Actions Speak Louder (17 page)

“Ethan, are you all right?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Oh, uh, yeah.  I’m fine,” he lied.  “Hey, well, I’m glad that, uh, paint problem was resolved.”  He whistled.  “Two hundred some gallons.  Wow, yes, good for you.”        

“Definitely good for me,” she agreed, feeling a little lighter thinking about that horrible bullet she had dodged.

Desperate to change the subject, and to get his mind off of his potential culpability in whatever repercussions might be forthcoming due to his involvement with that paint purchase, Ethan said gently, “So, why the tears?”

She gave him a stricken look that pulled at his heart strings.  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away her pain.  He resisted the urge—knew he’d probably send her running into her house if he made too sudden a move toward her.  What the heck had that ex of hers done to her anyway?

Marcia watched the array of emotions cross his face, intrigued by them.  She’d never been one to wear her emotions on her sleeves.  She knew she could thank Jay for that too.  She liked the openness in Ethan’s expressions—how he seemed to laugh easily.  His expressiveness seemed genuine, whereas Jay had always been so difficult to read. 

She realized her ex had practically turned her into a chameleon.  When she felt real, honest-to-goodness emotion, he had often challenged her right to those emotions, asserting that she was simply emotional and overwrought—when she had always been as even-keeled as an individual could be.  She would then abruptly change her facial expressions, to mask her real feelings. 
Wow, yet another epiphany
.  Her face contorted in anger, and Ethan noticed.

“Marcia, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t pry.  I know I’ve made you angry…”

“
You
haven’t made me angry,” she said distractedly, her face still fixed in an expression of contempt.

He was relieved to hear that, but doubted she was being truthful.  He had probably crossed the line when he kissed her.  “Again, I’m sorry I, um, kissed you,” he ventured.

“Well, I’m not,” she murmured, still clearly entrenched in some sort of emotional turmoil.

He was slightly taken aback.  So…  Did that mean she had liked the kiss?  He knew he had like the kiss.  “So, you’re okay that we kissed?” he clarified.

Apparently, this question penetrated, since she turned toward him and frowned.  “What?”

He sat up taller in the chair.  “Well, I, uh, just apologized for kissing you, and you basically said you’re not sorry I kissed you.”

“I did?” she said.

“Yes.” 

Her face flamed red beneath the tear-stained cheeks.  How was she supposed to respond to that?  Deciding not to, she opted simply to come clean.  She met his gaze and sighed.  “Have you ever been in a relationship, in which you really didn’t see the true nature of the relationship until after you got out of it?”  She shook her head self-consciously.  “Wow, that was a mouthful.”

He nodded.  “I actually know exactly what you’re talking about.”

She nodded in return.  “It’s as if you need the time and distance to really understand the real dynamics of the relationship.  Unfortunately, in my case, I find myself getting angrier and angrier…”

“At him,” he cut in.

“No,” she responded abruptly.  “At myself.” 

Ethan looked confused and spread his hands.  “Why are you angry at yourself?”

She attempted a smile.  “I’m sorry.  I know I’m not making much sense…”

He frowned and took her hand.  “You’re making sense,” he assured her, searching her face.  “Marcia, you apologize a lot.  You apologize when you don’t need to apologize.  You seem, almost, fearful…”

“Oh, no, I’m not afraid,” she said too quickly, but then paused and met his gaze.  She shook her head.  “It was never about fear…”  She instantly changed her position.  “Yes, it was…”

“He didn’t hit you…?”  He suddenly looked angry.

“No, no, it wasn’t that,” she assured him.  “It was more that…”  Her words trailed off.  She realized she was about to confide some of the most personal details of her relationship with a veritable stranger, when she hadn’t completely sorted out those details.  She suddenly waved off her words.  “You know what, it’s okay.  I’ll work it out.”

