Actions Speak Louder (20 page)

“Why’d you buy the paint?”

He sighed heavily.  “Okay, look, I happened to be in the store the day you received your big delivery and discovered Angie’s mistake…”

“I didn’t see you,” she said, frowning.   

“I know.  I made myself invisible.  Anyway, I felt bad for you.  I’ve been there—financially strapped and terrified—back when I started my business.”

She pinned him with a look.  “And did some Good Samaritan come along and fix your problem for you?”

“Well, no,” he admitted, “but I wish they had.”  He attempted a smile then, but couldn’t quite pull it off.

“I appreciate the gesture,” she told him.  “I get that you were trying to help me, but…”

“What?”

“I can’t help but feel indebted to you.  I hate the feeling of owing someone—particularly when the debt is sizeable.  I have to pay you back.”

“No, you don’t!” he insisted.  “You didn’t ask me for help, so you don’t owe me anything!”

She nodded her head.  “Oh, yes, I do.”

Ethan scrubbed a hand across his jaw, and then checked his watch again.  “I have to go.  We’ll talk later.”  To her surprise, he snatched up the gallon of paint Marcia had retrieved from his porch, and stored it inside the house, where she couldn’t get at it.  “There,” he said smugly as he pulled the front door closed behind him.  “Now, go to work.  To your
real
work.  You wouldn’t want anyone ordering more mustard yellow paint in your absence.”

She stood on his porch, fuming.  He chuckled, and then to her astonishment, kissed her on the cheek.  “We’ll talk later,” he repeated, and then jogged to his truck.

She watched him drive away, and then had an inspired idea.  She knew the brand and color of the paint Ethan had chosen for the exterior of his home.  She carried it at the hardware store.  She placed a quick call to Angie, asked her to mix up a five gallon bucket, and in no time, she was back at work at Ethan’s place.  He found her there hours later, when he returned home after a lengthy day of meetings with investors.

Climbing out of his truck, his jaw dropped.  The front of his house was beautifully painted, and he spied Marcia on a ladder, painting the north face.  She was balanced precariously on an upper rung, stretching to reach to the eaves.  He hurried to her and braced the ladder.  “You need to come down,” he told her in no uncertain tones.  “You’re going to kill yourself.”

She waved off his concern.  “Ah, I know what I’m doing.”

“You know better than to reach that far with a paintbrush, when you’re unbalanced on a rickety ladder…”

“Hey, this ladder isn’t rickety,” she protested.  “I bought it at a garage sale, and it’s … fairly stable…”

“Yeah, okay,” he said in a clipped voice.  “Please come down.”

Marcia climbed down slowly, trying to prevent herself from dropping paint on Ethan’s head.  She knew he was right about the ladder, but she needed to get the job done and didn’t have the money to purchase a new ladder.  If she borrowed one from the store, it would end up ruined by dripping paint, and thereby, be rendered unsellable later.

When she reached the ground, Ethan took the small paint container from her hand, and then stared at her intently.  “How long have you been painting?”

She checked her watch.  “Seven hours.  Only seven hundred eighty-eight more to go,” she said brightly.

“Look, this isn’t funny,” Ethan declared, and then tugged at the tie around his neck.  Marcia hadn’t registered he was dressed in a suit and tie when she had seen him earlier.  She frowned, trying to remember how he’d been dressed that morning.  He apparently read her thoughts.  “I stopped by my condo for the suit,” he explained.  “Okay, so look, you’ve practically painted my whole house.  We’re square.”

“No, we’re not,” she insisted, and started up the ladder again.  She gasped when she felt his hands spanning her waist and lifting her down off the ladder.  “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” he muttered, and then slid his jaw to the side in a gesture she recognized as frustration.  Or, maybe he was deep in thought.  “Look,” he said finally, “you’re calculating your wages all wrong.  If you’re determined to pay me back, you don’t charge me by the hour—you charge me by the
job
.  You’ve essentially painted my house for me…”  He took a step back and studied her work.  He gave an appreciative nod.  “Looks good, but then, what else would I expect from you?”

