Look the Part

by Jewel E. Ann

  I follow her around the main level of sprawling wood floors beneath scattered oriental rugs. She flips on the light to the master bedroom. It’s immaculate.

  “I’m wondering what you were worried about. This place looks spotless.”

  “Lori …” She mumbles, poking her head in the adjoining bathroom. “She and Forrest look in on my dad. I bet she tidied up earlier today. I hope she didn’t come across his nudie-girl magazines.”

  I raise a curious brow.

  Ellen shrugs. “He’s a guy. Don’t all heterosexual men like looking at naked women?” She moves toward me in the way that I’ve come to expect—maybe even need.

  I have no tie, but she’ll find something about me that requires her little adjustments.

  “I’ve not taken on the role as spokesman for all heterosexual men, so I’m going to decline comment.”

  She starts with my collar, making sure it’s folded just so … then her hands slide down my shirt. “I’ll rephrase, counselor. Do you like looking at naked women?”

  Her hands ease around my waist and slide into the back pockets of my jeans, leaving her breasts pressed to my chest.

  “You’re grinning.” She gives me a look that’s both playful and challenging. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  My hands remain idle at my sides. If I touch her, I won’t be able to stop. And as incredibly sexy as she is when she’s messing with me—teasing me—I can see the wear of the past two days in her slumped posture and tired eyes.

  “I’m imagining you naked, that’s why I’m grinning.”

  She sucks in her upper lip, making her lower lip look pouty.

  “And now I’m leaving so you can get some sleep.”

  Her head juts back. “Leaving? You’re not staying?”

  “My stuff is at the hotel, and I fly out at six in the morning, using a commercial airline, which means I’ll need to be to the airport by four-thirty or earlier.”

  Taking a small step back, her hands slide out of my pockets. “You’re right.” She shakes her head, eyes closed. “I’m not thinking. Clearly I do need sleep.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ellen

  I DON’T WANT him to go, but I can’t ask him to stay. For everything that he’s said or done that’s upset me—including evicting me—he’s more than made up for it by getting me here and staying for two days.

  “Do you need anything else before I fly home in the morning?”

  “I’m good.” You. I need you before you leave. And I fear that I’ll need you after you leave. But those aren’t my biggest fears.

  I close my eyes as he cradles my head. He does it with such tenderness, yet there’s this fierce strength to his hands that makes each time he does it feel urgent—important—like he’s seconds away from telling me something that will change my life.

  “Call me if you need anything. Okay?”

  I nod, closing my eyes because here come the tears. Fuck you, tears! You weren’t invited to this going-away party.

  My hands cover his as I hold in the sobs. He erases them with his thumbs and kisses my forehead.

  “Why the tears, Elle?”

  Elle. Don’t call me Elle right now. Ellen. Ms. Rodgers. Annoying tenant. Or even Seven. But Elle feels too personal when I need to make a break.

  “Are you worried about your dad?” he asks.

  I’m very worried about my dad. But these tears are not his. I shake my head. “You’d better go. I told you if you stayed I would fall …” In love. “Now’s not a good time for me to fall.”

  With an intense look, he nods once. “You’ll be home before you know it.”

  I laugh, pulling away and walking away. While filling a glass with water in the kitchen, I say the words, but I don’t look at him. “I won’t ask my grandparents to take care of him. They’re too old. My mother is dead. I am an only child.” I stare out the window to the reflections dancing along the water. “This could be life-changing for him. We don’t know yet. But if it is life-changing for him, it will be life-changing for me. If he can’t live unassisted …”

  “You will move home to take care of him.”

  I nod and turn to face him. “I feel like we’ve been trying to be something for weeks. And if you wouldn’t have shown up with your stupid cape on, ready to walk on water for me, I would have let us die in that parking lot. I was prepared to let that happen. That’s why I packed up my stuff.”

  Swatting more tears, I let a painful laugh escape. “But you had to put on your Superman cape, and no girl in her right mind can resist falling for the superhero. So my tears are selfishly for me because you have a son who doesn’t want us together and I have a father who I know, in my intelligent therapist’s mind, will need me here.”

  Flint rests his hands on his hips, staring at his feet. “You’re going to quit your job?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But if he needs me, then I’ll find a job here.”

  He rubs a frustrated hand over his face before looking at me. “It’s the right choice. You do what needs to be done.”

  I nod.

  “But …” He closes the distance between us and presses his hand to my cheek. “Anything … if you need absolutely anything, you call me.”

  What if I need you?

  I force a smile as he pulls me into his body. Grabbing the collar to his shirt, I lift onto my toes, and he meets me in the middle for a heartbreaking goodbye kiss. When the desperation wears away and we come up for oxygen, I keep hold of his collar, resting my forehead against his chest.

  “Tell Harry I miss him and thank him for taking care of my babies.” I release him and fish my apartment keys from my purse, setting them in Flint’s hand. I force my head up to meet his gaze.

  Flint nods.

