Flirting with Disaster (6 page)

She opened a door, showing me a bedroom that needed emptying. She pointed to most of the things and asked them to be removed. She didn't care if I donated the things or sent them to the dump. On top of the clean out, she asked for a fresh coat of paint to be added to the walls. It would clean up nicely. There was another bedroom to paint, and the bathroom as well. The landing we stood on was small and between the two of us a bit crowded. As she turned to open a last door, she lost her footing.
 

Thankfully, my instincts kicked in and I was able to catch her around the waist before she tumbled down the stairs. That could have been bad; we didn't need her to break any bones while I was standing at the top of the steps. I pulled Barbara into me as she steadied her gait. An awkward moment turned intimate. She clung, as if her life depended on it.
 

Hair fell over her face and her lips trembled with fear after the near cascade. I could almost feel her heartbeat trying to bounce out of her chest. I wasn't thinking. I swept a strand of hair out of her face and looked into her eyes. There was a familiarity, but I couldn't place it. Her eyes spoke of life and experience, and while they glittered in the most beautiful tones of green, I saw the vulnerability she kept well hidden. "Are you okay?"
 

She was breathless and nodded slowly. We stood, frozen in time. Finally, we broke from our trance. Now that we'd finished upstairs, we went to the kitchen. I sat at the table and she handed me a beer. Sitting across from me, she listed the things she hoped to fix. It was nice to meet someone who knew what they wanted. So many people hemmed and hawed, so I appreciated her getting to the point. I watched her eyes as she spoke and wondered where I might have seen her before. I'd have to ask my dad if he knew anything about the address she'd sent me to.
 

She counted out five hundred dollars in cash. Not too shabby. I liked a woman who could pay up front. I like anyone who could pay up front. It was enough to get me supplies along with giving me some extra which would help cover some bills. If she's got the money, I've got the time to do any extra jobs she needs along the way. I was feeling better about the experience already.
 

She seemed to have relaxed some. The Barbara I met at the diner wanted to be in control. The Barbara I met at her home wanted nothing more than to live her life and maybe accomplish some things along the way. She had loosened up and appeared more comfortable around me. Had she finally taken off her armor?
 

She handed me a spare key to her place so I could come and go when it was convenient to my schedule. I told her I'd be back the following day. I had a quick job to take care of in the morning, a simple front end alignment, nothing too jarring. I could easily be back by noon.

I was about to say something, and then thought better of it. I held my thoughts... Maybe when I got to know her better, I’d ask.

I thanked her for the job and she thanked me for my time. When I shook her hand, I noted a solid handshake. But it was her soft, tender skin I noticed even more. Her tough exterior from when we'd first met was now fading before me. I wondered how the brick walls around her had grown in the first place. There was a thick wall protecting her, but beneath it, I knew there had to be something else. The way she looked at me when I caught her, and the tender, yet firm touch of her hand. As crazy as it sounded, it felt like she wanted to be held, but was afraid to let anybody near. She needed to know she wasn't alone in the world. I wondered if she'd ever find the person to get past her guarded heart and soul to let her live. She was probably a vivacious woman at some point. What had happened to shut her down?
 

I jumped into my truck and drove home. She was special. There was something in her eyes I'd seen before. Was it pain, or maybe vulnerability? The thought took me back to my mother. When she died, the hole in my heart felt like it would never heal. Time did miraculous things, but there were days the repaired holes blew open and were damaged again. What pain was Barbara carrying, and why did she walk around bundled up like knotted string, unable and unwilling to untangle?
 

For the rest of the week, I purposely stayed late at the factory to be sure I didn't run into Ryder again. Unsettled by the connection I felt with him after he caught me in his arms, I needed to keep my distance. But no matter how hard I tried, he kept coming into my thoughts.
 

It occurred several times during the day I worked with his father. Unsurprisingly both men had similar expressions which made their resemblance more pronounced.
 

But the worst was when I got home. There were traces of him everywhere. He had made quick work of clearing my mother's room, repainting it in the pale yellow I selected. The off-white accents on the window frame were a perfect match for the white plantation shutters for the two tiny windows. If I ever decided to sleep in, they would be perfect to block the morning sun.
 

Thursday night, a large white fan was on the ceiling. I hadn't requested it, but I totally approved. He had also began putting in the carpet tiles. Interestingly they were set up diagonally which made for a more original pattern.
 

Who would have thought the man would have a flare for decoration?
 

Friday morning, I left him a note on the steps: Thank you, you're doing fabulous work. Good call on the fan! There's plenty of food in the fridge, please feel free to help yourself to anything.
 

As I drove home early on Friday night, I was relieved and disappointed not to find his truck in front of my house. What could I expect? This was the beginning of the weekend after all. My note was still on the steps. It seemed he had been unable to make more time for me today. Oh well, I couldn't really say anything, his progress had been faster than I expected.
 

Coming closer to the steps, I saw the page had been flipped over and there was a message for me:

One room done. I started on the bathroom and will be back tomorrow. Text me if 10ish is too early. Until then, DO NOT FLUSH THE TOILETS!
 

Climbing up, I saw a yellow police tape Do Not Cross wrapped around the toilet seat. I giggled like an idiot. Did Tony know of Ryder's use of police supplies? My smile grew on my lips as I pushed open the door to what had been my mother's room. Ryder had moved my bed and night lamp in there. The bed was made, the pillows all fluffed, and the quilt folded like in a fancy hotel.
 

Looking at that stupid bed, I laughed and tears came to my eyes. The gesture got to me. Why? Because for as long as I could remember no one had ever made my bed for me. Of course the bed had been made when I'd stayed in hotels, but it was not the same.
 

