by Elsa Kurt
Without taking his eyes away from Katharine, he turned off the machine, then turned in his seat to face her. The crew stood mostly silent but for a handful of guffaws and amused calls of, ‘uh-oh, Mitch.’ He shushed them with a wave of his hand. Still, his twinkling eyes stayed locked on Katharine’s green ones.
“Did you just throw—a soccer ball at my head?” Instead of being angry, he looked amused. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, causing the dimple in his cheek to deepen. His ridiculously swoon-worthy eyes crinkled at the edges. Katharine was momentarily dumbstruck.
Rugged. That’s the word for Mr. Nice Jeans. Get ahold of yourself. He’s the reason you’re not working on your book right now, remember?
“I—no. Well, yes. I was aiming for your leg, though.”
“Oh. I see. And…why were you aiming for my leg, may I ask?”
A short guy wearing his baseball cap backward and his well-worn Boston Red Sox t-shirt untucked came around from behind Katharine with a large camera perched on his shoulder. He turned his round lens in her face. He grinned and chomped his gum and rolled his hand at her. She stared at him. He yanked his head back, away from the eyepiece and mouthed, ‘keep talking.’
“What? I—get that thing off me, will you?” To the man in the machine, “Can you tell him to get lost please?”
“Sam, buddy, back it up a bit, will ya?” He turned back to Katharine. “Okay, lady. We’re on a time schedule here. What can I do for you, hmm? Do you want an autograph?”
“A—an autograph? What? No, I—”
“Yo, Eddie, get this lovely lady a promo cap,” he called over her head.
“I don’t want an autograph, I want you to stop this racket. Now.”
“Stop? I don’t—” He paused, and gave her a harder look, then he slapped his knee and wagged a finger at her, squinting a little. “Ohhh, you’re the mean neighbor lady, aren’t you?”
“Mean neighbor lady? Me? Mean? I beg your pardon!” Katharine was mortified. And furious. Her, mean? And did she actually say, ‘I beg your pardon’?
“Are you the one next door? With the fortress of Arborvitaes? And No Trespassing signs every three feet?”
Katharine crossed her arms in front of her chest and cut her eyes away. Then she thrust her chin and arched her eyebrow at him. “So, it’s ‘mean’ to appreciate privacy, now? Great. In that case, fine. Yes, I’m the mean neighbor lady, and I am trying to work over at my mean neighbor lady house, so if you could save the noise for, oh, I don’t know… never? That’d be great, thanks.”
From up on his steel perch, he looked at her in disbelief. Then he lifted his cap off his head and raked back his wavy dark hair. She could see it was peppered with grey, more so at the temples. Her favorite look. Distinguished.
Oh, my God, stop focusing on his looks.
“Let me get this straight, sweetheart. You want an entire construction and production company—ones which are not on your property—to stop labor because you’re trying to work? Is that what you’re saying to me?”
He climbed out of the cab and hopped down in two swift moves and strode towards her. The smirky grin hadn’t left his lips, but his eyes took on a steely glint. She put her hands on her hips and widened her stance. Katharine was not going to be intimidated by this six-foot-tall, solid hunk of a man.
Ugh, you just thought of him as a ‘hunk of a man.’ Stop it, Katharine. You write teen romance, not live it.
When he stopped mere inches from her, Katharine had to crane her neck. It was impossible not to notice that he towered over her. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. Well, she and the steadily inching forward cameraman, that is.
“Lady, I don’t know what it is you’re working on, but what I’m working on is keeping a crew of thirty men in business. I’m working on a remodel that’s going to change a young couple’s life for the better. I’m working on making my living, too. So, I do apologize if that conflicts with your plans, but I’m afraid it’s not on my list of priorities today. You had a chance weeks ago to lodge a complaint. No one did. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Unless you’d like a hard hat and a chainsaw, that is?”
