Page 58 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
To be clear, I’m not mad at him because he’s washing the dishes. I’m mad because that’smy job. He cooks nutritiously dense frittatas that are surprisingly tasty, and I wash the dishes. It keeps things fair. But the kitchen chair where he usually sits and jokes with me is currently occupied by my stupid swollen ankle.
I’d really hoped to be done with this purply nonsense by today so I could drive myself to volunteer, but no. I can barely put weight on my right foot, which means that pushing the gas—or more importantly, the brake pedal—is out of the question.
I shove myself up from the chair, using the crutch for balance. “You shouldn’t even be here today. It’s bad enough you took yesterday off. What about all the patients who didn’t get seen because you called out? You should be thinking about them. Not me.”
There’s no doubt that Van is an excellent doctor, but I’m sure that carrying patients from point A to point B is not standard care. Ever since we got home late Saturday night, he’s been treating me like his personal transport. I want to say it’s annoying, obtrusive, and borderline insulting, but it’sincredible.Van picks me up like I’m not five foot ten and packed full of hard-earned muscle, easily toting me from room to room.
“It’s not a problem. I’m new to the staff, so I’m just helping with overflow anyway,” Van says, resting his hip on the counter while drying his hands on a dish towel.
He’stemporarystaff, I remind myself. Van is only volunteering at the free care clinic located in the farm area of Pungo because in two more months, he’ll be back at his full-time job in Nashville.
Acid bubbles at the back of my throat, but it’s probably from the sriracha sauce I put on my eggs.
I take two hobbled steps away from him. “I said no. Don’t you know what ‘no’ means?”
Blame it on my throbbing ankle or that I couldn’t get comfortable for the third night in a row and slept horribly, but I’m extra snappy today. It could also be from the windstorm that slapped against the house all night long. Even now, ominous clouds churn outside the kitchen windows. At least the weather matches my foul mood.
“It can’t be that bad, Gen.” His lips tip up, just the hint of his dimple peeking through.
“What are you talking about?”
His smile only grows at my curt question, and I try to mediate my heart’s foolish response to the affectionate way he’s gazing at me. Why isn’t he annoyed that I’m crankier than a snapping turtle in a hailstorm?
“Wherever you’ve been slipping off to every Tuesday and Thursday. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you. Just let me drive so I know you’ll get there safely, then I’ll head to a café and get emails done until you need me to pick you up.”
Everything feels itchy. My skin is suddenly too tight, heat pricking down my neck. The impulse to bite, to lash out is right there, reliable as ever.I’ve always taken care of myself before. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.
Van crosses the short distance between us with slow, even strides. His eyes sweep my face before his fingertips graze my tight knuckles. I hadn’t noticed that I’d been squeezing the crutch with both hands.
“Darlin’.”
That’s it. One little word. One impossible nickname that I should have never allowed in the first place, and my shoulders sag, and a ragged breath escapes my tight lungs.
“Why are you so nice to me?”
The words leave my lips without my permission. I want to call them back instantly, to stomp away and pretend they never happened, but I wait instead. Van exhales, his palm gently cupping my cheek.
“Are you going to believe me if I tell you the truth?”
I bite the edge of my lip. “Probably not.”
Van huffs a small laugh as my doorbell rings. Then someone knocks…and then keeps knocking.
“Go away!” I bellow out of habit, and Van’s responding grin steals the breath from my lungs.
“I’ll get it.” He tucks those words against my temple before walking to the front door.
I expect it to be Carol, saying she wants to hash something out with me but really wanting to snoop as much as humanly possible, so when Joanna comes sailing through my repaired front door, I blink. She almost never comes to my house, mostly because there’s nothing here. To be fair, she doesn’t go to Noah’s one-bedroom bachelor condo either. Instead, we do monthly dinners at her house.
Though…now that I think about it, we haven’t done that since Van showed up on my doorstep.
“I have news,” she says after giving Van a quick hug and exchanging pleasantries. “Stacy found the ring.”
“Oh, good.” My tone is light, but my brain is fighting to remember the last time my surrogate mother looked this luminescent. She’s practically beaming in her denim shorts and flowy blouse, ever-present bangles tinkling on her wrist. Thebreeze seems to have tossed her curls into a playful windswept halo instead destroying her effortless style.
“It took her a while because she had to be discreet in her search. Stacy also said that there’s only cameras on the front and backyard doors, not the side entry to the garage,” Joanna tells us with a triumphant smile.
Sean’s report also detailed the external cameras, but I’ve got another question before I give her an edited version of that file’s information. The last thing Joanna needs to know is that Henry is still up to his old ways.