I entered the other room to move all my things from what I wanted to convert into an office/guest room and realized Ryder had necessarily seen all I had posted on my wall. It made me feel uncomfortable, and I wasn't sure why. After all, there was nothing confidential in my notes, and Dylan Bishop knew the factory results and could have mentioned them to his son.
 

I couldn't figure out right away why I was uneasy. It was not as if I had let out some trade secret or leaked confidential data. Changing into sweat clothes, I mulled over the question and found the answer on my way down the steps to the kitchen: looking at my research was likely to give Ryder the false impression I was keeping the factory open.
 

If I had thought the chances were slim a week ago, now I knew better. At the end of a week of hard work, there was no doubt at all. The place was doomed. No matter which way I sliced it, the result was always the same. The production costs were way too high for merchandise no longer in demand.
 

Dylan Bishop would get the news Monday. It would have been absurd to tell him tonight. The only thing I could do for him and the rest of the employees at this point was give them this last weekend of hope before I made the news official.

Next week would be about checking the orders that still needed to be filled, picking the closing date and trying to get decent severance packages. I would also ask HR for an updated list of job openings in the factories throughout the country and ask those willing to relocate be given some sort of priority.
 

Sitting in my mother's kitchen, I remembered how terrified I had been when a dozen years ago, the other big job supplier of the town had folded. So many people had been forced to leave or move back in with family. We didn't have any family; it was just my mother and me, and since everybody in town knew my mother had a volatile personality, the chances of her finding another job were slim. I stayed awake at night wondering about it. My questions were about what would happen to my mother, of course, but more selfishly, I was preoccupied about what it would be like to finish school while in the care of some foster family.
 

Maybe there was a kid just like me who would stay awake tonight with the same questions. I shrugged away the thought. I couldn't be held responsible.
 

I turned on my computer and while it booted, I sent a text to Ryder to let him know ten-ish would be just fine, and if he had the time, I had a steak with his name on it for lunch. I waited a full minute looking at my screen but no answer came. Oh well, the man was probably very busy.

After taking the hummus and baby carrots from the fridge, I munched on them while shopping on line for a decent light for my room as well as a king-size bed. For an instant, I had this vision of Ryder helping me make the new bed and ... I had to stop daydreaming like this.
 

I’d been working at Barbara's house, getting some of the work out of the way in my free time. The week went by quickly, but I got a lot accomplished. I even added a ceiling fan. I know she didn't request one, but it felt right, so I went for it. Finishing up, I made up the bed so she'd have a good visual when she first walked in.
 

I wanted it to look magazine ready. She chose the right man to do the job, and a finished product would remind her I had what it took to get the job done. I fluffed the pillows after pushing them into their cases. Wrapping up, I was pretty sure she'd be satisfied with my work. I even started in on the other room after checking my watch. I had time to do a little more. She had papers all over one of the walls. It was quick work to pull them down and stack them neatly. I hoped I didn't mess up whatever organization she had going on.
 

Ready to head out for the night, I jotted a note on the back of the message she'd left me. I'd promised the boys I'd head down to the casinos with them and let loose. We hadn't partied in a long time, but old Jonesy, one of our local firefighters, took a job as a smokejumper on the West Coast. We wanted to send him out with a good time. Man, he'd applied more times than you could count on two hands, but the letter he was waiting for finally came through. They'd chosen him and would send him to training. He'd made it. He'd get out of this place and move on. I didn't blame Jonesy; it was a chance for a better future.
 

I noted to Barbara that I'd be back in the morning. Here's hoping I wasn't too hung over. I didn't party like I used to. I could drink most people under the table. Only the older I got, if I had a couple of beers and a handful of pretzels, I was asleep on the couch in no time. That is, unless I was hosting the latest dish of the week, tall, curvy, and more than ready to take care of my needs.
 

My buddies and I scraped together what we could to make the party a blow-out. My sides ached from all the laughter, but it was a good time. I hated to see Jonesy leave. He was one of the good ones, but I was happy for him. It seems more and more of my buddies had found a way out, and yet I stayed. I wondered if I'd get the itch. I doubted it. This was home. Living by the water all my life, I couldn't imagine being landlocked.
 

I didn't overdo it on the hard booze. Sticking to beer was my saving grace. If I'd done too many shots, rolling out of bed would have been pure torture. I downed a couple glasses of water to chase away any potential sluggishness and started my day.
 

I had things to do and someone to see. I thought I'd figured it out. I knew why she looked so familiar. Turned out, I was wrong. I mentioned her to my father, and listed the work she wanted me to do. When he heard the address, things changed. As soon as he told me who the previous resident was, it all made sense.
 

He'd known her mother. He figured it out Friday after she left for the day. He had trouble placing her, but when I mentioned the house I was working on, it jogged his memory and the pieces fell into place. Only the woman staying there…something was off. Her name didn't match the woman's who used to live there. Could it have been? Was Barbara the very same Bobby-Jean he had called so many times to notify her that her mother had collapsed at work once again? Her last name was different, but now that he thought of it, their eyes were similar. I told him I'd call her out on it, ask her straight up.
 

If she was, why hadn't she identified herself? Not that it would have mattered much to me, I barely glanced her way back in school, but I knew the name due to my father's grumbling. He'd come home at night, ranting that a woman, the same woman, again, had collapsed. If she didn't get her act together, he'd have to let her go. He hated that thought, he knew work was hard to find, but he couldn't run a factory that way. But why hadn’t she told my father who she was? Surely, she knew him, so why was she acting like a stranger?
 

I poached a couple eggs and quickly downed a glass of juice. A shower, clean clothes, and I was out the door. I checked my watch. It was nine thirty, which allowed time to stop at the diner and grab my coffee. I tried to remember what Barbara drank when we talked over the job. Once it hit me, I ordered a Diet Coke to go with my coffee and watched Joanne glare at me. I never ordered that.