Saving Thomas

by A. L. Moore

  “I don’t hate it, per se’.” He laughed heartily, ripping open the box I’d started on.

  Pulling out a pack of screws and dumping the wood pieces to the floor, “he crooked a grin. “If this is how your face looks when you’re enjoying yourself, the times we spent together must’ve been torturous for you.”

  Did he have to bring that up? I rubbed the sudden chill from my arms and started down the hall. “Fine, but if I see anything naked, we’re having another bonfire.” His laughter carried into the room behind me. “Why don’t you take the master?” I called back, only to find him standing in the doorway, watching me dump a box of clothes on the plastic wrapped mattress.

  “I guess it never occurred to me,” he said thoughtfully, glancing around the small room and rubbing the light stubble that darkened his chin.

  Trying to ignore the fact that I was sorting his boxer shorts, I added, “You really should. It's twice the size, and I bet the view at sunset is amazing.” Placing the boxers in the top drawer of a dresser I recognized from our guest room, I grabbed some hangers from the closet. “What you should really do is paint. Add some color to this place. All these white walls are depressing. Makes me think of a doctor’s office.”

  He frowned, taking note of the four bare walls around us as he scratched his head. “You’re right,” he said, grabbing my arm and hastily pulling me out the doorway. I tossed the hangers to the mattress in my haste. “Where are we going?”

  “To get paint,” he said, patting the pockets of his blue jeans before grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter and walking out to the truck. “You comin’,” he asked, looking back to find me standing in the front doorway, holding the screen open.

  “You go," I said, rushing back to the couch for his t-shirt and tossing it to him. "I’ll keep unpacking.”

  He shook his head with a grin I knew too well. “This was your idea. Besides, what do I know about color schemes?”

  After retrieving my sandals, we spent the next hour selecting paint colors for each room of the house. Thomas’s tastes were simple like my own. Either that or he was just agreeing with every word I said. We chose a soft green for the kitchen to brighten the entry, since you could see right into the kitchen from the front door and decided to leave the living room an off-white. The bedrooms and bathroom would be the same ash gray with white trim. After Thomas found some large drop-clothes, brushes and painter’s tape, we found ourselves back at the house and paint splattered. Thankfully, Katy’s brothers had noticed our arrival and we'd had a house full of help most of the day. Katy and I’d taken the master bedroom and bathroom, while Thomas tackled the living room. Thomas stuck Katy’s brothers in his old room, so if they screwed something up, it wouldn’t matter as much. His words, not mine. At supper time, Mama brought over enough chicken and butter-milk biscuits for everyone. After eating, we’d lost John-Tyler to a game of hide-n-seek and by dark, we’d trickled down to only Thomas, Katy and myself.

  “All I’m sayin' is if it were me, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate is all,” Katy said, her blond head bobbing as she danced to the pop song that played on the clock-radio she’d discovered in one of Thomas’s boxes.

  The second coat of paint had dried, and we were now pulling the tape from the windows. “Boys are your weakness, not mine,” I reminded her, balling the tape and shooting it toward the large black garbage back in the hallway.

  “Men, Breelynn. Men are my weakness,” she argued, puffing out her slightly larger than average chest, and giving it a little shake. “I’ve moved on from boys.”

  "Forget college. You'll get a full ride to Hell one of these days, Katy."

  “So not funny!” she chuckled, tossing a ball of sticky tape into my hair.

  “Sounds like y'all are having too much fun back here,” Thomas said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. His dark blue jeans where smeared with cream colored paint from where he'd probably wiped his hands, but his gray t-shirt and black ballcap were impeccably clean. Katy and I looked like we had as much paint on us as the walls. Even the hairs on my arms were sticky with it. “Too much laughing, not enough work,” he winked.

  “Sorry, Mustah Thomas,” Katy kidded in her best Southern belle impression.

  Quirking a grin, Thomas grabbed the opposite end of the drop cloth I was busy folding. “Thanks,” I said, meeting his eyes as he stepped toward me, passing the cloth to my hands. Reaching to my hair, he came back with a ball of painter’s-tape. “Ouch,” I complained as a few strands from my messy bun pulled loose with the tape.

