It's Complicated (Bigelow Bay Book 2)

by Jakki Frances

  “So, breakfast?” She queried heading towards the kitchen. “Do you need pain relief or are you good?”

  “I’m good Helene I grabbed some meds earlier. The knee was throbbing up a storm first thing.” Greg was glad she’s skipped over his bizarre antics. This was his house and he could do what he wanted but even he realised what an odd sight he’d made. “I usually just do cereal and fruit for breakfast and I can at least manage that myself.” He declared hopping after her.

  Stifling an amused smile Helene watched quietly as Greg filled 2 bowls with cereal, milk and some fruit salad from the fridge before pausing. His eyes flitted from the bowls on the countertop to his hands gripping the crutches to the table and back to the bowls, a slight frown creased his brow. Without a word, Helene placed the bowls on the table together with a spoon each and began her breakfast with a cheerful grin.

  Huffing out a breath Greg hopped to his place, “Thanks.”

  Eyeing Helene over his spoon he waited for the teasing comment, a reminder that he was pretty much useless; that never came. Shrugging he broke the silence himself.

  “I’m not used to having someone do stuff for me, it’ll take a bit to get used to. I’ve always fended for myself and I keep forgetting that I’m not exactly hands-free at the moment.” He explained with a grimace.

  The bright smile that made her eyes sparked hit him full force again as she swallowed her mouthful. Why were his eyes drawn to her smooth throat by such a simple act?

  “It’s ok Greg, it's normal that you’d forget. Or not forget exactly, I mean the brace and the pain and the crutches are all pretty large reminders. But it’s normal that you’d automatically try to do what you always have managed in the past. I’m just here to be an extra set of hands, or legs, as necessary. Do what you can and when you need help I’m your girl. Everyone needs a hand sometime in their life, this is just yours.” And with that she returned to her cereal, no questions asked.

  Clearing their dishes as Greg poured them both coffee Helene glanced over her shoulder as he propped himself against the counter.

  “So what’s on for today? Physio? Relaxing? Training for the disabled Olympics? Checking in on those mischievous terrors at the shelter? What’s your plan?” Greg chuckled at her description of the kids; she had them pegged after only one visit.

  “Umm, I have a physio session later this morning and then I figured I’d take it easy this arvo. My legs bound to be more painful after physio and the pain meds seem to knock me out as much as they reduce the pain. If you have some stuff to get done you can just drop me off if you want.” Greg felt uncomfortable imposing on her day.

  “No worries, like I said my schedule is fairly fluid. Actually, Kasey gave me her number last night and said she’d love to catch up for a coffee sometime. I might text her and see if she’s free; we can girl talk while you work out. If it’s ok, while you relax this afternoon I’ll get a bit of work done here while I make dinner and do anything else you need around here.”

  Greg nodded, glad he wouldn’t be required to entertain Helene. This was a weird situation, he’d always avoided having someone around in his everyday life and it made him uncomfortable feeling like he’d need to talk and such while she was around; but if she had work to do that would take the pressure off them both. He wouldn’t have to worry about her asking about his life and he wouldn’t have to work out how to reply.

  “Are you sure you can get work done here?” He hedged, hoping she wasn’t exaggerating her ability to work anywhere.

  Helene laughed and Greg’s stomach flipped.

  “Greg if I can work from an RV on the side of the road, I can certainly work from your kitchen table. All I need is my computer and post-it notes…… and I promise to clear it all away when I go.”

  # # # # #

  Greg hopped around the house on his crutches; his knee throbbed and felt incredibly stiff after his physio session. The pain pills had taken the edge off but the underlying ache remained. He felt restless and “paced” on his crutches from room to room, unused to having so much downtime on his hands. He rarely relaxed in his everyday life and now it was all he was allowed to do. Standing quietly the doorway to the kitchen he watched Helene work, her absolute focus on the screen before her as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Every now and then she’d pause and stand to peruse the dozen or so multi-coloured post-it’s she’d stuck all over the table surface. Picking a post-it she’d stick it to the edge of her screen and moments later her fingers would take off again until it was time to find another post-it. The jumble of coloured swatches of paper had his fingers itching to organise, he had no clue how she knew what went where – there was no order to their arrangement, he knew this for sure having watched her peel them from the pile and slap them down on the table at random.

