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I wanted to give him room to get in touch with me in his own time, but by the time the sun started slipping behind the mountains I got worried and shot off a quick text. That was almost two hours ago and I haven’t heard a peep back. I’m trying to ignore the deep ache settling in my chest.
After my shift at the hospital, I stopped in at Nuts & Bolts to pick up several gallons of paint and some spackle to fill the holes. The soft sage paint I’d decided on for the living space is a pale color, not quite white with only a hint of the soothing green. I think it’ll look good with the matte graphite gray paint I picked for the doors and the trim. I’m not an interior designer by any stretch of the imagination, but I know what I like.
The plan had been to start painting once I’d spackled and sanded the walls, but as I was working, I realized if I want to sand and refinish the worn plank floors, I should probably do that before I even open the paint cans.
It’s annoying when I can’t get my mind to work in a linear direction. Trying to rein in my thoughts is like herding squirrels. Especially now that Rick is taking up a good chunk of that real estate.
Frustrated with myself, I toss down my spackle knife, slap the lid on the tub of putty, and grab a notepad and pen from the kitchen. Come hell or high water, I’m going to make a list of projects in order of priority.
The soft alert on my phone breaks my intense concentration. It’s a notification from my security app someone is coming up the driveway. I rush to the front window, noting it’s now completely dark outside as the shine of headlights approaches through the trees.
It’s not until I see the familiar shape of Rick’s Explorer, I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I already have the door open when he comes walking up the porch steps.
“I wasn’t so sure I’d see you,” I blurt out, wearing my damn heart on my sleeve.
He has the decency to wince at my words as he stops a few steps away from me.
“Is it okay if I come in and we talk?”
The weight on my shoulders feels heavy as I step aside and wave him in.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, stopping in the middle of my living room. “I was actually up at the quarry and didn’t get your message until just now. It has been a little nuts today.”
“I noticed,” I observe a tad bitterly.
“Right. About the thing earlier, I don’t like hospitals much.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so limit myself to, “Okay.”
He rubs the back of his neck and seems to struggle with what to say next. My natural instinct is to smooth things over, fill the silence, offer a drink to break the tension, but in this case, I’m not willing to make it easy for him.
He was pretty hurtful earlier at the hospital, being aggressive with poor Sandy Larson and then outright dismissing me when I tried to find out what was wrong. I shouldn’t be the one to make things easy for him now, so I stay standing, my arms folded over my chest, waiting for him to take the initiative.
“Do you mind if we sit?”
I shrug, and perch myself on the edge of the old wingback chair, while he takes a seat on the couch.
“Main reason I moved out here was to get away from the memories,” he starts, claiming my immediate and undivided attention.
We haven’t really had much opportunity to delve into each other’s past. I guess mine is a little less of a mystery because my whole life played out in full view of the entire town, but there is not a whole lot I learned about Rick. I know he was a cop in Coeur d’Alene and that he moved here looking for a change of pace. He mentioned his mother and sisters who still live in Idaho, but that’s as far as we got.
I watch and listen, as he leans his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands between them, and aiming his eyes at the floor.
“Living in Coeur d’Alene, the reminders were everywhere. I was avoiding my family so I wouldn’t have to hear them bring up her name.”
In the brief pause that follows, my mind is trying to fill in the blanks.
Her name? Did he lose someone close to him? A girlfriend? Wife?
“I was hoping to avoid talking about this, but I guess you can’t run away from what you carry inside you.”
His voice sounds hollow and when his blue eyes lift to lock on mine, I’m torn at the pain I see. Whoever he is talking about, he must’ve loved her a lot.
“Her name was Charlotte, but she preferred Charlie. Even at three, she had a mind of her own.”
A large fist grabs hold of my heart and squeezes it so hard it’s difficult to breathe.
A little girl? His child?