  "My bad," he said, gently stroking my hair back in place, curving it behind my ear. “I miss the ponytail,” he added softly. It didn't escape my attention that he didn't step away.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, blushing as I peeled the sticky tape from his hand.

  We both started when Katy cleared her throat, “Well, if you guys don’t need any more help...”

  “No,” Thomas and I said in unison, for two totally different reasons. Thomas was dismissing her, and my heart raced painfully at that very possibility.

  “I was really hoping you’d stick around,” I said, tearing my eyes from Thomas with a nervous laugh. “There’s no telling what I’ll find in these boxes.” I gestured toward the five boxes stacked in the corner of the only dry wall in the room. The gray was much deeper dry and gave the room a homey feel.

  Katy's brows peaked. “Of course. I wasn’t in a hurry to go home yet anyway.”

  Thomas looked puzzled between the two of us before heading back down the hall to grab the queen mattress. He and I'd assembled the bedframe while everyone else had taken Mama up on her peach pie offer.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Katy started dramatically fanning out the neck of her yellow halter. “Oh, my word!” she sighed, her sweaty blond locks, framing her face. “How are you not on fire right now? That boy is hotter than blue blazes, Breelynn, and the heat between you two…Well, let’s just say I won’t need my whore-in-church reference anymore. You can’t tell me you don’t feel that?”

  Pulling my hair-tie loose, I sighed, shaking out my thick hair as it fell down my back. I took a moment to massage my aching scalp. “Yes, I feel it, Katy," I said, careful to keep my voice low enough that it wouldn't carry. "I’ve always felt it, but he clearly doesn’t.” I held my hand up to stop her from interrupting. “Not in the same way.”

  “You are so wrong,” she said, grabbing a box and starting for the door.

  “Trust me. I’m not.” I said, following close behind.

  Her eyes gleamed as she glanced back at me. “Oh, yes you are, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

  “Katy what are you…” I started just as we reached Thomas. Katy pushed the box she carried into his hands and pretended to wipe sweat from her brow.

  “Thomas don’t hate me, but I’m plumb tuckered out. I think I’m going to call it a night.” She tossed me a knowing smile that made my palm twitch. One of these days, I was going to unintentionally lay Katy out cold.

  “Sure thing,” Thomas said questioningly, turning to walk her to the door. “Thanks for y'all’s help today. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anything for a cute, new neighbor.” She gave him a tight squeeze, peering over his shoulder with an open-mouthed smile that made her look like a goofy twelve-year-old who'd just seen a bare bottom.

  Thomas turned back, catching the scowl on my face. “You quitting on me, too?”

  “You know I’m not a quitter,” I said, stomping into the master bedroom. Katy would pay for this.

  The grays in the new headboard looked beautiful against the dark walls, leaving the large picture window on full display to the left. Dropping the box, I stepped around Thomas and found the basket with the sheets Mama had washed this morning. I chose the white set, they’d be cooler for summer, and fanned them over the mattress. Wordlessly, Thomas took the other side and together we made his bed. Katy’s parents had given him a quilt with faded blues, greens and browns that add
ed the finishing touch. I could feel Thomas’s eyes on me, but I ignored the nagging voice, that sounded a lot like Katy, in my head that begged me to look at him. Instead, I grabbed a stack of t-shirts from the box and started to hang them in the small walk-in closet. In another life, I could picture Thomas and I here under different circumstances, but I’d foregone that fantasy some time ago.

  Lost in a world that only existed in my head, I started to arrange the rest of the clothes in the dresser. Before I knew it, the last box was empty, and I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed contemplating my future. Wondering when and if I'd ever meet anyone that would take my mind and heart away from this place. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the front screen slammed with a loud bang echoing through the house. It was well past mid-night. Walking quickly to the living room, I saw Thomas through the door, gripping the porch railing as he starred at the ground.

  “Thomas,” I said, easing the creaky, wooden screen door open. “Everything alright?” He didn’t answer, his back rising noticeably beneath his shirt. “Thomas?”

