by B. N. Toler
“You too big sister,” she laughs as I stomp back up the stairs.
After we finish eating, we set about clearing the table and the counters. Connor begins washing the dishes as I wipe down the sauce that splattered on stove.
“I made a huge mess, didn’t I?” he snorts as I toss the sponge on the back of the sink. I can’t stop myself from letting my eyes graze over his exposed chest and abs. I want so badly to get closer and inspect each tattoo, trace them with my fingers. But if Connor notices my intrigue with his body and body art, he doesn’t let on, which I’m grateful for.
“Things just got a little out of hand,” I laugh. Yanking a dishtowel out of the drawer next to me, I join him at the sink and begin drying what he’s washed. The jukebox is clicking as the record changes and after a few moments, Hey, Baby by Bruce Channel begins to play.
Connor raises his head as he listens for a moment. “Dirty Dancing?”
I can’t help laughing. “Yeah, it’s in Dirty Dancing. I love that movie.”
“Patrick Swayze was boss,” Connor notes.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I sigh. “All I ever wanted was to be Baby.”
We continue doing the dishes, and before I know it we’re swaying side to side as we stand next to each other. It’s a moment before either of us realizes we’re doing it. When we do, we both bust out laughing, but Connor surprises me. He grabs my hand with his soapy one and pulls me to him. Warm water drips down my arm, from where our hands are joined, tickling my skin, but I don’t pull away. My back arches as instinct tells me to move closer to him, but Connor holds me steady, preventing it. There’s space between our bodies as we move, but we’re both smiling. I can’t remember the last time I danced. Feels like it’s been a million years. As we move, my gaze follows the thick vein that runs up his arm and the one that runs from his neck to the back part of his jaw. Connor sings the words and twirls me a few times before he lets me go.
Still smiling, he turns back to the dishes. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
I like this playful side of him. He looks so dangerous and rough on the outside, but he’s quite funny and easy going. “That was fun. You’re a good dancer,” I note, as I take the dish he’s just washed and dry it. “I can’t remember the last time I even danced.”
“Well, there weren’t many dance offs where I’ve been for the last eight years,” he jokes. “Maybe we need to get out one night, hmm?”
“Maybe. Lexi knows all of the cool places to go. Maybe I’ll make her our escort.”
He smirks. “Let me know. I’ll see if I can pencil you in,” he jests.
Connor joined me for dinner two more times the same week. The first night we grilled burgers, and I taught him how to use his cell phone. On the second night, he helped me rearrange my living room furniture. But other nights he took off on his Harley. I never asked him where he went, but I was curious. If I had asked, I’m sure he would have told me, but I know it was none of my business.
We decide to go into town on Sunday to visit his grandmother, Grams, at her nursing home. Meryl Elouise Stevens is eighty-three-years-old and the life of the party even in her motorized wheelchair. The nursing home has called me a few times over the last few years to discuss her ‘flamboyant behavior.’ Meryl apparently had a gentlemen friend visiting her in her room late at night. They were caught a few times, but the last straw was when the guy had a heart attack.
On top of her.
She woke the whole floor up yelling for help because she couldn’t get out from under him.
Luckily he survived, but his family moved him to another facility, concerned for his well-being in Grams presence. I decided not to share this tidbit of information with Connor, figuring it might be a little much for him to digest.
Blake worshiped her, and as I watch Connor practically run up to her as she pushes herself up out of her wheelchair, I can see Connor holds her in the same esteem. Watching this giant of a man bend down and hug his practically hobbit-sized grandmother like she’s made of porcelain makes my heart squeeze.
“My darling boy,” she coos as he embraces her gently, her frail, wrinkled arms wrapped around his neck as best she can. “I’m so happy you’re home, boy,” she croaks with emotion, as she pats his back before they pull away from one another.
“It’s so good to see you, Grams,” he beams. The genuine smile on his face is amazing, and Gram’s eyes go teary. He holds her steady as she slowly sits in her chair again, but she doesn’t let go of his hand, which forces Connor to stand a little hunched over, but he doesn’t complain.
