Not Quite Crazy
Page 9

“Hungry?” she asked.
“Always.”
He was past the age to tell him not to make a meal out of sugar. Most of the time he policed himself, anyway.
“Where do you think we should put the Christmas tree?” she asked as they moved around the kitchen, putting things away.
“Christmas tree?”
“Yeah.” She watched him from the corners of her eyes. “In front of the window? In the corner of the living room?”
“We’re getting a tree?”
She looked straight at him. “It’s Christmastime, isn’t it?”
He pushed open the door leading to the living room, cocked his head to the side. “In front of the window.”
Smiling, she said, “Jason volunteered his truck to help us out on Wednesday.”
“Stranded Car Guy?”
“Yeah.”
He met her eyes, didn’t look away. “He likes you.”
“Maybe.”
“He sent you chains.”
Nothing screamed romance like snow chains. “Which was very thoughtful. Have you given more thought to tae kwon do?” She mentioned the free lessons after the football game. He said he’d think about it.
“We’ll see after Wednesday. If the guy ends up being a jerk, I don’t want to take anything from him.”
“That’s a good rule to follow.” Not that she’d give back the chains. She needed them.
Later that night, after she and Owen had made a trip to a big box store in search of lights and glass balls for the tree they planned on putting up, Rachel tackled the door leading to the kitchen. What she first thought was charming now became a nuisance. It took a hammer and a flathead screwdriver she used as a battering ram to knock the bottom hinge free. The top hinge proved more difficult. As she pounded away, she estimated the weight of the solid wooden door. She cautioned herself to wait until Owen was home from his friend’s house but decided against it. Like every home repair she’d managed since moving in, she did it herself. Even if it took three times as long. There was a sense of accomplishment about it. Having lived in a turnkey condo most of her adult life, there wasn’t anything to fix. And if something did break, she’d always called someone. Now that she was playing caretaker for Owen, she needed to watch what she spent. And that meant checking out a crap-ton of YouTube how-to videos.
Em had left Owen what money she had. Social security kicked in a monthly check. All of which was funneled into a college account. The money Rachel didn’t spend on repairs was for Owen’s future car, insurance, which she knew would be steep, and all the other crap that came along with taking care of a teenager. At this point she wasn’t struggling, but that was due in part to frugality.
She knocked at the stubborn top hinge as years of rust sprinkled to the ground. Fifteen minutes of pounding later, the pin pulled free. To her surprise, the door didn’t fall to the ground. It stayed in the same location, as if suggesting she was a fool for trying to remove it.
Rachel stepped down from the tiny stepladder she had and grasped the door with both hands. She shoved. Nothing moved. Apparently the rusty pins weren’t keeping the door in place. The weight of the door kept the hinges fused. She used the hammer to knock away at the hinges, wiggling the door after every swing. Giving up wasn’t an option. With her luck the damn thing would fall in the middle of the night and give her a heart attack.
Finally, an hour into what should have been a ten-minute job, the door broke free.
Unfortunately, she caught it with the side of her head. She managed to keep from crumbling under it and not so gently set it aside. Her forehead above her right eye screamed. When she removed her hand, she expected to see blood but didn’t.
In the downstairs bathroom, she checked the damage. Already a goose egg formed, which meant she was going to have a black eye by Monday. Her first impression on the owners of the company she worked for, and she was going to look like she took a punch in a bar fight.
She left the door where it lay, and filled a plastic bag with ice. Maybe the cold would mitigate the damage. The ice hurt, and her forehead already felt as if a skipping stone sat under the surface of her skin.
“Know your limits, woman,” she told herself. Her intention was to take the heavy door to the basement, but she decided the trip down the old stairs would be pushing her luck.
Ice in hand, she picked up her mess, except for the door, and admired the difference with it gone. Then she noticed the casing and layers of paint that needed to be scraped free. The kitchen cabinets on the other side of the wall . . . could they go? It would work so much better with the space completely opened up. Removing the cabinets would probably result in stitches.
Good thing Jason was helping with the tree.
Jason. If he had a truck, chances were he had a ladder.
She checked the time, decided it wasn’t too late for a text.
Do you have a ladder I can borrow? It wasn’t until after she pressed “Send” that it dawned on her that she was asking a favor of a man she’d known for three days.
When Jason didn’t respond right away, she wondered if he was out on a date. It was Saturday night.
I do and you can. Why do you need it?
Perfect. One less thing she needed to buy. Christmas lights.
You’re putting them up?
Her hand traveled to her head. Between Owen and I, we can manage.
Do you want me to bring it by tomorrow?
Wednesday is fine. Maybe by then she’d be able to cover any leftover bruises up with cosmetics.
I’m looking forward to it.
I am, too.
Chapter Five
Owen laughed every time he looked at her. The swelling had reached its height by Sunday morning, and by the afternoon the red and purple weren’t colors she was going to cover with foundation. Wearing dark sunglasses when it was raining stood out just as much as a bruised face.
“It’s not funny.”
“One look at you and Stranded Car Guy is gonna run the other direction.”
“Men aren’t that shallow.”
“Yes, they are. Lida had a massive zit right on the tip of her nose, and Lionel didn’t ask her to the winter formal.”
“Zits don’t last forever.”
“It was huge. Not as big as that thing you’re growing on your head, but close.” He started laughing again.
“It will be better by Wednesday.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
Rachel laughed. “Your mom used to say that all the time.”
They both stopped talking, locked in a memory.
“I miss her,” Owen said quietly.
“I do, too.”
Sure enough, Monday morning was met with a massive headache and her right eye swollen and bluish purple. Her rainy commute added to her stress, especially when she barely made it to her office chair before she was officially late. She and Julie had planned to arrive half an hour early to go over their PowerPoint one more time before they presented it to the owners of the company.
“What happened to you?” Julie exclaimed.
“I had a fight with my kitchen door. The door won.”
“You’re not kidding. Should you even be here?”
“Today is a big day.” Otherwise she would have called in. Her headache alone was hitting migraine level. “I might try and cut out early.”
“I’m sure no one would complain.”
From the looks she’d received walking in, Rachel knew no one would.