“God, please let something change to keep this from happening over and over. This is killing me.”
He punched the garage door button above his head and shoved the gearshift into reverse. A long flight loomed.
* * *
At promptly 5:02, Monday morning, Jules began sorting. She had to do laundry. That meant the laundromat. An establishment, she believed, to be just three doors down from H-E double hockey sticks. Parking her hands on her hips, she tabled plans of buying a lawnmower and began her task. Infrequently used boxes went in the left bedroom. If she ever decided to take up residence in one of the bedrooms, it’d be the one to the right. Hannah loved to tease about her weird quirk of being as far away from the road as possible. She licked her lips. Don’t start thinking about her, or nothing will get done. And moving the tubs did help the living room look less like a junk pile.
A wooden container the size of a large jewelry box came to light. Sadness swept over her as she caressed the fine-grained wood. The face of Christ inset the hinged top, and behind the image, a rainbow of different colored woods haloed, ranging from bright yellow to the darkest of brown. Burnt into the bottom of the box was a list of the exact wood types used to create such a colorful design.
A shiver rippled through her and she closed her eyes. It’d been the one thing she’d carefully padded with bubble wrap. A box too valuable, it couldn’t be left, discarded or forgotten. She’d been unable to open it for some time. Refusing to dwell on it anymore, she marched down the hall, entered the right bedroom, and placed it on the highest shelf in the closest before shutting the door.
She dumped the water from the cooler and made note to get more ice for her ‘refrigerator.’ Then she showered before loading the jeep with her laundry. Possessing only one basket, she toted the rest of her things very elegantly in two black trash bags.
Arriving and starting the whole washing shebang led Jules to believe this laundromat, while located only ten blocks from her house, was, in fact, just one door down from you-know-where. The floor screamed early American cracked concrete, nicely covered with cigarette butts. The lounge area furniture, hard plastic and boxy, could’ve been stolen from an oversized doll house. A grimy film encased the maroon color, perhaps smoke?
Several overflowing ashtrays decorated the coffee table, and the magazines consisted of a rumpled realtor booklet and a very old Sudoku book, well-marked. The tables were chipped and the carts leaned. In a nutshell, Hades.
Jules parked her bundles on a tall, blemished table. This adventure loomed like Chinese torture. A squirrelly guy in a grungy jumpsuit came in and out of a door by the lounge, smoking of course, and staring at her. Perhaps the gray haze around him explained the gray grime on the furniture. She suspected he worked as the maintenance guy or the money changer. But he came off a little creepy. Well, at least she was the only patron. She could work in peace.
A short time later, a high top, outdated van pulled up, and five dirty balls of children exploded out and ran in like banshees. They bee-lined for the one and only video game in the corner. A heavy woman, dressed in short shorts and a tight spaghetti-strap tank top, climbed out. Her deep voice echoed through the open door, commanding and threatening the little monsters. She too, of course, smoked. Great. More second-hand smoke. Jules rolled her eyes. Have these people never watched any school videos on cancerous lungs?
“Stop it.” One scruffy boy shoved the younger ones. “I’m playing first.”
“No. It’s my turn. Mom said,” another one yelled, and a scuffle commenced.
Jules glanced toward the woman who waddled to the lounge area, but she appeared unconcerned by the children’s flying fists. She pulled up an ashtray and settled on the plastic couch.
The dryer buzzed, and Jules fairly leaped at the sound. The sooner these clothes were finished, the sooner she’d blast outa here. Her arms folded like propelled by a jet engine. The woman hailed the cross-eyed maintenance man, and began a long conversation about ‘Lenny.’ She made no attempt to lower her voice. Lenny’d done did something. Jules could barely tear her eyes from her as the cigarette flipped up and down to the rhythm of her angry cadence, not once falling from her lips. Boy, Lenny was in trouble.
A loud thud sounded and Jules glanced behind her. One of the children had thrust another against the huge front window, and he yelped before diving back into the melee. Two younger kids, hair matted like dread locks, meandered to the detergent vending machine. They located a plastic chair and tugged it across the concrete, the legs emitting an ear-splitting screech. Then they climbed up to yank and spin the knobs.
