wasn’t just childish, it was cruel.
What was Steven’s excuse? “Hey,” he said finally. “I put some of Mom’s beef stew on for supper. You wanna stay?”
Jake shuffled from one foot to the other, hands dug deep in his pockets and teeth biting into his lower lip.
“You have plans,” Steven interpreted.
“Lucy’s mom made mac and cheese with crumbs on top. She gave me and Luce a pan full. Where’s Steph?”
“Off with Bob.”
Jake snickered. “Who she’s not dating.”
Steven couldn’t help a grin. “Because she doesn’t date.”
Jake paused, chin tilted up, gaze drifting towards the ceiling. “But Bob makes her smile.”
“So that’s good,” Steven agreed. He left the boxes leaning on the bed and went out into the hallway.
“Go on.” He motioned down the stairs ahead of himself, and Jake took the invitation to thump down to the main floor.
“Have mac and cheese with your girl,” Steven said.
“I’ll see you around. And thanks for the boxes. ”
“You should have supper at the B and B. Kreed’s making roast and potatoes tonight.” He was already shoving his feet back into his worn sneakers he’d lined up neatly by the back door, so he was talking over his shoulder.
“Maybe I will.”
With a last glance at the stairs, a slight frown, and a “see you” that Steven thought sounded a little tight around the edges, Jake left out the back door.
Steven stayed on the threshold, toes butted up against the metal sill, and watched his brother hurry along the walkway that led from the main house to the carriage house at the back.
It was the ideal situation, really. Jake needed his independence, and he and Lucy needed their privacy.
But he also needed to be close to the people who had his back, and close to his refuge when the world overwhelmed him.
They’d left his tiny art room at the back of the bookstore for when he needed that, though they had carefully remodeled his bedroom on the second floor into an office for Steven.
Not so many changes they couldn’t be undone if Jake needed to come home, but enough to make it a functioning space, unlike the too-small, overcrowded storage room their father had used as his office on the main floor.
And yet, Steven couldn’t bring himself to leave the house, even to go the short distance to the carriage house, which was literally, as Stephanie had pointed out, in his backyard.
He could see his house from the window where Jake and Lucy had set up their dining table. And still. He couldn’t leave her.
Steven left the flattened boxes Jake had delivered, going instead to the main-floor store room as soon as he’d seen Jake enter the apartment. Not that he’d been watching over him to make sure he didn’t get sidetracked in the 20 metres door to door. That would be hovering.
“I have got to get out more.” But no. He got out just exactly as often as he wanted.
Standing in the middle of the room his father had once used as his office, Steven wondered why he’d come in here.
Besides the fact it always made him feel safer, amongst his father’s things.
Not that he hadn’t been feeling safe. This was his house, and nothing in it was worrisome.
But the act of packing up his ex’s clothes and make-up and all the rest of the stuff she hadn’t bothered to take with her left him feeling hollow.
He couldn’t say he missed her. The last little while they’d been together had been full of stress for him. She liked a more active life than he did, and if he wasn’t going to take her places, she’d insisted on making his house more comfortable for her. Putting her stamp on things.
His gaze drifted to the floral print on the wall next to the door. She’d removed the old oil landscape his father had hung there when Steven was little, and replaced it with a pastel image of lilies and irises in its plain brass frame.
As he glared at it, it wavered, then dropped, hitting the floor with a crash of bent metal and shattered glass.
“Really?”
The house sighed around him, and the room settled into a pleased glow of lamplight.
A brief assessment of the wall showed that the nail the picture had hung on had pulled out, taking a chunk of plaster with it and tearing away a long, thin strip of wallpaper.
“It’s like you don’t even care that I have to clean that all up now,” he growled as he stomped to the kitchen for an empty pizza box to put the shards in, and a broom. “Calamity Jane. How do you like that name?”
The lights flared bright, then went out.
“Ha. Ha.”
They came back on as he thumped back to the little office, like a landing trail, lighting ahead of him and dimming behind until he stood in the doorway again.
He’d only picked up half the glass shards when the inevitable happened and he sliced three of his fingers open on a sharp edge.
“Fucking fuck sticks!” He clenched the hand into a fist, winced and swore some more as he stumbled over the broom handle to get to the kitchen. His feet caught, and he went down hard on one knee, probably giving himself a decent bruise in the process.
Inspecting the cuts, he decided the horrible sting made them feel worse than they were. Grunting and squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of dizziness, he gripped the door frame to pull himself back to his feet, leaving a smear of blood behind on the painted wood.
The sight amped up his queasiness, and he wavered.
“Shit.” He watched a splash of red drop to the hardwood of the hall floor, and another wave of nausea overcame him. He had to sit, so he slumped to the floor, watching more drops seep into his jeans.
His head spun.
“This is not good.”
When the faintness overcame him, he was very glad to have the floor under his ass already.
From a distance, he knew the house was freaking out. Lights flashed and doors opened and slammed with loud cracks of wood on wood.
Sweat broke along his forehead and down his back. He should get up. He didn’t.
The house began to bang the heavy front door open and closed.