Page 40 of No Kind of Hero
“Then,” she said, “hurry up and fix my tape—wire—cutter thingie for me so I can get back to work.”
He did, which took about two seconds, and then he said, “If you’re bound and determined to do the edging, how about if I rake these grass cuttings?” He didn’t mention that she could’ve just attached the bag to the back of the mower and avoided that step. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be well received. Women were funny that way, getting all offended just because you offered them a helpful tip for doing the job more efficiently. So he didn’t say it. Instead, he said, “Do you have to do everything, or can a guy give you a hand with this New Beth project?”
“You already gave me a hand. You already got me on my way, trust me.” She’d crouched down with Gracie and was helping her pat Henry. Evan wanted to grab Gracie out of there, but the dog was wagging his tail gently, his ears relaxed, standing still, so maybe . . . Evan was halfway between “stay” and “go” when Beth saw him looking and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. He loves kids.” She stood up anyway. “I should have asked you, though. Sorry.”
“Seems OK,” he said. “And yeah, I remember giving you a hand. Worked out just fine for me, and I want to give you another one. I’m getting the rake.”
“What about Gracie?”
“I’ll get her blanket and her toys, and she can sit in the shade and supervise. Also,” he said, picking up the grease-stained paper bag he’d nearly forgotten about and waggling it in a tempting fashion, “I have burgers and fries. When you do blue-collar work, you bring your lunchbox.”
Beth didn’t do a perfect job on the edging. In fact, there were a couple fairly enormous scars afterwards, places where she’d gotten a little enthusiastic and “edged” all the way down to the dirt. But then, Russell’s place wasn’t exactly Buckingham Palace. The main thing was that she’d stuck to it, a frown of concentration on her face, doing her best as always. And when she was done? She coiled the cord neatly around the edger, came over to where Evan was finishing bagging up trimmings, hunkered down in the tank top and short shorts that were a whole lot more sweat- and grass-stained than they had been a few hours earlier, and held the garbage bag for him.
He got the last piles of cuttings in there, tied it closed, gave her a hand to pull her to her feet, and didn’t let it go. Instead, he ran his thumb over the scratched knuckles and said, “You’re one hell of a hard worker. And I like your redneck style.”
“So you think it was a good move, coming here?” she asked. “My mom didn’t. Surprise.”
He would have answered that, but Gracie, who’d been stacking her cups on Henry’s back, since the dog was lying so conveniently close beside her in the shade, had now decided to crawl on top of him by using his ear as a handhold. Evan got there in a couple strides to swoop her up and told Beth, “Maybe we won’t push his good nature.”
Gracie was drippy again, and when he reached for a cloth diaper and wiped her nose, she banged on his chest some more, squawked, and reached for Henry. He told her, “I don’t think so. Bath, bottle, and bed for you, squirt.”
“Does this mean I have to eat my burger by myself?” Beth asked. “I might not be your dream girl at this moment, but I did buy beer this morning, and we could put those burgers in the oven. If you don’t like forward women, we could call this the ‘friends’ part of the day. I could scrub the tub, too, if you wanted to give Gracie a bath here.” She crouched down as she spoke, put Gracie’s toys in the diaper bag, and concentrated on folding up her play quilt. Like she’d said too much. Like she’dcaredtoo much.
“Nah,” Evan said. “I like forward women. I like beer, too, and Gracie likes Russell’s tub. And no matter what I said back when I was stupid, the ‘friends’ part works for me.”
“Oh. Uh . . .” She stood there holding his diaper bag and a baby blanket, looking messy as hell and just that confused.
“Wait,” he said. “I mean it workstoo.Not that I don’t want the other part.” He shook his head. “Man, I’m way out of practice. Here’s the deal. I’m thinking that once I give Gracie her bath, you might want to take a shower yourself. And I’m wondering what your robe looks like, and thinking you might curl up on the couch with me and watch a little TV while we eat those burgers. I’m guessing that could be pretty sweet. And I want it.”
She smiled, nice and slow and happy, her hair a mess and grass stains on her knees, not like any wound-tight, held-back, too-thin Beth Schaefer he’d seen lately, and said, “I could end up with my legs in your lap. I like to stretch out. But I like romantic old movies, and I’m sure you like hockey.”
“Hockey season’s over,” he said, ignoring that dangerous warmth around his heart. “Put me to the test. I bet I’ll pass.”
