Page 8 of Levee

Still, the fact was the same. William needed more help than he was getting.

“Have you considered hiring an aide?” I asked.

“Tried three,” he admitted, shooting me a humorless smile as he turned to lean against the counter. “Let’s just say that my uncle has a lot of shit to say about people that he has no business saying. And I don’t blame those people for quitting.”

“I understand,” I said, thinking of all the awful things someone with hate in their heart might be willing to say to anyone who was different from them. “A home?”

“It might be coming to that. But I can’t exactly force him either,” Levee said. “So for now, I… do what I can. And he… manages. Once he stops managing, I guess we will have a talk then.”

I couldn’t relate to taking care of someone who didn’t want or appreciate my help. So I really had no place to speak here.

So I decided to change tack.

“Was it you who wrote the riddle?” I asked, since another one hadn’t appeared in about a week. How often he claimed he visited.

“It was,” he said, nodding. “Did someone draw you with giant tits?” he asked, nodding out toward the hall where my whiteboard was situated.

“They did,” I said, letting out a little laugh. “It was actually really well done.”

“Kids,” he said, shrugging. “I probably would have done the same thing if I was that age and a hot new chick moved in.” I was going to go ahead and pretend his words didn’t feel like a warm sensation moving through my chest. “So, you’re an artist?” he asked.

“I am,” I confirmed, the smile coming easy, as it always did. Even if my chosen vocation didn’t exactly secure the most stable of incomes and lifestyles. Hence living in this building in a less than ideal neighborhood.

What can I say? It was more important to me that I loved my work than it made me rich.

“Bet you love that eyesore,” he said, pointing toward a wall behind me.

Turning, I found an old painting of dogs playing poker. Cigars hung from their mouths. Beer bottles were scattered around. The style was a whole trend in art in the early 1900s.

“Everyone has their own taste,” I said, trying never to judge someone’s feelings on art. “Actually, depending on how old that is, it might be worth a decent amount of money.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to tell my uncle,” he said, looking more closely at the picture. “Good thing it’s behind glass, I guess. Everything in here is covered in smoke residue.”

“I’d be happy to do some cleaning around here for your uncle. I just don’t want to offer and make him feel uncomfortable.”

“That’s really sweet, doll. And I’ll pass that along for you. But I can pretty much tell you verbatim what his response to that will be.”

“What’s that?”

“‘I don’t need no fucking help around here. What do you think I am, some kind of…’ and then there will be a word, or string of words, that I won’t repeat.”

“I wish he would realize that we all need help sometimes,” I said. “But I won’t overstep. I just wanted to offer. I have to get to the store. Does William need me to get him anything?”

“Think I got it all covered,” he said, waving toward the bags that he hadn’t unpacked.

“Okay,” I said, starting to walk away, but turning back. “Hey, I’m sorry about snapping at you before.”

His head cocked to the side at that, his eyes warm. “Don’t apologize. Don’t blame you for being pissed. I wish I could do more too. Things are—“

“Levee? That you? The fuck are you doing here? Thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone,” William called, making Levee’s brows raise.

“Case in point,” he said.

“You’re a good nephew to keep coming, even though he doesn’t seem to appreciate it,” I told him. Maybe I’ll see you around,” I added, making my way out.

It wasn’t until I was collecting the reusable bags that I’d dropped that I finally took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm the little sparks of desire moving through me.

Maybe I would find some reason to run into this particular good-looking guy the next week.

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