“Painting’s not difficult,” she told him.  “Besides, it’s a small bungalow.”

“Yes, but it
is
two stories, which adds to the price of the job.”  He stood silently for a moment.  “When you finish painting the back of the house, we’ll be even.”

Marcia gave a loud guffaw.  “Yeah, sure.  It wouldn’t cost you eight grand to hire your house painted.”

He nodded.  “It costs whatever I’m willing to pay you, and I think the job is worth eight thousand dollars.”

Marcia sighed.  “I’m going to call a couple painting contractors, give them the dimensions of your place, and then we’ll know what the job costs.  I’ll average the estimates, and deduct that amount from what I owe you, and … thanks, Ethan.” 

She
was
grateful to him.  It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could charge him by the job, rather than by the hour.  But he was right.  In home repair, the experts often charged by the job.

“Arrgghhh,” he groaned, drawing her from her thoughts.  “You don’t owe me anything else.”

“I beg to differ,” she said stubbornly.  “So, what’s on the agenda after I finish painting the house?  I’m fairly adept at finish carpentry.  Hey, maybe I can install your flooring.”  She perked up.  “I can sure do all of your interior painting for you.”

“What’s on the agenda?” he asked brusquely.  “Dinner.  I’m taking you to dinner.”

Marcia frowned.  Was he asking her to dinner, with the expectation she would say yes, because she owed him?  The prospect troubled her.  But if he had expected something from her in return for him purchasing the paint, it only made sense he would have told her he’d purchased the paint in the first place.  The truth was, he had done his best to keep it a secret from her.  Definitely
not
the actions of someone with ulterior motives.

Ethan noticed the perplexed expression on her face.  She looked as if she was struggling to sort something out in her head.  “Did you even eat lunch today?” he demanded.  “You look a little wobbly.”

“No.  I wanted to get as much painting done as possible before you got home.”

“You need food.  We’re going to dinner,” he said, and promptly escorted her home.  At her door, he said, “Dress comfortably, because I am.”  He tugged at his collar again.  “I can’t wait to get out of this monkey suit.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously.  “Okay.”

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” he told her, and strode off toward his house.  As promised, he returned in a half hour and found Marcia dressed and ready to go.

“I hope I’m not too casual,” she said of her shorts and t-shirt.

“You’re perfect,” he said, gesturing toward his own shorts and t-shirt.  “What are you hungry for?”

“I could really go for a cheeseburger,” she told him, her mouth watering at the prospect of food.  It really hadn’t been very smart of her to forgo lunch, since she
was
feeling rather depleted.

Ethan took her arm and led her to his truck.  “Does Dairy Queen sound all right to you?  I like the restaurant up on MacArthur Boulevard.”

“Sounds great,” she told him.

Soon the couple was ensconced in a booth, awaiting their order.  A waitress appeared and gave them their diet sodas.  “Thanks, Renee,” Ethan said.

“You bet, Ethan,” the petite brunette said, before hurrying off.

“She’s the daughter of a friend of mine,” he told Marcia.

In no time, their burger baskets were placed in front of them, along with a selection of condiments.  “Anything else I can get you?” Renee asked.

“Everything looks great,” Ethan told her.

Marcia was first to taste the food.  “This is so good,” she enthused.  “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

Ethan acknowledged her words by taking a bite of his burger.  “They make the best burgers in town,” he declared. 

After they’d eaten for a moment or two, he put his food down and pinned her with earnest blue eyes.  “Now, you and I need to talk.”

“Okay,” she said, fully up to the challenge, now that she had nourishment in her body.  She knew he was probably about to argue with her about her plan to work off the money she owed him, but she would not be deterred.     

