Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes (7 page)

I sucked in my breath. How much
had
he heard? “Well, thank you. I’ll pay you for the lock and for your time, too.”

“No need for the time, and the lock wasn’t much.” He gave the knob a jiggle then stood up. “I have a little sister. I only hope someone would do the same for her.” He handed me a set of keys on a ring but didn’t let go, his fingers and the keys in the palm of my hand. “I fixed the doorjamb too, so it’ll hold better. But, Rose,” he paused and looked into my eyes, “if someone wants in, they’ll get in.”

I suddenly questioned the sensibility of my plan.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.

I blinked, trying to look confused. “Tell you what?”

He sighed and removed his hand, leaving the keys behind. “I'm next door if you need me, just give me a call. I left my number on your kitchen counter.”

“You were in my kitchen?”

“Yeah, the door was broken. I had to go inside to remove the old lock.”

“Oh.” I felt like an idiot.

“Okay, I’m headin’ home now. If you have trouble sleepin’ drink a glass of wine or somethin’ to help, but not too much. You need to be somewhat alert if someone tries to break in.”

I hadn’t thought about terror-induced insomnia. “I don’t drink.”

He looked surprised. “You mean usually?”

“No, I mean at all. I’ve never had alcohol.”

“Oh,” he said, twisting his lips as he pondered the fact I was a teetotaler. “Well, if you need anythin’ let me know.” He folded up a towel on the ground, covered with a few tools and parts, and walked to his house.

When I turned to the door, I realized not only had he replaced the doorknob but installed a deadbolt too.
Why would he do such a thing
? I glanced over my shoulder at his front porch, but he was already out of sight. Sighing, I went inside and locked the door behind me. Joe was definitely a conundrum.

I slept fitfully, sitting up with every creak in the house. I got up multiple times and peeked out the windows for lurkers in the bushes. I checked the locks at least five times. When I got up at nine o’clock the next morning, I was tired but eager to busy myself with the day.

Momma’s curtains seemed like a good place to start. I stood on the arm of the sofa to take them down. The old, tattered fabric fell, dust flying everywhere as it pooled on top of the sofa back. I needed new curtains; these would never survive the washing machine.

But first, I needed to get all the blood off the wall.

After getting a big bowl of hot soapy water, I scrubbed the dried splatters, which proved difficult to remove. I scrubbed harder and paint came off on the sponge, leaving bare spots on the wall. I sat on the arm of the chair and surveyed the damage. There was no way around it; I had to repaint. Suddenly, I had a new plan for the day, something to take my mind of my worries. I would repaint the living room and buy new curtains. And get a cell phone too.

I wanted to stand out in the yard and shout to the world.
Look at me
! I
’m making my own decisions
!

Instead I grabbed my purse and locked the side door with my new keys, glancing over at Joe’s house as I got into my car. His car sat parked in his driveway and I reprimanded myself for even looking. What did I care if Joe McAllister was home?

I went to the cell phone store first, overwhelmed with all my choices. I felt very grown up when I picked out a phone and signed a contract. A legally binding contract. Something deep inside prickled at my joy, saying I was twenty-four years old, this was not that amazing, but I shushed it. I was gonna let myself enjoy it.

Next stop was the hardware store. I studied the paint colors, overwhelmed again. I told myself it was to be expected. For a woman not used to making decisions, I was forcing myself to face plenty of them recently.

My fingers slid down cards as though they were jewels, just waiting for me to pluck them out. I finally settled on a soft, pale yellow. The man in the paint department was helpful since I’d never painted before, assisting me with rollers and tape. He even disregarded my vision that his cat had clawed the side of his dining room table.

Walmart was next. I forgot to measure the windows, but there weren’t many choices in lengths. Overwhelmed anew, I finally decided on plain off-white panels that would be soft and breezy with the pale yellow walls.

On my way to the checkout, something soft and shiny caught my eye. I was passing the edge of the lingerie department, if you could really call the underwear/pajama section at Wal-Mart
lingerie
. My gaze had found a nightgown, a kind I had never worn before. It looked more like a slip than a nightgown, only it was a soft lavender and covered in tiny deep purple flowers. My fingers reached out to touch the fabric before my mind could tell them to be reasonable. Once they touched, there was no dissuading them. My fingers were ensnared by a nightie. As they slid over the silky cloth, my mind wondered what it would feel like to
wear
such a thing.

My face burned with shame. When had I turned so wicked? But the nightie was planted in my mind and sprouting like a fast-growing weed, spreading and choking out every thought until there was nothing left but the want of it. To shut up my evil thoughts, I pulled the hanger off the rack and stuffed it under the curtain packages. Then I looked around to see if anyone saw me.

When I checked out, my nervousness made me jittery. I half expected the girl at the register to give me a look of reproach, but she scanned the curtains and stuffed the nightie in the shopping bag without even flinching, as though she did that sort of thing every day. Then again, I guess she did.

I hurried home, eager to start my new project. But first, the blood-stained sofa had to go.

After shoving the kitchen table against the wall, I scooted the sofa to the door and promptly wedged it in the doorway.

Crappy doodles
.

I went out the seldom-used front door and tried pulling from the outside, with little success. Lodging my shoulder underneath, I tried to stand, hoping that might unwedge it.

“What on earth are you doin’?” Joe asked behind me.

Startled, I screamed and fell on my butt. “Why do you keep sneakin’ up on me like that?”

He laughed. “I didn’t ‘sneak up on you,’ I merely walked over to see what you were doin’. What
are
you doin’?”

I started to get up, surprised when he reached down to help me. “What does it
look
like I’m doin’?”

