20. Tilly
Chapter twenty
Tilly
T he brisk November air stuns me the minute I step outside of the house, and immediately I go back inside to change. In Texas during fall, the weather changes at the drop of a dime. The chilly mornings turn sweltering by mid-afternoon, leaving you sweating in a long sleeve t-shirt. Today’s attire, a lime green flannel shirt with vertical pink stripes and denim jeans, will suit me just fine if I wear a tank top beneath it.
Shuffling the box of treats for my parents’ restaurant to the side, I wave hello to my elderly neighbor, the one who is thankfully okay now and sitting on her front porch. I was grateful for the interruption to the awkward conversation Shantel and Nora started in the kitchen, but my blood pressure took entirely too long to even out after that.
Any sirens bring back memories of the day Jessie died.
Like an ad popping up in my mind, the memory of that morning assaults me as I walk down the stairs. The ambulance and fire engines came blaring in, worried because I kept screaming at the 911 operator on the phone to help me save Jessie.
November isn’t just a month on a calendar to me anymore.
It’s the month we were supposed to be celebrating two years of marriage, the month my life irrevocably changed. If I didn’t have things to do at the bakery, I’m sure I’d be looking for something to keep my mind busy. Instead, I get on the road to my parents’ restaurant with my eyes stinging and an ache behind my ribcage .
“Morning, Til,” one of the cooks says when I arrive at the back door of the restaurant.
“Morning,” I reply.
Dad isn’t in the office when I peek my head in, and immediately I’m on edge. That’s his nest, the place he goes to hide from the customers and eat a Snickers. I go on a search mission and find him standing in front of the dessert case with an older woman in a flowing dress. Her hand is on his forearm and they’re laughing like they’ve known each other all their lives. An odd feeling thumps inside my chest before it thuds to the pit of my stomach.
“You’re here early.”
I hear Dad’s voice, but my mind is far away. The box is removed from my hands, and I snap back into focus. Dad’s mouth is pinched tight, his expression one of uneasy tension. I clear my throat and answer.
“I couldn’t find you in the back, so I came to put the desserts away.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He motions to the woman standing off to the side. “This is Gloria.”
Gloria sticks out her hand but then yanks it back, her cheeks taking on a pink hue. “Oops, I’m sorry. Your dad told me you don’t like to be touched.”
He told her that? When? Just this morning when she came into the restaurant? That uneasy feeling swirling around my stomach gathers into a storm.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, smiling like my world isn’t tilting.
The way my dad looks at her, the slight spark in his eye, makes me wonder if I’m missing something. This woman couldn’t be…no, she isn’t. I’m misreading the situation.
“This is my girlfriend. ”
His voice sounds far away due to the pounding in my ears and the loud ripping sound that is my paper heart. His girlfriend? But he’s…married.
“Tilda,” Dad says. “Did you hear me?”
I nod, blinking rapidly like I have the power to rewind time and stay in that sweet moment before he uttered those words. All of the times he’s rushed me out of the restaurant, the distance he’s created between us comes into focus. He had a secret girlfriend. “Yeah.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Tilda,” Gloria says.
“Tilly,” I say. “It’s Tilly.”
Only my parents call me Tilda, and one surly carpenter when he’s angry, but this woman? This interloper? She doesn’t get that right.
Gloria’s worried gaze moves to my dad, who clears his throat to bring me back to the present.
“Yeah,” I reply. “You too.”
Words evade me, and too many emotions pelt my armor. I turn and walk away, ignoring Dad’s voice as I head to my car.
Not now.
I can’t .
How could he move on? Did his and my mom’s love mean nothing to him? My own conscience chastises me the minute I think it. Not long ago I was pressing myself against Archer’s body, desperate for his touch. A touch I’ve apparently harbored a desire for since my husband passed. How am I any better?
Vomit pushes its way up my throat, and I force myself to pull over and get some fresh air. Sucking in large gulps of gas station air infused with the smell of burnt hot dogs, I finally find some clarity.
