Page 8 of Bit's Bliss
I rolled over when daylight streamed through the window. By then, Eberly was no longer beside me. No doubt she’d already gone home. I rubbed my neck where her hand had been, knowing her absence was for the best, but wishing it wasn’t.
4
EBERLY
My father’s car wasn’t in the garage when I pulled mine in, and while I breathed a sigh of relief, I remembered him saying he was dropping Nancy off and coming home.
Even if he had been here, it wasn’t like he’d get up and ask me why I was rolling in at four in the morning, in the same way, when I’d see him later, I wouldn’t ask where he’d been.
I was eighteen when my mother died, and that fall, I left for college in the northern part of the state. Sometimes, I came home for breaks, but more often, I traveled with friends. When I graduated, I hadn’t planned to be home longer than a visit.
Shortly after, though, I’d started dating Tiernan. It made no sense to get a place of my own since, early on, he’d made it clear his intention was for us to marry. Once we were, he said I’d move in with him. That he hadn’t wanted me to until then, evenafter we were engaged, should’ve bothered me more than it did. Or worried me. Instead, it hadn’t fazed me in the slightest.
Once upstairs, I wriggled out of the ridiculously uncomfortable dress I’d been wearing for close to ten hours, removed my makeup, and got in the shower, letting the hot water soothe my sore shoulders.
As much as I hadn’t wanted to leave Trevino, I knew he’d be uncomfortable if he woke up and I was still there. As it was, I’d lingered too long. He’d slept most of the night, which based on my experience with my mom, meant his migraine pain had eased.
So why had I stayed? Because I knew Monday morning, when I showed up for work, Trevino would put the distance between us that I’d grown accustomed to. That would be if I saw him at all. More than likely, he’d avoid me for as long as he could, and that would be okay too. I had work to do, mostly getting the gardens ready for spring, when the event business would pick up again.
Soon, it would be time to plant the bulbs that would grow and bloom in March and April, but for the time being, there were several native plants and cool-season annuals I could get started.
Being outdoors, even when the weather was chilly, was a boon for my soul. Planting flowers and vegetables was something my mother and I had done together from the time I was a child. Dad reminded us more than once that we had several people on the vineyard payroll who could do it for us. Mom and I got to the point where we ignored him rather than mention again how much we enjoyed doing it. Trevino had said the same thing to me the day I showed up dressed to spend my shift “playing in the dirt,” as I’d told him.
“Do you want some help?” he’d asked.
I’d almost told him I’d love it—thinking he was offering. Fortunately, I’d bit my tongue since he added he could send some of the guys who worked in the vines over to help me plant.
“I like doing it myself,” I’d said instead.
“Understood,” he’d responded, leaving me on my own for the rest of the day.
Deciding I probably wouldn’t sleep, I went downstairs, made a cup of coffee, and dug out the sketches I’d done of the grounds around the old winery, as Trevino called it.
When I raised my head and saw it was close to nine, I was stunned. First, by how much time I’d lost track of but also that my dad still wasn’t home.
“I guess he’s entitled,” I muttered to myself, closing my sketchpad. I was about to leave the kitchen when the landline rang—something it rarely did since its only purpose was to buzz someone in the front gate. I thought about not picking up, but did anyway.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Eberly? It’s Trevino. I’m out front. Can you open the gate?”
“Um, sure,” I said, trying to remember how to do it. “Hang on one sec.”
“There should be a code.”
“Right. Of course.” I hit the side of my head with my palm. How could I have forgotten? It was my damn birthday. I pressed the corresponding keys on the phone and, seconds later, heard the gate opening.
I ran my hand over my hair and glanced at my reflection. At least I’d combed it after getting out of the shower, and while I wasn’t wearing pajamas, I hadn’t bothered putting a bra on when I donned my favorite sweatpants and T-shirt. I folded my arms in front ofme, then opened the door, waving when Trevino pulled in and parked.
“Good morning,” I said when he got out of his truck. I’d never told him, but I loved it. I didn’t know enough about vehicles to have any idea how old it was or even what kind. It was green and white and sat high enough that someone my size would probably need a footstool to get in.
“Mornin’, Eberly.”
“It looks as though you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks to you,” he said, stepping closer.
“Do you want to come in?”