  His head jerked to the side as he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, Bree,” he said startled. “I didn’t hear you come out.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, letting the door go with a soft thud and hesitantly stepping on to the porch. Being in the Tyner’s old house probably brought back a lot of bad memories for him. Though, until now, I would've never known it.

  Staring out over the dark, swaying grass that was in bad need of cutting, he sighed heavily and turned his ballcap around, pulling it low over his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Look,” he said, pushing off the railing and turning to face me. He looked a little pale. “I appreciate all your help today, but maybe you should head home. It’s late.”

  “Sure, yeah, you’re probably tired,” I nodded, starting for the steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before my foot met the first step, he stopped me.

  “Bree?" Gripping the handrail in one hand, I casually glanced back, expecting him to remind me of something I was forgetting, but he didn't. The brim of his hat shielded his eyes in darkness, but even in the dark, the simmering depths staring back at me took my breath. Moving without thinking, I backtracked a step at the same time he took a step forward. His hand grasped the rim of my cutoffs, his fingers curving my hip as he held me gently in place. Not that I could've moved had I wanted to. Staring into the look I'd avoided all night, I was reduced to the mental capacity of a fifteen-year-old with her first crush. The only thing I wanted to do was crawl inside those deep green, smoldering eyes and live out the rest of my days.

  Instead, I closed my eyes. It was the only way to regain my composure. I was a grown woman; I couldn't keep letting him do this to me. Pulling in a breath through my teeth, I opened my eyes to find him mere inches away. His sweet, warm breath grazed my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. Covering his hand with my own, I pulled it away from my body. “Thomas," I said, going against every single nerve in my body, "Please don’t kiss me.” His brow bunched, the pain in his eyes evident, but he didn't argue. He let me go.

  I made it to the backside of my house before the gravity of what I'd done truly set in. He was going to kiss me. I knew it like I knew my own name, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. My heart couldn't handle another fissure without breaking all over again. He was killing me with all the back and forth. As much as it pained me, if he was looking for someone to hook up with, Katy would have been a better option. I just couldn’t do it. As extraordinary as I knew it would be to be with him, I would always want more. Thomas had all but told me anything between us would be casual, and as much as I wished it weren’t so, I loved him so much it hurt. How on earth was I going to make it through another stifling, humid August heatwave with him living right across the street.

  Crawling into bed, I prayed for a cold-front.

  Chapter 24

  The next day, I found myself elbow deep in cleanser, scrubbing a year’s worth of dust and spider-webs from the old dishwasher Daddy had stored in the garage on the off chance the new one went out. After all, “They don’t make things like they used to.” Daddy had used that saying so much, it was practically a slogan at my house. Now, with Thomas moved in across the street, it made perfect sense to pass the old appliance along, making Daddy’s pack-rat tendencies look less insane. What a single man, who ate dinner at our house most nights, needed with a dishwasher was beyond me. What was he going to wash, a spoon and a bowl? It would take him a month to fill the thing up. The look on Thomas’s face when Daddy had suggested the idea this morning was comical. It was clear Thomas’s line of thinking ran right along with my own. Of course, I would get stuck cleaning the stupid thing. Thomas was too busy helping Daddy work on one of the tractor’s that’d broken down, and Mama didn’t want Jenny over here too much, afraid she’d think it was okay to cross the street.

  Giving the white racks a once over, I decided they were as good as they were going to get. I shut the door and started a cycle, leaning against the counter and letting the cool air blow the damp hairs from my neck. Thomas had installed a window unit in the kitchen this morning. Turning to the sink, I scrubbed my waterlogged hands free of grime and glanced around for a towel. Not seeing one in sight, I suddenly remembered seeing a basket of laundry on Thomas’s bed when I’d come in. I headed to the bedroom, drying my hands on a dish towel and out of pure habit, started putting away his laundry. Laundry was the one chore I didn't mind so much, because I could watch TV while doing it. I was halfway finished with the basket before I even realized what I was doing. Great! I’d gone from girlfriend, to friend, to near hook-up and now I was his maid. Pulling out the top dresser drawer, with my arms full of rolled socks, a picture caught my eye. My picture. Why did he insist on keeping that old Polaroid? It was embarrassing. I dropped the socks on top of it and closed the drawer just as the front door opened. Mama'd said she was coming back over after putting Jenny down for a nap to make sure the dishwasher wasn’t leaking. There’d been so much gunk in the traps the first time we’d run it, the kitchen floor had flooded. Hence, me scrubbing my morning away.