“Demi, love. Where’s my hug?” It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t. In Grams language that translates as: Get your ass over here and hug me.
“Hi, Grams. You’re looking beautiful today.” I lean down and close my eyes as she wraps her one free arm around me, loving the warmth in her hug. Her other hand still grips Connor’s tightly. My grandparents passed before I was born and my mother, while overbearing and meddling, was never very affectionate. But Meryl’s love more than made up for it.
So many people talk about purpose. Why are we here? What were we meant to do with our time here? I haven’t quite figured out my purpose just yet, but I know, with all certainty, Meryl Stevens was put here to love those who lacked love in their lives. That saying when God closes a door, he opens a window; well Blake and Connor had shit for mothers—that door closed for them. But Meryl was their big beautiful window. She gave them the love they desperately needed. And even had some left over for the rest of us.
“You look stunning, Demi. Have you lost weight?”
I chuckle as I stand and put my hands on my hips. “Not since I saw you last week.”
“Well, you do,” she states. Then she looks up at Connor. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”
Connor’s smile softens as he looks from Meryl to me, his gaze certain. “Inside and out,” he answers simply. Guess what. My face feels hot. I smile and push some hair behind my ear.
“Well, you two are going to inflate my ego and make my head five times bigger.”
They both watch me for a moment, but it’s Connor I’m looking at. In my peripheral vision, I see Meryl smile and pat Connor’s hand she’s holding with her free hand.
I tear my eyes away and clear my throat. “Shall we play a game today?”
“Oh, yes,” Meryl replies. “I have a good one.”
We spend the next hour in the rec room of the nursing home playing ‘Who am I?’
Everyone writes down a name and passes it to the person next to them, but that person can’t look. They have to lick the back of the paper and stick it to their foreheads. Then you take turns asking questions trying to figure out who you are. Again, I loved watching Connor with Meryl. I never brought Connor up when I visited her. Blake said she became too emotional. The first time I ever breathed his name to her was when I told her I was going to pick him up and bring him home. She immediately fell into a fit of tears. Now I see why. She’s missed him. These boys may have been her grandsons, put upon her by her worthless daughters, but they were her babies and always will be. She lost one baby, now she gets one back. And with that thought, my heart swells a little. There’s no denying that Blake wanted to help Connor, no doubt about that. But bringing Connor home wasn’t all about helping Connor. It was for Grams, too. And because of my beautiful husband, I get to be a part of this. I get to see two people overwhelmed with happiness because they’ve been reunited.
After we finish playing, I excuse myself to give them some time alone. I walk around outside and call Wendy to let her know we’ll be stopping by her house in a bit after we go to Meryl’s storage unit and collect some of Connor’s things she had kept for him.
When I go back in, Connor is gone, and Meryl is sitting alone at the table where we played. I sit beside her, and she takes my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Demi. Thank you for all you’re doing for him.”
“Blake arranged everything. I’m
just carrying out his wishes,” I point out.
She gives me a sideways look, her mouth twisting. “All for Blake is it?” As I said before, Meryl is loving, sweet, cute as a button. Now, let me add blunt to the list. She doesn’t mince words.
I look at her and open my mouth to speak, but she stops me by saying, “You two are attracted to one another. Anyone can see it. Even a half-blind old lady like me.”
“Meryl, I—”
“Blake would have liked it, ya know? He loved you so much Demi. And he loved Connor too. He would’ve loved the two of you together.”
My brows rise. Is she trying to set me and up . . . with Connor? “Meryl—”
“You ready to go Demi?” Connor asks from behind us, making me jump.
“Oh, uh, yes,” I stutter, awkwardly. Leaning over, I kiss Meryl’s cheek. “See you next week?”
“I hope so.” She smiles. Connor hugs her goodbye and promises to visit every other day. We leave her just as she takes off for lunch. Connor whistles all the way to the car, and I wonder if it’s to avoid speaking to me. Did he overhear what Meryl said?
