Actions Speak Louder (16 page)

With a shoring breath, she hoisted the gate slightly higher, bracing it against one thigh, as she wrestled to install the new hardware onto the post.  She was about to give up, when suddenly, the weight of the wooden slats was taken from her.

“I’ve got it.  Pound it in,” Ethan instructed.

Startled for a second, Marcia froze, but then rallied and hurriedly affixed the hardware to the post.  Once done, she stepped back and met Ethan’s gaze.  She was about to thank him for his help, but he spoke first.

“You could have asked me for help, you know.”  He glanced behind him.  “I was just out front, unloading my truck.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t see you.”  She looked at the gate, as if assessing her work.  She was stalling for time, but finally met his gaze.  “Besides, you have enough to do around your own place.”

He stood back to regard her thoughtfully.  “You don’t like to ask for help, do you?”

She wanted to avert her eyes from him, but forced herself to maintain eye contact.  Why was it difficult for her to do that? she wondered.   She was an honest person, of good character, yet, she struggled to maintain eye contact.  She hadn’t been like that before … Jay.  Yet another epiphany, she realized with a shock of awareness.  She gave a quick shake of her head, which Ethan noticed.  He also noticed the deep, penetrating sadness in her eyes. 

“Marcia, are you all right?” he asked softly.

Remembering his initial question, she said quickly, “No, I guess I don’t like to ask for help.  Thank you … for the help.”

“Well, I’m right over there whenever you need me,” he said, scrutinizing her face, and seeing the sadness still fixed in her eyes.  He wished she would talk to him, but doubted she would.  Perhaps later, if he ever regained her trust. 

With a sigh, he turned to leave.  To her surprise, and his, he abruptly spun back around.  “Are you willing to talk to me yet?” he asked in a rush.

She spread her hands in a gesture of confusion.  “Talk to you about what?”

He raked a hand through his hair and gave her a glance that clearly conveyed that he knew she was playing dumb.  “Look, I know I should have told you who I was and what I did for a living when we first met.”

She pinned him with a look, but couldn’t maintain the eye contact this time.  “It must have been pretty funny, hearing me giving all that home repair advice…” she murmured, staring at the ground.

“No!” he said adamantly.  “You’ve got it all wrong.”

She attempted a neither-here-nor-there shrug.  “It doesn’t matter.  Anyway, thanks again for the help.”  She turned to leave.

He took her arm and turned her back around.  “First, you know a lot about home repair—so stop diminishing your abilities.  I’ve seen your place.  I know what you can do—and it looks to me like you can do just about anything,” he added. 

She thought she heard admiration in his voice, but figured she had to be wrong about that.  “Sure,” she muttered dubiously.

“You’re doubting your abilities?” he said, incredulous.  “For Pete’s sakes, you took your house down to the studs and remodeled the whole thing.  I couldn’t have done a better job.  I’m speaking the truth, Marcia.”

She glanced toward him hesitantly, meeting his gaze again.  “So, why did you let me go on, giving you advice about things you know far more about than I do, when you could have prevented me from making a … fool of myself?”

He sighed with regret.  “Look, you’re no fool.”  He cocked his slightly, winced.  He could see she was embarrassed, and he knew it was his fault.  “I’ll tell you why I let you keep talking—why I
wanted
you to keep talking.”

She nodded, urging him on.

“I … well…”

“What?” She folded her arms across her chest; her eyes now alight with a challenging gleam.  She forced herself to hold a steadfast gaze.

“I thought you were…”

“What?” she prompted.

“Okay, look, I thought you were attractive.  I still … do.”  He swallowed.  “I mean, you were standing there in those overalls, looking so cute…”

“Cute?” she said dubiously.  “
In my overalls
?”

“Oh, yeah.”  He grinned self-consciously and took a step toward her.  “You look
great
in them, in fact.”

“In my overalls?” she repeated, incredulous.

