Page 87 of That Conflicted Feeling
Igrab the mop out of the bucket of hot soapy waterIfilled a few minutes ago and start to tackle the red stains on the floor caused by the shoe store owner’s little boy, who knocked over a basket of raspberries and stomped all over them.Itlooks like a crime scene.
Mom’sputting a brave face on her injury.Iknow it.Shesays she’s fine, but no arthritic woman with a broken leg can possibly be fine.
Andthis accident has brought thoughts about the future racing to the forefront of my mind.She’sonly going to get worse, not better.We’regoing to need grab bars and ramps and a downstairs bathroom sooner thanIhad anticipated.Andwhen the time comes,Lordknows howI’mever going to get her to accept she needs a walker.
Iguess we can all see whereIget my stubbornness and perseverance from.
Themop seems to be spreading the raspberry stains around rather than removing them.
Ilean on the handle and take in the hustle and bustle of everyone setting up in the street outside.
Farmersfrom outside ofWarmSprings, local food producers and artisans, and makers of small batch honey, preserves, and pickles are all busy setting out their offerings in the morning sunshine.
Inthe same way that theNewYearmarks a fresh start for many people, the first farmers’ market always offers me that same hope and promise for the seasons ahead.Myeyes settle onEdandVerasharing a joke as they pile their stand high with broccoli.
Thenmy heart pauses for a beat, as the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man moves in to chat with them.Itjolts back to life at many times its usual pace, and my stomach flips, sending a wave of heat washing through me.
Therehe is.Theman of my dreams, whoIsent away two days ago, just hours after he told me he wanted me to be part of his reality.
Yes, his words filled me with a newly discovered form of joy and made me look forward to the future more thanI’ddone in years, butIwas swept up in the moment, not thinking or being practical.Imean, how could my brain possibly do its best work while my bare flesh was pressed against his between those luscious sheets as the gentle breeze wafted in off the lake?
Sometimesyou have to let your head rule your heart.Thisis one of those times.EventhoughMaxstuck right by my side and raced with me to the hospital without thinking—the exact opposite of shittyMichaelrefusing to go with me when my dad was sick.Andeven though the hurt on his face as he bowed his head and walked out ofMom’shospital room ripped me in two.
Ihave to be strong.
ForMom’ssake.
Butthere he is, the picture of charm itself as he shakes hands and chats withEd,Vera, and the other farmers.
Helooks so much more at home now than he did the morning he climbed out of the back of his car all straitlaced and buttoned up in a suit and unhooked me from the doorway.
Today, his plaid shirt is rolled back at the cuffs, revealing the strong forearms that have wrapped around my waist and pulled me to him, and his jeans sit snug against the thighsIstroked as we lay naked in bed and he opened up about his family and told me his deepest of secrets.
Myheart surges with love and lust, but my blood runs cold knowingIhave to prioritize my mom, not my own feelings.Theconflict is too deep.
WhileImight have kidded myself in the moment yesterday thatIcould have both,Mom’sbroken leg has shown meIcan’t.
Hissmile, the brightness in his face, his ease with the farmers as they point to their produce and answer his questions, that’s who he is.Notthe big business mogul but the man who can get along with everyone.
He’snot the bossy leader who pushed his brothers and cousins to make their fortunes.He’sthe scared ten-year-old listening to his dad sob about their money worries, who grew up determined to make sure that never happens to anyone he loves ever again.
He’snot the heartless wheeler and dealer.
He’sthe man who carries the responsibility for his family on his shoulders, who’s worked so hard for so long that it’s now a habit he doesn’t know how to quit.
Butit doesn’t alter the fact that he’s trying to bring a giant, ugly store toMainStreetthat would ruin me and wreck all my plans to make the shop a success soIcan take care ofMomand secure a future for us both.
Mychest rises asItake a huge breath to try to calm my racing pulse.
Thecouncil’s vote is coming up, and while the protest and the petition seem to have had some impact,I’mnot confident it’ll go my way.
Yesterday,Ibumped into a councilmember who works at the hospital.Shetold me she’s a definite “no” vote.Butshe’s the only one who’s told me that for certain.
Itear my eyes away fromMaxas he picks up one ofAngus’scandles, sniffs it, and asks him a question.Igo back to mindlessly sliding the red raspberry mush pointlessly around the floor.
Thefamiliarker-clunkofMrs.Bentley’swalker gradually gets louder behind me, andIturn to see her coming through the door.
“Fixedthe nail.”Ipoint at the spot where the offending item that’s ended up causing more trouble thanIcould ever have imagined was located.
