Chapter 6 #2
It also meant Bert saw her constantly, which was both a blessing and a particular kind of sweet torture.
Mary had transformed her work area dramatically since her first day in the main building.
What had been an empty room with basic furniture was now an organized, efficient workspace that somehow also felt warm and inviting.
She’d added a few personal touches, such as a photo of her family on the desk, several plants, and Montana landscape photographs hanging on the walls.
The desk was positioned so she could roll right up to it, and she’d organized everything with the kind of systematic precision that made Bert’s logistic heart happy.
Most of her work was kept on the computer, but the locked credenza behind her held the paperwork necessary for the business.
The area could have been the reception area for any business, but since they handled their case possibilities remotely, no one else would be there except the Keepers.
Bert pulled up the extra chair he’d long ago claimed as “his” during their working sessions and settled in beside her desk. Mary spread the requisition forms out, and they bent over them together, their heads close as they reviewed Todd’s requests.
“Okay,” she said, pulling up the budget spreadsheet on her computer. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
For the next three hours, they worked side by side, reviewing numbers, discussing options, and making notes for Logan.
It was the kind of detailed, tedious work that would have driven Bert crazy if he’d been doing it alone, but with Mary, it felt different.
She had a way of making even budget reviews interesting, pointing out patterns he wouldn’t have noticed, and asking questions that made him think about things from new angles.
She was also funny, slipping in dry observations that made him laugh unexpectedly.
When they got to a particularly expensive item, she raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, if we’re going to protect people, might as well do it with the best equipment.
Though I’m pretty sure this one rifle costs more than my first car. ”
“Your first car must have been pretty nice, then,” Bert countered, and she’d laughed.
“It was a fifteen-year-old Honda Civic with a dent in the passenger door and a CD player that only worked on Thursdays. So no, this rifle is definitely pricier.”
They worked well together, complementing each other’s strengths.
Bert understood the technical specifications and practical applications of the equipment.
Mary understood budgets, timing, and managing multiple vendors.
Together, they created a system that was efficient, cost-effective, and ensured LSIMT had what it needed when it needed it.
By the time they finished, the afternoon sun slanted through the window at a sharp angle. Mary stretched, rolling her shoulders back, and Bert had to look away from the graceful line of her neck.
“Ready to go look at that apartment?” she asked, saving the files and shutting down her computer.
“Absolutely. I’ll follow you over?”
They made their way outside, where the air had taken on a distinct chill.
Bert waited while Mary went through the process of getting into her van, fighting the urge to hover.
She’d made it clear early on that she had her system and didn’t need assistance, and he respected that even when every instinct told him to help.
The apartment building on Cutter’s Lane was a low-slung, two-story structure that had clearly been built in the seventies and updated periodically since.
The exterior was a bland beige with brown trim, and the parking lot had seen better days, but it was clean and well-maintained.
A ramp led to the main entrance, and Bert noted with approval that it looked sturdy and had a gentle grade.
Mary was already out of her van when he pulled up beside her, and they headed inside together. The manager, a balding man in his sixties, waited in the small lobby.
“Ms. Smithwick,” he said, his relief evident. “Good to finally meet you in person. I have to say, your persistence impressed me.”
Mary smiled, shaking his hand. “I’m very motivated to find a place closer to work, Mr. Patterson. Thank you for allowing me to get in early.”
“Well, we had to update the building anyway to meet current codes, so it made sense to do it right. If we agreed to have 30 percent of the apartments wheelchair accessible, then we got a grant to cover most of the renovations.” Mr. Patterson gestured down the hallway.
“The unit is this way. It’s a one-bedroom that’s been fully modified. ”
“And you will rent month-to-month?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have several older persons who will want the other apartments, and that allows them a little more flexibility to get out of a lease if they end up moving to a facility, or in with family, or… um… well…”
“Or if they pass away,” Mary finished for him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding.
“That also works for me since I’ll be looking at houses as soon as I can.”
They followed him down a corridor with a tile floor and overhead fluorescent lighting that hummed faintly. He stopped at a door marked 1C and unlocked it, then pushed it open and stepped aside.
“Take your time looking around. I’ll be in the office when you’re ready.”
Mary rolled through the doorway, and Bert followed, immediately assessing the space. He was concerned whether this place would work for Mary, whether she’d be safe here, and if she’d be comfortable.
The apartment opened directly into a combined living room and kitchen area.
It was small in total square footage but efficiently laid out.
The laminate wood-style floors were smooth and even, making them perfect for wheelchair navigation.
The kitchen was located along one wall, with lowered countertops and cabinets that were within easy reach.
The sink was shallow, the stove had front controls, and there was space beneath the counter for Mary to roll under while working.
“The kitchen layout is good,” Mary said, rolling over to examine it more closely. She opened cabinets, tested the faucet, and ran her hand along the counter. “Counter height is perfect. I can actually reach things.”
Bert smiled at the practical satisfaction in her voice. The living room area had a large window that looked out over a small courtyard, letting in plenty of natural light. The space was empty now, but Bert could easily picture it furnished with a couch, maybe a bookshelf, and a small dining table.
A short hallway led off the main room. Mary headed down it, and Bert followed, noting the width. Plenty of room for her wheelchair to maneuver. The bathroom was on the right, and when Mary flipped on the light, Bert saw it had been completely redesigned for accessibility.