Jules fixed her eyes on her laundry and noticed her jeans were damp. Too bad. So sad. Enough. She flattened the jeans on top of the full basket and started for the jeep. One more errand. The heavy woman’s gestures widened and became more pronounced. The fat beneath her arms snapped with irritation. She’d worked up a nice hissy fit. Woe to Lenny. Good grief. Welcome to Redneckville. Jules jumped into her vehicle and fired it up. Thankfully, this visit to Satan’s lair was history.
Jules stopped at the store and bought ice. After returning home, she hung her damp jeans in the bathroom and flipped on the battery operated radio. Tomorrow was work, and before she knew it, another week would pass. Yay.
And pass it did. After, of course, she woke at 5:02 each morning. By Wednesday, she started to unwind. Her tips were bigger, and she met a new Bob, Bill, or Dan every day. Jules was convinced on any given day, at any random time, if she stood on a chair in the middle of lunch hour, and told all the Bobs, Bills, or Dans to exit the building, more than half the crowd would leave. And most of them from Sally’s coveted counter.
Jules pushed this saucy thought away as she tried to recollect which table wanted extra jelly and which customers requested steak sauce. By Saturday, she was grateful Marsha closed the place on Sundays. She needed to soak her feet. But her plan had worked. Her mind, so occupied with the new job, had little time to ponder the previous year’s sickening events.
By Sunday afternoon, she visited the phone booth. The call to Hannah went as pleasant as it could have gone. She felt well, and all seemed fine. After returning home, Jules spent the day sunning on the concrete back porch, wishing Andi would show but fearing she’d appear without permission.
By Monday, Jules was in the market for a lawnmower. The lawn appeared all tall, not just in tufts. She crammed some cash, her driver’s license, and charge card into her pocket and then put on her shoes. The temperature approached seventy, so she walked to Jenkin’s Hardware.
The wind lifted her hair as she glanced over the used mowers in front. They were old but appeared refurbished. A few were self-propelled. Finally, a sixtyish man came out, sporting a camouflaged cap with ‘Cooter and Booker Car Sales,’ above the bill. The man’s glance said, “I gotta wait on a woman who don’t know diddlely-squat about lawnmowers.” Fine and dandy. Jules took a deep breath. She’d play the dumb, “aren’t you the smartest man?” approach.
“Howdy, ma’am. Bob Jenkins, can I hep ya?”
Bob. Of course Bob.
Jules cleared her throat and flashed her best smile. “Yes, I’m shopping for a lawnmower.”
“Oh, ma’am, I have an exceptional zero-turn rider inside the building. It’s like a limo that cuts grass.” He winked with a twist of his head.
Seriously? He sees her peering at ancient, used mowers, and he intros his best model topping out at several thousand dollars?
Her grin turned syrupy-sweet. “Oh, no. I need a push one, used most likely.”
Hope plummeted in his eyes. Jules hid her smile and bent to touch one of the mowers. “Are these pretty much the same?”
“Hmmm, well, no. This here’s yer standard push mower. Kinda small. Gotta have some power to shove it through the tall grass. This one and those two on the end have new brand name, high-end engines. That’s pretty dependable. These two are self-propelled. They’re handy ’cause ya pull this leever, and it goes by itself, ya see?” He
grinned and spat tobacco juice against the brick building. “It’s also easy to start ’cause the rope’s on the handle.”
Jules relegated his jawing into the background like elevator music. She pinched her lip with her finger and thumb as she compared the price tags. No sense in spending a bundle. Face it, working at Marsha’s didn’t pay a bundle. Money would be coming her way eventually, but who knew when that might be? Besides, she’d no clue how long she’d be staying. September loomed.
“I’ll take the small one,” she interrupted him, dredging the advantages of buying new verses old. “Does it come with a warranty?”
He gave a one-eyed stare, reminiscent of Popeye. He wasn’t pleased. It was the cheapest.
“Only thirty days. A young lady like yourself might consider something with a little better guarantee.” He stretched his jaw, brows up, stroking his spiky face.
