“I’m a history professor. I’m used to looking at things analytically and in hindsight.” Garrison smiled as he picked up his spoon. “You’re used to having to deal with things as they happen, quickly, with possibly dire consequences if they aren’t dealt with just right. A different way of looking at the world, is all.”
“You and your logic.” But Jarred smiled when he said it.
“So what do you want me to do at the house this weekend while you’re working?” Garrison asked.
“Your choice.”
“No, this isn’t time for that. This is Garrison and Jarred talking. What would you like me to work on at the house?”
Jarred sighed. “I’m not looking forward to tackling the garage. If you’d start going through there and tossing junk and organizing it so we have room in there to move furniture out of the house, that’d be a huge help. And maybe tackle cleaning out the master bathroom and bedroom after that, if you have time.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
“Smartass.” Jarred froze. “Heeeey. What happened to talking as equals?”
Garrison wore that adorable smirk Jarred knew all too well. “What?”
“You just had me tell you what to do.”
The smirk widened as Garrison lifted the spoon to his mouth. “So?”
“Maybe we should talk to Tilly. But not about arranging a work party.”
“I already talked to Cris. Tilly’s swamped with work right now. He said he was sure she wouldn’t mind doing something for us, but I told him never mind. I don’t want to impose. He also offered himself or Landry if we wanted them to top us, but I told him that it was okay. They’re in the process of moving, and have the baby and everything going on right now.”
“Dammit.” Jarred poked at his bowl of soup with his spoon. Then, “Do you think she would have minded if we ask Tilly to step in?”
Garrison set his spoon down. “Mind? No. But let’s be honest. It’d be too easy for us to try to lean on Tilly too much, and not only is she busy with her job, but they’ve got the baby and a new house. That’s not fair to her. She doesn’t have time for us like that.”
“Maybe Gilo will let us borrow Abbey.”
Garrison tipped his head. “No. I’m not going to ask Gilo to borrow Abbey.”
“She played with us before.”
“Before she met Gilo, yes.”
Jarred stirred his soup some more. “Cris or Landry, huh?”
Garrison shuddered. “Sorry, but no. Not just no, but hell, no. I love Landry to death, but I’m not that much of a masochist. And I love Cris, but I’ve seen Cris play. He’s almost as vicious as Landry.”
* * * *
On the way home, they stopped at an appliance store and picked out a new fridge and stove and arranged to have them delivered. At least with a fridge, they could plug it in anywhere in the house and keep cold drinks and snacks in it until they were ready to finish the new kitchen.
The appliances would be delivered sometime on Friday, which Jarred knew would be enough time for him to get the carpet ripped up out of the dining room, where he wanted to temporarily house the fridge. The stove could sit boxed up until they were ready for it to be installed.
Thursday morning, Jarred awoke at his usual time and threw on shorts and an old T-shirt before walking out to the kitchen to start the coffee.
He felt bad about his uncle’s death, but for the last three months of his life, Bryant Simonson had barely been conscious after another stroke had robbed him of what little remained of his independence. That followed months and months of fighting stubborn infections from the surgery to repair his broken hip. And other complications.
I wouldn’t want to live like that.
He knew he shouldn’t be letting his mind travel down those meandering back roads, because they’d come far too close to leading him back to Janis and her ordeal.
“Jare, please let me go.”
With his uncle, it’d been a blessing.
They could have had forever with Janis and it still wouldn’t have been long enough.
It wasn’t fair. The three of them had been planning their future together.
Maybe even kids.
Then their world had been yanked out from under them, sending them scrambling into an emotional free-fall that painfully ended way too soon.
He pinched the inside of his left arm, hard, digging in his nails and holding it as long as he could to anchor himself back to the here and now.
Garrison didn’t have to be up for half an hour yet, and Jarred didn’t want to wake him. Once he had enough coffee to fill a travel mug, he pulled on sneakers, grabbed his keys, and headed out. He’d already packed everything in his car the night before that he’d wanted to take with him today so he wouldn’t be making any noise to wake Garrison. With the guest bath now acceptably clean, he could grab a shower there if he wanted later in the day.
He stopped by a convenience store on the way for a bag of ice, some bottled water, and a couple of sandwiches and other snacks to stash in the cooler he’d placed in his trunk. He didn’t want to waste any time today leaving to get snacks.
First on his agenda, he wanted to rip out the carpet. The kitchen and guest bath both had linoleum floors. He hadn’t decided yet whether or not to rip it up or put the new flooring down on top of them.
He’d purchased a new carpet knife with replaceable blades so he could slice it and the padding into manageable strips. And a small pry bar to pull up the tack strips up along the edges.
While slamming the sledgehammer into the kitchen cabinets would feel damn good, he knew he had to do this systematically. Plus, getting the carpets out would go a long way to help with the remaining lingering funk in the air.
When he arrived, he unloaded all his stuff and set up his iPod and portable speaker on the kitchen counter that overlooked the dining room so he’d have music to work by. With the fridge and stove out of the kitchen, it already looked a lot larger. Jarred was looking forward to reconfiguring it with new cabinets and counters, modernizing it.