His eyes were shimmering.
Dad was full of life again .
He had a smile on his face and he was laughing. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him happy that I didn’t recognize it. Didn’t recognize something was changing over the past few weeks when he’d rush me out of the restaurant or not want me to linger after dropping off my desserts. Or was it me who didn’t want to linger? In his defense, he did always ask what I’d been up to, but he still kept this from me.
A girlfriend.
My dad has a girlfriend, and she’s pretty. I’m sure she’s kind too, but I didn’t even give her a chance. I swept out of there so fast you’d only know I was there because of the treats I left behind.
My Bluetooth alerts me to a missed call once I get back into the car. Swiping the phone from my center console, I see two missed calls from my dad. I’m not ready to talk to him just yet. I’m not even sure what I’d say if I did call him back, but until I can process this, it’s better for me to stay silent.
***
The door to the bakery is propped open when I arrive, and the tell-tale sound of rock music drifts into my ears. A shiver works its way up my spine, and the hairs on my arms raise. What is he doing here?
Slipping in through the door, I find Archer on a step ladder nailing drywall. The entire wall separating the back of the house from the front is erected, and my breath whooshes out of me.
“What the hell?”
Archer doesn’t turn around, so I walk to where his phone is beside the speaker and lower the volume.
“Hey,” he yells, nearly falling off the ladder when he sees me. “Tilly,” he breathes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
His teeth clamp down over his lips like a child who said a bad word .
I repeat myself.
The ladder creaks as he descends and wipes the caulking from his hands. “What does it look like?”
“You can’t come back after you deserted me for almost a week.” My voice cracks, and any chance I had to pretend I’m not affected is out the window.
“I’m sor—”
“Nope.” I halt his words, pulling an envelope from my bag and handing it to him. “I don’t want to hear it. I’ve got another carpenter due here in half an hour, so please grab your stuff and leave.”
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Checks.”
His annoyed sigh and the accompanying eye roll nearly bring a smile to my face.
“For what?”
“For every week up until the end of the year.”
“Absolutely not,” he replies, anger replacing the previously apologetic look on his face.
A laugh wholly unrecognizable to me leaves my mouth. “Absolutely yes.”
“I don’t want your money,” he gruffs out.
He throws the envelope onto the worktable, and my hands clench at my sides. “I know you said Jessie paid you for what you’ve done already, but this is for any job you had to turn down to take on this one. You’re free to do whatever job you want now.”
My heart slingshots inside my chest when Archer strides my way, the set of his jaw screaming determination and destruction. The sharp angles of his face make the first cut through the defenses I’ve built the last few days, and poison seeps into his irises .
“Not happenin’, darlin’.” His minty breath freezes my heart inside my chest, and he turns his back to me. “I’m not taking the money. Call whoever it is and tell them the job’s taken.”
It takes a beat for me to gather my bearings. “Why?”
He stops. “What do you mean why?”
Forcing my bottom lip to stop wavering, I bite it, causing a blast of pain to spread down my neck.
“Being around me is such a struggle for you, so why continue the job? This is an easy out.” My charm bracelet jingles as I throw my hands in the air.
His muscles flex as he presses down on the countertop, and his shoulders inch up to his neck. “It has to be me.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.” His voice is pained.
“Gosh darnit, Archer.” I stomp my foot. “No, it doesn’t. Jessie is gone. He’s not going to come back to haunt you if you stop helping me.”
“It’s not about him.” Archer increases the volume on his music app and climbs back up the ladder with a drill in hand. “Call the other carpenter and tell him the job is taken.”
His words, and the pain cinching his eyebrows together, leave me breathless.
If it’s not about Jessie, then it’s about me, and nothing about that equation makes sense. We can barely tolerate each other. Had this been four years ago, I would’ve accepted his insinuation that he’s here for me. But friends do favors for friends, and we’re barely amicable.