  “I’ll see you both soon, no matter what.” I know it could be for a final goodbye, but I don’t want to say the words quite yet. “Thank you, Flint Hopkins. Safe travels home.”

  His face wrinkles in pain just before he kisses me one more time. It’s hard and painful, and then it’s over as quickly as it began. Without looking back, he grabs his jacket and the door closes behind him.

  *

  THE NEXT MORNING I sip my coffee, waiting for the doctor to arrive, waiting for my dad to wake. With nothing better to do, I reminisce about my youth. There was a day when I lived in the moment and planned my life no further than the next great adventure with Alex. We’d hop in the car on a moment’s notice with wadded clothes stuffed in a big bag, enough to get us by for a long weekend of climbing, biking, or surfing.

  We slept in our little Subaru Outback almost as much as we slept in our bed. Our parents were happy and healthy. No one depended on us. We got by with working just enough to have money for play—and play we did.

  No regrets.

  You only live once.

  Seize the moment.

  Those were our mottos.

  But accidents happen. Jobs turn into professions. Life starts to demand responsibility.

  “Good morning.” The doctor brings me back to reality.

  “Good morning.” I fake a smile, the one that says I’m good with being thirty-two and responsible.

  He performs an exam and runs through some tests. I watch, feeling numb at the moment. Until … my dad stirs and opens his eyes.

  “Dad!” I get in his line of vision, not caring if I’m in the way of the doctor or nurse.

  Jumbled sounds fall from his lips. He flinches in frustration.

  I squeeze his hand, and he gives me a faint squeeze back which is good—really good. “Don’t worry.” I smile. “We’ll find your words.”

  His head moves slightly in a small nod.

  I step back again to let the doctor finish his exam. His words echo like I’m hearing them from the opposite end of a tunnel. I knew they were coming, but I couldn’t fully imagine the anguish in my dad’s eyes as he tries to process everything.

  Dysphagia.

  Hemiparesis.

  Pain.r />
  Spasticity.

  Possibly seizures.

  Impaired vision.

  Incontinence.

  Speech and comprehension issues.

  But … here it comes …

  “Good prognosis.”

  I smile at the doctor, but really, I’m laughing at him. The word good doesn’t fit after that list of possible post-stroke conditions.

  “Thank you,” I say to the doctor, maintaining my smile as he nods politely before leaving the room. This painful smile is the only thing that’s keeping me from falling to a million unrepairable pieces.

  My dad’s blue eyes focus on me. I don’t know how well he’s processing this. It might be a small blessing if he doesn’t fully understand the possible challenges ahead of him.

  I move to the side of his bed, sitting on the edge while taking his hand in mine and bringing it to my lips. “We’ve got this,” I whisper.

  *

  Flint

  “GLAD YOU MADE it safely home.” Amanda greets me with a smile.

  I nod. “Thanks.” I shrug off my overcoat. “How’s Harrison?”

  “Fine. I’m sure he’ll be happy about going back home after school. He’s such a creature of habit.”

  I chuckle. “Yes, he is. Thank you for taking care of him and Ellen’s—”

  “Rats! Oh my gosh …” She shoots up from her desk chair, following me into my office. “At first I was like, no way am I getting near five rats, but they are so cute and smart. They play basketball. Have you seen that?”

  I roll my eyes, unable to hide my grin. This conversation would bring a big smile to Ellen’s face. “I haven’t had much interaction with them, but they’ve become Harrison’s new obsession. It’s all he wants for Christmas.”

  Amanda’s smile fades. “How’s Elle’s dad?”

  “He’s alive. I’m not sure what his physical or mental state will be in the coming weeks. I think he’s going to require a lot of therapy and extra care.” I open my computer and click on my email.

  “You like her.”

  “We’re not talking about this.”

  “Harrison likes her.”

  “Harrison doesn’t like her with me.” I give her a look that she needs to read as a we’re-done-talking-about-this look.

  “You haven’t tried—”

  “Amanda, I’m not discussing this with you. Ellen will most likely be moving to Cape Cod to take care of her dad. In case you’re not good with measurements, that’s over fifteen hundred miles from Minneapolis.”

  I don’t need her pity look, so I wait for her to give up. After a few seconds, she goes back to her desk.

  A few hours later, Harrison arrives, plopping his bag on my desk. I set it on the floor.

  “Where’s Elle?” he asks.

  “Nice to see you too, Harrison.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Cape Cod.”

  “Did her dad die?”

  “No.” I type up my notes for tomorrow’s deposition.

  “Then why didn’t she come home with you?”

  “He’s in the hospital. He had a stroke. She could be gone for a while.”

  “Are you taking me to feed her rats?”

  “Yes.”

  “When is she coming home?”

  I blow a controlled breath out of my nose. “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you ask her?”

  “Because she doesn’t know the answer to that. It depends on her dad’s recovery. Recovering from a stroke can be a slow process.”

  “How am I supposed to play guitar with her if she’s not here?”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shake my head. “Maybe you can use the app she showed you.”

  “I don’t know the name of the app. I’ll call her.” He pulls out his phone.