Katharine’s hands dropped to her sides and balled into two small, tight fists. She set her full mouth in a hard line and slit her eyes up at him. “Well, if that wasn’t the most backhanded apology I’ve ever heard! You know what? Thanks for nothing.” Katharine began to walk away, then turned and marched back. “No, that’s not true. Thanks for ruining my day and for likely causing me to lose my advance, too.” His insipid expression infuriated her even more, but all she could think to say was, “Keep your stupid chainsaw and your ugly hardhat and have fun on your obnoxious excavator.”
Katharine gave him a mirthless, tight smile. He took a step toward her, but she turned quickly—flicking her ponytail in his face—and stomped away, back towards the front of the house.
“You’re welcome! Oh, and it’s a bulldozer,” he called after her.
She spun around as best she could in her garden boots and glared. “What?”
“It’s a bulldozer. Not an excavator. In case you wanted to know. And my name’s Mitch, by the way.”
The smirk was back on his lips. Katharine threw her hands out and narrowed her eyes at him again, then shook her head.
“I don’t care what it—or you—are called. Goodbye!” Katharine took several steps backward as she spoke. It was a poor choice considering the state of the yard. One moment Katharine was upright, and the next she was staring up at the blue sky from ground level, the wind knocked out of her. She’d stepped back into a deep rut, no doubt caused by the ginormous tires on the stupid machine. There was no way to save face. Now the only thing rivaling Katharine’s outrage was mortification. Mitch strode over to her with an air of forbearance as if she’d fallen on purpose. She warded off the outstretched hand and righted herself with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Katharine hissed through gritted teeth. She wasn’t fine, her insides were jangled up and she’d barely gotten her breath back. Knowing full well she was covered in dirt, she held her head high and tramped away, ignoring the sharp pain in her diaphragm as best she could. This time she watched where she was walking. She also suspected that Mitch’s eyes—and at least half the crews’ eyes—were still on her. He confirmed her suspicion when he called out once more to her.
“Bye, now! Have a great day! Oh, hey…” His sharp call didn’t garnish even a pause in her step. She refused to reply.
***
Mitch Ford bent down and retrieved a rectangular object from the rut where Katharine had fallen. He brushed the dirt off a pink phone case, which caused the screen to illuminate. “Katharine Evans, hmm? Okay, Ms. Evans, looks like I’ll be seeing you again, won’t I?”
TWO
FROM BAD TO WORSE
“Where is it? Where is my stupid phone?”
Katharine had been searching for the last hour, retracing her steps throughout the house from the time she awoke. She was also speaking aloud to herself again. She really needed to get a dog. It’s easier to justify talking to a dog than yourself.
“I woke up, went to the bathroom. No, not there. Kitchen. Nope. Office. Not there. Shaggy—I mean Brandon showed up. I went next door...”
Her heart sank. Could she have dropped it in the jungle Genoma called a front yard? Or worse, in the backyard where that, that man was? It had been more than six hours since she’d gone over there and made a fool of herself. She couldn’t go back now. Although, the steady cacophony had recently stopped. Maybe they were all gone by now, and she could go search. She was ready for a break.
Somehow, despite the incessant drone of chainsaws and exca— bulldozers, she reminded herself— the loud shouts, and calls of testosterone overloaded men and slams of truck doors, she managed to squeeze out not quite half of the expected twenty-thousand-word count of the
manuscript. Sure, it took a little help from some of the deleted text she kept on back up, but once she cleaned it up and rehomed it, it worked well enough for a first draft. She’d also cranked her headphones up, filling her head with the most current pop music—her ‘mood music’ for writing in the teen genre. Certainly not her taste, but it helped her churn out pages of age-appropriate vernacular for the young masses. Not the bare minimum of what she owed her editor, but she’d make sure she met her deadline in time. It probably wouldn’t be her best work, but she had plenty of room and opportunity for improvement. And a solid track record for producing precisely what her publishing house was looking for. So far.
