Compassion (8 page)

“What do you want in exchange for room and board?” A brief thought of a different woman once offering me a similar situation in exchange for sex causes my hands to curl into fists.

I'm no one's fucking sex toy. Especially not just because she's lonely while her husband is out fucking strippers. Yeah. The things people say over drinks is incredible.

“A friend.”

Disbelief causes a skeptical look to appear on my face as I turn to look at her. “A friend?”

Pulling into a parking space, she nods. “A friend.”

“Jaye-”

“But.” Her finger lifts to shut me up after she puts it in park. “Because I know you don't believe that, you can stay with me, for room and board, and in exchange you help with housework.”

Not as opposed to the idea as I was before, considering it reminds me of one of the hotel jobs I worked for off the books, I slip down in the seat. “What kind of housework?”

“Yard stuff. Gutters. Trash. I mean you could vacuum if you want because I hate that. Oh and changing light bulbs. Not a fan of that either. You know, that whole short thing?”

“Want me to kill bugs too?” I playfully poke.

Jaye smirks at my comment. “Add that to the list. I hate bugs.”

“Basically you want a handyman?”

She wants a
man
. Period. A protector I'm sure. As long as she doesn't expect me to step into the shoes of her ex, this might be alright. She seems less obnoxious than a hotel manager and definitely more stable.

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “A handyman who vacuums. A Mr. Fix It who helps wash dishes.”

“You don't have a cleaning lady?”

“No.” There's a long moment of silence before she sighs. “Chris wanted a wife that cooked and cleaned and could take care of the house. So we never got one. It didn't matter that I hate chores like that or didn't like cooking, baking aside, what mattered was that he got that little bit of something he needed.”

“Why? Why did that fucking matter?” An unusual instinct to be protective of her kicks in. “You should matter too. You do matter.”

Jaye pushes the curls behind her ear but her eyes dart down. “I don't know. He made the money. He financially took care of everything, so I did what he requested. I mean I'm sure if I would've spoken up and told him how miserable I found it he would've caved, but he wanted a picture perfect life to come home to and I wanted...” Her voice trails off as she looks back up. “It doesn't matter. My point is, if you could help out around the house while we get you back up on your feet, I think that would be awesome.”

Helplessly I grin. “Awesome?”

“Whatever,” she brushes me off. “What do you say?”

Tempted but not sold I ask, “How long?”

“No time frame.” Impressed I lift my eyebrows. “No need for one. We'll do it as long as it takes.”

“What if it never happens? What if I drag my feet getting used to the cushy lifestyle?”

A skeptical look appears on her face.

Wipe it off of yours too.

“I know you're not that kind of person, but if I suspect that then we will deal with it at that time. For now...let's just get you started. Deal?”

Staring into her bright eyes, I find it difficult to say anything other than yes.

It's impossible to be rational when they're beaming like that.

I wet my lips, take a deep breath, and give a short shrug. “We can try it.”

Suddenly her face illuminates in the dark car and saying no doesn't even seem like it was ever an option.

There's this gnawing feeling inside of me that says it never was.

“Come on,” Jaye instructs. “Let's get going.”

The two of us slip out of her car and in a matter of moments are in a place that is its own sanctuary. Upon my first few steps inside, I'm blinded by the poor lighting, but enthralled by the gorgeous colors of the fresh fruit and the alluring shades of the vegetables.

Unaware that I'm frozen in place, I'm startled when Jaye states, “You want me to grab the basket?”

I nod while my eyes wander down the aisles doing their best not to settle on any of the people who are trying to hide their scoffs.

Of course they're scoffing. How could they not be? Fucking look at me. I don't belong here. This is a terrible fucking idea. This whole thing is a terrible idea. What if she starts to see me like they do? What if she becomes more embarrassed at the sight of me? What if she doesn't like who I am? Hell, I don't like who I am.

Jaye's hand touches my arm creating a zip of energy throughout my entire body. “Wanna start with the fruit?”

Fighting the urge to get swept away in the simple comfort that comes from her touch, I lower my voice. “Maybe I should wait in the car.”

“Why?”

Her ignorance really is bliss isn't it?

My eyes give another glance to a woman passing by, her voice halting on her call as she spots me.

