by Catori, Ava
As I drove home early on Friday night, I was relieved and disappointed not to find his truck in front of my house. What could I expect? This was the beginning of the weekend after all. My note was still on the steps. It seemed he had been unable to make more time for me today. Oh well, I couldn't really say anything, his progress had been faster than I expected.
Coming closer to the steps, I saw the page had been flipped over and there was a message for me:
One room done. I started on the bathroom and will be back tomorrow. Text me if 10ish is too early. Until then, DO NOT FLUSH THE TOILETS!
Climbing up, I saw a yellow police tape Do Not Cross wrapped around the toilet seat. I giggled like an idiot. Did Tony know of Ryder's use of police supplies? My smile grew on my lips as I pushed open the door to what had been my mother's room. Ryder had moved my bed and night lamp in there. The bed was made, the pillows all fluffed, and the quilt folded like in a fancy hotel.
Looking at that stupid bed, I laughed and tears came to my eyes. The gesture got to me. Why? Because for as long as I could remember no one had ever made my bed for me. Of course the bed had been made when I'd stayed in hotels, but it was not the same.
I entered the other room to move all my things from what I wanted to convert into an office/guest room and realized Ryder had necessarily seen all I had posted on my wall. It made me feel uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure why. After all, there was nothing confidential in my notes, and Dylan Bishop knew the factory results and could have mentioned them to his son.
I couldn't figure out right away why I was uneasy. It was not as if I had let out some trade secret or leaked confidential data. Changing into sweat clothes, I mulled over the question and found the answer on my way down the steps to the kitchen: looking at my research was likely to give Ryder the false impression I was keeping the factory open.
If I had thought the chances were slim a week ago, now I knew better. At the end of a week of hard work, there was no doubt at all. The place was doomed. No matter which way I sliced it, the result was always the same. The production costs were way too high for merchandise no longer in demand.
Dylan Bishop would get the news Monday. It would have been absurd to tell him tonight. The only thing I could do for him and the rest of the employees at this point was give them this last weekend of hope before I made the news official.
Next week would be about checking the orders that still needed to be filled, picking the closing date and trying to get decent severance packages. I would also ask HR for an updated list of job openings in the factories throughout the country and ask those willing to relocate be given some sort of priority.
Sitting in my mother's kitchen, I remembered how terrified I had been when a dozen years ago, the other big job supplier of the town had folded. So many people had been forced to leave or move back in with family. We didn't have any family; it was just my mother and me, and since everybody in town knew my mother had a volatile personality, the chances of her finding another job were slim. I stayed awake at night wondering about it. My questions were about what would happen to my mother, of course, but more selfishly, I was preoccupied about what it would be like to finish school while in the care of some foster family.
Maybe there was a kid just like me who would stay awake tonight with the same questions. I shrugged away the thought. I couldn't be held responsible.
I turned on my computer and while it booted, I sent a text to Ryder to let him know ten-ish would be just fine, and if he had the time, I had a steak with his name on it for lunch. I waited a full minute looking at my screen but no answer came. Oh well, the man was probably very busy.
After taking the hummus and baby carrots from the fridge, I munched on them while shopping on line for a decent light for my room as well as a king-size bed. For an instant, I had this vision of Ryder helping me make the new bed and ... I had to stop daydreaming like this.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’d been working at Barbara's house, getting some of the work out of the way in my free time. The week went by quickly, but I got a lot accomplished. I even added a ceiling fan. I know she didn't request one, but it felt right, so I went for it. Finishing up, I made up the bed so she'd have a good visual when she first walked in.
I wanted it to look magazine ready. She chose the right man to do the job, and a finished product would remind her I had what it took to get the job done. I fluffed the pillows after pushing them into their cases. Wrapping up, I was pretty sure she'd be satisfied with my work. I even started in on the other room after checking my watch. I had time to do a little more. She had papers all over one of the walls. It was quick work to pull them down and stack them neatly. I hoped I didn't mess up whatever organization she had going on.
