Chapter 51 Makers and Doers
MAKERS AND DOERS
GREY
It's after lunch, and I'm in the spare room again, my hands and heart raw.
Five days. It's been five days since I've seen her.
I've been in here since before the sun came up this morning, my cold coffee still sitting on one of the built-in shelves. I should eat. But I probably won't.
She came back to the house early on Tuesday morning to pack a bag and get her parents' things together. Turns out that her father was in a best-case scenario situation and didn't need a stent, at least not yet. So they were released Tuesday late afternoon and drove the three hours to Louisville.
At the hospital, she asked me to watch over the house and Scout--her Dad is allergic, so she couldn't take the cat.
Funny, since it didn't seem to bother him while he was here, but what do I know?
Either way, I don't mind staying here.
It's the closest I can get to her.
Scout has been following me around like my shadow, though sometimes she looks out the bay window seat I installed, waiting for Molly to come home.
When Molly left here on Tuesday, I walked in the house feeling like I was going to come apart, break into pieces too small to put back together without holes and chips empty spaces. And then Hal texted me that the window came in, and I had a directive.
I've been working on her library ever since.
Tate rallied some of the guys on the team to help install the window, and I must have looked every bit the miserable motherfucker I am, because every day, two or three guys have shown up to help me out around here.
The window and seat were done first, and I've been working on the built ins along three of the walls ever since.
Haven't painted anything--there's still sanding to do--but I took a break from that eternal task to install the ladder and rail.
I have never missed someone so desperately before.
When grandma died, it was different, devastating. Permanent. I missed her in the helpless way you do when there is no hope, no chance, no reprieve. That grief was a finality.
Molly taught me how to hope. And hope is a cruel thing--it makes the missing worse, deep with longing and hollow from her absence.
I step back and test the ladder on its rail, sliding it back and forth easily, the track set tight. Instantly, I picture her hanging on it, smiling, asking me on a laugh to give her a push. And my heart breaks fresh again because she's not here to see it.
Bleary eyed, I pick up the sander and get back to work.
I can still feel her in my lap at the hospital, sobbing.
I can hear her whisper that she loves me, and a surge of invincibility rises in me.
I hate that she's gone. I know they need her, and she's where she's supposed to be.
But I also know the burden she carries there is heavy.
They don't accept me and are trying their damndest to convince her to stay, to leave me.
And though I know they couldn't change her mind, it destroys her bit by bit.
Molly and I were never the problem. It's the rest of them. The town. Her parents.
My regret is so heavy, my shoulders slope from the weight of it.
I should have been able to control myself. If they had, we might not be here. That fight ultimately caused her father to have a heart attack. It could have killed him. I'm the one who lost control, and she's bearing the consequences.
Every accusation her parents made cut me to the bone.
They're right--I'm damaged. Everything in my life is under tight control.
But when it comes to Molly, all bets are off.
I scared the shit out of them, Molly included, and my hopes that they'd accept me once they knew me, once they saw who I am, evaporated the second I threw that punch.
Sander in hand, I look around the library, all the shelves and cabinets I've built for her.
When the guys leave every evening, I'm still here working on it until I'm too tired to trust myself with power tools.
I was relieved when she asked me to take care of Scout and the house.
The last thing I want is to go home. Being here is as close to her as I can get.
Every morning I wake before the sun and keep going until I drop.
It's something to do, some way to feel her, touch her.
I would work my fingers to the bone to make her happy, this room the physical manifestation of that truth.
It's almost finished, but incomplete, waiting. Suspended. Unfinished.
I've lived my life so convinced that I didn't deserve love that I stopped trying. Stopped hoping. But Molly pulled down the wall brick by brick. Made me feel, made me believe that I could have this. That I deserve this--a future, love, home.
I can't lose her, not for the sake and comfort of other people.
I reach for my phone--the wallpaper is a picture of us, her arms around my neck, smiling so big her eyes are closed. We look so happy, I feel empty all the way down to my toes.
I open our messages, scroll back through the week.
The first couple of days, they were so focused on her dad's health that there was a truce by omission.
But as soon as she tried to talk to them about coming back to Roseville, her Dad's face went gray, his equipment started beeping, and they had to drop it. Last night, she said--
Every time I try to talk about you, about us, about Roseville, Dad tenses up. Mom changes the subject. I can't push. Doctor says stress could trigger another attack.
When my phone buzzes, I almost drop it.
Molly: You up yet?
Grey: I'm here. What's up, peaches?
Molly: Mom and I just got in a fight. I just don't know what to do anymore.
Grey: Want to call?
Molly: I can't. Thin walls.
Grey: What happened?
Molly: I want to talk about everything with them--you, us--but every time I bring it up, Mom says I risk his health and it's just starting to feel like they're never going to listen to me.
Grey: Give it time. He's only been home a few days.
Molly: It feels like they've already decided. And I can't even argue. I can't even try.
I don't know what to say.
Molly: I just wish they knew you. I wish they could see you. Not the guy from the fight. Not your age or what the town sees. Just you. But they won't listen to me. Every time I try, it makes things worse.
I stare at her message with my heart on fire.
No, they won't believe her, their bias is too strong. She's there, fighting with one hand tied behind her back. There's no winning, not because she's not strong enough, but because the rules won't even let her swing.
She can't convince them.
But maybe I can.
All this time, we hoped they'd get to know me, that I'd earn their respect, but I realize now that was never going to work. They were never going to give me a chance, not on merit alone.
What they really need to know is how much I love her.
If I can somehow show them, if they can accept that, then maybe she can breathe. Maybe this is one problem I can fix after all.
They want to know my intentions?
Only forever.
My keys are already in my hand, heart hammering as my plan falls into place.
Grey: Don't give up yet, babygirl.