  “Don’t. She’s most likely at the hospital. This isn’t an emergency. It can wait, Harrison.”

  “Wait until when? Later tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?”

  “Harrison!”

  He frowns.

  “I’m sorry …” I run my hands through my hair. “I’m tired. You’re asking me questions I don’t have the answers to. Let’s…” I grab my coat “…go home.”

  “I have stuff at Amanda’s.”

  I rest my hand on the back of his neck, guiding him out of my office. “We’ll stop and get it after we go feed the rats.”

  *

  AFTER TWO HOURS in my greenhouse and another hour helping Harrison with his homework, I grab a shower and settle into my office for another hour of work.

  ELLEN: Are you asleep?

  I grin at my phone screen.

  ME: Yes

  ELLEN: What side of the bed do you sleep on?

  ME: The middle

  ELLEN: What! Nobody sleeps right in the middle.

  ME: Looks like I’m nobody

  ELLEN: How are my babies?

  ME: Creepy

  ME: How is your dad?

  ELLEN: Partial paralysis that’s hopefully temporary – incontinence, speech issues … and the list goes on.

  I dig my teeth into my lower lip, staring at her text. What’s the proper response to that?

  ME: I’m sorry

  A shitty, generic reply, but I don’t know what to say.

  ELLEN: It’s all common, we should/could see vast physical improvements in the coming weeks. Cognition, speech, and emotional healing can take much longer.

  ME: How are you holding up?

  ELLEN: OK, my grandparents are here for the emotional support I need, but they are old and slow and I love them to death. BUT their little poodle, Bungie, keeps pissing everywhere! And it takes them twenty minutes to retrieve paper towels to clean it up, so I’ve been doing it, I’m not too excited about taking care of my dad AND Bungie.

  ME: There’s a reason I don’t have pets

  ELLEN: I know, you’re a control freak.

  I chuckle.

  ME: Organized

  ELLEN: That’s what I said.

  ME: Harrison wants the name of that music app you showed him

  ELLEN: Shouldn’t he be in bed?

  ME: He is. He wanted it earlier and I said he couldn’t message or call you.

  ELLEN: He can call or message me ANYTIME but I’ll tell him that myself when I gift him the app so you don’t misquote me ; )

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I reread her message several times. I wasn’t looking for her, but I found the perfect woman to be in my son’s life. But it’s not going to happen. Ellen Rodgers is a missed opportunity. A close call. A what if.

  ME: Do you need anything?

  Three little dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Disappear. But no message pops up on the screen. Maybe she’s typing a long message. Maybe she keeps changing her response.

  ELLEN: Nothing that I can have.

  Cryptic.

  ME: You’ll have to elaborate.

  ELLEN: Go back to sleep, thank you for everything. XO

  ME: Gnight

  ELLEN: Sleep tight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ellen

  IT’S BEEN THREE weeks since my dad had his stroke. I’ve had to take personal leave from my job at the hospital and refer my other clients to another therapist in Minneapolis. He’s home and making progress each day, but the recovery is slow. My days consist of taking him to therapy (speech-language, physical, occupational) and then he takes a long nap because therapy is hard work.

  I do music therapy with him in the evenings, and we also use music and certain beats to work on his walking at home. My grandparents have been great about making meals. It’s a fair trade for cleaning up after Bungie at least twice a day. And I know they want to be here. I see the worry in their eyes. This is their son. Things feel out of balance when a grown child needs more assistance than their parents.

  It’s like death. Things have a natural order. Children are not supposed to die before their parents.

  I message or call Flint at least once a week to check in on my babies
. They’ve been good about feeding them and changing their bedding/litter area once a week. And by they, I mean Harry. Flint’s convinced that Harry needs to do it by himself if he ever expects to have a pet of his own. I suppose there’s some logic to that.

  After my dad and grandparents are tucked into their beds, I fill the upstairs bathtub with hot water and a bath bomb. It’s not a huge tub, but it’s quiet and all mine for the next hour until I crash for the night. I bring up my bathtub playlist on my phone and set it on the toilet seat before sinking into total bubbly bliss.

  “Come to mama …” I moan, closing my eyes, as the hot water soothes every single muscle. Paula Cole sings about “feelin’ love.” For one hour I get to feel carefree. For one hour I get to escape into the fantasies of my mind. For one hour I get to be naked, wet, and feeling sexy.

  Even after Alex ended our life together, he still was the star of my fantasies. He may not have been touchy-feely, but the sex was always good—really good. But now I don’t think of my surfer blond ex-husband. The only man I imagine touching me the way I touch myself in the depths of this hot, soapy water is a tall, well-built, dark-haired man who wears the hell out of a suit and does the most magical things with his fingers … his lips … and that fucking wicked tongue.

  A soft moan escapes my parted lips before I trap my lower one between my teeth, sliding my middle finger between my thighs. My song cuts out once. I ignore it. Then it cuts out again.

  “Nooo …” I grab my towel and wipe my hands before snatching my phone off the toilet seat. Who the hell is interrupting my sacred bath time?