Page 5 of Jeremy
Imust fall back to sleep because the next time I open my eyes, sunlight floodsmy bedroom. Things have a way of looking better in the morning, so I try toshake off the nightmare and get on with my day.
Ispend my morning in my studio, putting the final coat on the walls. I decide tohave my lunch on the back deck and soak in some sun before getting back towork. There hasn’t been a peep from next door, so I’m surprised to see a mansitting on the dock. Amos explained that I share it with the neighbor.
Ican’t tell much about him from this distance, but he’s definitely in shape,lean and muscled. He isn’t fishing or swimming, just sitting on the dock with hisfeet in the water. I feel like a stalker watching him, but there’s somethingabout him that I can’t put my finger on. He doesn’t swing his legs or splashhis feet in the water at all. He’s not looking around or taking in hissurroundings. He just sits perfectly still, gazing into the lake.
It’spossible he feels my creepy stare, because when he does look up, his eyes arepointed straight at me. Great. He’s going to think I was spying on him. Forcinga smile that he’s probably too far away to see, I wave at him.
Jumpingto his feet, he stalks across the dock as if it’s personally offended him andjogs up his steps. The closer he gets, the more I can’t take my eyes off ofhim. His body is amazing and that intense look on his face awakens something inme. He spares me only a glance, and his jaw tightens before he disappears intohis house.
Damn.He acts like I pissed in his Spaghetti O’s or something. Sighing, I finish offmy sandwich. I shouldn’t be surprised I’m attracted to him. Assholes seem to bemy type. It’s how I got myself into trouble in the first place. Yeah, I’ll beavoiding this one.
Lonelinesssuddenly settles over me. I realize I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, butI’m also used to being surrounded by people twenty-four hours a day. It used todrive me crazy, but to go to the opposite situation, plunged into solitude,isn’t easy either. I’ve spent so long learning not to feel, blocking outanything that even resembles an emotion, that I feel overwhelmed by them atleast once a day.
Insteadof distracting myself today, I let the sadness wash over me. It triggers anurge I haven’t had in too long. A desire to paint, to create, to let it pourout onto canvas. I don’t have the supplies for that, though, so I lean a largepiece of wood against the side of the house. It’s about five feet tall andthree feet wide. I have no idea what it was intended for, but when I found itin the shed, I figured I could put it to some use.
Grabbingthe buckets of green and brown house paint I’ve purchased, I fall into the zoneand get to work. Time stops moving, or maybe it speeds up. I can’t tell,because it always seems like I’m outside of everything, disconnected from theuniverse when this feeling takes hold. There’s no future to worry about or pastto mourn. Just me and the present moment, where everything is exactly as itshould be.
Bythe time I’m finished, my back and arm muscles ache, and I’m splashed withpaint. I could probably run into the woods and be perfectly camouflaged. Feelinglighter than I have in weeks, I set the painting in the shed and head inside toshower. Tomorrow, I’ll make a trip for art supplies.
Exhausted,I fall into bed. I have workmen coming tomorrow to tear out the carpet and restorethe hardwood underneath in the living room and bedrooms. I also need to have ayard sale to rid myself of some of the furniture and odds and ends Amos’sfamily left behind since he doesn’t want any of it.
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Thelast few weeks have kept me busy, but it’s been worth it. The house looksbetter than ever, though I still have a lot of work to do. After doublechecking with Amos that he doesn’t want anything from the house, I’ve arrangeda yard sale, and hired a young man from down the road to help me. Walsh isseventeen and trying to earn some pocket money, so I promise him a hundreddollars for helping me out, plus twenty-five percent of the money I make today.He’s thrilled with the opportunity, since he can also sell some of his ownstuff.
Thesun is barely up when we carry the furniture out onto the lawn. There were alsoboxes of clothing, knickknacks, and household items stored in the attic thatare now displayed on folding tables across my yard. I’ve arranged for a charityshop to pick up whatever is left over from the sale tomorrow morning.
Amosdrops off Agnes so she can hang out with me today and help keep an eye onthings. Agnes walks up carrying a huge box of donuts. “I brought breakfast!”
Takingthe donut she offers me, I grin at her. “You and Amos sure spend a lot of timetogether now.”
Sheflaps her hand at me. “That old man is crazy.”
“Aboutyou, it seems. Are you seeing him?”
Agnestakes a seat on the picnic table. “Nah, we’re just sleeping together. Now, howcan I help?”
Walshchokes on his donut, and I laugh as he tries to hide his reaction with a quickdrink of water. Agnes may appear all sweet and innocent, but she’s nothing ofthe sort.
“Everythingis set up. We’re just waiting on customers. I ran an ad in the paper and put upsigns.”
Itdoesn’t take long for people to start showing up. Agnes sits at a table andcollects the money while Walsh and I help people load up their purchases. Thefurniture is in good shape so most of it sells quickly.
Theday has gone smoothly and we’re just about to wrap things up when theneighbor’s door flies open. The man I saw on the dock stumbles out, and mybreath catches. He’s changed over the past few weeks and not for the better.His hair is overgrown and messy, and he apparently hasn’t shaved in weeks. He’sthinner, and his face has a gray hue.
Makinghis way down the steps and across the yard, he slurs, “What the hell is allthis noise? I’m trying to sleep. I didn’t move here for more bullshit racket.”
Iassume the noise he’s referring to was from the two men who have just left. Thesmell of liquor reaches me before he does.
“Ifyou’re referring to the hammering, they’re done. Two guys just had todisassemble some furniture, so it’d fit in their truck,” I tell him.
Helooks around. “What are you, hard up for money? You got to bring all thesepeople onto my property to sell shit?”
Myface heats with anger as he pulls a wad of bills from his pocket and throwsthem at my feet. “There, you need money, you got it. Now, shut this shit down.”
Glaringat him, I straighten my spine. “This isn’t your fucking property. It’s mine. Soyou can get your drunk ass off of it!” I demand.
Hisfeet tangle, and he almost goes down. His eyes scan me up and down, and a smallsmile lifts his lips. “Tough talk from a tiny little thing. Cute, though. Maybeyou can make it up to me.”