  As he stood watching Helene leaned back in her chair and swept her hair off her neck she stretched her arms high above her head, arching her back and rolling her neck to ease the kinks. The action in itself was innocent enough but the arc of her back pushed her large breasts high and watching them strain against the top of her summer dress drew his eye and was almost more than Greg could take. His jaw clenched he hobbled back up the hallway into his workshop, he needed to find something other than ogling his ‘nurse’ to keep his mind and hands busy.

  Propping himself on a stool at the end of his workbench Greg glanced around the space. Various sizes and shades of raw wood sat piled against the walls, his tools neatly lined up on their respective shelves. Since he’d finished working on the desks and bookcase for the shelter there were none of the usual partially completed projects on the large concrete floor, even the usual wood shavings had been swept away when he’d completed his last project. Now the room that was normally full of work and noise and the smell of fresh wood felt foreign to him with its tidy stillness. Greg’s hands tapped absently on the workbench, he needed to do something before all this relaxation drove him crazy. Picking at the small wood offcuts in the plastic tub beside the bench and idea struck, running his hand over a hand-sized scrap of timber he grabbed a pencil and began sketching a rough form on the wood.

  # # # # #

  Helene poked her head through the open doorway, she’d drifted from room to room in search of Greg. The rumble in her belly had surprised her, telling her that it was time to start thinking of cooking dinner. A glance at her watch confirmed that she’d passed the entire afternoon lost in her latest story. Feeling guilty for abandoning her ‘duties’ as Greg’s helper she went in search of him with dinner prep in mind. Finding all the other rooms empty she’d finally popped her head through the doorway off the hall into what she assumed was a garage. Definitely NOT a garage! Greg was sitting partially propped on a stool, his back to her as he worked filing and shaping a piece of wood he had clamped in a vice. Helene couldn’t tell from where she stood what exactly he was working on, it just appeared to be a vaguely rectangle-shaped lump with some random blobs sticking out here and there. Greg was totally focused on his task and unaware of her presence as she took in the workshop. It was so clean, and organised; everything obviously had a place and was returned to its home when not in use. Even the scrap offcuts were all piled in a tub instead of scattered on the floor. Varnish and paint cans were lined along a shelf above the workbench, each with its table facing out, a colour swatch easily identifiable.

  Giggling her herself. ‘I could totally trash this place in no time’ she thought. She hated to disturb Greg when he was working but another loud rumble prompted her to step forward.

  “Hey Greg, it’s getting late, I was about to start dinner. Is there anything particular you feel like? I can whip something up for you and leave it in the microwave if you’re not hungry now, then I’ll get out of your hair for the night.”

  Greg’s head shot around at her voice.

  “Sorry cupcake, I totally lost track of time there. Yeah, I could eat but only if you have dinner with me. There is no way you’re making me something and then going ho
me to the RV and making something else for yourself. We eat together, it just makes sense.” His half-smile eased some of the feelings of imposition Helene felt. “I’ll be there soon and help you out…..peel something, lay the table, whatever you need.”

  As Helene turned back into the house she noticed Greg grab a small brush and pan and begin sweeping up the shavings that dusted the benchtop where he sat. Shaking her head she was amazed at how different they were, he was all about order and tidiness and she was random messy chaos. Moments later as she set a pot to boil and began browning meat Helene heard the shower turn on in Greg’s bathroom, shrugging she was surprised he’d gotten messy enough to need it but what did she know about woodwork.

  # # # # #

  Greg followed the music and was greeted by the sight of Helene dancing around his kitchen to ’80s and 90’s pop music, and what he assumed was probably dancing appeared more like some sort of seizure to a beat but she sure seemed to be enjoying herself. He stood for a moment trying hard not to laugh aloud only to have Helene spin around and confront him.