“Hey,” Jaye snaps relocating my attention. “If you wanna wait in the car because
you're
uncomfortable, fine. But don't think for one minute I care about any of the looks coming our way.”

Shocked I lift my eyebrows.

“Now are you coming with me to grab apples or not?”

With a smirk I state, “Green. Not red.”

“Right?” She nudges me before pushing the cart.

I give her another look still surprised she can ignore all the glares and sneers.

Every time I feel I've got this girl pegged, I'm fucking wrong. She may look the part of the bitchy upper class but seems to have thrown the script away. Makes me wonder...why? What broke her to make her so different? No way she was just born this way.

We arrive next to the apples and she prepares to grab a bag when I stop her. “You really should grab them individually. Make sure you get the best ones.”

“'Hm,” she hums softly. “Never gave it much thought. I just...I always just grabbed the bag because Chris liked the brand. That and I hate grocery shopping alone, so it made the whole thing go faster.”

Pushing past my growing distaste of his name, I snatch one of the plastic bags you fill yourself. “Grab the ones you want. I don't mind if it takes time. We've got plenty.”

The way her eyes light up pulls me further down the rabbit hole of false illusion I know I'm descending into.

When I hit the bottom it's gonna break my fucking neck but look at her. Resist her for a day and we'll talk.

After Jaye grabs six apples, ties the bag, and puts them in the basket, she moves to push, which is the moment I ask, “Do you mind if I push it?”

She ushers a hand. “Not at all.”

Our shopping trip is slow yet steady. To my surprise, I forget about the looks of disgust and the whispers as I get lost in the laughs we share over favorite late night snacks and childhood cereals.

Abruptly, I stop her from putting a box in the cart. “Wait. Let me ask you something. Why do you keep grabbing foods you don't like or don't love? Why do you do that to yourself?”

“Well Chris-”

“Isn't here,” I quickly blurt insensitively. “And he's not coming back.”

Shit. I could've used better phrasing. People skills are fucking hard. Stop taking your own for granted.

Jaye's mouth opens but her voice seems muted.

Guilt grows until I reach for the box to put it in. “That was...wrong of me. I'm sorry. Let's just-”

“No.” She yanks it back to her chest. “You're....right.” The pause is drawn out yet brings her to say, “I still do a lot of things because that's the way I've always done them. It was never about what I wanted or liked, but what he wanted and made him happy. It seemed easier to let him have whatever than to argue unnecessarily. But he's gone. He's been gone and I guess I just kept the routine because there was no real reason to change. To do...anything different.”

“Maybe you figured if you started doing shit differently you'd lose the last of him you had left.”

Jaye's head tilts at me.

Fuck. Wrong again.

Shaking my head I deny, “I shouldn't have said that.”

“Maybe not,” she whispers. “Doesn't mean you're wrong though.” Our eyes meet momentarily before she puts the box back on the shelf. “Let's get this one. It's full of sugar!” With a new box in her clutches she smiles up at me. “That okay with you?”

“If that's what
you
want, it works for me.”

“I do,” the words are gentle. “That's exactly...what I want.”

Are we talking about cereal still? We better be talking about cereal because anything else...anything else isn't even a fucking option even if having her naked in my lap is a constant thought. Friendship is the only thing that can build here. It's the only thing that has a chance of surviving. Most pathetic part is, even that chance is minuscule. I hate myself for even wanting it. I'm tarnished and the last thing a woman like this needs is to be soiled by my existence.

Jaye

On our way home from the grocery store, I try to conceal the excitement bubbling inside of me.

You think I'm crazy. Honestly at this point I think I'm crazy, but it feels good to be a little crazy. Side stepping how weird that sounded, I mean it feels good to do something for someone who needs it. It feels good to give someone that second chance no one else would. Besides, I like being around Archer and not just because he gets my pulse racing and stirs up parts inside of me that have been slumbering for years, but because I think we have something very special between us. An understanding of what it's like to be something that gets on society’s nerves. Him because he's homeless. Me because I'm the widower, more or less, who can't seem to move on with her life. Who you feel you need to tip toe around and whisper about. The one you don't think should sit at the same t
able
ime
with you because I don't have a shiny rock on my hand or a husband in an expensive suit.  The last single friend you have you worry about. Society hates us both.

