As I parked my truck, I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Spring break meant that Charity would be here, and she was anything but what her name represented. Whenever Charity was around, her grandmother must have insisted that she talk to me and bring me refreshments, since it was the only time the snob bothered to make eye contact, let alone talk to me, even though we were both seniors at the same high school and used to run with the same crowd.
No doubt Mrs. Johnson came from money, so why would she push her granddaughter to consort with me, a lowly plumber’s son who worked in mud and crap all day. As though Charity or her snobby friends would ever think that I was good enough to introduce to their parents.
I knew Charity and girls like her all too well. She was an elitist who dated only the most popular guys in school. She was beautiful, of course, in a model-like way. Not at all my type. Moreover, though, she was ignorant and rude. I couldn’t stand how she treated others. I’d dated her type before; no sense in repeating history. I always kept my thoughts to myself, though, because she hadn’t inherited her rudeness from her grandmother.
The old-fashioned southern woman was my favorite client. When I saw Mrs. Johnson’s name on my log, I almost didn’t mind coming to work early. It had more to do with how she treated me than the extra money I always earned doing the odd tasks she conveniently thought up while I was doing my normal job.
Her house, one of the oldest in the small waterfront community, was set far back off the road and yet still had a beautiful backyard that sloped gently toward the inland waters of the Gulf of Mexico. During work breaks, I always enjoyed sipping the lemonade she made Charity offer me while I spent a few precious minutes dreaming that I was sitting on my own private dock that I’d own one day. A place where I could simply throw my kayak in the water and paddle away from all the negative energy in my life.
I logged the start time into my workbook, then hopped out of my dent-in-every-panel Ford Ranger. After hauling the machinery to the outside drain, I carefully fed the seventy-five-foot cable down the pipe before turning on the equipment. The engine had only been churning a few minutes when the screech of the screen door opening alerted me that Charity was already awake. Mrs. Johnson always waited until I finished my scheduled task before offering me a side job.
When I saw her bare feet descending the porch steps, I didn’t bother looking up. She knew better; I’d told her last time. “Stay back, Charity. I warned you before. This cable is dangerous. It can whip back and take your legs clean off.” I struggled to keep my tone light. I wasn’t in the mood for her jabbering about which jock was dating which cheerleader, which rich kid got accepted into an Ivy League college, or which momma’s boy received a sweet new BMW from his parents. Not that I was jealous; I wasn’t. I’d get everything I wanted eventually, too. The only difference was that I’d worked for every dime I’d saved, and one day when I owned a house on the water, it’d be because of the sweat of my own brow.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.” The soft whispered words were uttered in a sweet southern drawl, not Charity’s fake Valley Girl voice, as though she were from California. And Charity never would have said she was sorry.
Surprised that there was another girl staying with Mrs. Johnson, I looked up from my work. Far as I knew, Charity didn’t have a sister.
Definitely not related to Charity, I thought. This girl was daintier and dressed entirely more decently. Whenever Charity made an appearance, she always wore something tight and revealing. This girl wore cutoffs that ended just above her knees and a crew-neck, retro-looking Mickey Mouse T-shirt that looked like it was from the seventies. She was just standing on the porch holding a glass of lemonade with a huge smile on her face.
She was so cute I couldn’t help but smile back, but then I instantly felt self-conscious. My uniform consisted of old carpenter work pants riddled with stains and rips, and a denim shirt that had seen too many days of working in crud. Also, I was pretty sure I hadn’t even bothered to comb my hair this morning. I rarely bothered, since it did whatever it wanted anyway. Worse, sweat had already saturated my crappy uniform, and now two trails of water trickled down both sides of my face. Fan-flippin-tastic! I looked like a peasant toiling in the fields. Not that it mattered what I looked like. More than likely, she was just like Charity, even if her smile was amazing.
The girl took a step back, then leaned over the railing. “Well, I don’t want my legs taken clean off, but Gram suggested I bring you something to drink. Jesse, that’s your name, right?” Her endearing accent was as authentic as the day was long and somehow she managed to keep that spectacular smile plastered on her face while articulating each word.
Remembering where I was standing, though, I attempted to keep any interest out of my tone as I answered her, “Yeah. I’m Jesse O’Brien. Give me a sec and I’ll come over and get it.”
“No problem. Take your time,” she drawled. Clearly, the girl wasn’t from around here.
I continued to feed the snake into the pipe while she watched from the porch. After a few minutes, she settled down on the top step without saying a word, just kept watching me.
