Page 13 of Roads Behind Us
“Of course not,” I snapped. How embarrassing! Was this what my life had been reduced to, being cared for by my little girl like I was ninety-five? “Sorry, baby. I meant no thank you. I’ve got it. Go ahead, get ready for school. Sweetie and I’ve got things covered down here.”
“Her name is Bea, Daddy. She doesn’t like her nickname.”
“You don’t?” I asked, looking up at Sweetie, surprised Athena had picked up on it.
Sweetie pursed her lips and shook her head. “Funny your kid figured that out in one conversation over a laptop, but you’ve known me two years and it never occurred to you a woman wouldn’t like to be called Cupcake or Sweetie Pie?”
I winced. “Shit. I hear it now. Sorry.”
Athena turned again, looking back and forth between Sweet—between Bea and me.
“What’s so bad about that?” she asked. “My mama’s name was Candy.”
Regret washed over Bea’s features in an instant. “There’s nothin’ wrong with your mama’s name, Athena. I didn’t mean to imply that there was. I’m sorry. A person’s name is their name, and they can and should be proud of it, whatever it is.
“But mine is a nickname, and my problem with it is that men have often nicknamed women after foods or animals because they think it makes them sound like the dominant person in the room. But I am almost always the most dominant person in the room or the person in charge, so it’s just a stupid joke that they nicknamed me Sweetie.”
“Oh.” Athena twisted her lips, thinking it over, but then she smiled. She was a good judge of character. She always had been. She knew Bea wasn’t making fun of her mama’s name.
“Okay.” Athena skipped over to the staircase and then charged up. We heard her turn on the shower and stomp around her room, deciding what to wear as the water heated up.
I wondered how long I had left until the sweet softness of childhood disappeared from my daughter’s expressions and the hardness of teenaged angst took over.
“Sorry,” Bea said again.
“Really, it’s okay. You didn’t know. And I’m sorry. My brother always calls you Sweetie. I guess I assumed you were cool with the nickname.”
“Now you know.”
“Got it,” I said, tapping the side of my head with my index finger, like it was a locked vault.
She held out her hand, nodding to the rat’s nest on top of my head. “C’mon, you look like you just woke up. I’m sure you need to pee.”
With an awkward laugh, I accepted the assistance and took her hand. The pain could be unbearable in the mornings before I’d had a chance to load up on ibuprofen, and that was when I hadn’t tried to walk on my leg.
Maybe having help wasn’t the weakness I’d always thought it was. I’d accepted my brother’s and Rye’s help with the ranch and the cabin business, and that had been going really well. But I hadn’t had help around the house—female help—since Candy passed. Other than my mother, I hadn’t let anyone get close enough to me or Athena for that.
Besides my sister, thinking about someone else trying to mother my daughter made me angry. No one could replace Candy. Not even a sexy, green-eyed contractor my brother trusted fully.
But Bea hadn’t come all the way to Wisper to try to move in on my family, I reminded myself. In fact, in my head, I could hear the things she’d probably shouted at Brand when he asked her to come here. She was probably the last person I’d think to ask for help, but here she was, helping me anyway.
Bea pulled me up onto my good foot, and I bent to grab my crutches leaning against the side of the couch. She walked ahead of me, motioning to the bathroom door with a swing of her arm. “Bathroom?”
“Yep,” I said as I followed slowly, trying not to fall over. “Thanks, but I can take a leak on my own.”
“Mm-hm.”
She flipped on the light and then dug through the medicine cabinet for my toothbrush and paste. I’d been keeping them in the downstairs bathroom just for the ease, plus, the tub was in there. Dragging myself upstairs wasn’t my favorite thing to do at the moment. It took too long, and the standing shower was of no use to me anyway. The doctor had said I could shower, as long as I used a cast cover, but the standing part was the issue. On one leg in a slippery shower stall? Uh, no thanks. If I broke my other leg ’cause I lost my balance and slipped, I’d be in a wheelchair for the foreseeable future, and then I’d really be screwed.
Twisting the hot-water knob on the sink, Bea let the water flow over her hand as it warmed up, and the need to relieve myself made its presence known. If I could’ve hopped up and down, I would’ve.
She looked at the chips in the enamel on the side of the old sink, the yellowing grout between the tiles surrounding the tub, and the ancient toilet I’d been meaning to replace for years. “This bathroom needs a facelift.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. The whole house needed one. It hadn’t been updated since my parents had lived here years ago. “Brand keeps sayin’ he’s gonna do it, but he’s got so much on his plate.”
“Can’t you do it? I mean, once your leg heals?” When the water was hot, she turned on the cold water and swiped her hand beneath till she was satisfied with the temperature, still scrutinizing my dingy downstairs bathroom.
“You know,” I said, “people have been brushin’ their teeth with cold water since the dawn of time.”