Something in the back of my head urges me to let him help, like Jessie is there scolding me for being mean to his friend who’s only trying to help bring his dream for me alive. Frustrated, I type out a message thanking the other carpenter for his help and promising to pay him for his time even though he didn’t actually do any work.
Screws puncture the drywall, the whirring sound drawing my attention to Archer. That same fluttering in my stomach returns, and I try to squash it by reminding myself why we’d never work. Outside of the obvious issue of him being my late husband’s best friend, Archer is surly, childish, and can be notoriously bad at communication.
During college, me, Jessie, and Archer would text all the time. Even on holiday breaks, Archer would call to check on me. But after Jessie and I started dating, Archer got a new girlfriend and fell off the face of the earth. He rarely came to anything I invited him to, and when he did, it was like we barely knew each other anymore.
Jessie knew me. The way I liked things, the things that made me happy or sad, knew when to back off before an argument made us too flustered.
But why is your body reacting this way?
The thought rams through my defenses, rendering me stunned. With Jessie, our lovemaking was sweet, sensual. Candles and music, soft words spoken. I didn’t have to worry about love marks on my neck or having to check my hair before I met friends. It wasn’t the tear your clothes off type of feeling I get while fighting with Archer, but it was…us.
Sick to my stomach, I admonish myself and the obscene thoughts running through my head. Archer and I are wrong for each other. Always have been.
“Knock knock,” a woman’s voice cuts through the room.
A volcano spurs to life inside my chest.
“Hey, Deidre.” Archer comes down from the ladder and leans on the counter. “What’s up?”
Deidre walks inside, and I can’t help my eyes from moving to Archer. Is he happy to see her? Excited? Filled with lust? A green ball of envy settles in my chest, and I find myself angry she was able to touch him, to know his innermost thoughts, and to wake up with his arms wrapped around her.
Stunned by my own thoughts, I stumble to the side, accidentally tripping over the drill cord and sending a closed paint can rolling her way. Her blue eyes snap to me awkwardly standing there, and her previously pasted on smile falters.
“Tilly.” Her lips pinch, but she forces that smile back on and looks at Archer. “I forgot you were helping her with this…place.” She waves her hand around like she can’t quite put her finger on what it is. In her defense, it’s kind of chaos right now.
Large swaths of cloth protect the new vinyl flooring from any paint splatters, a countertop in the middle of the place serves as our makeshift workstation, and the wall Archer is working on is half complete. It’s a wreck.
But it’s my wreck.
“Yeah.” Archer rubs the back of his neck, his eyes bouncing between us like he’s uncomfortable.
I decide it’s easier for us both if I leave. I need a breather anyway.
Shoulders back, I search for my keys. “I’m going to Rosie’s. Want your usual, Arch?”
Deidre’s jaw tenses, and I know I’ve pissed her off. I don’t want Archer to think all is squashed between us, but I need to remove myself from the situation and clear my head. Rosie will be happy to hear an update on my bakery adventures, and I need caffeine if I’m going to survive another day in close quarters with him.
“Uh, yeah,” Archer replies, a hint of light now back in his eyes and a half-smile turned my way.
Damn it. Don’t smile at me like that .
A familiar tune plays through Archer’s speakers as I’m gathering my bag.
“Jessie’s Girl.” Deidre smirks, looking down her sharp nose in disgust. “How ironic.”
Everything I’ve eaten or drank today moves into my throat. I clamp my cheeks in between my teeth and try to keep the tears at bay. The stabbing sensation in my chest moves to my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself to try to stop from breaking down. In this moment I could use Archer’s comfort, but when I look to him, he’s stone. He’s not blinking, his body is rigid, and I’m not sure he’s breathing at all.
I don’t wait for either of them to speak. Stepping outside, I suck in the largest breath possible and sprint to my car, seeking a quiet place to break down. Shame is a weight on my chest as I pull into traffic and put the bakery, and my pesky feelings for my husband’s best friend, in the rearview mirror.