Ready to head out for the night, I jotted a note on the back of the message she'd left me. I'd promised the boys I'd head down to the casinos with them and let loose. We hadn't partied in a long time, but old Jonesy, one of our local firefighters, took a job as a smokejumper on the West Coast. We wanted to send him out with a good time. Man, he'd applied more times than you could count on two hands, but the letter he was waiting for finally came through. They'd chosen him and would send him to training. He'd made it. He'd get out of this place and move on. I didn't blame Jonesy; it was a chance for a better future.
I noted to Barbara that I'd be back in the morning. Here's hoping I wasn't too hung over. I didn't party like I used to. I could drink most people under the table. Only the older I got, if I had a couple of beers and a handful of pretzels, I was asleep on the couch in no time. That is, unless I was hosting the latest dish of the week, tall, curvy, and more than ready to take care of my needs.
My buddies and I scraped together what we could to make the party a blow-out. My sides ached from all the laughter, but it was a good time. I hated to see Jonesy leave. He was one of the good ones, but I was happy for him. It seems more and more of my buddies had found a way out, and yet I stayed. I wondered if I'd get the itch. I doubted it. This was home. Living by the water all my life, I couldn't imagine being landlocked.
I didn't overdo it on the hard booze. Sticking to beer was my saving grace. If I'd done too many shots, rolling out of bed would have been pure torture. I downed a couple glasses of water to chase away any potential sluggishness and started my day.
I had things to do and someone to see. I thought I'd figured it out. I knew why she looked so familiar. Turned out, I was wrong. I mentioned her to my father, and listed the work she wanted me to do. When he heard the address, things changed. As soon as he told me who the previous resident was, it all made sense.
He'd known her mother. He figured it out Friday after she left for the day. He had trouble placing her, but when I mentioned the house I was working on, it jogged his memory and the pieces fell into place. Only the woman staying there…something was off. Her name didn't match the woman's who used to live there. Could it have been? Was Barbara the very same Bobby-Jean he had called so many times to notify her that her mother had collapsed at work once again? Her last name was different, but now that he thought of it, their eyes were similar. I told him I'd call her out on it, ask her straight up.
If she was, why hadn't she identified herself? Not that it would have mattered much to me, I barely glanced her way back in school, but I knew the name due to my father's grumbling. He'd come home at night, ranting that a woman, the same woman, again, had collapsed. If she didn't get her act together, he'd have to let her go. He hated that thought, he knew work was hard to find, but he couldn't run a factory that way. But why hadn’t she told my father who she was? Surely, she knew him, so why was she acting like a stranger?
I poached a couple eggs and quickly downed a glass of juice. A shower, clean clothes, and I was out the door. I checked my watch. It was nine thirty, which allowed time to stop at the diner and grab my coffee. I tried to remember what Barbara drank when we talked over the job. Once it hit me, I ordered a Diet Coke to go with my coffee and watched Joanne glare a
t me. I never ordered that.
"Who's the lucky lady?" She thought she was being cute, but I knew she was nosy.
"What lady?" I played stupid.
She held up the Styrofoam cup with the Diet Coke in it and sneered. "Not your usual tonic."
"I'm thirsty," I said, taking the cups from her. I'd already thrown a couple of dollars on the counter. I wasn't interested in small talk. "Keep the change."
I jumped into my truck, tucked the cups in the holders, and headed to Barbara's. I had more work to do.
It looked to be a gorgeous day. Blue sky with minimal clouds. It was heating up already; a sure sign summer would be here soon. I pulled up to the front of her place and parked curbside. I grabbed the cups, and then realized I'd need to juggle the drinks in one arm while unlocking the door with the other. It was early. Her car was there. Maybe I should knock.
