Chapter 11
Dear July,
I don’t fucking know what to do. Please write me if you can think of a way to get me back there. Maybe your folks might have an idea? I hate to ask but I’m pretty desperate…
Joe
I’m back from my run, fresh out of the damned tub when Angus comes in carrying his toolbox and something wrapped in aluminum foil. He’s already finished demolition on the front room and kitchenette area, so there’s no countertop. He tosses the foil packet to me.
I gesture at the empty space around us. “You work fast.” Then I pry open the packet, and oh my god, cinnamon heaven wafts out.
“Rosie’s homemade cinnamon rolls. She and Tina from July’s have a friendly rivalry. Everybody wins.” He settles his toolbox in a corner and opens it up.
The rolls are still warm, with just enough gooey icing sliding down between the layers. I pry off a big chunk, stuff it in my mouth, and have to close my eyes and steady myself against the wall. “Da-a-a-a-amn.”
“Rosie thinks you don’t eat enough.” Angus circles the room, measuring with his tape and making chalk marks where new outlets will go. “Thinks you need fattening up.”
“Why’s she being so nice to me?” I say it lightly, but I have been wondering.
Angus doesn’t look up. “Probably got a crush on you.”
I choke on my second too-big bite. “Pardon?”
Now he looks up. Has himself a real good laugh.
Two can play this game. “She’s awful cute. And nice. If she cooks like this all the time, I’m in.”
He bares his teeth in a truly frightening grin. “In your dreams, Toothpick Boy.”
I laugh around the rest of the roll.
Unfortunately, my dreams are full of someone a lot more confusing than Rose.
Angus finishes what he’s doing and straightens. “Need to start demo’ing the bathroom today. You won’t be able to take a bath for a few days. Rosie said you should come over for dinner tonight, stay in our guest room.”
That’s a hell of a kind offer. No way do they do that for all of Angus’s clients. I don’t know what’s up, but I can’t accept. “Tell her I really appreciate it but I can’t. Got softball tonight. Usually go out with the team after.” I look down at my bare feet. “I’m clean now. I can make do with a sink bath for a couple of days. But thanks.”
“Okay. Lemme know if you change your mind. House is just four blocks from the square.”
I put on shoes, but halfway down the stairs, I stop. “Hey, Angus!”
He pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Yeah?”
“You gonna break up that tub?” I’m envisioning sledgehammer action. Violence. Tub-maiming. That part of the demo I will gladly do myself.
He reads my mind and…there’s that scary grin again. “Sorry. Porcelain over cast iron. But I got a buyer willing to pay enough to cover your new shower.”
“Oh. Damn.”
His laugh follows me down the stairs.
I finished patching the holes yesterday and bought painting supplies. Rose had suggested pale neutral colors down here. “Nothing trendy—just make it look bright and clean,” she’d said. So I got a creamy color for the walls and white for the trim. I get started on it, surprised to find it’s kind of therapeutic. Not swinging-a-sledgehammer-at-a-hated-bathroom-fixture therapeutic, but…
Halfway through the morning, a guy pulls up in a pickup truck and backs it right onto the sidewalk beside the dumpster Angus has been filling. I let him in and watch as he, Angus, and another guy slowly maneuver the tub out of the bathroom and down the stairs. I try to squeeze in on Angus’s end to help out, but he shakes his head, his massive shoulders and arms bulging as he supports the same weight as the two other men put together. Dude’s a Clydesdale.
They load it onto the back of the truck, I go back to painting, and damn, Rose was right. This big, empty downstairs room looks completely different now. I’m just starting on the little office room when Angus comes down.
“Looks good down here. I’m meeting Rosie for lunch. Wanna come?”
No way am I intruding on the newlyweds’ lunch. “No thanks. But hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, you know anybody named Devon? He’s got all this wild, white hair. Walks like he might’ve been military.”
“Yeah, he’s a vet. Good man. Why?”
I shrug. “Just wondered. What’s his deal? I saw him with some other guys, all carrying bags.”
Angus nods. Studies me with those aqua eyes of his. “There’s a homeless encampment, couple miles from here on the creek. Devon’s kind of unofficially in charge.”