“Nope. This is the one.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jules dragged the mower home, surprised Bob had taken credit. But then, Marsha, with her Stonehenge cash register, took plastic, even if it was the old-fashioned slidy thing. How many times already had she asked customers if they’d like to keep their carbon? Most people didn’t even know what that was.
Armed with Bob’s instructions, she positioned the lever on full choke, cranked it a couple times, moved it to half-choke and the engine sputtered to life. A-mowing she would go.
After a good twenty minutes, Jules began to wonder if the thing had wheels. The grass was tall and the mower rode low which required a great deal of pushing power. She frequently paused and tipped it to keep from killing the motor. Reconsidering her wisdom of rejecting a self-propelled one, she swiped her sweaty brow, when the mower sputtered, coughed, and died.
She was almost relieved to have a break as sweat stung her eyes. Almost. Possibly the lawn machine felt as tired as she. Sitting down on the concrete step, she realized the entire front lawn was done. Perfect. She’d much rather kick and batter a stubborn lawn mower in the backyard. She tapped her tooth with her fingernail. Would the doggone thing start again? Suddenly, she tasted gasoline and convulsed into spitting fit before wiping her mouth on her sweaty sleeve. Yuck. Yes, from pan to fire.
She pulled the tiny gadget behind the house.
“You’d better start,” she admonished with her finger.
Full choke. Crank, half choke, crank, crank, crank. Nothing. No more than a sputter. Okay, deep breath. Full choke, crank, half choke, crank, crank…she lost count. The smell of gasoline seemed everywhere. She gritted her teeth and pulled harder. Her back screamed, her face throbbed. She finally threw the pull string and it dutifully ripped into place. Sucking wind, she struggled for the porch. Great, just great. She sat heavily.
“Well, that’s just fine and dandy. Hey, Bob, your mower isn’t working,” Jules growled. Thirty days, smirty days. That dumbhead brand name engine hadn’t even run thirty minutes. Now, she’d have to drag the hunk-a-junk up to Main Street, and her backyard still wouldn’t be mowed. She stomped in the house and took a shower. As far as she was concerned, the broken mower could sit in permanent time-out. And when Bob Jenkins sat at the counter sparring with Sally, he was gonna hear it.
Later, dressed in comfortable cotton sweats and a t-shirt, she stepped out onto the back porch, her clean hair wrapped in a towel. Through slits, she surveyed the rebellious red machine. It aggravated her to own a non-mowing mower, a definite oxymoron. No, no oxy. Just moron. Bob was a moron, the lawnmower was a moron, and this town was a moron. At this rate, her backyard would vine over into a jungle. Then once cut, the lawn would come up thick and bristly like straw.
She sat, closed her eyes, and let the sun warm her face. Good grief, she was freaking out about grass. How’d she ever raise Hannah with her calm disposition? A robin piped from the honeysuckle bush at the back of the yard. What had gotten into her? She’d acted like a spoiled child. Tomorrow, she’d calmly approach Bob.
An engine came closer and paused in front of her house. It revved and cut. Her eyes opened. Was someone here or at her neighbors? Had to be next door. She pulled the towel off and began combing through her hair. In mid-stroke, Andi came bounding around the corner.
“See, Daddy, I told you. She’s back here. Hi, Jules.”
Andi bounced a couple more times, pulling someone. When he appeared, he stood tall with tousled dark hair, a bit too long and loose, and as he drew closer, she noticed stubble darkening a square chin. But it was his eyes that grabbed her attention. They were as clear as a summer sky. Oh, dear, this wasn’t a good time to meet someone new. But she was caught. Sighing, she stood and held out her hand. Wet hair swung to the forefront. For the sake of Andi, she’d do her best.
“Hello, I’m Jules. You must be Andi’s father.” Smooth as clockwork. Just like open house the day before school.
His hand engulfed hers. “I’m sorry to drop in on you, but Andi hasn’t stopped talking about coming for a week.”
“Well, I’m glad she brought you this time instead of sneaking out while you’re asleep.” Jules eyed Andi who sheepishly leaned into her father’s leg.
