What She Wanted (14 page)

I cared more for him than I should, but that wasn’t anything new, and how could I not? He’d helped me hold it together night after night when all I really wanted to do was curl into my bed and disappear. He made me laugh. He distracted my thoughts. He was checking on Grandpa so I could relax and help Sylvia with her gala plans.

The front door burst open and Sylvia entered with a flourish. “Men. They’re primates. The lot of them.”

“Bad day?”

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head. Her attention landed on my monitor, where Dean smiled against my temple, eyes lowered for a look at my face. “Who’s the lucky guy? My goodness. He’s fantastic. He could model. Look at that jawline and those cheekbones. Oh, to be young again. How long have you been dating?”

I closed the file and folded my hands on my lap. “We’re just friends.”

Sylvia cocked a perfect brow and grinned. “Oh, honey. I’ve seen friends. I’ve even been a friend. Whatever was going on in that photo was something else entirely. You’d better get it sorted before you leave for film school.”

“I’m not leaving.” We’d talked about this. “I haven’t applied for student loans or admission.”

“So, apply. If you don’t get the loans, you’ll get a scholarship.”

“Even if I could, my work isn’t ready, and I’m caring for Mark during his recovery.”

“Mark has a whole town to care for him. Leave that to us.” She cast a wayward glance at my blank screen. “Either way, you’d better address the situation with the boy, or that’s going to be heartbreaking. Meanwhile, get me some photos for the gala. I don’t have anything I want to display, and you’re purposefully avoiding this request. Tick. Tock.” She sashayed away and closed her office door.

I didn’t have anything for the gala.

Sylvia didn’t leave her office. No one called. No one stopped in. I nearly pounced on my cell phone when it rang.

Dean’s sweet tenor raised from the speaker to my ears. “How’s work?”

“Awesome.” The sarcasm in my voice was thick for no good reason. I’d formatted and doctored shots for my portfolio and photo blog until after seven. It had been a productive night so far. Still, Sylvia’s bizarre comments on heartbreak irked me. What did she know?

“That good, huh?”

“Yeah. How’s Mark?”

He made an
oof
sound. “He’s hell-bent on mowing the grass. He says I kept the blade too high and should’ve gone east and west, not north and south.”

I chuckled. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t. Obviously.”

“Well, he can’t mow in this humidity.”

“That’s what I told him.”

I renamed a handful of open files for Sylvia’s review. “Did you guys eat yet?”

“Yes. It was delicious. Mark had seconds.”

I smiled. “No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did. He complained about wasteful people and tasked himself with finishing up the extra so it didn’t go to waste.”

Maybe Heidi was right. Mark was too unhappy to die. What could he complain about in heaven?
It’s too peaceful here. Don’t you angels realize there’re people on earth mowing grass from east to west?
“Are you still coming to get me?”

“Yeah, but be ready. I want to hurry back. I don’t think we should leave this guy alone for long. He’s pacing the backyard now.”

“I’ll meet you in the lot.”

I pulled the journal from my bag and formulated a new plan for the rest of my summer.

When Dean picked me up, I jumped into the cab with purpose. “I’ve decided to complete Mom’s list without Mark’s help. I can’t force him to be nice or useful, but I can do this myself.” I backpedaled. “With a little help on a possible abduction for the fishing portion of my summer.”

“Bring it.” Dean pulled out of the parking spot. “What’s first?”

I flipped to the right page and pointed. “This.”

He slowed at the red light and took a quick look. “Love your grandpa. Hug him?” He laughed before taking a right. “So, it’s a challenging list.”

“Yep. Everything after this should be easy.”

Dean dropped his hand over mine on the seat and squeezed. “You’ve got this, and Heidi and I have you.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I was determined.

“Hey.” Dean’s soft voice pulled my attention his way. “I believe you can do anything, even soften a hurting old heart like Mark’s.”

Hopefully, he was right.

I worked on my relationship with Mark for the next two weeks. I’d even slipped my arms around his middle and squeezed a few times, and neither of us died. He tensed as if I’d Tasered him, but he didn’t scold me or push me away, so that was something. Between meeting his recovery needs, working at Essence, and avoiding Joshua, I barely had five minutes to breathe. I was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. I’d barely made a dent in Mom’s list, and the summer was slipping away. Mark was zero help. Worse than useless some days. He was the equivalent of a mischievous toddler hell-bent on suicide by physical exertion or taking medication with beer. I was ready to hop the next Greyhound to anywhere.

