Page 92 of That Conflicted Feeling
Whatpossessed me to thinkIcould put this thing up with just the screwdriver from the shop toolbox?Ofcourse, it’s not that quick and easy.
Christ,I’msuch an idiot.
I’vekept on keeping on for so long, opening the shop and supportingMom, that this sense of helplessness is new.
It’sembarrassing and humiliating, andIdon’t know what to do with it.
I’venever been so disappointed in myself.
Allthe stresses of knowing my business has no chance of survival, of seeingMomin pain and knowing there’s more to come, of allowing myself to fall for the perfect man who then rips out my heart just likeIknew he would, swirl together in a whirlpool of hurt before surging to the surface.
Ican’t keep it in any longer.Here, alone in the bathroom, sitting next to the final straw of the grab barIcan’t install, it all spills over.
Ipull up my knees and rest my head on them as my body shakes with silent sobs.
Ifmy dad were here, he’d fix it.He’dmake everything okay.
Youknow who else would fix it?
Max.
Notby being rich and throwing money at a handyman to do it.Butby sitting here on the floor with me, figuring it out with me, putting his arm around me, and supporting me.
Hewouldn’t have taken more time off than he’s done in years to fly us to the island if he hadn’t thought he’d found something even more important than work.
Hewouldn’t have been by my side at the hospital if he hadn’t wanted to support me and take care of me whenIwas so desperate with worry.AndIknow he’d never have left ifIhadn’t sent him away.
Andhe wouldn’t have looked so bewildered and helpless asIturned away from him afterTheFarmers’MarketMeltdownif he hadn’t truly believed that what he’d done was the right thing for his business.Maybeit’s not his fault that he’s been around the business philosophy of you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours for so long that giving lavish gifts to councilmembers seems like normal behavior to him.
Hiscompany was built on a burning desire to change his family’s life, to make sure his parents never have to worry again.So, he’d understand that allI’mtrying to do is take care ofMom.
Butwhere he’s succeeded,I’mfailing.
Ilet the last round of sobs drain from my body, lift my head, and wipe my face.
Imight be failing, but you know what?Atleast my morals and my social conscience are intact.Dadwould be proud of me for that.Andhe’d be proud of me for trying.
Ireach up, snatch some toilet paper from the roll, and blow my nose.
Right.Ineed to gather up this stuff and hide it beforeMomwakes up and sees it.
Thentomorrow,I’mgoing to buy a stud finder.
27
MAX
“Max?”Charlottecalls from behind me asIstand gazing out of my office window.
Idrag my glazed eyes away from the hawk that’s been circling the top of the building opposite for who knows how long and turn to look at her. “Noneed to yell.”
“Well, apparently there is, because that was the third timeI’dsaid your name.”Thebird must have hypnotized me. “Whatthe hell’s wrong with you?You’vebeen weird since you got back fromWarmSpringslast week.Likeyou’re in a trance.Isthere something in the water up there or something?”
Iruffle the carpet pile with my toe. “Something.”
Charlottemakes a long squeaky kind of gasp. “Ah!MaaaxDashwooood.”Shedraws out my name to five times its actual length.
Sheappears by my side and looks up at me, as shocked as if she’d caught me adding a sticky note in the wrong color to the wall planner.Exceptshe’s smiling. “Didyou meet agirl?Whoyou actuallyliked?”