“It looks like you’re tryin’ to injure yourself removin’ that sofa from your house.”

I scowled at him. “It’s covered in blood and I can’t look at it one more minute. I had to get it out.”

“Well, why didn’t you come and ask me for help?”

I raised my eyebrows, stumped. “Honestly, it never occurred to me.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “You need to angle it more, then it should come right out. Go in the house and take the back side. I’ll take this end.”

Once we got it outside Joe asked, “Now where?” Joe asked.

“I dunno. I hadn’t thought that far. My entire goal centered around gettin’ it outside.”

Joe shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Let’s put it behind the house for now. The neighbors are riled up enough without havin’ to look at your bloody sofa.”

His plan sounded reasonable but something about the way he said it got under my skin. We set it down in the backyard, away from the telephone line.

“If you like, I can have someone come and remove it tomorrow.” Joe said.

“Thanks,” I said, unsure what to do next.

“I’m goin’ to check the door jamb and make sure you didn’t bang it up too much.”

My irritation returned, but he was right. I went in the kitchen and left the door open so he could examine the frame.

“You paintin’?” he asked, nodding to the paint cans.

“The livin’ room. I tried to get the blood off the wall but mostly I just ended up takin’ off the paint.”

“Have you ever painted before?”

I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t buildin’ a rocket. How hard could it be?”

“I’m sure a professional painter might take offense to that.”

“Well, I’m not hirin’ a professional painter.”

“I’m not suggestin’ you do, but I can make sure you know what to do before you get paint everywhere.”

“Why?” I asked.“Why would you help me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say I was gonna paint the room for you. It’s only a few pointers.”

I appreciated his offer to help, but his attitude rankled me. Why did that man irritate me so?

Chapter Five

Joe ended up helping me move all the furniture into the dining room, then helped me tape. We didn't talk much while we worked, and after my initial nervousness of being near him in such tight quarters, I got used to his presence.

When we finished taping, he looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. “You goin’ to paint in those clothes? Since you’re new to this, you’re bound to get paint on ‘em.”

I hadn’t considered that, along with most everything else in my life, it seemed. I went to my bedroom and dug through the drawers for an old t-shirt and pair of shorts, self-conscious about changing with Joe in the next room. I assured myself it was unlikely he had X-ray vision. If he had it in his head to attack me, he would have done it already.

When I returned, he had drop cloths spread all over the floor.

“I don’t remember buyin’ that many.” I said, puzzled.

“You didn’t. A couple are mine. You could have made do with the two you bought, but you would have to keep movin’ them around. It’ll be easier this way.”

My mouth dropped.

He saw my hesitation. “If I overstepped my….”

“No,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m marvelin’ at how nice you’re bein’ and tryin’ to figure out why.”

His eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about. People can be nice without an underlyin’ motive.”

“Not to me they don’t.”

“Why not?”

Our eyes locked and he studied me, trying to figure out what I meant. He obviously didn’t know me yet.
This friendship won’t last
. I warned myself.
Don’t get used to him
.

“Never mind,” I mumbled and went out into the kitchen. My heart stopped at the sight of the shopping bags. He had to have gone through them to get out the drop clothes.
Did he see the nightie
? But the Walmart sack looked undisturbed. Feeling lightheaded, I took out the curtains and set them on the table, wadded up the bag with the nightie still inside, and stuffed it into the dishtowel drawer. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and went back into the living room.

Before I knew it, we were both painting. I wanted to remind Joe that he claimed he wasn't going to help, but I knew better than push my luck. He was better and faster at it than me.

When Joe finished a wall, I stepped back and took a good look, clasping my hands to my chest. “I love it!” I exclaimed, giddy with happiness. “It looks like early mornin’ sunshine!”

He turned to me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I suppose it does.”

We were almost done with the first coat when Violet burst through the side door. “Oh, thank God you’re all right! I’ve been tryin’ to call you all day! Why won’t you answer the phone? I thought somethin’ happened to you! What on
earth
are you doin’?”

Her rapid-fire questions made me I feel like I’d just been pelted with a BB gun. “I’m paintin’ the livin’ room,” I glance over my shoulder. “Well,
we’re
paintin’ the room.”

Violet was livid. “Why would you be redecoratin’ when Momma’s not even buried in the ground? It’s bad enough that you’re accused of killin’ our mother, now you’re
redecoratin’
? What are people gonna say, Rose?”

If Violet had slapped me in the face, it couldn't have hurt worse.

Joe cleared his throat. “I know this is none of my business, but Rose isn’t redecoratin’. She’s coverin’ up the blood that was spread all over the wall. I offered to help her since she’d never painted before.”

Violet’s face told me that she never thought about the aftereffects of a violent crime on home furnishings.

“And her phone is out until Wednesday,” Joe added.

Violet wasn’t about to let her anger go so easily. “See? All the more reason not to stay here! You have no phone if you get into trouble or if somethin’ happens!”

Defiance riled up and I put a hand on my hip. “I got a cell phone this mornin’. I can use it if I need to.”

“You
what
?”

“It’s the twenty-first century. Everybody has a cell phone.”

“Rose, honey, why do you need a cell phone? Honestly, who are you gonna call?”

I bit my lip to keep the tears from falling and looking even more like a fool in front of Joe. “I’m not leavin’ with you. Violet. I’m stayin’ here.”

We glared at each other, both of us sure we were right and the other was wrong. I knew I’d thrown her for a loop. Right there in my half-painted living room, I realized the truth of it. I had always done what I was told, whether Momma, who did it out of spitefulness, or Violet, who loved me dearly and thought she knew what was best. No matter the reason, I’d always done what I was told. Standing up to Violet threw her world off its axis.