I explicitly told him I’d handle my own groceries, but if he’s already brought them, I’m not going to argue… maybe.
He laughs, pulling myattention from the brown paper bags and back to where he stands ten feet in the air. “The trail cams are for catching the perp.”
The perp.
Ew.
I suppose it’s not aterribleidea. Though I’m not sure… “What am I supposed to do when they go off? It’ll take the cops fifteen minutes to get here, minimum.”
“You,” he starts, his voice stern like I am a child. “Are supposed to stay snug as a bug in a rug and let me handle it. Whoever is doing this thinks they are messing with a sweet little lady, they won’t know what hit them when I show up.”
I shudder when he calls me a sweet little lady. It crawls all over my skin and makes me feel like I want to peel off my own flesh. He laughs, cold and cruel, and I want to vomit. Maybe I should let him handle this. I amcertainlyno match for anyone physically, and the thought of facing whoever is doing this only makes me want to freeze up. Tom, though, seems like he’d actuallyenjoythe confrontation.
As annoying as he is, Tom hashelped me a lot in the last year. Did I want the help? No. Not always. But I’d be flat out wrong to say it hasn’t been helpful.
I’m grateful for the help he’s given me, I am. And so maybe I shouldn’t have come out and yelled at him. I take the groceries inside, and sure, they aren’t what I would have bought for myself, but that’s nothing new. If nothing else, Tom is thoughtful. He buys what’s on my list and always throws in a few extra things that I think he thinks I’ll enjoy. Peeking out of the bag, I can see he threw in some ice cream, not my favorite flavor, but it’s not like I’ve told him what my favorite flavor is.
After thinking through it as I unload the bags, I head back outside to see that he’s climbing down the tree.
“So, tell me about these trail cams,” I say, crossing my arms so I can tuck my hands in my elbows to warm them.
“Well, to me, it feels like these are some punk kids. Youknow how they are. You’re quiet and don’t leave the house much, so all of a sudden you are the creepy lady in the woods.”
I raise an eyebrow, because I don’t think anything about me screams “creepy lady in the woods” vibes, but okay, sure.
“I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about, but I do think whatever these people are doing, they need to stop. So, we put up the trail cams, I monitor them, and then if someone comes around, I come over and scare ‘em a little bit. If it’s a bunch of kids, they run off, the problem is dealt with, no harm done, and I know you’re safe. If it’s something more nefarious, well, we’ll both be glad that I carry a firearm.”
He leaves it hanging in the air between us, like I should be grateful he’s threatening to shoot someone for me. Maybe I should, I guess, but… thinking of everything that’s happened… I just can’t feel like someone needs to get shot over it. Sure, it’s creepy, and they’ve been pushy… but somehow the thought of Tom having cameras on my house feels worse.
“Ada,” he says, reaching over and rubbing his hands up and down my arms. I don’t pull away, because I know he’s just trying to comfort me. “We’ve been friends for a while now, and I care about you. Let me take care of you. I know you didn’t grow up here, but around here, we take care of each other. As soon as all this is over, we can take ‘em down if you don’t like ‘em, but I think you’ll like getting to see all the cute critters that run around out here.”
He smiles and uses his fist to bump my chin like I’m on his little league baseball team. “Chin up, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you. When all this is over, maybe you can make me dinner as a thank you.” He winks and turns to grab his ladder again. “Why don’t you get your work done, and I’ll let you know when I’m all done out here.”
“Yeah, sure, okay,” I answer, though I feellike I’m back in a daze as I do so.
As much as I hate to admit it, heisright. I couldn’t deal with this myself, and I should be grateful he’s helping me. Isn’t this part of why I like living here? The way that people here are so standoffish until they decide you’re one of their own and then they’d go to bat for you? With all this, Tom’s just showing me that he accepts me and cares about me. Really, my dad and my brothers would do the same—which is part of why I haven’t said a word to them.
If they knew, any one of them would be on a plane here in a heartbeat, or they’d expect me to be on one to them… but then I’d have to explain why I haven’t said anything about anything else that’s happening.
And if sometimes Tom feels a little too friendly, too touchy, too “sweetheart-y,” well, maybe that’s just who he is and I’m being a stuck-up bitch. Tom’s a nice guy, and he’s just trying to take care of me. After all, it's what men are like… programmed to do, right? If it makes me feel weird, that honestly might say more about me than him.
Be grateful, be kind, be gracious.
I can hear my mother saying in my head every time I was trying to do something and one of the boys came over to “help,” aka take over. This desperate need for independence of mine has never been my most attractive trait, and by moving out here alone, maybe I’ve just exacerbated it. Hell, it’s probably why I’m alone.
A man just wants to feel needed.My mother would say, urging me to let the boys take over. With a huff, I sit down and work on a few tasks that I need to get done. I buy Elizabeth and her family tickets for the Nutcracker, brushing away the pang of distress at not going myself. Growing up, my family and I would go every year, and even though I was never a dancer, I did eventually get to stage manage it a few times. It was a staple of the holiday season for me, like so many others. At least I can play some small part in it being a happy memory for Elizabeth’s family.
After half an hour or so, Henry is at the door, barking. Seconds later, Tom knocks on the door and walks in.
“All set out here!” he says, wiping some sweat off his brow with his sleeve.
Henry lunges at him, but I grab his collar and pull him back to my side.
“Oh! Great!” I say, jumping to my feet and then standing there awkwardly. “Sorry, he’s a little protective.”
“No worries, I can’t be here to keep you safe all the time, it makes me feel better to know you’ve got him looking after you. He’ll get used to me, won’t ya boy?” He reaches down like he’s going to pet Henry, but my big lug of a dog, normally so chill, only growls.
“Heh. Uh—… all that hard work sure does make a man thirsty…” Tom says, looking toward my kitchen.