He gave her a speculative look.  “You have no idea how attractive you are, do you?”

“Apparently not,” she mused distractedly.

To her surprise, he took a step toward her and laced a finger around one of the straps of her overalls.  He tugged her forward and stared deeply into her eyes.  He saw confusion there, knew he should probably pull back, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.  Leaning in, he claimed her lips in a kiss. 

***     

Marcia attacked her back lawn with a vengeance, taking wide passes with her weed whacker.  She needed to do the physical activity, in order to occupy her hands and her brain.  Lord knew, she couldn’t seem to quiet her mind. 

Over and over, she relived Ethan’s kiss.  It was sweet initially—a tentative exploration on his part, but he had deepened the kiss, pressing with a gentle insistence.  To both her shock and horror, she had responded to him, matching his urgency until he had finally pulled back, running a hand through his hair, and letting out a breath of air.  Finally, he had said simply, “Wow.”

Her sentiments exactly. 

Why had he kissed her? she wondered.  He’d told her he was attracted to her—specifically, he’d said he found her attractive in her overalls.  He’d called her cute.  That almost brought a giggle to her lips. 
Cute?  In her overalls?
  She knew that couldn’t possibly be true. 

Jay had detested her overalls, had implored her not to wear them.  But she had found them both comfortable and convenient as she had attacked her home improvement projects.  The fact was, Jay had never approved of her attire—had criticized her clothing choices at every turn.  If she dressed up for a special occasion, he’d inevitably ask that she return to her closet and select something different.  If that outfit didn’t please him, the process continued until he would finally select something for her—all the while muttering about her lack of a fashion sense.  She couldn’t count the myriad times he had compared her attire to that of other women, often in the company of those women.  It had been mortifying.

When she had confronted him, pointing out that his behavior left her hurt and embarrassed, he had simply shrugged away her concerns—calling her overly sensitive.  He had gone so far as to tell her she couldn’t discern criticism from a constructive critique—and that as her husband, it was his job to shape and mold her for her own good.

She grimaced, remembering his ongoing commentary about her weight.  By all accounts, and every doctor’s chart, she was slim—but
never
thin enough for Jay.     

She brought the weed whacker to a stop, taking in a lung-inflating mouthful of air.  Breathing deeply in a continuous rhythm, she attempted to still her pounding heart. 

Despite her attempts at self-calming, a wave of anger washed over her—at him, but mostly at herself.     Why,
why
had she remained married to a man who considered it his primary objective to tear her down in order to…?  What?  What was the reason for his constant verbal attacks? 

She felt tears dropping onto her cheeks.  She knew why he had wielded his relentless verbal assaults.  Because … she had let him. 

Marcia dropped into a lawn chair.  She tipped her head back and closed her eyes.  The yardwork had tired her more than she realized. 

Bright sunlight permeated her lids and warmed her face.  She could feel her tears drying on her cheeks and knew she probably looked a fright. 
Oh, well
, she thought.  A tear-streaked face was a small price to pay for a moment of self-awareness.  Or perhaps the better words were—‘ex-husband’ awareness.

Jay was a jerk.  Was and is.  She had been drawn to a jerk, had married a jerk, and had deferred to a jerk.  Even when she knew she was right, she had deferred to him in order to keep peace in the home. 

Did that make
her
a jerk
? 

Probably
.

She sighed as she draped her arm across her face.  The sun was simply too bright, despite the fact that her eyes were closed.  Inhaling the spring air, she felt herself growing tired.  She knew she shouldn’t fall asleep in the sun, but found she wasn’t particularly inclined to leave her place beneath the warming beams.  Perhaps because it had been so long since she’d been in the sun, both literally and figuratively, she craved those healing rays.

Honing in on the soft sounds of nature around her, she settled into the lounge chair more comfortably, tipping her head to the side and dropping her arm off her face.  She was nearly asleep when she heard Ethan’s voice.

“You’re going to get a sunburn.” 