I debated for only a moment when the door opened. She had her hair pulled back in a hairband. It opened up her face. Her skin was flawless, almost ivory in complexion. With her hair out of her face, her eyes caught my fancy. She twitched her nose, as if she was about to sneeze, then stopped.
"Ooh, sorry," she said with a laugh. “I was going to sneeze.”
"No problem. I got this for you," I said handing her the ice cold drink.
She looked at me as if I'd given her a Nobel Peace Prize. A soft “thank you” slipped out as she took the beverage. It was just a drink, but she seemed touched. Had she lived such a cold life, nobody offering a gesture of kindness before?
"My pleasure," I answered and walked through the door. "I'm going to finish up some trim work, oh, and before I forget, my dad mentioned something about the lady who used to live here. He said she had a daughter. Are you Bobby-Jean?"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Are you Bobby-Jean?"
The question took me by surprise. His tone was nonchalant like it was no big deal. And he was certainly not mad or anything since he'd brought me a drink. He'd even remembered my poison of choice. I stared at him and became aware he was waiting for my answer.
"Yeah, my mother used to call me that," I confessed. He frowned at me as if trying to understand. Despite the fact I didn't owe him an explanation, I felt the need to explain. "I hated the nickname, you know. It still carries a lot of bad memories, so it's Barbara now."
He nodded slowly. "I see." He climbed a few steps and turned around. He looked as if he wanted to ask something but could not figure out how to formulate his question so I volunteered a bit more information.
"I wasn't trying to hide anything. If I had I would have stayed in the suite the company wanted to book for me in one of the casino hotels."
He thought about it for an instant. "Fair enough," he said before turning and climbing the stairs. As he entered the bathroom, I returned to the kitchen.
I prepared a marinade for the huge piece of meat I had purchased and went in search of the old barbecue. The garage was a mess but I found it, the old grill was all rusted. It was time for it to retire. I picked up my car keys and called out to Ryder, "I'm going out for a couple of errands, need anything?"
"Nope, all good," he said.
An hour later I was back with charcoal, a garden hose, shears, a new barbecue, two garden chairs and a mock rattan patio table half sticking out of the trunk.
Ryder was still upstairs. He had opened the window of the small room and was painting the ceiling, shirtless. Even from a distance, I could see he was in amazing shape. The vision was so distracting that I almost drove into his truck.
Good thing he had the radio loud enough not to hear me return. Bringing the furniture into my tiny front yard, I couldn't hear his voice but I saw his lips move. I knew that song. He and John Legend didn't want to brag but had to tell some lucky girl he was going to be "The Best You Ever Had."
That made me laugh. I started the fire, prepared a tomato salad and set up the table. He hadn't answered my text but I figured when lunch time came around chances were he wouldn't turn down a nice steak. I was right.
He came down to the garden a couple of minutes after I'd asked him if he wanted to share my lunch. Standing by the barbecue, I glanced at him as he stepped into the yard, relieved and disappointed to see his shirt was on.
One look at the meat and he stated, "I'll take care of that."
Funny how fire brings out the caveman in every single guy. Even those who wouldn't be caught dead cooking in a kitchen couldn’t fight the urge to come close and defy the flames.
"Absolutely," I said putting the fork down.
I sat and watched him turn the meat around in the marinade.
"How do you like your meat?" he asked.
"Very rare." My answer brought a smile to his face.
"Then that's gonna be quick then," he declared setting the thick steak on the grill. Closing my eyes, I listened to the sizzling sound and breathed in the delicious smoke. It smelled like summer.
When I opened my eyes again, Ryder was staring at me curiously. The intensity of his gaze made me feel strange, self conscious. I became painfully aware that with my hair pushed back, no make up, and my yoga pants, I was probably a far cry from the bombshells he usually spent his free time with.
But the pensive look on his face was not related to my looks but my identity. "Why didn't you tell my father?" he asked.
I sighed and searched for a way to answer his question as truthfully as possible. "I wanted us to have a clean start." He raised a questioning eyebrow. Right, this wasn't enough of an explanation.
