by Joy Penny
Archer snorted and picked up his pen again.
Brielle took that as her cue to get out of there and clean the rest of the place. She didn’t speak to Archer again for upward of an hour, simply finding where the dishes went through trial and error and examining the spare closet nearest the door to find the vacuum. Good thing it was there, too. She wouldn’t want him accusing her of “rifling through his personal effects.” Honestly, he talked like someone from a century ago. Maybe because he didn’t have enough chance to work on his socialization staying at home all day and what little chance he had, he totally blew.
There wasn’t much remarkable about the sole bedroom and its connecting bathroom, other than there were grab bars on the wall and the side of the sink. Even the bed had those grab bars that went up and down that you saw in hospitals. There was a half-bathroom in the hall on the way to the bedroom, too, and that had the grab bars as well. He was a little untidy, but the place was hardly filthy. Of course, that was what happened when you had someone in to clean every day. Brielle figured she’d only need to do the dusting every other day to stay on top of it, although she did it that day since she’d missed the holiday and who knew how thorough a job his mom did on Sundays.
By the time Brielle finished in the bedroom and came out to say she would see him—regrettably—the next day, she found Archer near the front door, bent over on his chair.
Brielle watched him warily and grabbed her bucket from the kitchen, making sure everything was in place, hoping he’d get back to his table and not say another word. But he was still there in front of the door. She’d have to walk by him.
“All right,” she said, clearing her throat. “I finished everything for the day, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” She held up the key to his condo as she got nearer. “I’ll be sure to come in a clean shirt and let myself in.” She winced. It didn’t seem like a good idea to remind him of her failures.
Archer grunted. As she approached, she had to lift her bucket up to avoid hitting him as she squeezed past. His pants were rolled up and one of his legs had a brace on and he was struggling to put the brace on the other leg. Despite his top half being rather buff—his arms especially—his legs were awfully thin. So skinny, he looked sickly. Brielle immediately felt dumb for even thinking that.
Archer swore under his breath as his hands slipped and he had to tug his brace closer.
“Do you need any help?” Brielle bent over, grabbing for his leg.
“No!” Archer dropped his brace like a hot potato and gripped his wheels, backing up to put space between them. “Don’t ever do that!”
Brielle’s head snapped up; she felt tears welling in her eyes and swallowed them hard. He was right, of course—that had been inappropriate of her. It was invasive. She felt so stupid. But still, did he have to be so cruel about it? She’d just meant to help. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. She bowed a little, unable to look at Archer and deal with that rage on his face. She couldn’t believe she was getting this upset. Even Daniel didn’t ever get her this upset. “I’m sorry,” she said again, bowing. She didn’t even know why she was bowing. It felt so dumb.
She scrambled for the door knob. “Sorry,” she said again, quietly.
She cleaned two more houses in blessed solitude afterward, trying to stop the tears from falling as she scrubbed, and spent the hours until her mom got home Facebook messaging with Lilac and Gavin, only somewhat really there in the moment to deal with Lilac’s tales about how amazing Florida was and poor Gavin’s upset about his jackass of a boss. More than once, she started typing: “Wait until you hear about the jackass client I cleaned for today…” But she kept hitting the back space button as she pictured Archer’s face. She felt as if she’d violated him. And she probably had. She didn’t really tune into the conversation until Gavin mentioned that Pembroke hadn’t responded to any of his messages, and that she’d been acting weird that graduation weekend so he couldn’t just fluff it off as her being busy.
Brielle tried to remember the last time she’d really talked to Pembroke. It’d been about Daniel. When things had gotten bad, she hadn’t run to Lilac and Gavin—she knew they wouldn’t be sympathetic, that there would be too many told-you-sos. So Brielle pulled up Pembroke’s profile and DMed her about her day.
Chapter Four
Archer hadn’t been alone with a woman so close to his age in years. He hadn’t been alone with a woman so beautiful in forever. (And no, he wasn’t going to count his mother, no matter what others said.) That first older cleaner he’d had when his mother had signed him up for the service had made things awkward enough, but to suddenly send him someone who looked like she’d stepped off the pages of a perfume ad (well, despite the cat hair and the cheesy attire) without even warning him? His life was always a joke, but it never failed to surprise him just how many ways life could mess with him.
And now he’d just made her cry. He’d made a grown woman he barely knew cry. (She’d tried to hide it, but he could see those striking dark brown eyes glistening as she left.) What was he, a ten-year-old bully?
He sat in his hallway a long time after that, cradling his chin in one hand he leaned on his wheelchair armrest, his half-affixed brace forgotten. His phone buzzed a few times—had enough time really passed that he’d be missed already? He’d given himself half an hour to get to the park on the north side of the complex that only took him five minutes to wheel to on a good day—but he didn’t dig it out of his pocket to look at it.
He couldn’t get those glistening eyes out of his mind.
