Page 30 of Lovingly Restored

With absolute competence and strength, she lifts Mummo to standing and leads her indoors, murmuring comforting words and promises of hot tea in her ear. I’m left alone on the swing, rolling my neck and groaning at the stiffness settling into my shoulders. Mummo’s words are on repeat in my head. How many times has this happened? Has she spoken like this to Dad? Was an episode like this the catalyst for hiring Ashlyn? Mummo’s behaviour fills me with questions and overwhelms me with respect for Ashlyn. The interaction drives home how needed she is. Having a relationship with Ashlyn could be a mistake. A breakup could compromise Mummo’s care. She needs her job, I need the workshop, and I need some damn focus. I won’t jeopardize that for any of us.

Chapter twelve

Ashlyn

Ifthere’sonethingI’ve learned from my mom’s career, and now my own, it’s that each day in health care has the potential to be different. Some are easy, some funny, some sad, some hard. Unfortunately for all the people living in this house, we’ve had about a dozen of the hardest days all shoved together. Mrs. Lauri’s hallucinations of her late husband got worse before they got better. Sitting in doctors’ offices, standing in pharmacy line ups; life the past few weeks has been a never-ending waiting room. However hard it was for me, I know it was harder for her and Isaac. Even with the respite nurse coming in for a few shifts while I escaped back to my apartment to sleep and take care of my mental health, I’m frazzled. Isaac has tried to support her, to support me in whatever way he can. The way he watches over her, visiting as much as his work allows, shows me my assumptions about him being a detached relative were so wrong.

Isaac and I have endured the pressure from all sides. His work, my work, caring for the house. Instead of crumbling under the weight, it seems the wrinkles in our confusing relationship have smoothed. He looks at me like I’m a miracle worker half the time, when I’m simply doing my job. What I’m paid for. An unspoken truce formed between us. That, and we’re too tired to acknowledge the currents of magnetism that still swirl around. Darting glances at each other in the bathroom mirror when we brush our teeth side by side. Goosebumps that raise along my arms when he brushes past me in the kitchen during breakfast. Gravelly goodnights when I watch him disappear down the dark hall to his bedroom while I sit in the living room watching home renovation shows. Isaac stopped being an inconvenience long ago. Now he’s an exercise in self-restraint.

I curl up on my bed with a warm tea, rubbing my eyes and groaning at the grittiness behind my lids. The tiny font of the flower seed germination guide in my lap blurs again. Fed up with my forlorn looks and sighs of sadness as I gazed at the backyard, Mummo finally told me to do what I pleased with the space, offering me a hearty ‘good luck’. I’ll need it now that spring is here. When I find a spare moment, I’m going to slice my way so hard through those weeds they won’t know what hit them. Stretching and yawning, I turn up the music in my earbuds and dance my way off my bed, snagging my towel off the back of the door and trying to summon an iota of energy. The original jadeite green fixtures in the only bathroom in this house are dated as hell, and I love them. Off-white hex tiles cover the floor except for the fluffy grey rugs placed strategically to keep our feet warm and dry. I turn the knob and get a couple steps inside the bathroom before the wall of humidity hits me. The large silhouette behind the semi-opaque shower curtain stops me in my tracks. I cut the music that prevented me from hearing the running water. The overhead fan hums steadily, losing the battle against the swirling steam. Isaac’s head peeks over the curtain rod. The house is not scaled for him, and I bet he needs to stoop to avoid the shower nozzle. My breath whooshes out of me, and it’s a struggle to pull more into my lungs. The correct reaction is vacating the room, not standing here and considering the stature of the person in the shower. Not that I’m thinking about hissize. Except now I am.

God, what a perv.

“Fucking plants everywhere,” he says while shaking a leaf off his wet fingers over the top of the curtain rod.

I hug my towel to my chest like maybe it will keep my heart from hammering its way out.

“I appreciate your desire to preserve water by showering with a friend, but let’s save that for summer water restrictions, babe.”

Babe? What happened to Ash? I like the way it sounds way more than I should. He peers around the edge of the curtain, thoroughly amused and not embarrassed in the slightest. Why would he be with a body like that? Beads of moisture pepper my forehead, and it’s not the result of the humidity in the air. My response, frankly, is ridiculous because all I really see is his wet face and an adamantine arm.

“Jesus,” I whisper.

“Whatcha praying for?”

For something heavy to fall on me.

“I’ll go.” I take a miniature step backwards.

“You don’thaveto go if you don’t want to.”

The statement is awfully close to a challenge, and it snaps me out of my stupor.

“I think you have the water too hot; the steam seems to be going to your head,” I scoff.

“Which one?”

“Isaac!”

He roars with laughter because, yet again, he’s managed to get a rise out of me. I back out, slamming the door behind me, muffling his laughter. How will I ever forget that image? That man is a distraction and a half. Yesterday, I found myself with pruney fingers and a sink full of lukewarm dishwater thanks to his masculine wiles. Isaac and his friend, Chris, who’s equally easy on the eyes, were hauling lumber from Isaac’s truck to the workshop. Apparently, I can’t multitask quite as well as I thought when someone is hefting huge planks around like they’re kindling for a campfire. These daydreams are obviously fuelled by a serious lack of balance. A crush on an attractive man borne out of forced proximity and circulating pheromones. I need a night out.

That evening, the sky is dusky, mourning doves finally quieting down in their nests. I settle onto the porch swing and let it sway me. Soothed by the silent gliding motion, I draw up my knees and savour the moment. This has become my favourite spot in the house. Anna’s face appears on my phone screen, and my lips curl into a grin as I accept the video call.

“Hey, sweetie. What’s up?”

“Not much. Enjoying the new porch swing.”

“Aw, I saw the pictures you sent. It’s really pretty. Must be nice to have a handyman at your beck and call.”

I wish. The thought pops into my mind.

I lower my voice and the volume on my phone, not wanting to be overheard. “He’s different than I thought.”

“How so?”

Flirtatious. Headstrong. Gorgeous.

“I don’t know. He’s not as grumpy anymore.” I let my head tip back, releasing a foot so I can push myself into motion again.

---