I looked away from him and tried again. "I figured there was nothing to gain by bringing up the past. It would have made us both uneasy."
Sitting up straighter in my chair, I continued "I didn't want him to look at me as Bobby-Jean, the town drunk's bastard daughter." From the corner of my eye, I noticed him suddenly getting busy with the meat. I was pretty sure he had winced, confirming it was the way most people had thought about me at the time. "And then I didn't want him to fear I was on some sort of revenge mission. Of course, he did fire her, but it was the company's decision, not his. God knows he saved her sorry ass many times before he let her go."
I removed my hairband and put it in my pocket. Shaking my head to let my hair loose, I rubbed my temple. This conversation was painful. "I have no hidden agenda. When the factory closes, it will not be out of spite on my part."
Ryder didn't answer and flipped the steak turning it around to create a square grill pattern. It was about cooked if we were eating it rare. I went to the kitchen for fresh drinks and to take the garlic bread out of the oven. I was no longer sure it had been such a good idea to reopen the house. It would probably have been easier to stay at the hotel during the week and return to Manhattan on weekends driving opposite traffic.
But then, I wasn't sure of anything anymore. In the yard, Ryder sat at the table tossing the tomato salad looking very domestic. The smile he gave watching me come out with his beer and the bread was so genuine, it melted my heart a bit.
I smiled back at him and said, "Bon appétit."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was never one to turn down a good steak. The invite was a nice gesture. I stepped in and manned the grill while Barbara headed inside to handle a few details. When she came out, I found myself glad for the company. I liked how she came clean with me, rather than try to sugarcoat the past. It made sense, not wanting a spotlight on her family's history.
I guess we both had things in our past that left us wounded. It looked like she picked herself up and made the best of it. Good for her. Her long hair held soft waves after she let it down. I tried to see the younger version of her, but couldn't place her. Sure the name – but not the face. Only her eyes held a clue to the girl she used to be.
I plated up the steaks and sat across from her. I found myself smiling more than I'd grown accustomed to. I wasn't sure why, but maybe being around here, doing things like cooking on a grill, painting a bathroom...anyway, it seemed almost natural to do the simple tas
ks. I felt domestic, which I enjoyed more than I expected. I wasn't in a hurry, but knew I wanted a family eventually. One day I'd find the right girl.
"So what brings you to town?" I dared her to tell me the truth. "My dad's been nervous about the visit."
"I'm just monitoring things for now. Do you mind if we find another topic? It's been a long week, and work is the last thing I want to think about," she said.
"Sure, sorry about that. How do you like being back in Ocean Crest? It hasn't changed much, huh? Well, I guess it depends on how long it's been since the last time you were here." I left it open for her to answer.
"It's been a while" was all she said. She didn't want the attention on herself. "Tell me about the best place in town to grab a bite to eat."
"Well, if you keep serving up slabs of beef like this, I'd have to say it's here." I held her gaze.
She fluttered her eyelashes, and then looked down. Drawing her hair up with her hands, she pulled it back into a ponytail. After digging into her pocket, she pulled out a rubber band and tied it around her cascade of soft curls. "I don't mind having company, if you don't mind eating my cooking. I'm told I'm not too shabby."
"You're on, lady." I winked. "Anyway, the usual places, well, the ones still open. Everything is pretty much the same, well except for what closed.”
"Ocean Crest is a hidden gem," she said. "So close to the water, and yet nobody sees the value of this beach property. It's a shame it's gotten run down."
My eyes traced the curve of her jaw and followed down her neckline. I tried to stop myself, mind my manners, but my eyes trailed down. Her breasts rounded out her shirt nicely, a sweet slice of cleavage adding to the view. They begged to break free, to be touched. I quickly looked back up, but she was staring at me. Like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, I simply grinned. "Sorry about that," I said, trying to find my manners.