  “Don’t even bother not to laugh; I know I can’t dance to save myself. But who cares! I’m having fun, no one will get hurt as long as you stay at a safe distance and it’s all part of the dinner making experience when I actually have space. It’s not really safe to dinner dance in the camper, I’m always worried the breaks will fail and I’ll cause it to roll away with me inside.”

  Lifting his hands in a show of surrender Greg smirked, “Hey you’ll get no judgement from me cupcake. I have two moves.... the shelter kids taught me to ‘floss’ which kind of looks like what you’re doing there; and I have an entire 3 minute ‘routine’ down pat – taught to me years ago by a drag queen go-go dancer…..there is not enough alcohol in the world for me to break my moves out.”

  Spinning on the ball of her foot Helene bobbed to the floor and smacked her luscious butt and returning to stirring the meal.

  Giving in to temptation and with permission to laugh granted, Greg chuckled as he gathered cutlery and began setting them up at one end of the table. The other end was still covered by her work, with the laptop now playing music and the post-it’s still scattered around. Greg stood reading the messy scrawl on the scraps of paper, all different ink and pencil colours, there even seemed to be a couple of crayon written notes. Unable to make neither head nor tail of the colours and various words or phrases his hands moved without him even realising their action.

  Helene snorted loudly as she approached with two steaming plates of pasta.

  “I was going to pack all that up before we ate but I lost track of time.” She gestured to her papers which Greg now had arranged in straight colour-coded lines.

  “Sorry” he mumbled pulling his hand away from the last post-it he’d just lined up. “Did I mess it up? I mean will you be able to work out what comes next in your story now I’ve moved all this?”

  Helene laughed happily as she scooped up a fork full of pasta bolognese.

  “It’s all good Greg don’t stress. As you probably realised just looking at them, there is no rhyme or reason to their placement, they are just thoughts, ideas, people, etc. that I may use somewhere along the way. At the end of the workday I’d planned to stack them all up and put them away; usually, I just leave them all out stuck over whatever surface I have handy but since this is your home and not my camper I need to take them all home with me at the end of the day.”

  The soft moan of appreciation from Helene as she started her meal instantly took Greg’s attention from the multi-coloured note chaos. The warm feeling the sound created in him sparked worry that he was in for a whole other kind of chaos in his life…….and the last thing Greg wanted was that complication.

  CHAPTER 11

  Greg was already propped on the stool in his workshop when Helene arrived the next morning. His hair stuck out at odd angles and he was wearing the t-shirt and sweat pants that made her mouth go dry at the view of his hard butt perched on the edge of the stool. He’d obviously been there quite a while if the various shapes of wood on the workbench were of any indication. As he was yesterday, all his attention was focussed on the task at hand and he didn’t hear Helene’s arrival.

  Backing out the doorway she dropped the backpack carrying her computer, post-its, folders with more notes, sketches and other paraphernalia, on the table beside her small green hobo bag. The kitchen was spotless, not a glass in the sink, not a crumb or watermark marred the stone countertop. ‘Time to mess this place up a bit’ she thought gathering eggs and spinach from the fridge and adding the crusty bread she’d picked up at the bakery on the way that morning. Scrambled spinach eggs on toast would be a good start to the day.

  As the smell of cooking permeated the house Greg followed his nose into the kitchen.

  “Good morning. I didn’t realise you were here” he explained, straightening his t-shirt and running his hand through his hair causing it to stick out even more. “I’ll just clean up a bit” he mumbled and hopped out again as fast as the crutches would carry him.

  Helene was just pouring coffee when Greg returned, freshly shaven, his hair still damp from the shower but now sporting jeans and a polo shirt.