Entering the neighborhood, I turn the radio down. “Wanna order in tonight?”

Archer chuckles lightly. “We just bought hundreds of dollars worth of food and you wanna order in?”

I giggle, “Grocery shopping makes me lazy afterwards.”

“How about I cook?” He suggests. “I wouldn't mind.”

My mouth drops to say something but I shut it quickly.

After Archer pointed out how I do things that I don't like because of old habits from when Chris was alive, I started to see not only was he right, but I'm also constantly comparing them out loud. It's not necessarily on purpose! He's just the first person I've really let myself be around outside my parents and you see how even that is difficult. I can't remember the last time that I talked to someone about more than just the boring basics. More than work, the weather, or whatever is the topic of book club. For the first time in years I don't feel like I'm just going through the motions of making a connection. It feels like I'm actually creating one.

Shaking away my initial instinctive answer, I reply, “You sure?”

His tone softens, “I'd lov-”

All of sudden his voice stops, which draws my attention away from the road to see his hands over his ears, rocking in place.

What the hell is happening?!

The rocking continues as he shakes his head rapidly mumbling and muttering incoherently. Unsure if I should pull over since we're so close to home, I call out to him, “Hey...Are you...Are you okay?”

A choking sound comes from his voice while his mouth murmurs, “...was then...grocery shopping is now. That was then. This is now. That was then this...”

My heart aches in response, desperate to make the pain stop, to make it better, to help in any way possible.

New feeling alert.

As soon as we're parked in the driveway, I unbuckle my seat belt, and turn my body towards his, planting a gentle hand on his forearm.  Instantly his hand flies to my wrist. The grip tightens harshly at the same time his expression hardens with confusion and rage.  “Seth...where's Seth...Seth was...” His sudden shift in behavior rushes through my veins igniting doubt and fear in unison. When Archer's eyebrows dart down in what looks like an attempt to understand something, that whoever he is mumbling about is not here, a new found concept of what is happening grasps me.

Calm down. He has no intention on hurting me.

Gingerly I say, “Archer...”

He mumbles more to himself than to me, “The smoke...how can you breathe? And where is Seth? He was hurt.” Another flicker of confusion clouds his eyes. “That was then....this is...”

“Now.” My reply furrows his eyebrows, disorientation’s grip slipping. “Take a breath.” Reluctantly he does, his clutch loosening. “That was then.”

He finishes, “This...this is now. You are now.”

Watching him return to a more balanced state, I encourage, “You're okay, Archer. You're here with me. Seth was then. I am now.”

His gaze lingers before drifting down to where his hand is. As if burned by the touch, he snatches his hand back, terror now seeping into his eyes. “Oh shit...” Stumbling over his words, the intonation is so apologetic my chest aches in a new way. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't. I'm sorry. I-I-I-”

“I'm fine,” I assure softly.

“You're not,” he denies, scrubbing his face. Shaking his head he states, “We can't do this. I can't...I can't put you at risk. I can't drag you into this. I-”

“Stop.” The order is followed. “You didn't hurt me. I know you wouldn't-”

“You don't know that,” he growls in frustration. “You don't know shit about me!”

“I'm learning,” I counter. “From everything that just happened, I can assume you have PTSD.” When Archer doesn't object I question, “Do you know what triggers these episodes?”

He nods yet doesn't verbally add anything.

“Tell me.”

“You don't-”

Sternly I insist, “Tell me.”

After picking up on the fact I'm not going to just give up, he sighs, “When lights flash rapidly. It's a sometimes thing.” Before I have to struggle to figure out when that happened he says, “There was um...an oncoming car. He flashed his lights twice-” His voice stops unexpectedly again. “It doesn't always happen. I swear. Just...sometimes. I had meds for it in the beginning and um...tried to self-medicate but it just made it worst. Now, I just let the episode pass. I developed a method to help calm me down. It's usually quick and I'm usually alone where I can't hurt anyone.”

“You didn't hurt me,” I comfort him again. “Just scared me for a moment. It's okay.” Archer motions to argue, so I keep talking. “Why don't we take the groceries inside and you go ahead and have a hot shower while I get dinner started?”

He grimaces. “Dinner...”

“You can make us dinner a different night. Promise.”

