Page 57 of Downpour

It didn’t.

I had tied thousands of knots. I had watered the plant. I had unloaded the three dishes that cycled between the cabinet and dishwasher. I did my physical therapy homework and took a few steps here and there. The hardware store in town made the delivery I asked for.

But, eventually, there was nothing left for me to do.

Now I was the one going stir crazy.

I never felt like that when she was here. Sure, I’d get tired of being around another person and retire to my room for a littlespace, but it wasn’t because I was bothered by her. I was just used to being alone. Or at least I thought I was.

I looked at the text I had typed out but hadn’t sent.

It wasn’t fair for me to bother Brooke on her day off. She probably wanted the time away. I wasn’t particularly exciting to hang out with.

It made me wonder if she had a boyfriend she was spending the weekend with. That thought made me want to put my fist through a wall, but split knuckles were the last thing I wanted to explain to my therapy team.

Saturday came and went, and Sunday dawned its miserable sunny self. I texted Cassandra to see if Christian was busy with the girls. I knew if I asked him for help directly, he’d drop everything and be down here in the blink of an eye. But weekends were sacred to him and his daughters. I didn’t want to fuck that up.

My phone buzzed, and I picked it up expecting to see Cassandra’s reply.

But it was Brooke.

Brooke

Hey, I’m sorry to bother you on your day away from me.

My stomach churned. Was that what she thought? That I wanted her gone on the weekends?

Maybe at the beginning I did, but now I just missed her.

Ray

Not a bother.

Brooke

Can I come back tonight? I promise I’ll ignore you until tomorrow.

Ray

I don’t mind.

A three-word response was the best I could do when I wanted to tell her that this was the first and only weekend I wanted her away.

Cassandra texted me back and said that she and Christian were cleaning their house, and that she’d send him out my way. I only needed him and his truck for a few minutes anyway.

When I heard the rumble of a diesel engine coming down my driveway, I wheeled out onto the front porch and pointed for him to pull around back. I headed back through the house and rolled down the ramp off the deck.

Pushing a wheelchair through grass was a bitch, but I didn’t mind the burn in my arms and shoulders.

“Hey,” Christian said as he slid out of the cab of his truck. “You okay?”

“Fine. Just need a hand, real quick.”

“What’s up?”

I had already tied the rope tightly around the tire, looping it over and securing it with a stack of stopper knots.

Drilling holes in the bottom of the tire had been a challenge. Getting the bit inserted was fine, but gripping the handle while it vibrated as I drilled through the rubber was more difficult than I thought it would be. But I managed to drill out enough spots for rain to drain through the tire.

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