Chapter Twenty
brEANNA
SITTING ON the porch steps of the house I’ve become more and more attached to, I twist one of the dried weeds I pulled from next to the steps around my finger. The contractor is coming this morning for the stupid test that has become more than just a damn test.
I’m not sure what kind of karma is attached to the reappearance of Jacob Neil, but it’s attached itself to my house.
Well, it’s become more than just a house to me, it might sound stupid, but once I envisioned sitting next to that stained-glass window, drinking my morning coffee, as the rising sun shone through the beautiful colors, I saw my future in every part of the house.
This house has become my future, and that asshole is pissing on it every time he shows his face.
I barely slept at all last night. After the confrontation with Jacob Neil, and then Mato showing up out of the blue, I tossed and turned most of the night.
I know what he’s doing. Mato thinks he can wear me down with his warmth, and support, and sincerity. That’s what he does. It was rare that he would piss me off when we were kids, but when he did, he would let me know with his actions that he was sorry.
Actions speak louder than words.
He knows I love dark chocolate-covered almonds and fall flowers. I hated leaving them there when I left him standing in the kitchen last night. After I got to my truck, I wished I would have grabbed them on my way out.
When I asked him why he did what he did, he basically told me the same thing he had written in his letter when he left. His reason for leaving was as simple as he said: he did it for me. He broke both our hearts so I wouldn’t throw away something I worked so hard for.
With each thought, I tossed and turned and huffed and puffed as the ceiling fan in my little apartment clicked with each rotation. Each question my brain tossed up, like it were proof of deliberate betrayal, was answered logically by peeling off my hurt feelings wrapped around it like an onion.
How could he leave me like he did? If he hadn’t, I would have thrown it all away to stay with him.
Why didn’t he call me like he said he would?
Maybe the belief I planted in my head of him dumping me and going on like he never knew me was just my anger and hurt.
Maybe he was hurting just as much as I was, and the thought of hearing me cry and beg was too much for him.
Because seventeen-year-old me would have cried and begged.
Why did he wait ten years to come back? It took me that long to go through school and build my hospital - with Daddy’s help before I even graduated. And he completed his service with the knowledge and ability to ‘have something to offer’.
How can he think we can be friends? You know the answer to that. He doesn’t want to be friends, he wants to start with who we are now and build on it.
Damn his patience!
He was always the strong, silent, passive one, whereas I was the emotional, stubborn, outspoken one. If I were ranting and storming about something, he was my safety anchor. He knew me better than I knew myself.
I finally flopped onto my back, my arm slung over my head on my pillow, realizing what he had done as tears slid down into my hairline. He didn’t know about the baby; if he had, he would have walked through fire to be by my side. I know that.
Mato knew my fears and insecurities would cling to him at the expense of my dreams. The therapist I saw from childhood until I left for college called it anxious attachment stemming from my fear of abandonment.
Gravel crunching under tires pulls me out of my thoughts.
The contractor Mato brought in for a second opinion is slowly driving up the tire ruts of the driveway with another truck with built-in toolboxes on the sides behind him.
Standing from my seat on the top step of the porch feels like déjà vu, only it’s a nicer truck and this time the guy behind the wheel smiles and waves at me.
I hold my hand out as I get to the front of his truck. “Morning, Mr. Quinlan.”
His smile is friendly, and he immediately takes my hand. “Please call me Connor.” He points to the backyard. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” He stands to the side to let me lead him to the back.
He stops next to me and shifts his weight onto one hip as he points to a spot about one hundred feet away to our right.
“We will set up the drainage test there.” He moves his arm to another spot in the distance in front of us.
“And there.” Then moves to a spot to the left of us.
“And there. Each location has a slightly higher elevation, and we could get a good feel for the dirt we’re dealing with. ”
Tires on gravel at the front of the house make us turn to see Mato’s blue truck pulling up next to Connor’s. His eyes lock on me as he opens his door, and I can’t look away. A feeling I haven’t felt in a really long time swirls in my chest and my stomach flutters.
I didn’t expect him to be here, especially after telling him I resented him last night. But he’s here. In steady, reliable Mato fashion. He reaches across the driver’s seat to the console and picks up two coffee cups, shutting the door with his elbow.