After the quick detour to Meryl’s storage unit to pick up some boxes of Connor’s belongings, we make a quick stop at the Quick Mart. It’s the only place in town where you can get groceries unless you want to drive forty-five minutes away to the bigger stores. It’s also one of the only gas stations in town as well. I decide to fill my tank before we head to Wendy’s house, and Connor insists on paying even when I argue it’s not necessary. Unfortunately, I lose because he rushes inside to pay. I decide to run in and grab a few candy bars for Jeff and Wendy’s kids since we’re heading there next. I can’t pump the gas until after Connor pays and they turn the pump on, anyway.
When I walk in, Connor is in line behind a lady with a baby on one hip and two small children beside her. The baby is crying, and the other two children are bickering as the cashier rings up the woman’s items. The mother of these children looks exhausted; pale with huge bags under her eyes. I want to take the baby from her just to give her a little break.
“Stop it,” she hisses at her two children squabbling beside her.
“It says your card is declined,” the cashier drones out, clearly annoyed.
The woman gives Connor an embarrassed glance, before asking the cashier quietly, “Can you try it again?”
The cashier lets out an annoyed sigh but swipes the card again. “Declined,” he huffs. “Do you have another card you’d like to try?”
Fumbling through her wallet, quite the feat while holding a baby, she pulls out another card and hands it to the cashier. “Try this one.”
“Declined,” the cashier grumbles after he swipes it. He’s not even trying to be discreet about it which makes me want to wring his neck.
“I don’t understand. I know there’s money in the account,” the woman explains quietly. “Will you try it one more time?”
With a dramatic huff, the cashier swipes her card one more time, almost immediately handing it back to her. “Declined,” he sneers. “Ma’am, I have other customers in line.”
Her face goes bright red as she lifts the baby higher on her hip and grabs the hand of one of the children. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, shooting an apologetic look to Connor. “Come on you two,” she orders to her children. The cashier rolls his eyes and picks up a phone receiver. Over the store speaker, he gripes, “I need someone upfront to grab items that need to be put back.”
The poor woman looks mortified as she moves to rush out, but Connor stops her.
“Hold on a minute,” Connor calls. Looking to the cashier, he asks, “How much does she owe?”
“One-hundred-forty-two,” the cashier replies, annoyed. I’m in line behind Connor now, grabbing candy bars from the display. “I got this,” Connor tells the cashier, giving him a pointed look that clearly states he’s pissed.
“Oh, thank you, but no. I couldn’t let you do that,” the woman sniffles. She’s so humiliated, she’s tearing up.
“I want to,” he tells her. “I’m paying for her groceries, and I need to add forty dollars in gas on pump seven.” Then looking back at me, as I stare at him in awe while holding five candy bars, says, “And those candy bars, too.”
With everything, the total is one-hundred-eighty-six dollars. Connor tosses bills on the counter, grabs the ladies four bags of groceries, and heads for the exit.
“Sir, you gave me too much. I owe you change,” the pimply face cashier calls. When Connor turns back, his expression is one of disgust. “Keep it, man. Maybe you can buy yourself some fucking manners with it.” Then he turns and carries the groceries outside to the woman’s car. She was parked close to the pumps, and as I filled the tank, I watched as she belted her children in the car while Connor put her bags in the trunk.
“Can I have your address so I can pay you back?” she asked when he slammed the trunk closed.
“No,” he says. “No need to repay me. I’ve had a lot of kindness thrown my way lately. It was about time I paid it forward.”
He stiffens when she flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. He wasn’t expecting a hug, and I giggle at the look on his face. When she pulls away, I wouldn’t quite say he’s blushing, but he looks like he’s on the verge of it. “Thank you,” she insists, one more time. With a nod, he leaves her and heads back over to me. After the tank is full, we climb back in the car and continue our trip to Jeff and Wendy’s.
“That was . . . that was really nice, Connor,” I tell him. “You’re a good guy.”
“No, I’m not. Make no mistake about that. I’m just a very lucky guy.”