She was not what he’d been expecting when he’d opened the door. He’d thought he’d find that Deena woman with excuses that she’d lost her key, he’d pictured the headache of having to have another one made—or more likely, asking his mother to have one made. He’d made it quite clear to her last week that he wasn’t to be disturbed while he was working, that it messed with his concentration. If he’d had to ask his mother to get another key made, he’d have had to see her before Sunday. Either that or he’d have had to keep letting Deena in all week, tearing himself from his art, wheeling all the way to the front door to be gawked at by the help like some oddity. Although he supposed he could have left the door unlocked for her. Who cared if some thief walked in? He had nothing he cared about for them to take. So long as he locked it before his mother came on Sunday, she wouldn’t even know and they wouldn’t have to argue about it.
That had all gone through his head before he’d torn open the door to find a key mere centimeters from his face. Mere seconds from making him half-blind on top of everything else.
But the woman holding the key was absolutely the last thing he’d expected to see.
He’d noticed the cat hair almost right away—but he couldn’t help it. She’d looked about to pop out of that gaudy shirt with the atrociously stupid design—not that she had the biggest breasts he’d ever seen, but with her top practically acting like a second skin, it was hard not to be drawn to the pair of breasts just about eye height for him. He’d had to stifle a laugh to discover they were covered in white and brown fur—a cleaning woman who could use some cleaning? He’d had to shake his head to clear his mind of the images of himself in the bathroom cleaning the poor woman he’d just met.
Jesus, how did any straight man do it? Spend more than a few seconds around a woman like that without losing track of everything else he had to do?
He’d tried to do his best to keep it all professional, although he’d found it difficult to have the conversation he’d had almost immediately with Deena—to be as quiet as she could be and to keep questions to a minimum. He didn’t want to speak with this one more than necessary, to say something wrong. To—God—invite questions about what he was doing.
Thanks to movie blockbusters and all that, many women these days were cool with comics. To a point. It was one thing to see a bunch of real-life hunks on the giant silver screen once every few months and quite another to collect comics—to be a part of the industry. He�
��d had enough teasing from girls like her all his life. He’d been into comics since before it was hip—had, somehow, with more help from his parents and social services than he’d like to accept, made a meager living out of it.
Few people knew what a rare accomplishment that was. Few women in the dating pool would think it was a big deal at all. They’d more likely view it as a negative.
But who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to be dating anyone. He didn’t need to be dating anyone. The only benefit of dating someone would be to shut his mother up whenever she talked about introducing him to the daughter of a woman she’d met in the grocery store or suggested he mingle more with people “like him” to meet a woman “like him” who’d understand. How him having someone would help put her “mind at ease.”
He had nothing against dating a woman with a disability, but it was the way his mother phrased it that made it so unappealing to him.
Although he wondered if his mother would be so “at ease” if he started dating “the hired help.” He didn’t even know why she insisted they come every day—was he really that much of a pig? Sure, he let things go a few days when he had a deadline approaching, but if it weren’t for Pauline complaining about it once or twice to his mother when she called to check in—because Pauline was a private duty nurse, and Archer’s parents were footing the bill, so apparently that made it okay to share information about him like he was a five-year-old child—he was sure his mother wouldn’t have been struck with the idea to hire a cleaning service. “Pauline isn’t there to pick up after you, you know!” she’d said. “Besides, with how little you get out, would it kill you to have more than Pauline’s and my faces to see throughout the week?”
Archer pointed out that he had two-times-a-week basketball games with the guys, but that wasn’t good enough, apparently.
Speaking of, his phone was now ringing instead of buzzing. That’s no good. Only one person called him. Everyone else texted.
Sure enough, he saw the call from “Mother” and let it keep ringing until his main screen popped back up. He swiped aside some texts from Jayden about where he was at, how they were starting without him, how they were getting worried—holy crap, it was an hour after he was supposed to be there; he’d been sitting in his hallway thinking about a cleaning woman for an hour and a half. Then the phone rang again.
He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. If he didn’t answer now, she’d show up. He was in for an earful either way, but it was better when it at least wasn’t face-to-face.
“Yes, Mother?” he said, the too-smooth-innocence he injected into his voice at odds with the frustration of the day boiling inside him.
“Why didn’t you answer my call?!”
It was just half a minute ago. My god, woman. “You know I play basketball on Tuesdays.”
“So I’m meant to assume, but I got a call here just a minute ago that you hadn’t showed up and you hadn’t let any of them know you weren’t coming, and I just about had a heart attack! I—oh, watch it!”
I’m going to kill Jayden. I’m a ten-minute walk away. If you’re that worried, why don’t you come check on me before you call my mother? Jayden wouldn’t even have had his mother’s number if she hadn’t insisted on coming to the park for a couple of their informal games and handed her number out to every single player there, urging them to call her if anything ever went horribly awry. He’d wanted to melt into his chair and take the chair with him through the asphalt into hell. Archer put the phone on speaker and started picking up odd noises from the call. Honking and a repetitive clicking. Like a turn signal. “Are you on the phone while driving?”
“No—yes—I wouldn’t be normally!” At least she had enough sense not to pretend she wasn’t being hypocritical for long. “But you didn’t let me know you’d be skipping your game—”
“There was no reason why I’d have to!”