There's a small hesitation, but he nods, accepting my response.

That's just a tiny complication. Nothing that could make me change my mind. You know
,
now that I think about it, it only makes me want him where I
know
he's safe. I wanted that before, but I want it even more now. Can you imagine what would happen if he had an episode like that and hurt himself? If he fell into one of those moments with nothing to anchor himself onto and pull him out of it? Sure, he has a routine that works, but what if he needed help and no one was around. I'm sure PTSD is complicated and depending on the severity, medication may be the only way for some people to get through it, but something tells me he's not that severe. Or maybe that's my hope irrationally making decisions for me again.

Once I've put away all the groceries Archer refused to let me carry in, I begin to season the fish, thoughts of why flashing lights trigger him tumbling through my thoughts.

What could cause that? What would make someone sensitive to that? Why-

My cell phone ringing snaps me back into reality. The sight of my mother's face on the screen makes me wanna resist answering. “Hello.”

“Did he call?” She questions cheerfully. “He said he meant to call before but had become tangled up at work. Did he call yet?”

“Who?”

“Calvin!”

Dr. Hottie. Right. How do I keep forgetting that?

Finishing the seasoning of the fish with one hand, I reply, “No. Nothing yet.”

“I wonder what's keeping him,” she mutters to herself. “I know he thinks you're stunning. I know you would think he's dreamy. I just know you two would hit it off. He would be someone great for you to be with.”

“Maybe there's someone else?” The reference is more about me than him.

Archer and I aren't dating or anything- wait. What do you mean yet? We won't be. Friends. I told him. I'm telling you. I just want a friend. Someone to talk to you. Someone to think about naked...no. Not that last part.

“I-”

A beep interrupts her voice. Seeing the unknown number causes a deep sigh. “Hey mom, I think it's him on the other line.”

“Go! Go! Go answer and call me back!”

Without waiting for me to comply, she hangs up forcing me to answer it.

She
really
does mean well.

“Hello...”

“Hello, this is Calvin Kane. I'm looking for Jaye Jenkins?”

Reaching for a pan to cook the fish, I say, “This is she.”

“Your mother's right. You do have a beautiful voice.”

The stale compliment makes me gag. “Thanks.”

In the process of lightly greasing it, Calvin continues, “I would've called earlier, but the last patient of the day vomited on me so getting clean was the only thing on my mind. Well and getting her fever down. I'm a doctor. I know it's just a cold but when they're that small, it never sits well.”

“You're a pediatrician,” I whisper out in awe.

Now I can see why she thought we might get along.

“I am,” he answers. “I love kids.”

“Me too...”

“Your mother mentioned that,” he lightly chuckles bringing me back to the forgotten fact she's been trying to set this whole thing up. “And how she can't wait to have grand kids.”

“Oh my gosh.” Embarrassment settles in my cheeks as the pan warms. “I swear, I didn't have any idea she was going to try to set us up.”

He laughs louder. “That means you have no idea she's been flashing your beautiful picture around and making you sound like the holy grail of daughters.”

“I just might be,” I playfully counter.

There's a brief delay. “So, this may be very unconventional, but what do you think about the two of us meeting for a cup of coffee?”

Tempted, I prepare to agree when Archer's voice fills the kitchen. “Need some help?”

Turning around to the sight of him in a pair of lose sweat pants and a tank top clinging to his torso, has me nearly dropping the phone. Unconsciously, my tongue wets my lips while my eyes mentally trace the dark lines that mark his skin, enticing me more than the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Jaye...” Calvin's voice sounds faint. “Um. You there?”

The corner of Archer's lips slightly slide upward.

“Jaye...”

I shut my eyes, the tugging of logical attraction and the inexplicable one, giving me a headache.

This is a brand new problem. Not sure that I like it.

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure,” Calvin cautiously agrees. “I understand.”

“I have to finish making dinner, but we'll talk again soon.”

“Looking forward to it. Have a good night.”

“You too.” Hanging up, I let my smile expand. “How was your shower?”

“Good.” He nods. “It helped.” His approach for the counter space beside me is slow. “About earlier-”

“Archer-”

“If you want to back out-”

“I don't-”

“But if you do.” He raises his voice. “I understand. I respect that. I can't...I don't...Hurting you would....”