Although I want to, I don’t ask him what he means. I’ve learned in life, sometimes the hardest forgiveness to earn is forgiveness from ourselves. Clearly he thinks he’s undeserving, and that luck just fell upon him. And maybe it did. Or maybe it wasn’t good luck. I don’t know why he killed a man; frankly, I’m not sure I want to know. Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever happened, right or wrong, good luck or bad, there’s no doubt there is more to Connor Stevens than meets the eye.
And I find it very intriguing.
On the way home we stop by Jeff and Wendy’s so I can give him cash to buy the materials he’ll need for my house. Jeff starts on my house projects Monday after next, so for now, Connor has to come down and use my bathroom. Which is no big deal for me. I just feel bad he has to go through the trouble. In addition to the plumbing, Jeff is going to paint my living room and put up crown molding.
“This is a nice house,” Connor notes as we climb the steps of the front stoop. Jeff and Wendy live in a beautiful colonial with a wide front porch. Even with five kids, Jeff manages to take excellent care of the outside.
“Jeff’s a great handyman,” I note as I open the front door. I never knock. Neither does Wendy when she comes to my house.
“Now the inside is a different story,” I whisper to Connor as I move aside allowing him to step in. There’s a staircase to the left strewn with clothes, toys, and books. The bench to our right has approximately fifty pairs of shoes on and under it and the wall above it with several jackets, coats, and book bags. I shut the door behind Connor as he takes quick inventory of the place.
“Wendy!” I shout as I make my way down the hall toward the kitchen in the back, Connor following close behind me.
“Kitchen,” Wendy yells back.
Entering the kitchen, we find Wendy plating grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates, and Grayson on the floor with tons of matchbox cars, lining them up.
“Hey, guys,” Wendy chirps. “Want a grilled cheese?” Although she smiles at us, I can’t help but notice it doesn’t quite seem authentic. I give her a concerned look, but she just shakes her head, letting me know she doesn’t want to talk about it.
“No, thank you,” Connor says, and I shake my head no.
“Jeff ran out to get some milk and butter.”
“Well, I’ll just leave the cash with you.
We have to get home.” I’m speaking to Wendy, but my gaze won’t leave Grayson, the youngest Tuffman child, who has lined up matchbox cars along the length of the kitchen.
“You have a lovely home,” Connor notes, and he and Wendy start chatting as I continue to watch Grayson. He’s singing. It’s the opening song to the cartoon show Team Umizoomi. As soon as he finishes, he starts all over again, singing the same song.
“Grayson,” I call. But he doesn’t respond or give any indication that he even hears me.
“Grayson bug,” I say, lovingly, hoping the change in my tone will catch his attention. But he still doesn’t turn. He just keeps lining his cars up and singing the same song, seemingly oblivious to me.
My brows furrow just before Wendy snaps, “Grayson! Answer Demi!” He doesn’t acknowledge Wendy.
Wendy huffs, clearly aggravated. “I think we need to get his hearing checked. It’s like he doesn’t even hear me most of the time.”
When I look up, Connor is watching me, a questioning look on his face. Apparently I’m not doing a very good job hiding my thoughts.
“Later,” I mouth. He nods and I put the envelope of cash on the counter. “Here’s the money and I added a deposit.”
Wendy’s eyes fall to the plates in front of her. I was hoping I had been subtle. I know they need the money, and she’s embarrassed that I know. If Connor weren’t here, I would press her and tell her to stop feeling ashamed, but since he is, I move on. “Well, we have to go. Meet me tomorrow for dinner? My treat?” I can tell something I off with her. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on over dinner.
Wendy’s eyes light up. “Yes, please,” she groans.
Connor and I chuckle just as her three older kids come barreling in the kitchen. Mary-Anne comes to an abrupt halt when she catches sight of Connor and J.J plows into her, knocking her to her knees.
“You jerk!” she yells at him.
“Mary-Anne,” Wendy scolds.
“Stop being such a baby,” J.J. grunts as he stands.