“No shit. Huh.”
“He’s got serious leadership skills. Just can’t stand to be under a roof for very long.”
I nod. I’ve known guys like that.
He turns toward the front door. “I’ll be back in an hour. Sure you don’t wanna come?”
“I’m sure. Tell Rose thanks for the cinnamon roll. Tell her I’m proposing next time I see her.” I never say shit like that. Something in me just wants to poke at Angus. Gentle-like, so he doesn’t kill me.
It feels good to want to smile.
One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Do and die, boy. Do and die.” He waves and is gone.
He’s got me thinking about food. I’m hungry again, and what I really want is July’s Summer Chicken. The idea of going over there messes me up though.
My brain used to have a steady supply of images of my girl the way she was when we were young. Laughing in the sunshine. Making her little brother and sister and me taste her latest experiment in their family kitchen. Racing out to the buoy in the middle of the lake, water droplets flashing like magic off her fingertips. Coming into my arms in my old truck, her eyes bright with mischief and what I’d believed was love, her skin smooth and warm, her lips soft on my neck. On my mouth.
But the old images are overlaid now with flashes of her on that love seat, her expression determined and unfamiliar. Detached. And pictures of her with Devon’s bunch, after hours in the restaurant, serving them free food and a smile and warm socks. Swaying with that mop in the dining room after everybody’d gone. Glimpses of her outside my door in the dark, hanging another bag on the knob for me, waving before she darts away again.
Which one of those women is the real July? How could those pieces add up to one person?
For the life of me, I can’t figure out what those nighttime food deliveries are about. I mean, clearly she doesn’t want to have to actually talk to me or spend time with me… But if she wants to exorcise me from her life, that’s a weird way of doing it.
If I’m going to be eating her food every day, I ought to at least be paying for some of it. Her sidewalk dining area is open now. I can eat there, at a little table up against the wall, out of view of anyone in the restaurant. That shouldn’t bother her or distract her.
Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow.
Softball’s another matter. We’ve got practice tonight, so that means another two hours of standing behind her in the field, trying to focus on anything else but her. Her grace. Her body. The way she laughs and teases everybody, making sure to include them all. Except me—she’s quiet and careful with me. So I stand in left field trying to pretend I’m there for the love of the game. Trying to pretend she’s just another player, just another person with no control over my body or my heart. Trying to pretend I am not confused every second of every day and night about every goddamn thing in my life.
***
July
The noise is unfamiliar and annoying, and it will. Not. Stop. I pry open my eyes and squint at the ceiling of my bedroom. Gray light seeps in around the edges of the window shade.
Shit, the alarm! When was the last time I actually slept until the alarm went off? I stretch for my phone on the nightstand. Everything hurts.
Last night’s practice was the worst I have ever played in my life. I’m mortified, remembering.
Tom had arranged a scrimmage game with another team, which is normally all the fun of league play without any of the pressure. But last night I could not do anything right. I couldn’t cover my normal amount of ground at third. Joe had to field my misses again and again and again. I went for a line drive and somehow—I don’t know how—fell flat on my face. I couldn’t bat worth a damn—flied out to left center twice, and for the one grounder I hit, I couldn’t beat the throw to first. When I finally got there, I was wheezing and coughing and bent over, almost puking right there on the basepath.
Andi brought me some water, and both teams yelled at me to sit down. I spent the rest of the scrimmage on my ass in the grass, watching Joe play my position. Beautifully, of course.
I went with them to Lindon’s afterward but only stayed for a few minutes. I couldn’t drink because I’d taken cold medicine, and the night just seemed weird anyway. All evening I felt Joe’s eyes on me, but I could never read his expression.
The old Joe was an open book to me. I could glance at him and see I love you, I think you’re wonderful, I’m so glad you’re with me, I want to kiss you , and a million other things on his face.
I miss that Joe.
But the team loves new Joe just fine. He has no problem teasing and laughing with them. It’s just me that brings out the unfamiliar quiet gravity in him. So really, I was doing him a favor, leaving early to give him more time to have fun with them.
