Page 9 of Overdue

REED

It’s Monday morning, and I’ve been awake since dawn. Or, at least, I got out of bed then. I’ve been awake most of the night.

It’s been a long evening with Gran adding to her lecture about my idiocy. I guess, instead of letting it drop, she had been building up ammunition. Thanks, Gran. I got it. I’m an idiot.

In my defense, I seem to have the inability to use my brain around Austen. Nothing has changed in years. It was hard enough to function a continent away with her face hovering always on the edge of my consciousness. Now, it’s impossible with her within reach.

My plan is to stay far away from her until I come up with a strategy to prove that I'm a decent human. Problem is, every time I lay in bed working on the situation, I end up jacking off to the image of her telling me exactly what kind of apology she expects.

Hint: it involves my tongue in an unlimited number of ways. And maybe hers reciprocating. But, back to the problem. What kind of groveling needs to be done? Crap. Now I’m thinking about kneeling in front of her. Things are starting to rise again. It’s a vicious cycle.

I’ve got work to do, though. At least work should keep my mind off her (it’s a lie, but whatever.) Getting out of bed, I pull a clean pair of work jeans, socks, and a company T-shirt out of the dresser. I never shower before work. I always come home filthy, so I leave the showering until evening.

I yawn. What I need is the rush of a fully-caffeinated cup of coffee. I brush my teeth and pull my hair into a short ponytail. Probably should get that cut.

Now to get Gran settled for the day. Slowly, I trudge down the stairs.

“Hey Gran, how was your night?” I ask when I reach her bedroom door. I ask the same question every morning and always receive the same response.

“Just fine, sweet pea.”

She’s called me sweet pea for as long as I can remember. Even before I moved in here. She sits up and pulls her robe around her shoulders.

Her stroke has, mercifully, left her with full mental facilities and the ability to speak. But, she’s in a wheelchair with diminished small motor skills in her hands and slight paralysis in her face. She’s so much better, thanks to physical therapy, than when I brought her home from the hospital.

“Ready?”

She nods, and I wrap my arms around her waist. I lift her as I was taught by the rehabilitation nurses and sit her in her wheelchair. Who needed a gym when, between Gran and my job, I get all the lifting a man could want?

“What can I get you for breakfast?” I ask, adding a small throw blanket to her legs. I noticed her shiver several mornings ago. I’ve learned over the last couple of months to be hyper-aware of her needs; of everyone’s, really. Well, everyone but Austen’s, evidently. But I’m trying. I’m a work in progress.

“I’ll be fine until Mel gets here. You don’t need to fuss. Don’t you have a meeting with Ron?” I was lucky to get a job when I moved back to take care of Gran. Mr. Daily, who owns the only landscaping company and nursery in town, hired me on the spot.

I was part of the mowing crew for Daily’s Lawn and Landscaping during the summers in high school. Since no one in the small town was looking for an ordnance disposal specialist, working for the landscaping company was my next best shot at a job. I invested most of my military pay. But, it wouldn’t last forever. Besides, sitting around simply isn’t in my blood.

“Yeah, I’m meeting him at The Hungry Heifer for breakfast. He wants to put together a plan to bid on the contract to revamp the square. He wants me to help him brainstorm.” I check my watch. It’s still a few more minutes before I need to go. “Mel should be here in about half an hour. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

This is also part of our weekday morning ritual. I offered to stay. Gran shoos me out the door. It isn’t in her blood to suffer a man who doesn’t work.

Gramps died sitting at his desk between seeing customers at the bank in his role as president. I can only hope I live up to his stellar character someday. It feels like I still have a long way to go.

“I’ll be just fine. I think they’re interviewing that new hottie from the morning show on television. If I can’t keep myself entertained for the next half hour with that, then I need to hang up my cleats.”

I laugh. She moves to the living room and turns on the television. Once my work boots are on, I cross to her chair to kiss her cheek.

“Tell Ron I say hi. We missed Carrie at book club the other night,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be sure and do that.” I shrug on a light jacket and snatch up the lunch I packed last night.

It isn’t much of a drive to the diner. Nothing in this town is much of a drive. Ron has us a booth in the back so we can talk in relatively uninterrupted privacy.

It’s impossible in a town this size to ever go unnoticed when in public. There is always a friendly face waiting to greet you. I remember being so desperate to escape that familiarity. Then it was one of the things I missed the most.

“Hey, Reed, have a seat. What would you like to eat?” Ron asks.

“How are you, Mr. Daily? Just bring me the farmer’s special,” I add when one of the waitresses walks over.

She looks like one of the girls I dated in high school. With any luck, she won’t spit in my food. If memory serves, the girl finally got fed up and dumped me right after the homecoming dance. She might have been justified since I stared at a freshman Austen most of the night.

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