Abruptly, Marcia sat up, glancing around her, and then up, in alarm.  Her vision was assaulted by the now brighter sun, and she blinked against it.  The piercing rays were suddenly vanquished by Ethan’s form, as he positioned himself in front of her.  He smiled into her face, but abruptly frowned.  “Hey, are you all right?”    

She smiled self-consciously and had yet another epiphany; Ethan was forever inquiring about her well-being.  “You ask me that question a lot,” she mused dazedly, struggling to lift her tired body from the chair. 

“We need to get you in the shade,” he said, still frowning.  “In fact…”   He glanced around.  “Why don’t I join you?”

Marcia’s foggy mind didn’t register his intent, until he reached behind her and grabbed a hold of another chair.  She rose and watched him walk across the lawn and position it beneath an elm tree.  He returned and retrieved her chair, placing it beside the other, and fixing it in the sitting, rather than lounging, position. 

He dropped into his chair and nodded toward the other one.  “Are you going to join me?” he called.

She glanced around uncertainly but finally acquiesced, walking across the lawn to sit down beside him.  She turned to him briefly, before glancing away.  She knew she looked terrible.  She’d been crying, for Pete’s sakes.  “Will you excuse me for a minute?” she said.  “I should go inside and freshen up.”

She rose to leave, but he gently grasped her arm.  “You look fine.  Really.”  He reached a hand toward her face and scrubbed at her left cheek with his thumb.  “There.  Perfect.” 

She watched him with tentative eyes, and he nodded.   “Trust me.  You look great.”

She dropped back into the chair, knowing full well she looked anything but great.  “Did you need something?” she asked him too cheerfully.

He shook his head.  “No.  I was working in the back yard and happened to glance over here and it looked like you were sleeping, so…”  He shrugged.  “I didn’t want you dealing with a bad sunburn later.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” she said, forcing a smile.

“It wasn’t until I got over here that I realized you’d been…”

“What?” she prompted with forced brightness.

He leaned forward in the chair, resting his arms on his knees, and he turned toward her.  “I saw you’d been crying.”

“I really should go inside,” she said, averting her face.  “I’ll be just a minute.”

He reached a hand out and grasped her arm.  “You look fine.  Really.  Were you crying because I…?”  He winced.  “Because I kissed you earlier.”

Marcia looked startled.  “I don’t know what…”  She shook her head, suddenly horribly embarrassed.  “No, no.  Really.  It wasn’t … that.”

He attempted a smile.  “I mean, I know I shouldn’t have…”

“It wasn’t the kiss,” she assured him.  The fact was, that kiss was among the top two bright spots of her day.  Of course, she couldn’t tell him that.

“Then, I mean, I don’t want to intrude, but…”  He sighed.  “You look so sad.”

Marcia sat up straighter in the chair and glanced around at her yard.  “I’ve had a rough couple of days and…”

“Anything I can help you with?” he asked with concern.

She shook her head.  “No.” 

He looked perplexed, and likely because she was desperate to make conversation, she filled him in on her morning.  She explained about the mix-up with the paint—how the worry had weighed heavily on her mind—and finished by explaining that, miracle of miracles, someone had actually come into the store and purchased all the paint and then some.

“Wow, that’s great,” he said.  However, with a sudden, fearful awareness, he realized he should fess up to being the purchaser of all that hideous, mustard yellow paint.  Because although his intent had been to help her, by not telling her he was the buyer, he was yet again lying to her.  He swallowed hard.

The reality hadn’t even occurred to him that when he’d swept in like some knight in shining armor and bought that paint, he had put himself in a precarious position.  What if she found out?  She was obviously a proud woman.  Would she question his motives?  He groaned aloud then, prompting her to give him a questioning glance. 

If she found out, she would question his motives
.  Would she wonder if he wanted something from her in return?  Would she think he had expectations of her?  He felt himself growing sicker with dread by the moment.