Actions Speak Louder (19 page)

She shrugged in response.  “They met a couple days ago.  Jay came by my house to get something, and she stopped by to see Ethan.  They met, and apparently, hit it off.”

Angie shook her head in surprise.  “Wow.” 

“Yeah, wow,” Collette echoed.  “I’m right, you know.  Jay has a tiny head.”

“Collette,” Marcia warned, stifling a laugh.

“Well, it is.  I noticed it before this picture confirmed it for me.”  She glanced up.  “You know what they say…  Tiny cranium, tiny brain…”

“Collette!” Angie cried this time.

“Hey, Mom, Jay was a jerk to Marcia.  You know that.”

Angie gave Marcia an alarmed glance, fearful Collette had injured her with the comment. 

Marcia met her concerned gaze.  “The truth is, I’ve come to the same conclusion,” she admitted with a sad smile.  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking of late.  Too bad I didn’t do more of that when I was married to him.” 

“Collette, go wait for Drew outside,” Angie commanded briskly.  “Marcia and I have some grownup talking to do.”

“I’m a junior in high school.  I’ll be a grown up next year,” the girl groused.

“Yeah, okay, you can take part in adult conversations then.”

“Whatever.”  She slid off the stool and flounced out of the store.

“Marcia,” Angie began, “I’m really sorry about Collette…”

“No, no, don’t be.  She’s actually spot on in her assessment of Jay.”  She frowned. “She’s probably right about his small head, too.”

Angie made a guilty face.  “John and I always called him ‘that pinhead’ behind his back,” she admitted.  “I’m sorry, Marcia.  I’m sorry you ever met the guy.  He played the part of such a sweetheart when you were dating, but…”

“He turned horrible pretty fast after we said our vows,” she interjected, attempting a smile.

“You deserved, and still deserve better,” Angie said vehemently.  “I’ll never know why he thought it was his job to…”

“Humiliate me at every turn,” Marcia supplied, dropping onto the stool Collette had vacated.  She met her friend’s gaze.  “Like I said, I’ve spent quite a bit of time lately wondering…”

“What, Marcia?”

“Wondering why I let him treat me the way he did.  Why didn’t I leave him?”

“Because you’re no quitter,” she said.  “You tried to make it work, that’s why.  Frankly, Marcia, I think the guy left you shell-shocked from the get-go.  I think he was very strategic in his mistreatment of you.  He constantly caused you to second guess your own emotions.”  She shook her head angrily.  “The little pinhead!”

Marcia laughed softly.  “Well, he
and
his pinhead are a thing of the past,” she said too brightly.  “I’m free of him and life will go on.”

Angie measured her with a look.  “Marcia, I know you’re probably not ready for a new relationship, but I hope that eventually you’ll be open to one.  Jay was an anomaly.  Please know there is a good guy out there—a good, loving, supportive man who would give his right arm for a woman like you.  A man whose sole objective in life is to make you happy.”

Marcia gave a dubious chuckle.  “His sole purpose, huh?”

“Hey, I’m telling you the truth.”  She gave her friend a speculative glance.  “You know your neighbor, Ethan?”

“Uh huh.”

“Collette’s right.  He likes you.”               

“Uh huh,” Marcia repeated, and then shook her head.  “Jay professed to like me too.  And look how that turned out.”

Angie sighed.  “At least you’ve learned what you
don’t
want in a man.”

Marcia laughed, but sobered quickly.  “Jay used to tell me that he loved me every day.”  She cocked her head and gave a sad smile.  “
Every day
.  I mean, if he hadn’t said it so often…”

Angie patted her arm.  “Words!” she spat angrily.  “It’s actions that count.  Actions speak louder than words.”

***

By late afternoon, Marcia was more than ready to flip the open sign in the front window to closed.  Very few customers had visited the store, and of those who had stopped by, few made purchases.  She uttered a silent prayer that the next day would be better. 

Just as she was intending to head to the back of the store, a woman began knocking furiously on the door.  Marcia turned, her brows furrowed into a frown.  It was Mrs. Dunneford, the woman who had ordered the mustard yellow paint before. 

Resisting the urge to simply turn her back on her, she realized she couldn’t risk alienating a potential customer—even an aggravating one.  With a shoring sigh, she opened the door.  “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, aiming a glance at the closed sigh.  “I was actually just closing up shop for the day.”

“I need that paint I ordered,” she declared.  She smoothed a hand through her windblown hair and forced a smile.  “Remember?  It was mustard yellow…”

“I’m afraid I don’t have it anymore.”

“You sold my paint?” the woman cried, incredulous.

Counting to three before she spoke again, Marcia fixed her with a smile.  “If you’ll remember, you changed your mind about the paint and told me you didn’t want it.”

“Well, I do now,” she said curtly.

Marcia sighed again.  “I’m afraid it is sold.”

“Well, you’ll have to order more for me.”

Marcia took a deep breath.  “I can do that, but you’ll have to pay for the paint in advance, since I’m afraid I can’t give you a refund on special orders.”

“Marcia!  I’m leaving in a minute,” called Stewart.  He approached with a clipboard.  “Can I get you to sign off on this purchase order first?”

“Sure,” she said, scrawling her signature on the order form.  “I’ll see you Friday then.”

“Will you please order the paint for me?” the woman asked.  “I need to get started on my studio.”

“I can take the order,” Stewart volunteered, glancing at the woman.  “What color did you need?”

“Mustard yellow.  The same as I ordered before.”

“I have to reiterate that you must pay in advance and that I cannot offer you a refund if you change your mind,” Marcia told her.

The woman nodded.  “Fine.  But I need the paint ASAP.”