“I’m happy to talk about it with you,” he assured her.  “The truth is, I’m in kind of the same boat.  I was in a long-term relationship that ended six months ago.”  He sighed.  “It’s only now I’m experiencing real clarity as to the real nature of the relationship.  It’s only now I’ve realized I wasn’t happy, but I’m compelled to ask myself, why did I stick it out for so long?  Why was I apparently content with the status quo?”  He gave a brittle laugh.  “Well,
content
isn’t exactly the right word.  Had I truly been content, I’d still be in that relationship, wouldn’t I?”

Marcia gave him a speculative glance.  “Well, if my husband hadn’t left me, I’d still be in the relationship.”  Her eyes narrowed with regret.  “What does that say about me?”

Ethan stood back to assess his handiwork.  The newly installed siding at the front of the house looked good.  He swiped his hands along the front of his jeans.  It was

midmorning now and the heat of the sun was relentless.  Fortunately, he’d started working at six, when it had still been cool, and he had managed to complete the entire front of the house before it had grown too hot to work outside any longer.

He strode to gather up his tools and cast a glance at Marcia’s place.  He hadn’t seen much of her over the past couple weeks.  After their conversation the day he’d helped her fix her gate, he’d hoped they had managed to restore what had been at minimum a budding friendship, but what he had hoped might develop into more.  Unfortunately, he feared that as a private person, she had divulged more of herself to him than had been comfortable for her, and now felt inclined to avoid him at all costs.

Of course, he couldn’t really know why she was avoiding him, or if she really
was
avoiding him.  Maybe she was simply busy.  Just the same, he kept an eye out for her, and was always glad when the two at least exchanged a wave or a hello.

“Hey, Ethan, the siding looks great,” Mr. Grambel called as he approached. 

Ethan turned to see his neighbor carrying a large, frosty glass of lemonade in his outstretched hand.  “I’m really hoping that lemonade’s for me,” he declared with a grin.

“Yep, the missus said you look awfully thirsty over here.”

Ethan took the glass and drank until he’d emptied half of it.  “Oh, that’s good,” he said with appreciation.

“My wife makes tasty lemonade,” Mr. Grambel said.

The two men stood back to study Ethan’s current handiwork.  “So the siding’s all done?” Mr. Grambel asked.

Ethan nodded.  “Yep.  And I’m nearly done with the roof too.  I’ll be getting busy inside soon.  Shouldn’t take too long to finish up.”

His neighbor nodded.  “I haven’t seen much of Marcia,” he said, eyeing Ethan speculatively.  “Any idea where she’s been?”

Ethan gave his neighbor a questioning glance and shrugged.  “Why would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said.  “The wife and I kind of figured you and Marcia might…”

“What?” Ethan said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, we were kind of hoping…”

“Yes?” he prompted, now smiling confusedly.

“Look, we sort of hoped you two young folks might hit it off.  You’re both such good kids and all…”  His words trailed off.

Ethan laughed, unsure how to respond.  He’d hoped they might hit it off too.  He shook his head, still chuckling.  “Well, the truth is, I don’t think Marcia likes me very much,” he admitted.

Mr. Grambel looked surprised.  “Why would you say that?”

He shrugged.  “Oh, I don’t know.”  Rather than go into detail as to the reasons, he simply sighed.  “I get a vibe, I guess.”

Mr. Grambel’s expression grew serious.  “She’s understandably skittish, if you know what I mean.”

Ethan cocked his head slightly.  “No, I guess I don’t.”

His neighbor sighed loudly and worriedly as he raked a hand through his hair.  “Look, I don’t know how much I really should say, but the truth is…”  He glanced off, as if grappling with his conscience.  Finally, he said, “Marcia is a good woman.  You won’t find a better one.  Unfortunately, her ex was a real dud—had zero appreciation for her—treated her like she was some sort of work in progress
he
needed to fix.  Truth is, the guy couldn’t
fix
anything, which is why she had to do just about everything around that place of hers.”  He grew silent for a moment, and then gave a self-deprecating laugh.  “Wow, I’ve just joined the rank of neighborhood gossip.”