“Yes, she and I had a long talk about never doing that again, didn’t we?” He brushed the stray hair back on his daughter’s head, and she nodded in agreement. “I just wanted to meet you and make sure it’s all right for her to see the fish once in a while. An older lady used to live here, and Andi would visit. I’m afraid she’s grown fond of visiting the fish. I’m sorry if she’s caused any trouble.”
A ghost of a smile haunted his handsome features. It snagged her, and she stared. Hollowness lodged there. Pain? She tugged her eyes away and stared at the ground. A face reflecting unhappy memories was all too familiar.
She cleared her throat. “No trouble. As a matter of fact, she’s quite enjoyable. I used to be a teacher, and I miss having kids about.”
“Really?” He squinted and gave her the once over.
“I’d be glad to give you some references if you’d like. A person can’t be too careful with children.” He relaxed and turned his head to the yard. His glance fell to the outlaw lawnmower.
“Hey, you’ve got an old Comet. I haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid. That’s practically an antique.”
“Yeah.” She stretched the word, indicating the opposite. “A broken antique. I’m taking it back tomorrow.”
He walked toward the obstinate thing as he spoke. “Maybe it just needs an adjustment. My neighbor works on mowers.”
He leaned down, and Andi skipped to the pond.
“Looky, Daddy, it’s a calico. They’re not that common.” She grinned at Jules.
Andi’s father tested this and moved that. Finally he stood and glanced at Jules. “You’re out of gas.”
Instantly, Jules propelled herself forward to glare in the hole he indicated. “I’m what?”
Her mouth opened as she stared in. Gas. Just gas? Her brows furrowed. The lawn could’ve been finished. He gave a ripple of laughter.
“Here I was thinking I might not be able to help, but I’m pretty good at spotting an empty gas tank.” His grin stretched crooked.
She crossed her arms. He didn’t have to act so smug.
“To think I could’ve had this lawn done. Now, I’ll have to do it tomorrow. Only I’ll need a gas can first.” Wow, she was a world-class goober.
“Actually, that’s just where Andi and I came from. I’ve got two big cans of gas in the back of the truck.” He started around the house.
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s no trouble.” He disappeared around the corner.
He returned, toting a large, red gas container with a yellow spout. In no time, he had it filled up.
“Well, thank you. I should pay you something…”
But he vanished again. Jules bit her lip. She wanted to crank the engine to see if it’d start. But she couldn’t with Andi and her father here. Hadn’t the no-gas thing
been humiliating enough?
Directly he strode back, and to her amazement, he pulled the rope. The mower seemed reluctant to start, but it sputtered to life. He tipped it away from them and let it speed up. Before she knew it, he began mowing the lawn. A complete stranger. Andi ran up on the porch and Jules followed her. As the yard was microscopic, it only took a few minutes, his long legs eating up the distance. At last he killed the engine and walked toward them.
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have done that. Let me pay you.”
He raised his dark brows and grinned. “That took like ten minutes. Besides, you’re gonna put up with this little thing nagging you about fish. Seems a fair trade. Let’s go, Peaches. We need to leave the lady alone.” They started around the house and Jules trailed them.
“I didn’t get your name.”
He nodded as he turned. “That’s right. I’m Rhett, Rhett Carsen.”
Not a Bob, a Bill, or a Dan. Yay.
* * *
5:02. Jules grunted. Yet time had zoomed by. Her work days fell into a pattern. Same people, same building. Now, however, Jules’ daily walk home included a little detour past the barber’s pole, post office and finally around the block next to the tall brick structure. It whispered to her, and something inexplicable filled her. Some days, she’d pause and gaze. Other times, she’d study the sidewalk in front of her toes.
She saw more of Andi. Her father brought her by a couple of times to view the fish. Jules even bought food to let the little pixie throw the pellets in the pond. Andi, always full of chatter, made Jules laugh. They never stayed long. But the visits brightened her days.
Jules organized more stuff, emptied a few boxes, and arranged important items on the top of containers in clear view. She still had no shelves, but at least she could see some of it. She got a library card. Ah, that was worth its weight in gold. Among the books, she used the computer, perused the newspaper, or just sat in a windowed alcove and read. It turned out to be a lovely place to spend empty hours on her days off. Slowly, the pain and sadness dulled.
Reviving Jules Page 6
