I manage to gather my clothes without getting distracted again, and I smile over at her one last time before slipping out into the hallway.
A shower is in order. I hate the idea of washing the scent of her off my skin, but I know I’ll be able to indulge myself again soon. The collar of my shirt still smells like her perfume, and that’ll have to be enough for now. I trudge my way down the hall with that in mind, but I don’t pay much attention as I go through the motions of getting ready. My thoughts are on Mary as I step into my own bedroom and pull out work clothes. I haven’t had anything more than a passing attraction to anyone since Laura died, if that. Mary totally consumes my thoughts in a way I’m totally unprepared for. There hasn’t been someone I want to take care of like this in my life for so long, I almost don’t know what to do with the feeling.
I brush my teeth and speed through a shower as I mull over how I want to handle this.
I don’t want to rush into anything, but my attempts at slowing myself down haven’t been what I’d call successful. She pulls me in like a magnet, and it feels like there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I don’t want to stop it, anyway.
I want more with her. More than I know how to ask for.
I want to tell her about my life before her, about my wants and dreams and how everything has been too hard to handle on my own.
It’s a lot to think about, and I want to have the right words when I talk to Mary about it. I’ve always thought better when my hands are busy, and it’s high time I get my ass to work anyway. I’ll just have to toss ideas around in my head on my way to checkon Al. Hopefully, he’ll be back on his feet by tomorrow. I’ll still be keeping an eye on him until he’s back a hundred percent, and if I can convince him to stay in the office for a few days, it’ll make my heart beat a little easier.
I’ve probably been taking everything he does for me for granted anyway. A bit of rest is well in order for him, and maybe it’ll show just how appreciative of all his work I am. I’m better with actions than I am with words, and he knows me well enough to understand that.
I pull my clothes on and decide to grab a cup of coffee on my way out. Mary managed to get the ancient coffee maker working last week after complaining that she needed caffeine to survive. It even manages to make a pot in the morning on the timer she set.
I wasn’t able to figure out how to fix the damn thing, and it’s been gathering dust for a year, but she managed to get it good as new in five minutes. Who said the woman didn’t know anything about real work?
I’m smiling to myself as I head toward the kitchen, and I realize that I’m actually hopeful for how the day will go.
My hope gets clotheslined when I round the corner to the kitchen.
“Jenny,” I say.
My daughter doesn’t lift her head, busy poring over the stack of mail piled on the table. I wince, hoping there’s nothing important in there. I’ve just kind of been tossing it on the table and saying I’ll look at it later for the last week.
“Hello,” she says, distracted.
“You’re back.”
She’s supposed to be gone until the end of the week, and it’s only Tuesday. I check my phone at least once a day, and I know she didn’t say anything about getting home early in the last text she sent me.
“Wow,” she drawls, rolling her eyes as she raises her head to look at me. “Should’ve been a detective with observational skills like that.”
I bite back a scowl, but can’t suppress my frown. Is it too much to ask for a single day of peace before we begin sniping at each other?
“Good morning,” I try again. “How was your flight?”
“Shit,” she says with a shrug. “I didn’t get any sleep.”
I nod, casting around for something else to say. Jennifer doesn’t lift her head from the stack of bills, seemingly uninterested in helping me carry a conversation.
“It’s good to see you,” I say.
She doesn’t answer that at all.
“What are you doing back early?”
She snorts out a laugh at me as I cross the kitchen to get myself a cup of coffee. If I didn’t have to check on Al and then work all day, I might be tempted to slip some whiskey in, too.
“I do live here, you know,” she says drily. “What’s your problem with me being at home? You’re obviously not staying on top of things on your own.”
I turn, coffee in hand, to see her waving an envelope in frustration.
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t ruining everything with the marketing lady, but I come home to all this,” she says, frowning heavily at me. “There are four of these, Dad. Do you know what they are?”
I staunchly refuse to answer her. She’s going to tear me a new one about whatever it is anyway, so I might as well deny her the satisfaction of admitting that I haven’t glanced at a single thing in the stack.