“Look,” he began, as if searching for the right words, “when I bought that paint, I didn’t do it because I had some idea it would put you in a position of indebtedness to me.  I had hoped you would never find out.”

Marcia sighed, meeting his gaze.  “But I do know you bought the paint, and as much as I appreciate what you did for me—and please know that I do—I simply cannot let you bail me out like that.”

“But it wasn’t your mistake,” he pointed out.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t yours.”

He sighed loudly.  “Look, at risk of sounding like an arrogant blowhard, intent on, well, blowing my own horn, I can afford the money.”  He raised his right hand.  “I promise.  I won’t even miss it.”

Marcia nodded.  “That’s good, but also irrelevant,” she said.  “It wasn’t your responsibility to spend that money to get me out of a bind.”

“I used to be a small business owner,” he told her.  “I understand how a financial hit like that can mean the end of a start-up business.  I didn’t want to see you fold, when you’re doing so well.”

“Again, that’s so good of you, but not your responsibility.”  She sighed.  “Ethan, it’s simple.  I have to pay you back.  And since I don’t have the money, I can work off the debt if you’ll let me.”

“I’m not going to let you kill yourself off remodeling my place,” he said adamantly, shaking his head.  “You have enough to do.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.  “What did you do with the mustard yellow paint?” Marcia asked finally.

He smiled.  “I donated most of it to a charitable organization that fixes up homes for needy families.”

She made a face.  “Did they actually see the paint color?  They probably think you don’t like them, foisting that particular color on them.”

He smiled again.  “They’ll recycle it—add a dollop or two of various hues in order to change it.  They’ll make it work.”  Suddenly, he perked up.  “Hey, that donation is a tax write-off, so you know.  Looking at it from that angle, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do,” she insisted.

He sat quietly for a moment, his eyes fixed on her face.  She squirmed under his intense scrutiny.  “Okay, you can buy me dessert,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand.  He gave it a gentle squeeze, infusing her hand with warmth and causing her heart to give an erratic thump.      

She glanced down at their entwined hands and cleared her throat.  She found something had lodged there.  Hesitantly meeting his eyes, she saw some emotion in them she couldn’t readily identify.  Was it affection?  For her?

She almost laughed out loud.  Thanks to Jay, she decided she wouldn’t know it if she saw it.  Affection.  Sad but true.  And if she indeed saw the feeling in Ethan’s eyes, how would she know it was genuine?  She’d been fooled before.

Forcing away the thoughts, she attempted a smile.  “Dessert is definitely on me,” she said, gently extracting her hand from his.  “Order anything you want.”

“How’s your neighbor?” Thomas asked Ethan, as he taped a large piece of drywall in the living room of the bungalow.

Ethan glanced at his brother-in-law.  “She’s all right,” he said with a sigh.

“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement.  Did you declare your love yet?”

“No,” he said, sounding defeated.

“What’s the problem?  You can’t fight love at first sight, you know,” his friend teased, his eyes sparkling with humor.

Ethan was silent for a moment, but finally spoke.  “Stop making fun of me.  And the problem is, she found out about the paint.”

“What?  How?”

He shrugged, backing away from the drywall that was now affixed to the wall.  “I have no idea, but now she’s bent on paying me back.”  He checked his watch.  “I expect her any time.”  He gave a short laugh.  “She painted the whole exterior of the house for me.”

“What?  You’re kidding me.”

“She insists on helping me with the house.  It’s her way of working off her
debt
.”

Thomas laughed.  “Well, you’ve gotta give it to her.  She’s obviously a proud person, who doesn’t like the idea of taking advantage of someone.”

“But she didn’t take advantage of me.”

“I know,” Thomas assured him, “but just the same, her wanting to pay you back speaks to her character.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like a jerk.  She works too hard, and I feel like I’ve added to her burden.”  He sighed.  “I admire her independence, but I wish she’d…”

“What?”

He gave a sheepish smile.  “I wish she’d depend on me.”