Page 60 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

This wouldn’t be a possibility if I hadn’t put so many orders in before the smelly stuff hit the fan. But the great thing is that everything we need is here. All we need to get the work done is a bunch of skilled people.

While I’ll be directing because I’m the only one who knows what Troy wants, I also have my hands full with color matching and dressing the place to perfection. That’s my skill. While I’m adept at knowing if blue goes with yellow, I wouldn’t know my way around a hand drill if the thing stood up and gave me instructions.

That’s where Mike, Chris, and Dave come in. There are a few other guys, too, all wielding boxes and bags with tools I’ve never seen before in my life. As work gets underway, the floor is riddled with extension cords of every length and color. The sounds of electric saws, drills, and screwdrivers make the place sound like a builder’s yard, but I don’t care. We’ve only got so much time to get this done.

Mrs. Heaton has offered to help me with the painting, but before we get started, she pulls me to the side.

“I think what you’re doing for Troy is wonderful, Charlie,” she says kindly.

But I don’t feel wonderful. I feel like an idiot. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Heaton. I’ve made such a mess of things.”

She frowns. “No, you haven’t, my dear. There’s only really one person to blame here.”

“You mean my father,” I say, now realizing that if Milly knows what Dad did, then of course Troy’s parents were bound to know, too.

“He has a lot to answer for,” she says, though there is no anger in her voice.

“I’m sure you must hate him after what he did to Troy.”

But Mrs. Heaton shakes her head. “I don’t hate him. All those years ago, I was pretty mad at him, as was Troy’s father. When Troy came home, we were just delighted to have our family back together again. And of course, Troy has learned so much, being away. What has angered me now are your father’s lies and the reasons behind them.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I was a fool to believe him.”

“You had no reason not to, Charlie. How could you have known?”

“That’s not the point,” I counter. “I should have given Troy a chance to explain himself.”

She smiles and places a gentle hand on my arm. “If I had to count up all the ‘shoulds’ in my life, dear, we’d be here for years. Have you spoken to your father since?”

I shake my head. “I can’t face him after what he’s done.”

Mrs. Heaton gives me a long look and then nods. “Well, perhaps it will take some time. Right. I suppose we should get on with it.”

As we work together, covering the walls in the shade of paint I chose more than two weeks ago, I think about Mrs. Heaton’s words. I’m still angry at Dad. In fact, anger is an understatement. I’m furious at him. I’m furious at what he did all those years ago and even more furious that he has attempted to play the very same trick now.

If I’m honest, I’m angry at myself for allowing him to manipulate me, but Mrs. Heaton is right. Dad holds most of the blame here. But what am I supposed to do with that? My heart has been too filled with sorrow to even think about him, but surely, there will come a time when I have to face him. And then what?

A part of me never wants to lay my eyes on him again for what he’s done. But that’s the cruel and cold part of me that I rarely see. The other part of me knows that he’s my father, and he doesn’t have anyone else. I know he only has himself to blame for that. He can be so grumpy and antagonistic that few people will go near him. But he’s still my dad.

Maybe I should cross that bridge after I’ve patched up the mess I’m already in. I’m not the great JC; I’m human through and through, and I can only deal with one huge disaster at a time.

We all work hard, and as the evening closes in, we agree to call it a day. People bid their farewells, and one by one, they slowly leave until, eventually, the only ones left are me and Mr. and Mrs. Heaton.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner?” Mrs. Heaton offers.

“Thank you, Mrs. Heaton, but if I’m honest, I’m beat,” I reply. “I want to get home, throw my PJs on, and crash in a heap.”

While she laughs, Mr. Heaton says, “That sounds like a plan, Charlie. I think I’m going to do the same.”

They stay with me while I lock up the restaurant, and then we say goodbye. We got a lot done today, but there’s still so much more to do. I only hope we can be as productive tomorrow.

The following morning, there are fewer hands on deck. I know people have other jobs and responsibilities, and I’m grateful that they were able to give up their time yesterday. It does mean that those of us left will have to put in extra effort today, though.

My job is made a little more difficult when questions are fired from left and right, but I am the director of operations, and the guys need to know whether they’re doing everything right. Mike wants to check on whether the light fitting is going directly in the middle of the room. Dave needs to know the specific positions of curtain rails, and Chris wants to know when we are stopping for lunch.

The afternoon flies in, but even as the hours tick by, I can see how much progress has been made, and I’m delighted with their efforts. Everyone is exhausted when it is time to finish up.

“Will you need us back tomorrow, Charlie?” Chris asks, hauling his gear over his shoulder. Dave and Mike are standing beside him, and all three are looking at me for the answer.

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