  “That looks and smells great” he commented as Helene placed a plate and mug in front of him. “Ah, I meant to tell you yesterday but it completely slipped my mind. I don’t have physio today so I’ll just be hanging around here for the day. If I’d remembered you could have skipped the early start or even the whole day. I mean I don’t need driving today and if you have other stuff to do you can. I’ll manage ok if you need to run errands or do stuff at your own place.” His rambling tapered off at the obvious amusement on Helene’s face.

  “I thought we established yesterday you’re incapable of even carrying your own cereal Greg. Did you plan not to eat today? Or do laundry – that basket in the bathroom is getting pretty full.” Taking a sip of coffee her eyes met his full of challenge. Would he have a valid response or just more flustered excuses? Helene could tell he was uncomfortable having her in his space, she was messy and silly and ate cake as a meal and except for when she was working, she was scatterbrained as well; everything he was obviously not. He was clean and neat and introverted and unused to having anyone around. There were no family photos on show in the house, no candid shots of social events with friends. It was all so quiet and impersonal.

  Greg opened his mouth in rebuttal and closed it again, she had a point.

  “Ok so now we’re on the same page, let’s make a plan for the day. I actually do have errands to run, I need to drop the book into the aquarium and then pick a parcel up from the post office, plus pay some bills, refill the gas for the campers' cooker. Plus I want to get some writing done, I’m positively buzzing with ideas today. “

  Greg nodded his encouragement, “See you’ve got stuff to get done and I’ll be fine here” he agreed.

  “So here’s what we’ll do, I can get the laundry done this morning and make dinner and put it in the microwave. That way you can just heat it up and if you move one of the stools to the counter beside it you can just sit, take your dinner out and eat whenever you’re ready. Then I’ll head out for the rest of the day, but only if you promise to message me if you need anything, and I’ll check in with you before I head back to the camper to work. How’s that for a plan. You get your place back for the afternoon and I get my own space too.”

  Greg could see the understanding in her smile and he was both relieved he’d have his space to himself and disappointed. He’d been up early, driven from bed again by the stiffness and ache in his knee, but this morning after downing a pill he’d hopped into his workshop, having dreamt all night of the creatures trapped in his scrap woodpile. Now he had at least half a dozen sketched roughly on the wood and he’d already begun shaping the first of them. He was as inspired and itching to get back to work as much as Helene was.

  “Deal” he declared sticking out his hand for Helene to shake on it. “To sweeten the d
eal how about if you can get the basket to the washer I deal with the laundry, and you can bring yours over anytime and make the most of my non-coin operated machines. I can manage that at least.” Greg smiled and cocked a brow in a challenge of his own.

  Helene laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You just don’t want me fawning over your sexy man underwear, I understand. But bear in mind, if you’re declaring yourself in charge of the washer/dryer, I have no problems with you handing my lacy lady wear.” Her attempt at an innocent expression failed miserably; challenge accepted!

  # # # # #

  Later that afternoon Helene balanced the bakery box carefully as she let herself back into the house. Soft classical music drifted through the open workshop door as she passed by on the way to the kitchen. Returning to the workshop Greg was right where she’d left him, he’d obviously had a very productive day. Now the workbench was lined with a dozen hand-sized creatures in varying stages of completion. Easily recognisable fish and birds were sitting beside basic shapes of four-legged creatures that were yet to take obvious form. Greg was currently sanding the rough edges from a butterfly mounted in the vice, so much more than a basic flat shape, its body was carved from the wood in a beautiful 3D shape. Greg was so absorbed in his creation he’d again not realised she’d returned to the house.

  Returning to the kitchen she placed the coffee cupcakes on a plate on the counter beside Greg’s pain medication and scrawled a quick note before quietly letting herself back out.

  # # # # #

  Stiff and sore Greg put down the paintbrush and inspected the butterfly. It was finished, the shading of the colours looked perfect and he hoped they remained that way as they dried. The dim light of the room made him realise how late in the day it was. Standing on his crutches he rolled his shoulders, stiff from bending over the bench for so many hours. Time to call it quits for the day, his knee was aching and his hands were cramped from holding sandpaper and pain brushed all day.