A roll-in shower with a built-in bench took up one corner, with strategically placed grab bars throughout. The sink was wall-mounted with space beneath for a wheelchair, and the toilet had grab bars on both sides. It wasn’t fancy, but it was functional and safe.
“This is really well done,” Mary said, with genuine appreciation in her voice. “Whoever did the modifications actually understood what accessibility means, not just what the minimum code requires.”
The bedroom was across the hall, small but adequate. It had the same laminate flooring, another large window, and a closet with a lowered rod. Empty, it looked a bit institutional, but Bert could imagine Mary making it her own.
They made their way back to the living area, and Mary moved to the window, looking out at the courtyard. Bert stayed back, giving her space to think, to process.
“It’s small,” she said finally, not turning around.
Bert watched her carefully, as he always did with people he cared about.
He tried to read between the lines and understand what they needed before they had to ask.
The set of her shoulders told him she was uncertain.
The way she looked out the window rather than at him suggested she was thinking about more than just the apartment.
He’d learned to read Mary, the subtle shifts in her expression that meant she was worried or frustrated or pleased.
Right now, she looked like someone weighing a difficult decision, and Bert wished he could somehow help carry that weight.
“But functional,” Bert offered gently. “And close to the compound. Fifteen minutes, maybe?”
She nodded and turned, meeting his eyes. “What do you think? Honestly.”
Bert considered his words carefully. “I think it’s safe. Well-maintained. The accessibility features are better than I expected. The location is good.” He paused, then added, “But what matters is whether you can see yourself living here. Whether it feels right to you.”
Mary bit her lip, a gesture he’d learned meant she was weighing options and thinking through scenarios.
“My parents’ place is comfortable, but I’m thirty-two years old.
Living with my parents, even temporarily, has been hard on my sense of independence.
This place?” She looked around the small apartment.
“It’s not perfect. But it’s a step in the right direction. ”
“You still want a house?”
“Yes. But I know I’ll have to purchase something, then pay to have contractors make it accessible. That will take time, and I really want to be closer to work now.”
“Then I think you should take it,” Bert said quietly.
A smile spread across her face, bright and genuine. “Yeah. I think I should, too.”
They found Mr. Patterson in the office, and Mary signed the paperwork with her usual efficiency.
She’d probably already mentally prepared for this, had all her documentation ready, and knew exactly what questions to ask.
Within thirty minutes, she had keys in hand and a move-in date set for the following weekend.
Outside, the sun had dipped below the mountains, and the temperature had noticeably dropped. Mary paused by her van, keys in hand, and looked up at Bert.
“Thank you for coming with me. I know it’s not exactly exciting to spend your free time looking at an apartment.”
“Are you kidding?” Bert said, surprised by how much he meant it. “I’m just glad you found a place. I’ve been worried about that commute.”
Something shifted in her expression, and she softened. “You’ve been worried?”
He felt heat creep up his neck. “Well, yeah. The roads, the weather. It’s a long drive, and winter’s coming.”
“That’s sweet,” she said softly, and something in her eyes made his heart pound. “I can handle things, but it’s nice that you care.”
“I do,” he said, the words coming out more intense than he’d intended. “Care, I mean. About you being safe… and just about you.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them charged with something Bert couldn’t quite name but desperately wanted to explore. Then her expression became playful.
“Well, now that I’ll be fifteen minutes away instead of an hour, you can worry less and maybe help me move instead.”
Bert laughed, relief and something warmer flooding through him. “I’d be happy to help. When are you planning to move in?”
“Saturday? I don’t have much furniture to bring, mostly just clothes and personal items. I sold my furniture when I left my last job and moved in with my parents.”
“I’ll be there,” Bert promised.
Mary’s smile widened. “Thank you, Bert. Really.”
“What about the furniture you need to buy?”
“I’ll go tomorrow to the store in town. Maybe they can arrange delivery on Saturday.”
“Do you want company for that?”
She smiled, holding his gaze. “If you’re offering to help me pick out furniture, then yes.”
“Well, my expertise is more with weapons and tactical equipment, but I can sit on a sofa and give you my opinion on its comfort.”
Throwing her head back, she laughed. And as always, the sound hit him squarely in the chest.
“Then it’s a date,” he proclaimed, then blinked in panic, and quickly added, “Um… a date… um… to find furniture.”
Her smile still wide, she rolled to her van, and Bert waited until she’d pulled out of the parking lot before heading to his SUV. As he drove back toward the compound, the evening sky had him worried about her driving so late.
But she was moving closer. She’d be fifteen minutes away instead of an hour. He saw her at work every day, and now she’d be nearby on weekends too. This growing attachment was dangerous, but Bert found he didn’t care.
But as Bert drove back toward the compound through the gathering darkness, watching Mary’s taillights ahead of him to make sure she made it safely, he knew he was already too far gone to turn back now.
He loved her. Had probably loved her since the day she’d rolled up to the compound with that determined expression and refused to let anyone help her.
The only question was whether he’d find the courage to tell her before fear won out. Before he talked himself out of taking the risk. Before he convinced himself that staying silent was the safer choice, even though it meant never knowing what they could have been together.
For now, he’d settle for this… driving behind her in the darkness, making sure she got home safely, being the quiet protector she might not even know she had.