Where We Meet Again, стр. 33
Evelyn pulls her hands away and scrubs at her eye. “I know you’re right, but I really want to make her feel bad like she made me feel bad.”
“I’m sure you do. However, two wrongs-ˮ
“Don’t make a right. Yeah, I know.”
Needing to reassure her, I gather her into my arms and kiss the hair at the top of her head. “You’re going to be just fine, sweetheart. I wish I could tell you this would never happen again, but it will. And it doesn’t get easier. You get stronger.”
“Someday, I’ll be as strong as you.”
My throat suddenly goes dry. I swallow hard and rest my cheek against her head.
“You’ll be stronger,” I murmur.
* * *
Two things I learned from hobbling around on crutches for a week. One: it’s impossible to drive.
Nathan wrangled one of our coworkers to help him drop my car off. Even though I’m on paid leave and stuck at home, Evelyn needed to go to sports and school. Having my car back tempted me to rely on my independence. The very next morning after my accident, I maneuvered myself so my left foot could do all the pedal work, which only squished my right foot painfully up against the center console. I made it as far as the stop sign at the end of the street before I turned the car back around.
As soon as I limped back inside, I called my friend Lori, the mom of Evelyn’s friend Maggie, and arranged for her to pick up and drop off Evelyn until I was back on both feet. That woman has been a lifesaver. Ever since our girls first started school, and I struggled to get childcare for Evelyn with my strange work hours, Lori stepped up to cover where Kiersten couldn’t and has been doing so ever since.
I made a mental note to add another gift card to her Christmas basket I put together every year.
The second thing I learned is that I cannot stand being cooped up in the house with nothing to do. Not only that, but when there is something that needs to be done and I can’t do it, I feel straight up crazy.
Evelyn is a great help taking care of the laundry and dishes. Those have been her chores for a couple years now, so I haven’t had to put up with any extra attitude.
No, what drives me insane is that the day I took my jog, and subsequent fall, down by the river, I hadn’t finished all the winter prep I needed to do outside. Snow still hasn’t fallen, which means there’s still time, even if that time is running exceptionally slim. I need to clean my gutters and change out my window screens, but I can’t climb a ladder with one foot. I also need to winterize my lawn mower and weed whipper, and swap the summer supplies out for my shovel and snow blower. I only hope the snow holds off until I’m healed and can get it done.
Wednesday following my accident means the date-that-isn’t-a-date with Nathan has arrived.
I’m a wreck.
I don’t go on dates. Or rather, I don’t go on dates often. My last date the night before Law showed up in Arrow Creek was a sorry attempt, the first in well over a year. If I have anything going for me, it’s that I’m not teaching my daughter about parading men in and out of the house. Give me a check in the win column for that one.
I remind myself that this is Nathan, my friend and partner, but can’t figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing. It makes this easier, because we already know so much about each other. I’m comfortable with him. We don’t have to go through any awkward stages.
The flip side to the positive is that I feel little for him as far as attraction. Besides the one kiss, I don’t get stomach flips over seeing him. I don’t feel much of anything if I’m being honest. And that kiss seems like a fluke because it’s been nearly half my life since I’ve kissed anyone else, besides Law just a few days before. I mean, of course my body would react like that… right?
The water in my shower cools. I’ve lived in my home for eleven years and not once have I run the water heater dry. I depress the lever into the wall, and the steady stream above my head stops.
Cool air pricks at my skin as I stick an arm out in search of my towel. I find one hanging on the rack, pull it inside the shower, and close the glass door to prevent as much heat from escaping. It may finally be time to turn the furnace on. The temps now dip below freezing at night, and the house is cold. I credit my frugal upbringing to my success in keeping a roof over our heads as a single mom.
I dry the droplets from my skin, wrap the towel around my body, and hop out onto the thick, memory foam mat outside the shower stall. The toes on my good foot wiggle and squish the material while I lean against the shower door and contemplate what to do next.
Lotion in here, robe for warmth, then search for clothes.
However, when I step out to find something to wear, I don’t spot a single bra in my room. Crap. Evelyn must have left them to dry when she did the laundry.
I tighten the belt to my robe, a sweet, mint-green silk with an edge of cream lace (who said a single mom can’t have sexy things), and grab one crutch for support as I make my way to the laundry closet.
“Hey, Evelyn? Did you wash my bras? I can’t find them.”
“Sorry, yeah. They’re hanging up.” Her muffled voice comes from behind