Lying here past the alarm now does no one any good. I drag myself up—maybe I shouldn’t have had that other dose of medicine last night—and could swear I hear my bones creaking. I always take a shower at night before bed, but this morning I’m so woozy I need another.
I give myself two minutes under the spray: one minute of hot water to pound away my aches, and another of cold water to wake me up. Then I dry off, twist my hair up into a ponytail, and get dressed.
Downstairs, Donna has beaten me to work for once. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
Tina’s been baking for an hour or more already. “Whoa!” She pauses on her way past me to the walk-in. “July, you’re not looking too good.”
“Ha. You should have seen me on the ball field last night.” I pour myself a mug of the strong coffee Donna just made, blow on it enough that it won’t boil my insides, and suck in a long swallow.
There’s a knock at the back door. I let in the produce guy and check that order. Then the dairy delivery arrives, and I check that, put everything away…and I am already dead on my feet. I refill my coffee and try to remember what’s next.
“Rose called.” Tina slides another pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven. “Said she’s running late but she should be here in a few minutes.”
That’s what I’m supposed to be doing. Rose is hosting some kind of brainstorming session with the mayor and several Galway nonprofits this morning, and I’d promised to provide a continental breakfast for them. “You bake extra for her?”
Tina gives me that grin/scowl she does so well. “Of course.” She nods toward a big box on the counter near the door.
“I’ve got the fruit.” Donna is cutting pineapple and adding it to a big platter with strawberries, blueberries, and sliced kiwi. “Just need to make the meat and cheese tray.”
I ought to be able to handle that, even in my pitiful condition. I swing around toward the walk-in and the room spins. There’s a loud whack! and then I’m staring up at Tina’s horrified face.
“I have become the least competent person in the world.” My words sound faint, even to me. Can’t play ball, can’t remember my own job, and now, apparently, can’t turn around without falling down.
“Oh my god, July! Donna, we need ice in a towel.” Tina drops to her knees beside me.
Somehow I’m on the floor between the counter and my prep island, my back pressing uncomfortably against a cabinet door handle. Then Donna’s there with the ice. She holds it gently, so gently, to my hairline, and still it hurts like hell.
“Ow, ow! Let me do that. It’s dripping in my eye.”
“Hon, it’s not the ice that’s dripping,” Tina says, and Donna adds, “Put some pressure on it, July. Scalp wounds bleed bad.”
“All right. Just let me sit here a minute. Can y’all finish up Rose’s order?” My head is throbbing, and now I see the blood dripping off my wrist. “Shit, I’m making a mess.”
They yell at me when I move to get up, so I keep my ass right here on the cold floor and try to think what to do. Probably call somebody in. I’m not going to be able to cook while I’m a biohazard. If I could just think straight for a minute…
“Oh my god, what the fuck happened?” Rose has arrived, along with the language she’s always trying to stop using. She rushes over to me, and I ward her off with my nonbloody hand.
“It’s okay. I’m just going to sit here for a minute until it stops bleeding. Tina and Donna have your order almost ready.”
“Screw my order! You need to go to the ER!” Despite my efforts, Rose has taken the ice bag from me and is peering at my scalp. “This isn’t slowing down. You need stitches at least.”
“It’ll be fine, Rose. You’ve got your mayor thing. Tina’ll help me in a minute. I’ve got some butterfly bandages somewhere in my office.”
“Nah, July, she’s right.” Now Donna’s looming over me, staring too. She glances at Rose. “I called her sister. She’s on the way.”
What? When did she do that? Is time passing without me noticing?
“Probably should call somebody in for me, Donna, till I get this cleaned up.”
“Already did. Got you covered today. Don’t come back.”
Shit. I am missing stuff. “Bossy.” I scowl up at Donna, but it makes my head hurt more so I stop.
“Don’t move your face!”
“You’re making it bleed worse!”
If you think having sinus pressure and splitting open your head is bad, you should try it while sitting on the floor with a bunch of people looming over and yelling at you. My head is pounding, and the lights are too bright. I close my eyes, but that makes the room spin, so I shade them with my clean hand.
“Oh my god, July!” This last voice belongs to my sister, Jen.
Guess I’m going to the emergency room.
It’ll probably seem like an oasis of peace and quiet compared to this place.