  “It’s not leaking this time,” I called out as I grabbed the empty basket and held it against the hip of my jean shorts and baseball tee. I wasn't really a Cardinals fan but the red buttons down the front matched the bikini I'd had last summer, so I'd bought it at a thrift store to use as a coverup. It nearly covered my shorts.

  “Good to know,” Thomas said, popping the top of a can of Coke. He was covered in sweat and dirt from head to toe, the knees of his worn jeans covered in grass stains. His eyes zeroed in on the basket as he leaned into the doorframe of the bedroom. Thankfully, he hadn't mentioned last night, and I sure wasn't going to.

  “Did you put my clothes away?” He asked, using the bottom of his shirt to clean his face. “You didn’t have to do that, Bree. I would’ve gotten around to it.”

  “I had to stick around to check the dishwasher anyway,” I said, turning to the side to get by him and heading to the hall. Sticking the basket on top of his dryer, I shrugged, “What else was I going to do?”

  He laughed, quirking his brow. “I could think of a million things I’d rather do than laundry.”

  “Your welcome.” I scowled, plopping down on the couch. If I returned home before the cycle finished, and it did start to leak, I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Thank you,” he said thoughtfully, taking the seat next to me and crossing his feet on the coffee table that had also come from my garage.

  I was trying and so was he. It wasn’t like we could avoid each other, so the friends’ route it would be. At least that’s what I was hoping. I'd just have to avoid being alone with him at night for the time being. My brain seemed to change gears with him at night. Well, not really change gears so much as turn all control over to other parts of my body. Daylight was better. For both of us. It would help even more if he were seeing someone. Well, it would help him. It would most likely kill me, but I’d get through it, and t
hen he wouldn’t feel the need to almost kiss me. Not that I was setting him up on any blind dates in the near future. That was for sure, but it was only a matter of time before some girl in town caught his eye.

  “You stink,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as he scooted down far enough to rest his head on the back of the couch. He didn’t, not really. The hint of soap and whatever antiperspirant he wore was still noticeable in the air. He smelled incredible like always. It would have been easier if he had.

  “And your hair looks ridiculous on top of your head like a bird's nest,” he shot back without so much as turning his head in my direction. I couldn’t stop the grin. I knew he hated my hair like this. That’s why I’d worn it this way all week.

  “Don’t you have deodorant?” I combated.

  He gave the bun on my head a smack, making it bobble and nearly knocking my hair down, “Don’t you have a hairbrush?”

  I fought a grin. This felt familiar. Pulling the hair-tie out, I ran my fingers through my hair, thankful I’d washed it last night. “Better?” I asked, shaking it out dramatically to ensure it hit his smirk face. I bumped him with my shoulder and leaned back, closing my eyes. It had been a long morning taking care of Jenny while he, Daddy and Mama had installed the dishwasher at daybreak. I could feel myself drifting when Thomas shifted next to me.

  “Do I really stink?”

  I smiled to myself, “No. You always smell good.” That was way more than he’d asked, but I was too far gone to care at this point. I just needed fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes…

  The sun was low in the sky as the last rays of light passed through the opened curtains. I stretched into the soft blanket covering my body, glancing around the room to get my bearings. The front door stood open, but the overhead light was turned off. Sitting up, I felt a chill from the air unit blowing softly across my skin from the kitchen. My mouth was parched, and my head felt heavy for sleeping what I knew had been much more than fifteen minutes. Folding the blanket over the back of the couch, I shuffled to the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the tap. I’d just swallowed the last sip when the floor creaked behind me.