She’d intended on rewarding herself with a phone call to her brother, Nate. He’d be surprised to hear from her this early in the day. She could virtually hear his sweet voice in her mind, calling her his Kit-Kat. He was her Nate The Great, her big brother. He loved it when she called him that, big brother. Katharine’s eyes stung with the threat of tears. She missed Nate. When he decided to move out on his own, Katharine was terrified for him. While Down’s Syndrome had hardly held him back from any goal he set, it was still a cruel world out there. Not everyone would treat him with the kindness and patience he deserved. It had been proven time and again over his forty years and her thirty-four. Bullies. Employers who took advantage of him. His health care providers. Jerks who found it funny to talk down to him.
Their mother, Alicia, was forty-five when she had Nate, their father, Nathanial, was fifty-five. He was their planned child, Katharine their surprise. They were late-in-life parents who doted on their two children. They did their very best in raising Nate and Katharine, but they weren’t like modern-day late-in-life parents. Today, fifty is the new forty. Back then, fifty was, well, it was just fifty. They were kind, patient and gentle with Nate, but it was Katharine who took on many of the physical responsibilities. It never phased her that she was the younger sibling, doing what a parent or an older sibling would do. Nor did she ever think of Nate as being disabled in any way. No one could say otherwise in her presence. Nicky D’Amoti found out first hand. Katharine got into her first and only fist fight with him when she was nine. He was her age, but bigger. A lot bigger, but that didn’t deter Katharine.
It was a crisp, fall afternoon and she and Nate had walked to the local park. Nate loved the swings most of all, and small Katharine was pushing the much larger Nate on one. Nicky was on the half court, tossing a basketball into the tattered net. Truth be told, Katharine knew he’d be there. She’d overheard him talking to his friends at school. Up until that day, she’d had something of a crush on Nicky D’Amoti, with his dark hair and coal black eyes. Not that she’d have ever told anyone. As Katharine had hoped, Nicky spotted them and came over, his basketball under one arm.
“Hi,” said Katharine.
At first, Nicky said nothing. He merely watched Nate, his expression unreadable. Finally, he thrust his chin out and said, “What’s wrong with him?”
Katharine had been asked this question before and was always able to respond with what her parents had taught her to say—there’s nothing wrong with Nate. He’s just different, that’s all—and then everyone generally moved on. This time, though, her hackles rose. It wasn’t the question that bothered her, it was the way it was asked. She stepped away from the swing, ignoring Nate’s request of, ‘again Kit-Kat, push me again’ for the moment.
“What did you say?” she asked. She really did want to give Nicky a chance to correct himself. She wanted to keep liking him. But then he blew it.
“I said, what’s wrong with him. Is he retarded, or something?”
Katharine closed the distance between them, her hands fisted at her sides. “What’s wrong with you, jerkface?”
Nicky didn’t get a chance to answer. As the word jerkface left her lips, so did her fist from her side. She punched Nicky D’Amoti square in the mouth, splitting his lip. His eyes widened in shock, his fingers touched his bleeding lip. Then his eyes narrowed, and he shoved Katharine so hard she fell backward onto the cold ground.
“Katharine,” screamed Nate. He jumped off the swing and charged Nicky, plowing him down. They tangled and grunted in the dry leaves and dirt, and Katharine tried to pull them apart. Suddenly several more bodies were piling onto the trio. Nicky’s friends had arrived and jumped in to help their buddy. They punched and kicked at Nate, who by then had curled up into a ball, crying. Katharine screamed and beat on their backs, legs, and anywhere she could.
“Get off him! Get OFF him! GET OFF HIM,” she screamed, her voice raw.
They didn’t stop until the bellowing voice of a man jogging by with his long-eared dog shouted out, “Hey! What’s going on over there?”
The cowards sprang off Nate, knocking Katharine down once again. Then they scattered like roaches. Katharine scuttled on all fours to Nate—still curled up— and pet his head, tears streaming down her face. The man jogged over and knelt beside them.
