Page 7 of The Marriage Sham
Chapter Four
Fen
As much as I don’t want to take it to heart, I have Betty’s words ringing in my head as I drive out to my house. I can’t go over to see Fra-, I mean Earl, until I’ve cleaned up a bit. And since I was on the fire line this morning, no sense in getting soot in the house. Might as well get the first layer of grime off in the yard. I rush through a shower and dress in a t-shirt and jeans (a nice, new, clean t-shirt…get off my back, Betty), before heading outside again. I walk across my property to Earl’s, coming around the front to knock on the front door like any good citizen.
But there’s no door to knock on. Just a giant box in the open doorway with a curious toilet picture on it and not a person to be seen. A fly zooms by me and enters the house unimpeded, leaving me scratching my head.
I knock on the screen door instead and call out, “Hello?”
The cicadas keep up their steady buzz, the only noise to mar the silence of dusk out here in the fields. I pop my head through the doorway and listen for sounds of life.
“Hell-“
“Hi!” A stunning woman slides around the corner in her socks, her deep auburn hair a wild mess on top of her head. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin has a sheen to it I’d call sweat, but would never be dumb enough to accuse a Southern woman of having. Maybe “glow” might be a better word. But whatever it is, it’s beautiful.She’sbeautiful.
Her brown eyes open wide as she stands there on the other side of the box, wringing her hands. I simply don’t have words, so caught up am I in cataloguing every exquisite feature, every change since when I saw her last.
“Can-can I help you?” She gives me a polite smile, her gaze dropping down to my torso before it flies back up to my face.
I pause, elated by her perusal and wondering what to say after ten years of no contact, but then it hits me like a ten-alarm fire to the face. She doesn’t know who I am. Her eyes are shuttered, the smile too polite to be from my old friend.
So I breathe through the stab to the heart, realizing with the cutting pain she meant more to me than I even knew. “How’s Earl doing?” I end the stare down by glancing at the box between us, remembering why I came over.
“He’s good, thank you. Just got him up in his wheelchair.” Her smile warms by degrees. “Are you the next door neighbor?” She runs a hand over her forehead, brushing stray strands of hair behind her ear.
She looks good. Like she did in high school, but enhanced. Like all her features have come out of hiding and pack a punch when you lay eyes on her. That’s the only explanation for the shortness of breath I’m experiencing at the moment. “Yeah, moved in about three years ago, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I run a hand through my hair, wondering why I just admitted to looking for her. I rush to continue, “I saw the ambulance the other day when I was leaving for work. Just got back today and wanted to see how I could help.”
“Oh, well, I think I’ve got things covered for now. Thank you though.”
I glance down at the box again. “I think this might be more useful in the bathroom. Want me to help you move it?”
She finally glances down and startles, like she forgot the box was there. Her cheeks flush again, and I think I’ve found a new obsession. “Yes! Yes, that would be great. I, ah, wedged it in there real nicely and couldn’t get it out.”
I bend down and grab the corner that looks stuck, lifting the whole box up and then turning it, getting it through the doorway with minimal fuss. “Downstairs bathroom?” I ask over my shoulder, already knowing my way through the house from my many visits with Earl over the years.
She hustles after me and, when I reach the bathroom, I set it down and whip out my pocket knife.
“Oh, I can get it from here.” She’s wringing her hands again, and I suddenly want to still her movements, calm her nerves, and take away her stress.
“Why don’t you do whatever it was you were doing when I interrupted you, and I’ll get this set up in here?” When I see her hesitate, I layer it on, meaning every word. “We’re neighbors in a small town. This is what we do. Please let me help.”
She stares at me a moment longer, then acquiesces with a regal head nod. “Thank you,” she murmurs before spinning around and hustling back to Earl’s bedroom.
I pull the seat out of the box, set it over the existing toilet, careful to not make a mess. After making sure it won’t wobble, I pack up the styrofoam and drag the box outside and around to the trash bin. I see two other cardboard boxes that must have contained medical equipment. Crushing all the boxes down, I jam them into the recycle bin and go back into the house.
Earl’s sitting in his wheelchair in the living room facing the television, Frances busy tucking a blanket around his legs.
“Earl! How you doing?” I clap him on the shoulder, careful not to jostle him too hard, fully conscious of Frances staring me down. I walk around front of him, brushing by her, enjoying the fleeting touch far too much. I sit down on the coffee table so I’ll be at his height for a little visit.
His face lights up and I see a slight pulling on the left side of his face, but a stranger wouldn’t have even noticed. “I’ve been mighty fine, boy. Just off flirting with the pretty nurses.”
He chuckles, and I join in. “I think you took the prettiest one home with you.” I don’t glance over at her, brave enough to say the words, but not enough to look her in the eye as I say them.
Earl leans forward and pats me on the knee. “I sure did. Lucky for you, she’s looking for a husband.” He waggles his eyebrows, and my heart trips over itself trying to process what he’s saying.
Frances gasps, and there go those cheeks again, bright as the red roses outside the front door. I stare at her, lost in what her granddaddy’s words might mean, and she stares right back at me, looking mortified and terrified. Which is usually how my dates look at me, but only after I’ve broken out the archeology jokes.
“Granddaddy! I amnotlooking for a husband right now. I need to be available to take care of you and run my business. You know that.”