“But when I get a call like that and you don’t even answer!”
Archer cradled his head in his hand. “Okay. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you got a call like that. I’m sorry my friend worried you. I’m sorry I didn’t let him know not to be worried.”
“You know how I get—ooh!” She shrieked as a loud squealing sound erupted.
“Mother?” Archer felt himself break out in a cold sweat. He’d just lost track of time, he’d just taken a short moment to feel pity for himself, and his mistakes had put her in danger. “Mother!”
“I’m okay. I’m fine.” A pounding sound, like she was hitting the steering wheel over and over in frustration—something he’d seen her do more than once or twice. “I just started going before the light turned and—” A loud horn blasted.
“Mother!”
“Oh, fuck you, jackass! You never had a bad day?”
Archer raised his eyebrow despite the fact that he had no audience. He couldn’t help it when it came to her. She was normally so uptight and proper. Not that he’d never heard her speak like that, but only the very worst of occasions usually called for it in her eyes. “Mother, can you pull over, please?”
“I am. I am. I’m right by the Starbucks by your condo. I’ll pull in there.”
Shit. She’s less than a ten-minute drive away. She’ll never be turned away now. Archer cleared his throat. “Okay. Okay, pull in—” He winced as he heard another loud horn blast. She didn’t swear this time. She just laughed like she’d become unhinged. “Mother?”
“Just a moment, dear,” she cooed. Her voice had a singsong quality that was quite disturbing between the cackling laughter. The clutch gear shifted and she likely pounded the steering wheel again. “I’m in the parking lot, all safe and sound.”
Archer let out a breath. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe go inside—take a break before you go back home—”
“No, I’m coming over. I’ll grab you a coffee. Caramel macchiato?”
“You don’t need to come over.”
“Nonsense.” An unbuckling of a seatbelt and the door opening. An incessant dinging.
“Mother, you forgot your keys,” said Archer, knowing exactly what that ding meant. “Or you forgot to turn off the headlights, but more likely you forgot—” A door slam. “Mother?”
“Yes?”
“You left your keys in the ignition, didn’t you?”
“Oh.” She must have been peering through the window. “I guess I did.”
Archer pounded his palm against his head. “And you locked the door by hand on the way out, didn’t you?”
“You know I don’t like the honking it makes when I lock it with the remote! Everyone looks at me.”
“I told you you could get that disabled—”
“I don’t have time to take it to a mechanic or whatever I’m supposed to do.”
You have no job, woman. You are obsessed with checking in with me. You have plenty of time. “Okay,” said Archer, exhaling loudly. “Did you put a spare pair in your purse like I asked you to?”
“Of course I did, I…. Oh.”
“Oh?”
“My purse is still on the passenger’s seat.”
“Why did you get out of the car and lock it without even grabbing your purse?”
“I was talking to you! I had the phone in my hand and I just… I forgot, okay? I was scared to death because of you!”
“All right.” Archer massaged his temples. “All right.”
“I hope you realize how scared I was—”
“I do.”
“You know I don’t like you changing plans without letting me know.”
“I know, but you’re really overreacting.”
“Overreacting? When you’re… When I didn’t even want you to move out on your own anyway!”
There it was. The feeling of anger, guilt, and embarrassment all rolled into one. “We’re not having this discussion again. We agreed—”
“You and your father agreed—”
“I’m twenty-five years old!”
> “But you’re not like… other twenty-five-year-olds.”
She never believed in me. She never saw past this. She’s known me my whole life, has been there since the beginning and… She still can’t stop seeing me as somehow less than other people. He took a deep breath. He knew her prejudices, her domineering, all came from a place of worry and concern. He knew she wasn’t perfect. But they’d settled into a routine he thought was better for them both. He didn’t need to shut her out of his life entirely, as long as she acknowledged some boundaries. And today was his fault. Sort of. “Go inside and order some coffee. Sit down and take a deep breath.”
She sobbed. “I can’t order coffee. My purse is in the car!”
“No, remember, I told you your card is accessible on your phone?”
“On my phone?” She paused, probably pulling the phone away from her ear to examine it, as her voice got quieter. “How do I do that…?”
Archer had showed her at least twice before. There was no way he’d have the patience or capability to tell her how without being there to show her again. “Ask the baristas!”
“What?”
Archer spoke louder. “Ask the baristas!”
“All right, all right.” Her voice got louder. “No need to shout.”
Archer hit the back of his head against the wall several times. “I’ll call Dad and have him bring a spare—”
“No!” She sounded flustered again. “Don’t call your father—”
“He can bring a spare key—”
“No. He can’t know about this.” Know about her rushing over to their son’s place in the middle of the week or locking her keys and purse in the car? Probably both.
Archer sighed. “I’ll call a locksmith.”
“Could you get Pauline on the line? Maybe have her bring you over?”
Archer shook his head, even though no one was there to see it. “Pauline is my nurse, not my chauffeur. You were the one who told me she wasn’t my maid.”
“But this is different!”
