Page 32 of Until Landon
She watches and listens without interruption. When I spit it all out and take a breath, she hesitates with a comment.
“What? What are you thinking?” I ask.
“I could help.”
“How?”
“I’m between jobs right now. Hunter is never home and Ronnie likes my company. I like him. I could stay over on the nights you work late. Just until Stacy comes. In the guest room of course.”
“You’d be willing to do that?”
“Yes. I can make sure he eats right too. I’m not afraid of emptying a urinal or cleaning what needs to be cleaned. I have experience with all that it takes when you are disabled. I know how far to push someone to exercise. And above all, it would be helping the friend who helped me when I didn’t know where to turn. It’s gratitude and payback. And it’s just for a little while.”
I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a great one. But this could save our asses.
“This is what I was looking for, Landon. A job with purpose.”
“We would pay you though. I don’t know how much but we could figure it out.”
“No. It’s only for a week or two! Forget about the pay.”
“Thank you. Let me sleep on it and we can pass it by Ronnie tomorrow when he is conscious.”
She looks pleased and sends a beautiful smile as added incentive.
“Did you like the enchiladas?”
“Delicious. I’m stuffed. Are you trying to make me fat?” I say, patting my stomach.
Her eyes fall on my torso and she smiles.
“Lift up your shirt. Show me.”
Really? Oh yes. I’ll show you. Without hesitation I pull the fabric up and show her what she asks to see. The core exercises have paid off. Glad I stayed at it now. Slowly, she gives a review.
“Well done,” she says, lifting an eyebrow.
“Now you,” I say, lowering the shirt.
“What? No!”
“That isn’t fair. I did as you asked without question.”
She dries her hands and turns against the counter. There is one glance at my father, just to make sure he is in a sleep coma. Then with a grin, and without further hesitation, she very slowly lifts the colorful T-shirt that tops a low-slung pair of white pants.
It is just belly button and waist, but I cannot help thinking of more. What hides a few inches down, or up is taunting me. It looks so fucking touchable. She does a little dance in place to the saxophone and piano instrumental playing in the background. Higher and higher the fabric slides over alabaster skin. But when it reaches the edge of the bright pink bra peeking out, she stops.
“Fuck.” That says just about everything I am thinking.
“Right back at you.”
The shirt goes down, she turns and resumes washing the dishes. Like nothing just happened. But I don’t feel the same. Coming up behind her, I encircle her waist and clasp hands in front of her. I lean in.
“Now I have you.”
“It’s a possibility.”
She turns and faces me.