Except, I couldn’t leave. I had a list of goals to achieve. I needed Mom to know her sacrifice was worthwhile. Her wishes mattered. I’d started with number one:
Love your grandpa
, and my heart had changed toward Mark. That much was undeniable. Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was something. He was my responsibility, and I worried about him. I watched his diet and medications, got him to medical appointments and made friends with his doctors. Sometimes I wondered if he thought I’d disappear if he let himself get attached. Maybe that was in my mind, not his, but it was a legit concern for him. What woman in his life hadn’t left?

I’d also made progress on random acts of kindness and smiling at people. I’d always thought of myself as kind, but now I sought ways to satisfy the goal, like returning Mrs. B’s empty Tupperware dishes with thank-you notes. She’d delivered us a thousand dinners in my lifetime, and I’d never sent her a thank-you note. I also left a slice of chocolate cake for the mailman and wheeled Heidi’s mom’s trash can to the end of the drive when I left their house the other night. People responded in big ways to little things. I liked the rush and made a list of dozens more ways to make neighbors and strangers smile. As it turned out, Mom had been right about smiles being contagious. Almost everyone I smiled at smiled back, even if they weren’t already smiling when they saw me. Older people and children seemed especially susceptible. Mom also wanted me to laugh. That wasn’t something I could do on my own, but Dean made me laugh every day, and so did Heidi. Sylvia was funny, too, but never intentionally. Sometimes I wondered if Dean counted toward Mom’s wish that I make friends. She probably meant more than one new friend a year, but I had to start somewhere.

“Katy!” Mark’s deep voice bellowed through the house, seeming to hang in the clouds of humidity. “You’re going to be late!”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten before responding. “Okay!” As if I didn’t know when I needed to leave for work. As if I needed a reminder about my schedule and hadn’t raised myself.

I opened my eyes and finished reading the new online article about Alcoholics Anonymous. I’d read sites and blogs dedicated to the organization since Joshua announced his affliction to me. I was especially interested in Step 9: making amends. It took more than an apology to complete the step, and he hadn’t really given me an apology before I shut the door in his face. If he was serious about recovery, and two years sober told me he was, then I hadn’t seen the last of him on my porch. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

The steps rattled and moaned outside my bedroom door. “Katy!”

I lunged for the doorknob and yanked the barrier open. “I know!”

Mark stared up from the halfway point on the staircase, clearly out of breath. “Then hurry up.”

I rapped my knuckles on the open door. “You aren’t supposed to do the stairs.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re going to be late.”

I did some rhythmic breathing and renewed my vow to actively love the man who made me completely mental. “Thank you. I’m almost ready.”

He didn’t make a move to leave.

For a moment, my frustration subsided and worry swept in. Was he sick or unable to turn safely on the narrow stair? Did he need help getting pointed back to the recliner? His balance hadn’t been right since he came home. He hated when I pointed it out, but it was true. I made a mental note to ask the physical therapist about it at his next appointment.

Mark’s gaze darted toward the hall window. “If you don’t leave soon, you’ll be stuck in the rain.”

“Uh-huh.” A normal notion for a typical grandpa. Not mine.

I cocked a hip against the doorjamb and crossed my too-long arms. “You’re concerned I might get caught in the rain?”

He’d replaced cotton pajama pants and a white undershirt with navy Dickies and a work shirt while I showered. He lifted a bushy brow in challenge. “Fine. Get drenched. Ruin your fancy camera, trudging through a typhoon. None of my business. I’m just sharing what the weatherman said.” He pivoted for a schlep down the steps, shoulders rolled forward.

“What are you up to?”

He hesitated, waving a hand overhead when he reached solid ground. “You don’t want my help. I’m an old man. Probably heard the forecast wrong.” He shuffled toward the living room and disappeared from sight.