Nothing about this evening, Beth thought a half hour later, was anything she’d conjured up for her breakdown. No French-accented playboy leaning across a white tablecloth in his perfectly cut black suit coat, pouring her another glass of red wine and smiling into her eyes. No New Zealand ski instructor complimenting her on her daring on the slopes, then bringing her an Irish coffee in front of a crackling stone fireplace. And definitely no cleansing, no meditation, and no journaling.
It was so much better, because instead of some nerve-wracking game player or a bunch of navel-gazing she’d never have managed anyway, it was real. It was Evan. Evan, who, when she came into the living room to join him, looked up from the couch where he was giving Gracie her bottle and said, “No robe.” His eyes dropped, and hedidn’tsay “No bra.” But he was sure looking.
“Nope. Sorry.” She never flounced, but she flounced a little now in another ribbed tank—white this time, which was perhaps unfortunate, or fortunate, from the “transparency” standpoint—and some very tiny gray fleece shorts. She tossed her still-wet hair over her shoulder like no woman she’d ever been and said, “I’m sure I shouldn’t say this in front of Gracie, but I don’t wear anything to bed, and I don’t wear a robe. But you must want to take a shower too,” she added before he could react to that. “I just put the burgers and fries in the oven. Maybe I could finish feeding Gracie, if you want to get more comfortable.”
“I could have a quick one and grab a T-shirt and some shorts out of Russell’s drawer, I suppose,” he said. “Since we’re making ourselves at home. If you’re going to put your legs across my lap, I could want to be clean for that.”
“You could. Or I might not do it, and wouldn’t that be sad?” She took Gracie from him, and the little girl opened her big blue eyes, smiled around the bottle, then settled down to the serious business of finishing her evening meal as Beth sat on the couch, tucked one foot under herself, and got comfortable.
Evan headed off, and in a minute or two, Beth heard the water running in the shower and wondered if it had sounded as homey to him when she’d been in there as it did to her right now. Just knowing you weren’t going to be alone tonight. Although he wasn’t alone, not like her. He had Gracie.
Surely, though, that could make you feel even more alone sometimes. How scary would it be to love somebody as much as he loved Gracie? Somebody this precious, and this helpless?
The baby had her eyes closed and was stroking her own hair as she drank, rubbing her hand over it as if she too loved the silky-softness of it. Her toes curled and uncurled like she had to express her pleasure with her entire body, and her thighs were so perfectly and deliciously chubby. Beth took one of those pumping feet in her hand and rubbed gentle fingers over the tiny toes, and Gracie smiled again without opening her eyes. That was security.
The plastic bag inside the bottle was empty, so Beth set it on the coffee table. She didn’t know how to do this, except that maybe she did. More or less. Gracie was snuffly again, so Beth pulled a tissue from the box and wiped her nose. There. That wasn’t so hard. Gracie rubbed at her eye with a fist, squirmed, and made a complaining noise, and Beth asked her, “You sleepy? Huh? Time for bed?”
You rocked babies, but there wasn’t a rocking chair here. “You know what,” she told Gracie, who was doing some more squirming, “we’re going to improvise.”
She didn’t have a bad voice, but she didn’t have a good voice, either, which was why she saved her singing for when she was alone. But a baby who snuggled, warm and solid, into your arms as you swayed and danced across the living-room carpet? A dog who’d curled up in the corner, but opened one brown eye and tapped the very end of his tail just because you were looking at him? They wouldn’t mind your singing.
So she sang. She closed her eyes, held Gracie close, and opened the locked box inside her heart. She let herself remember that whole last summer, her memory of it forever scented by the roses Evan had brought her every single time they’d been together. Every time he’d stood beneath her window, every time she’d met him at the movie theater or at the beach in the midsummer twilight. A white rose or a yellow one. Pink or red or lavender, all of them cut at the nursery where he’d worked a second job that summer. The flowers he’d picked for her.
She’d loved how good he’d been to her. She’d loved his roses, the way he’d kissed her, the way he’d touched her hand. And at some level, the level where you had to face the truth, she knew she’d taken him for granted. She hadn’t thought about his feelings enough, and she hadn’t let herself look into the future. He’d been so strong, and she hadn’t thought about the ways he might need her or the ways she could hurt him. Not until it was too late.