“I’ll place the order,” Marcia directed to Stewart.  “You go ahead on home.”

He nodded, but walked alongside her to the registers.  “I wonder what changed her mind about the paint color?” he whispered, and then chuckled.  “I wish I knew what Winslow Construction did with all that mustard yellow paint from before.”

Marcia gave him an alarmed glance.  “What?  What do you mean?”  She shook her head confusedly.  “Are you talking about E.J. Winslow Construction?”

He nodded.  “One of his employees bought the paint.”  He shrugged.  “I mean, I’m pretty sure it was one of his guys.  I volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, and I’ve worked with Ethan and the guy before.  At least, I think it was him.  I think his name is Thomas.”

She nodded numbly.  So Ethan had bought the paint?  How had he even known about her dilemma?  Wait, she had mentioned it to him.  No, she hadn’t told him about the paint problems until after the paint had been sold. 

How did he know about the paint
?  And what would possess him to buy it from her?

As she was ringing up the purchase for the woman, Marcia couldn’t help asking, “What made you change your mind about the paint color?”

The woman smoothed a hand through her hair again.  “Mustard yellow is all the rage,” she declared.  “Gwen Mannington used it as the predominant color in a house she decorated for a spread in
House Lovely
magazine.”  She gave a giddy laugh.  “Turns out I was right about the color in the first place.”

***

Ethan bought the paint
.

Ethan bought the paint
.

The words played over and over in Marcia’s mind like a bad song.  Why had he purchased that paint?  As she drove home, she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  If he had purchased the paint, she owed him and she owed him big.  How could she pay him back? 

She took a calming breath, in an attempt to slow her pulse rate. 
Think
.  First, she would need to find out if he had, indeed, bought that ugly paint.  Once she had her answer, she would go from there.  But if he had taken it off her hands, what could she possibly do to pay him back? 

As she pulled into her driveway, she spotted him outside his house, painting the side closest to her place.  She half-expected to see the siding coated with that hideous yellow hue, but knew the mustard yellow had been interior paint and wouldn’t be suited to outside applications.  He was actually painting the house a soft green sage that she decided she liked.

As she pulled into her garage, Ethan turned and waved.  She nodded in return, and then disappeared into the garage. 

Inside her house, she hurriedly checked her messages, freshened up in her bathroom, and then with a shoring breath, headed next door to Ethan’s.  “I need to talk to you,” she said, startling him.

He spun around and grinned sheepishly.  “I didn’t hear you walk up.”

“I have to ask you a question,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and praying his answer to her question would be no.

“Go ahead,” he prompted, as he carefully propped his paintbrush on a can of paint on the ground nearby.

She sighed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.  “Did you buy two hundred gallons of mustard yellow paint from my store?”

His eyes widened in apparent surprise, but he rallied quickly and made his face impassive.  “Uh, well, yeah.  But actually, I had one of my guys buy the paint.”

“Why?”

“Well, uh, I needed paint.”

“Uh huh.  You needed two hundred gallons of one of the most hideous paint colors I personally have ever seen?”

“Well, yeah,” he said without skipping a beat.

“So you’re painting the inside of your place mustard yellow?  Of course, you’ll have enough paint left over to paint the interior of that high-rise you’re currently building…”

He shrugged.  “You never know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she demanded.

He suddenly looked sick.  He opened his mouth to speak, but apparently couldn’t form words.  He gave a shrug of uncertainty, spreading his hands in front of him and shaking his head.

Marcia sighed with resigned acceptance.  “Do you have another paint brush?” she asked him brusquely.

He gave her a puzzled look and cleared his throat.  “Uh, why do you need a paint brush?”

“Because I’m going to help you paint your house.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” he said, waving off her offer.

She would not be deterred.  “Oh, yes, I am.  And when we’re done painting the outside, I’m going to help you with the inside.”

He laughed uncertainly.  “No, no you’re not.”

She reached for the paint brush he had been using and dipped it into the paint can.  She paused.  “Why aren’t you spraying on the paint?”

“It’s a small job,” he told her.  “And I can give the siding better coverage brushing the paint on.”

“Okay,” she said, and began painting.  To her surprise, he took the brush from her. 

“You just got off work.  You have to be tired,” he said, watching her with concern. 

Having anyone, let alone her handsome neighbor, show concern for her caused a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.  “There’s no rest for the weary,” she quipped.  “Particularly when the weary owes her neighbor over eight thousand dollars.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he assured her.

“I always pay off my debts,” she told him, and turned her attention to the house.  “Pretty color,” she commented.  “Beats the heck out of mustard yellow.”

“Marcia, this is ridiculous,” Ethan declared.  “I’m not going to do any painting today.  I have somewhere I have to be.”  He ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch.  “You’re not going to paint my house for me.  You spent enough time here last night.”

“Five hours,” she said with a disgusted snort.  “I figure, at what, ten dollars an hour?—I owe you seven hundred, ninety-five more hours of labor.”

He gasped.  “What?  You do not.”

“Yes, I do.  So you’d better let me get to work.”

“Can we talk about this later?  I hate to leave, because I’d really like to straighten this out with you, but I have somewhere I need to be right now.”

She waved him off with an impatient hand.  “Yes, go.  You’re cutting into my time.  If I start now, I should be finished by…”  She did a mental calculation in her mind.  “Okay, so it’s May now.  Maybe, if I focus, I can have you paid off by … October.”

“Yeah, okay,” he scoffed.  “Why aren’t you at your store?” He glanced at his watch again.  It was a little after eight in the morning and he really needed to go.

“Angie is holding down the fort, while I work for you.”

“You don’t work for me!” he groaned in frustration.  “You don’t owe me anything.”