I’d bet my fancy camera and all my expensive lenses that he didn’t give two flips if my stuff got wet. He wanted to mow the lawn before it rained. He was obsessed with the lawn, and he hated my camera. I’d used an old one I found in the attic for years, then Mark had won five thousand dollars on a Christmas scratch off ticket and given me five hundred as a holiday surprise. I’d thanked the eggnog gods and spent the money before he sobered up and wanted it back. I’d given all of it to Heidi’s mom, along with a stash I’d been collecting, and she’d ordered my dream camera. When Mark realized what I’d bought with his winnings, he’d gone on a silence binge that never really ended.

Actively loving Mark while simultaneously being his unwanted caretaker was harder than I’d imagined. His tirades had slowly fizzled, but his obsession with the lawn, politics, and bills was enough to give me an ulcer. What could I do about any of it? I couldn’t even get him to stop overexerting himself or eating red meat.

He also dodged my questions about Joshua like a trained politician. He grew silent or livid if I asked about the night of his heart attack. He said Joshua had left Mom and me when his parents moved away during his senior year. Mom had been dying, and he’d left. Logically, I understood he was a minor and couldn’t have stayed on his own, but emotionally, I felt he should’ve pitched a tent or tried harder or something. How messed up were his parents that they’d left a grandchild and never looked back? Endless imaginary scenarios plagued my tired mind. Maybe Joshua was somehow powerless at seventeen, but he was a grown man now, and if he’d cared for me at all, where had he been all my life? One drunk appearance on the worst day of my life didn’t count as caring.

He’d lived thirty minutes away for two years and had never sent one card or made a single phone call to ask how I was. There was no excuse for that. Mark’s landline number hadn’t changed since the original technician had installed the wall-mounted unit and scribbled the number on a now-yellowed slip of paper beneath the clear dial.

I wanted to confront him every time I saw him in town, but I hadn’t inherited any of Mom’s bravery. She’d tackled teen pregnancy and cancer simultaneously. According to her journal, she’d only stopped cheering when she started showing and the principal insisted. He’d threatened to make her be homeschooled until I was born so as not to glorify teen pregnancy. Mom had been someone other kids admired. Wouldn’t want them to all run out and get knocked up when she made it look cool. Mom had gone to battle with the administration for her right to attend high school, not homeschool, and won. No small feat in small town Ohio.

I couldn’t bring myself to approach a man who’d told me he wanted to talk to me.

I swiped gloss on my lips and secured my hair into a tight bun high on my head. Mark was right. I was late.

I darted through my bedroom door and slowed on the stairs. “Son of a…” I dashed through the house, pulled by the steady drone of a lawn mower. What was his insane obsession with our grass? He’d literally rather kill himself than let the grass grow above two inches.

I scooted across the kitchen and plowed through the back door, ready to strangle him. “Mark!” The door whipped open and slammed against the house before whacking itself back into place on a rusty spring. “Mark!”

He looked over his shoulder from behind the helm of our outdated push mower.

I tromped through the grass, mad enough to burst, and stopped in front of his mower.

The engine petered out. Mark managed to look agitated. With me. “What are you doing? You’re late for work.”

“What is it with you and this lawn? It’s an obsession. It’s nuts.”

He lowered bushy eyebrows over narrow blue eyes. “It’s all I have to do besides watch talk shows and take naps.”

“No. This is not something you’re allowed to do. It’s exerting. It’s not okay.” I shook my head slowly and repeated the most important part. “Not. Okay.”

He pushed the mower towards my feet. “Move. It’s going to rain.”

I waved my hands at the sky. “It’s ninety degrees out here and humid. Go inside. You’re supposed to stay cool and rest. Did you even put on sunblock?”

He glared. “I’m not a damn child.”

“Neither am I. I should’ve moved out weeks ago, but I’m here to make sure you don’t kill yourself, so quit making my job so damn hard.”

He gripped the mower tighter. His knuckles turned white. “It’s going to rain.”

“I’ve heard.”

“I can’t mow the lawn when it’s wet.”

I dropped my head back in exasperation. Maybe he’d been so quiet all my life because he didn’t speak English. I righted my head and put on my calmest tone. “You aren’t supposed to mow the lawn. You’re supposed to relax, take your meds, eat well, and attend your appointments. Nothing else until you’re released.”