“Hey, sweetie. Your nose is bleeding. Here.” He handed her a tissue from his pocket, then helped Nate up. He checked him over, roughed up his hair a bit, and said, “You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay.” And for the most part, they were. Nate had some bruises and a cut over his left eye. Katharine had no idea how she’d gotten the bloody nose, but it was numb, and her eyes kept watering. The man walked them home, letting Nate hold the basset hound’s leash. It cheered him up considerably, and soon he’d stopped talking about the mean boys and instead asked all sorts of questions about the dog. When they reached the house, the man explained what he had seen to their parents.
“Nate, sweetheart, are you alright?” cried their mother.
“I’m okay, Mom. This is Romeo.” Nate pointed to the dog, “Can we have a dog like him?”
Alicia cried and hugged both Katharine and Nate, and Nathanial took his car keys off the hook by the front door and left. Presumably to pay Nicky’s parents a visit. Several hours later, he returned with a long-eared puppy and a shrug to his wife’s questioning eyes. Katharine went up to her room and stayed there, not even coming out to see the puppy until everyone was sound asleep. Something had fractured inside her that autumn day, but it wasn’t a bone.
It was the intangible something that allows us to trust and love. At the tender age of nine, Katharine Evans vowed she would never trust anyone besides Nate and her parents ever again. The only soul she told was the little puppy, whispering it in one of his long, silky ears that night as she curled up beside him in his doggy bed.
Life went on as usual afterward in the Evanses’ home, but school was another story. The harassment began in earnest. Nate was in a school for kids with special needs, so Katharine took the brunt of it all. Every day was an ordeal, but she didn’t like to worry her parents—they had enough to deal with—so she kept it bottled up. She was proud of the walls she’d built. Soon, she was like a glacier. Nothing touched her, no one moved her, except for Nate, of course.
When Katharine was twenty-two and Nate twenty-six, their father passed away. Their mother passed not long after. Nathanial and Alicia had financially planned for their children’s inevitable future without them, and Katharine had promised them both she would always take care of Nate. She remembered thinking at her mother’s funeral that it would be Katharine and Nate against the world from then on. Nate had other ideas.
While Katharine had turned away from humankind in general, Nate was the opposite. He loved everyone with abandon and openness. When people were cruel, he forgave them. When they misjudged his intellect, he educated them. Katharine was neither forgiving nor patient. No matter how often Nate told her not to get so disappointed by people—they didn’t know any better—she found she couldn’t help herself. Katharine had hung on to her nine-year-old self’s sense of logic—no one can disappoint you if you don’t let them in.
Katharine was so lost in her memories, that when the sound of the doorbell chimed, she jumped. Was it a coincidence that her last thought before the bell rang was ‘l
et them in?’ Could it have been a sign? Then she chased the silly notion away, reverting to her usual tendency toward annoyance. Seriously? Twice in one day, someone’s at my door. Great.
This time, Katharine went to peer through the peephole, forgetting she’d rehung the ‘do not disturb’ sign over it so it would be impossible to miss. Clearly, that didn’t work either. She cracked the door and peeked out through the opening. Whoever it was, was standing back, out of immediate view. She opened the door wider. Mud crusted work boots. Faded jeans. Powder blue button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to bare tanned, muscular arms. Tan neck…strong, square jaw, lips parted into a smile showing straight, white teeth. Those swoon-worthy blue eyes. Him. Her eyes dropped back down at his hands. One was wedged in his front pocket. The other held her phone.
“Hey, there. I think you dropped this? Earlier? Pretty sure none of the fellas have a pink phone case. And uh, you were the only woman around, so…”
“Rose-gold.”
“I—what?”
“Rose-gold. The case. You called it pink.”
Katharine stepped out onto the porch, closed the door behind her and crossed her arms in front of her chest. His presence on her porch disconcerted her. He made her skin feel hot and her heart…flutter. Oh, come on. Heart flutters? A hunk of a man? This is ridiculous. Get him out of here. Quick, before you say something stupid.