Then he stared at the living room.
I should have had Garrison help me with the couch.
The couch was embedded with the funk and wasn’t worth saving. The first step was to remove the cushions and dump them. Then it took him about thirty minutes and, after a lot of shoving and swearing, he managed to manhandle the monster out the front door and into the Dumpster.
It felt good to see it sitting there.
Returning to the living room, he started picking up papers and added a shredder to his mental list. Stuff that needed to be shredded, he stacked on the dining room table.
Everything else went into garbage bags. Magazines, newspapers, junk mail. He put together a couple of boxes he’d bought to start storing tchotchkes he knew his mom wouldn’t want, stuff that they’d donate. He’d pretty much decided not to bother with a yard sale. He didn’t have the time or energy to deal with it, and in one donation they could take the tax deduction. None of it looked like it was worth very much, but then again, he wasn’t an expert.
Maybe I should have Em look at the stuff first.
He had no idea if any of the things were worth money or not. In fact, her car still sat parked next door.
I don’t want to bother her, though.
He decided to wait and send her a text message later. It was still fairly early in the morning, not even eight o’clock yet. She might still be asleep, for all he knew.
It didn’t take him long to get the living room emptied so he could start carving strips of carpet and padding into manageable widths to roll them up and tote them outside to the Dumpster. And he had a solid rhythm going, too, making good progress.
Until he got careless.
He had turned the AC off and opened the windows to let the place air out, meaning he’d built up a pretty good sweat despite the relatively comfortable October morning.
That’s when his hand slipped on the carpet knife. Instead of pulling it up and
away from him as he drew it toward him, he managed to nail himself across the top of his right thigh with it.
And he was wearing shorts.
Dropping the knife, he held his breath, waiting, hoping it wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be.
Then blood started gushing out.
Oh, that’s not good.
Clapping his right hand over it, he got up and limped over to the counter for his phone. When he saw the time, he realized Garrison would already be in class. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and wadded up a bunch of them to hold pressed against the wound. He needed to sit down again.
Out the kitchen window, he saw one of the cars was gone next door, but Em’s was still there.
It was either that, or an ambulance call, which he’d rather avoid.
He pulled up her number and dialed.
Chapter Seven
On Thursday, Em was looking forward to a quiet morning working from home. Her dad had taken her mom for her morning blood work, which had to be done after fasting. After that, they would eat breakfast out, then she had an appointment to get other routine testing done, like an EKG, things that were overdue and needed to be performed regardless.
That meant a few blessed hours alone.
Then her phone rang.
She had spotted Jarred’s car next door, but it surprised her to see his number on her phone. “Hello?”
“Um, hey, Em? It’s Jarred.”
“What’s up?”
“Uh, are you, um…busy?”
There was something about his tone of voice that made her pause. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I’m really sorry to bug you, but I kind of need some help.”
“What kind of help?”
“A ride to the ER.”
“What?” She realized she was already up and racing for her keys and purse.
“I lost my grip on the carpet knife and…well, I missed the carpet but not my leg.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She did an about-face and ran for the first-aid kit they kept under the sink in the guest bathroom. Not just the el cheapo dollar store variety, but a fully stocked one based on her experience growing up in hurricane country and the Red Cross first-aid course she’d taken. She barely remembered to lock her front door behind her.
She found him sitting on the kitchen floor, a sodden wad of paper towels pressed against what she could already tell without looking directly at the wound was a pretty serious gash.
“You didn’t hit your femoral artery, did you?” she asked as she dropped to her knees next to him. “Because if you did, we have to call an ambulance.”
“No, it’s along the top, into the muscle, but I think it’s deep. I’m really sorry to call you like this, but—”
“It’s okay.”
She pulled out gauze packs and ended up grabbing a roll of blue painter’s tape off the kitchen counter instead of bothering with the small rolls of mesh tape in the first-aid kit. After placing several layers of gauze over the wound, and a clean dish towel out of a drawer, and then tightly wrapping the makeshift dressing with blue tape, she helped him to his feet.
“Dammit,” she said. “I should have driven my car over here.”
He handed her his keys. “Drive mine. Seriously, it’s okay. I’d rather bleed all over my car than yours, anyway.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not my concern.”
“I’m insured, don’t worry. I trust you.”
With his right arm around her shoulders and her left around his waist, she helped him limp out to his car and get into the backseat so he could stretch out and try to keep his leg elevated. She didn’t like that his face looked pale.
“You going to be okay?” she asked.
“I think so. I might be a little shocky. I know my pulse is elevated and my BP’s probably up. From the stress, I’d bet. If you can drive me to the ER at Proctor-Collins Med Center, I work there. Do you know where it is? It’s the closest hospital, anyway.”
“Yeah, no problem.” She had to adjust the seat forward to reach the pedals but soon had the car pointed in the right direction. “Keep talking to me.”