When I finally pulled out the clog and turned off the machine, the girl stood up expectantly, her eyes wide. “Eww … disgusting. Is it an animal?”
“No.” I chuckled in spite of myself. She sounded like a little kid. Although, clearly, she wasn’t a child. Even shielded beneath casual clothes, her curves were obvious. “You can come over now if you want to.”
She bounded off the steps, making her way to me, forgetting the lemonade. “What … is … it?” She drew out each word with that slow southern drawl, and even though it was nearly ninety degrees in the shade, a shiver slipped down my spine.
I shrugged. “Just roots and a bunch of other stuff I’d rather not point out.” Nor did I want to remind her of how I made a living. For the life of me, I couldn’t fathom her interest. “Where’s Charity?” I blurted out. Not that I cared, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say to change the subject.
The girl folded her arms over her Mickey Mouse T-shirt, then cocked her head toward the last window on the house. “Still asleep. Is there something wrong with me?”
“Er … no. Just wondering.” What had she meant by that? Far as I could tell, there wasn’t anything wrong with her, except maybe her interest in what I was doing. How many young rich girls spent a Saturday morning watching someone unclog a pipe?
“Oh, I forgot!” She loped across the lawn toward the stairs, retrieved the lemonade, and then glided back to me.
I stripped off my gloves and accepted the mug. “Are you a friend of Charity’s?” I asked, truly curious now. She didn’t act like any of Charity’s friends, and I’d never seen her around before today.
“I’m her cousin. Corinne Johnson is my grandmother.” That’s right. She’d said Gram suggested she bring out the lemonade. “I’m Kayla,” she continued. “I’m down from North Carolina for spring break.”
I nodded while chugging the lemonade. Too bad. Not that I had the time to date anyone, but Kayla seemed like a nice girl … someone I could imagine dating — I shook off the thought, reminding myself where I was standing. After what happened last time, I swore I’d never be stupid again. Girls like Kayla didn’t tell their parents when they dated guys like me. I wasn’t good enough. They were afraid their parents would only see me as the son of a small-time plumber. They weren’t interested in my aspirations or whether I even had any.
Still expecting Charity, my head popped up when the front door opened again. I breathed a sigh of relief when Mrs. Johnson stepped outside, prepared, I was certain, to offer me another job. I needed to get my mind back on work.
“Mornin’, Jess!” Mrs. Johnson said with a wink. “I see you met my granddaughter Kayla.”
Since I couldn’t think of a response, I just nodded. What was it with her? She was trying to set me up with one of her granddaughters. Other than my mother, Mrs. Johnson was the only person who called me Je
ss. It made me ache inside, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything about it. Amazing how just a word could make me feel like a child. Even though I wasn’t eighteen yet, I was far from a child. I hadn’t been a child since I was nine.
Mrs. Johnson flashed a sly smile, as though she had secret information. “I don’t suppose you have time to do additional work for me today, do ya?”
Thankful I hadn’t canceled my early appointments for nothing, I smiled. “Already cleared my morning, Mrs. Johnson. What do you need me to do?”
“Well, I think my gutters need to be cleared. They haven’t been cleaned since you did them last fall, and with the summer rains coming, I think they’ll need tending to soon.”
“Ladder still in the garage?” I inquired without having to, but it told her I was willing to accept the job. I never asked how much or suggested a price. She was always generous.
She nodded and flashed another wink. “Right where you left it, Jess. Thanks.”
Without a word, I handed Kayla the empty cup and headed off toward the garage. Halfway around the house, the crunch of footsteps on dried leaves grabbed my attention. I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder, spotting Kayla following me. What was the girl thinking? Was she interested in gutters too? This chore was messier than the last one. No telling what was living in the gutters: palmetto bugs half the size of my hand, spiders, and even the occasional fruit rat. Definitely not an enjoyable job. I lifted the old wooden garage door that would need a new coat of paint soon, then grabbed the aluminum ladder, ready to get to work.
Kayla darted inside. “I’ll get the rake and rubbish bags.”
Confused, I tilted my head.
She stopped and stared at me as though her words had been perfectly clear. “Won’t you need to rake up whatever you remove?”
“Uh … yeah … thanks,” I mumbled. Idiot, I thought, wanting to smack myself. She’s getting the rake for you. For a second, I’d thought she wanted to help. As if she’d put her hands in that muck.