Ethan gave him a pat on the shoulder.  “No, you haven’t.  I, uh, actually appreciate you telling me.  I get the sense she’s been … hurt.”

“You can say that again,” Mr. Grambel said.  “That husband of hers was so critical of her, I had to wonder if he really even liked women—if you … get my drift.”

Ethan got his drift. 

“I mean, if he didn’t, that’s okay.  But if that was the case, why marry one?  I guess that’s my point.  Why be so awful to a woman any man in his right mind would have viewed as a blessing?”  He shook his head sadly.

“I see your point,” Ethan said.

“Yes, well,” his neighbor said too cheerily, “I guess I’d better head on home.”

Ethan polished off the lemonade and passed him the glass.  “Thank Mrs. Grambel for me,” he said.

“Will do,” he said with a wave as he started back across the street.

Ethan made a quick decision to head back up to his roof to hurriedly retrieve a couple shingle remnants he’d left behind, before it became too warm to go up there at all.  His thoughts returned to his conversation with Mr. Grambel.  It bothered him to think Marcia had been married to a man who apparently had no appreciation for her.  Had he even loved her? 

He was just grabbing the last shingle when she pulled up in her car.  He watched her hurry out and run for the front door.  He could see her struggling with her key, and wondered, was she upset?  Did she need help?

Rather than rush headlong into her life, which he suspected was the last thing she would want, he sat back on the roof and made a play of checking a shingle.  Periodically, he glanced toward her house.  His attention was drawn to the front curb when a sleek, black car drew to a stop.  A man climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked briskly toward the front door.  Ethan could hear his clipped knock from his rooftop perch.

Soon, he saw Marcia open her front door.  She didn’t invite the man in, but gestured for him to give her a moment.  He waited on the stoop, his stiff posture and tapping foot evidence of his impatience. 

Ethan eyed him then, taking in the tight, close-cropped dark curls.  Was his view distorted by distance?—because the guy’s head looked kind of small.  But then, he was thin and compact, so maybe his head was proportionate to his body. 

Ethan shook
his
head.  What did he care anyway?  And since when did he study a guy in detail?  He gave a sheepish grin, hoping no one had noticed him staring, since they might have seen that his skin had taken on a greenish hue.  The thought of a man at Marcia’s door made him uncomfortable, and he knew why.  He was jealous.

As discreetly as he could manage, he resumed his perusal of his neighbor’s visitor.  The man wore crisp, dark slacks and a white, button down dress shirt.  He recognized his tie as high-end and a match to one in his own closet.  His shoes were polished to a sleek shine.

He cocked his head to the side, trying to get a read on the guy.  Suddenly, he got a reading loud and clear.  Collette would have called him a pretty boy, and this time, he would have been in full agreement with her.

Finally, Marcia reappeared.  She was struggling to carry a massive chest.  Ethan watched her as she fought to maintain a hold of the side handles.  She carried it stiff-armed, while the bulk of the thing bumped against the front of her thighs with each difficult step she took.

His eyes widened.  Clearly the chest was heavy, yet the man made no move to take it from her.  Instead, he stepped aside, and nodded toward the car, before he walked briskly ahead of her and opened the trunk with a keyless remote.  His manner was simply rude, dismissive of Marcia, and made Ethan’s blood boil.

He was off the roof and dropping down the ladder in a flash.  He jogged across his lawn, over her driveway, and to her.  Her eyes widened with surprise as he took the chest from her.  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

She gave him a perplexed look.  “Oh, I’m returning this chest to, uh, my ex- husband.”

“Yeah, I see that.”  He gave her a look of absolute confusion, which prompted her to give him an equally confused look.

“It was in my attic, and he wanted it back,” she said, though it really wasn’t any of his business.

He hefted it slightly to gauge its weight.  “It’s really heavy,” he declared.  “Too heavy for you to be lifting.  Did you carry it down all those stairs?” he demanded, clearly alarmed at the prospect.

“No, I put a blanket under it and pulled it down.  Besides, I’m used to lifting heavy things,” she assured him.