His black tactical pants make his legs look even longer, and his navy blue long sleeve henley molds to his chest and squeezes his biceps. The top part of his hair is pulled back again, like he used to wear it, and I almost smile at the warm fuzzy feelings it gives me.
Holding my gaze, his long strides are relaxed as he joins us. After he hands me a hot paper cup with the protective cardboard cover around the center, he extends his hand to Connor. “Sorry I’m late. I had to meet the crew to start renovations on my gym this morning.”
Connor shakes his hand with more energy than he did mine. “No worries, I was just telling Ms. Harlow where we are setting up the drainage tests in the yard.” He faces me. “We’ll get started on that right away.”
Two more men are opening and closing the metal doors on the side of the utility truck, and they are unloading equipment from the back.
As Connor’s talking, Mato moves closer to me, and his cologne wraps around me. He tucks the fingers of his coffee-free hand under the opposite arm, his legs spread in an at-ease position as he takes a sip.
Clearing my throat, ignoring Mato’s familiar smell and his unnecessary closeness, I ask Connor, “What’s the timeline for this and the installation of the system?”
“It depends on the outcome. If the soil passes the test, I can have a conventional system set up in three to four weeks, including permits. If it fails, you can double that.”
“Do you need a down payment or a percentage today?”
He hesitates for a split second before answering. “No, I’ll send an invoice.”
It’s not how the contractors who built the hospital operated, they wanted nearly half the payment up front. Maybe it’s different between companies. I nod. “Thank you.”
He nods, and we silently watch him go to his truck and talk to the other two guys. The familiar feelings of safety and wholeness fill my heart as I stand next to Mato, and a lump forms in my throat.
Without looking up at him, I start to say, “Thank you for coming…”
At the same time, he turns to face me. “How are you today?” The question is genuine, and it’s like I didn’t just tell him last night that I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him.
Adjusting his stance so he is facing me, he slides his hand in his pocket as he sips his probably black coffee, but doesn’t respond to what I said. I look up and his warm eyes are watching me.
Taking a sip of whatever is in the cup, my tastebuds do a happy dance when the delicious pumpkin spice flavors decorate my tongue with fall memories.
He remembered. When the pumpkin spice flavor shot to popularity when I was a teenager, it quickly became the seasonal staple in the house for me, Marley, and Kinley.
“Mmm, that’s good. Thank you.” My lips tip up before I even realize I’ve done it.
Tenderness shines in his eyes as his lips curve into a smile. “You’re welcome.”
After another sip of the pumpkin-y goodness, I tip my head. “Why are you here, Mato?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I told you, for you.”
My heart skips a beat. “No, I mean, here, now?” I point at the ground between us.
The warmth doesn’t leave his face, and he mirrors me when he tips his head. “In case you need me.”
A surge of warmth spreads from my head to my toes, wrapping itself around my chest.
His smile, the way he’s looking at me, the familiarity of all of it slaps me in the face. I can’t let myself get close to him. My heart sinks, dragging my smile with it, as I remember all the nights we would sit outside and talk about how our kids would look and how many children we wanted.
He laced his fingers with mine. “I want my daughter to look just like you.” Then he jokingly said. “But I don’t want my son to be a shrimp like you.” He grunted and then laughed when I elbowed his ribs.
Another voice echoes in my head. One that I’ve replayed many times.
“It’s highly unlikely you’ll ever carry to term.”
His eyebrows pinch, his stare soft but relentless as he tries to read my thoughts.
Looking up the hill at the hospital, I say, “Uhm, I have to get back to work. A stud is being dropped off this morning to be cut this afternoon.”
Nodding, he’s still trying to read my face. “Okay. Koda asks about the puppies every day, can he still come help out Saturday?”
Stepping backward toward the hospital to put some distance between us, outside the reach of his cologne, I nod while trying not to show the disappointment on my face for not seeing him the rest of the week, forcing a smile. “Yes! They should have their eyes open by then, so he’ll like that.”
His head tips just slightly, concern in his soft brown eyes. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Thanks for the coffee.” I wave and turn to walk up the hill.