Futilely, I tried to ignore Kayla watching my every move as I set up the ladder, since I was certain my sweating profusely was a by-product of her proximity. I should tell her to go back inside and do her nails, go shopping, or whatever girls like her do on the weekend. As usual, I held my tongue, though. No sense in getting on the wrong side of Mrs. Johnson by offending one of her granddaughters. If I could deal with Charity’s condescending attitude, I certainly could handle Kayla following me around like a puppy. Maybe girls from North Carolina weren’t as stuck up as the girls at my school. A week with Charity would probably do the trick, though.
I inserted my earbuds, which always made the workday go by faster, then climbed the ladder and scrambled onto the roof. With extreme caution, I edged my body over the clay tiles. If one was loose, I could slip and fall off the roof. That wouldn’t be attractive. Not to mention that if I got hurt it’d put a major dent in my savings account. My father wouldn’t pay for an emergency room visit when I had no business up on the roof to begin with. Still, I needed the money, so I accepted jobs like this whenever I was offered them.
Mrs. Johnson was right. The gutters were chock-full of leaves — and God only knows what else. I didn’t want to think about what I was grabbing as I excavated the gutter around the rear of the house.
After an hour, I decided to break up the work by coming down and raking up the leaves and debris before starting on the front gutters. Cautiously, I inched my way off the roof onto the ladder.
“Wait!” That beautiful southern drawl from earlier stopped my descent.
Kayla was still here?
“Wait’ll I … hold it steady!” Her words had sounded winded, as though she’d been running. “Okay, got it. Come on down.”
Surprised as I was, I was grateful. It was always smart to have someone hold the ladder. But how would she know that? I clambered down the ladder. If I looked rough to her earlier, I couldn’t imagine what I must look like now. Be cool, I thought. Just thank her for holding the ladder and get back to work. “Thanks —” I stopped short. Three black bags sat on the ground, filled with what I could only guess was the stuff I’d thrown off the roof. Smudges of dirt lined Kayla’s forehead and cheeks, and her hair, which had been falling down her back earlier, looked as though she’d tied it in a knot on top of her head. “What are you — ? Um … why did you — ?” I stumbled over my words, not sure what to ask. Had she really done all this work herself?
She flashed an easy-going smile, her green eyes sparkling in the bright sunlight. “I wanted to help.”
“Why?” I couldn’t wrap my head around her actions. What girl, rich or not, would want to get that dirty helping when I was getting paid to do the work?
Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I’m bothering you, aren’t I?”
Still confused, I shook my head. “No, no. Not at all. I’m just … I don’t know —” I gestured to the bags. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Gram said you were a nice young man, her exact words.” She shrugged. “So, since I wasn’t doing anything productive, I figured I’d help.” She barely paused long enough to take a breath. “Hey, are you hungry? I was gonna make some sandwiches. I’ll wash my hands first, of course.”
Unable to frame a coherent response, I nodded. It was impossible to imagine that Kayla and Charity were from the same bloodline. I’d never seen anyone like Kayla. She didn’t seem real. She skipped back into the house, happy just to be alive, it seemed.
Positive energy, I thought. It was nice to see someone who was happy and helpful, instead of all the downers who’d been encroaching on my life for the last few years.
I moved the bags to the curb, transferred the ladder to the front of the house, and then headed to the pool bathroom, where Mrs. Johnson had instructed me was the best place to clean up. When I rounded the side of the house, I skidded to a stop. Charity stepped out of the bathhouse in the skimpiest bathing suit I’d ever seen on her. I took in her long legs and barely-covered figure. No doubt she looked good, but the moment I saw her pursed lips, I remembered what a witch she was.
“Well, hello, Jesse,” she said, her voice icy. “I see you met my cousin.”
“Yeah, she seems nice,” I answered honestly, but also as an accusation against Charity.
Charity rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorframe. “She’s sweet all right, a real southern belle.” Distaste laced her words, as though there was something wrong with being nice. “I’ll have to see what I can do to transform her in just a week.”
Yeah, Charity was good at instigating trouble. Exhaling loudly, I shook my head. She wasn’t worth the effort of a snappy retort. Instead, I stepped past her, using my elbow to close the door in her face.
Kayla must be kind if Charity didn’t like her. It made me want to get to know her better, if only to upset Charity’s world. Then I remembered … nothing could come of us. Kayla lived three states away, so why bother?
Thank you for reading this sneak peek of Love Like Crazy, the first book in the Crazy Love Series, you can find links to it and all my books on my website: www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com.
Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2) Page 20