“I’m okay. It’s starting to throb now. The initial numbness is wearing off. Guess it’s a good thing it was a new knife and not an old, rusty one or something. I really appreciate this. I’m sorry I’m interfering with your day.”
“Hey, least I can do after what Mom did.”
“Then can I ask another huge favor?”
“Sure.”
“I can handle other people getting shots and stuff, but I’m kind of a wuss when it comes to me. Would you mind staying with me while they stitch me up?”
“Of course I will.”
Em had a cast-iron stomach, fortunately. Whenever one of their crew ended up getting hurt in the warehouse, which was fortunately rarely and generally only something minor, she was the one they usually came to for immediate medical attention.
She’d taken a first-aid training course a few years ago after a customer at one of their on-site estate sales had collapsed and needed CPR. Fortunately, there’d been a nurse there to help save the guy, but it had driven home to Em that they needed to know that kind of stuff. Everyone on their crew now got certified in CPR as a part of their employment, even the part-timers. Em, Mitchell, Brent, and their four crew leads had taken full first aid courses.
“Do I need to call Garrison for you?”
“He’s teaching all morning. He’ll have his phone on silent. Sorry about this.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m glad I was home to help.” They arrived at the ER a few minutes later. She pulled right up to the door and they got him out and into a wheelchair while she hurried to park the car and catch up with him.
Due to the nature of his injury, they immediately took him back to a bed. An admissions nurse came round to talk to them, her head down over the laptop on her portable cart.
“Are you his wife?”
“Oh, no. Just his neighbor.”
Jarred waved at the woman. “Hey, Kelly.”
The woman turned and actually saw him lying on the gurney, where a nurse and an aide were unwrapping the makeshift bandage from his thigh.
“Oh—oh! Jarred.” The woman cocked her head at him. “What the heck did you do to yourself?”
“A whoopsies. Not here. Off the clock. I screw up good when I do.”
“I guess so.” She waved her hand at him. “I’ll pull your information from the computer. Come see me when you’re done to sign and handle the copay.”
“Thanks.”
She printed up a patient wristband for him and hurried out to take care of another intake.
The nurse let out a whistle. “Dude. That’s deep. We’re going to need to shoot you full of lidocaine before they can wash that out and sew it up. Doc might want to put some internal sutures in, too.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“Okay, hang tight for a minute. Let me get a kit put together and find out who’s free.”
She left them there with the aide, who started taking his vitals and talking with Jarred about various things, including what he’d been doing that led up to his self-inflicted injury.
Em realized the aide was trying to keep Jarred distracted. Jarred’s color still didn’t look great, a grey pallor in his cheeks.
Em moved over to the chair at the left side of the gurney. “So tell me about the plans you guys have for the house.”
The aide did something that made Jarred wince. He reached out toward Em with his left hand, and she reflexively caught and held it, lacing fingers with him.
That’s when she finally realized he wore a wedding band.
“Well, besides painting, we’re planning to rip out the carpet and the kitchen cabinets,” he said in a pained voice. “Garrison was going to clean out the garage for me this weekend. We need a place to move all the stuff we’re getting rid of out of the way from inside.”
“I can borrow one of t
he box trucks from work if you need stuff hauled off. Long as you guys do the heavy lifting, I don’t mind driving it for you to wherever.”
Jarred looked at her, his grip tightening on her hand as his face twisted with pain. “That reminds me. There are some knickknacks and stuff I’d like you to look at, please. Make sure they’re not worth anything before we get rid of them.”
“Sure. No problem.” The nurse returned, her hands full of supplies. She and the aide got busy flushing out the wound while Jarred kept his gaze focused on Em.
He had sweet brown eyes, with darker flecks of honey in the depths. “I really appreciate this, Em,” he said.
“Hey, least I can do.”
“Sorry I’m messing up your day.”
She squeezed his hand. “Nothing I can’t work around. No worries.”
He winced again and she covered his hand with her other hand, holding on tightly. “I won’t tell Garrison you cried, if you end up crying.”
He let out a pained laugh. “Oh, he’ll ask if I fainted. It’s stupid. I was covered with crap, literally, at the beginning of my shift a couple of days ago, and it didn’t even faze me. I can handle anything done to anyone else. And I’m a freaking masochist, survived PT while I was in the Army, but this kind of stuff just kills me when I’m the patient.”
She didn’t ask for clarification about his masochist comment because she wasn’t even sure what he meant by it. She chalked it up to his pain and stress. Then a doctor arrived to take care of getting him stitched up, and Em, the nurse, and the aide did their best to keep Jarred’s mind off what was going on.
An hour later he was stitched and stapled closed again, and his blood pressure, which had been unusually high when they first arrived, had stabilized. After getting his paperwork handled, he insisted on walking out to the car and not letting her drive it around to him.
He did let her drive them back, though. He carefully climbed into the passenger seat.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
“No, back to the house is fine.”
“But you just got ten staples and seven stitches in your leg.”
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