Page 12 of Plunge

When I hear a knock at the door, I assume it’s the gals coming to fetch my mother, so I don’t think twice about opening the door with no bra, wearing flannel pajama bottoms.

My stomach clenches when I see Archer Crawford on my stoop. “Um, hi?”

“Hey, Thistle. Good to see you again.” He’s got his hair combed to the side and is wearing a suit.

“Are you going to church or something?” I raise a brow at him. The Archer I remember was always wearing gym shorts and maybe a polo shirt if all of his workout tanks were in the wash. But then I remember last night, that the people I knew as teenagers have all grown into adults. Maybe Archer’s a suit guy now.

“Church? Nah. Hey, can I come in for a few minutes? I need to ask you something.” Archer pulls a hand from behind his back, revealing a bouquet of—what else? Thistles.

“You’re not here to ask me on a date are you?” I fold my arms across my chest as I step aside to let him in. I’m suddenly very aware of my braless nipples and having Archer in the house makes me uncomfortable. He shakes his head with a laugh as a gang of middle-aged women arrives on the stoop.

“Morning, Thistle,” they holler, squeezing past Archer. “Teresa, you ready? Let’s get you in your coat.” The group of them bustle past us and I see my mother beaming in the living room as she slowly makes her way to the hall closet. Mary Pat holds out a cane with a tennis ball on the end. The whole thing flashes with electric twinkle lights.

Archer takes in the scene and leans awkwardly against the wall in the hallway. “Let me throw on a robe really quick,” I tell him, wondering why I didn’t say I was going to change or why I wasn’t feeling more embarrassment. As I slip into an old terrycloth bathrobe, I decide it’s the hangover.

I find Archer at the table in the kitchen, the house otherwise empty. It’s an odd feeling, after weeks of taking constant care of my mother. I sit down and enjoy the silence for a minute until Archer clears his throat. “So,” he says. “I was wondering if you wanted a job.”

Turns out Archer is the only CPA in town and is in over his head at work. He’s looking for someone part time, “maybe only temporary, I don’t know,” he asserts. “Look, Thistle, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends and you’ve gotta be going crazy in here all the time. Right?”

I open and close my mouth a few times, not sure what to say in response to that. In truth, he’s absolutely correct. I’m losing my damn mind here in Oak Creek. Caregiving was never on my agenda for anyone, and here I am taking notes at physical therapy appointments and helping my mother through speech exercises.

Plus, I’ve been placed on leave from my job. I haven’t really given much thought to my options once my bonus check runs out. Archer explains that his work is mostly focused on quarterly tax preparations for small business owners. Quite a change of pace from the high-pressure world of international mergers for major corporations.

Archer asks me if I’d like to take over his “sin and vice” clients—a medical marijuana business, Tessy’s bar, and a pawn shop, among others. I smile into my coffee mug, laughing at his joke.

“All right,” I tell him before I can overthink it. “When do you need me to start?”

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