“It has a bell,” he said and rang it.
“It has a bell.”
“The basket will hold two full paper grocery bags. I have an eye for those kinds of things. Professional hazard.”
“The basket.”
His smile faltered, and his face dropped. Joe touched his forehead and then crossed his arms in front of him. “This was a mistake. I see that now. I just figured… well, it was too forward. I presumed too much.”
He looked downtrodden, defeated, and I missed his normal smiling, happy expression. I put my hand on his arm. “No, it wasn’t a mistake. It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it. I love the basket and the bell.”
He dropped his hands and smiled. “Oh, good. I’m glad. I put new tires on it, too. Didn’t want you to suffer a blowout.”
I grabbed the handlebars and walked the bicycle to the driveway. I hadn’t been on a bike for years, and I was nervous that I was going to fall and humiliate myself, but Joe seemed so pleased that I wanted to show him that I appreciated his gift. Carefully, I straddled the bicycle and sat on the extra wide seat. It wasn’t horrible. I put my foot on the pedal and pushed.
They didn’t lie. Riding a bike was just like riding a bike. I was a natural, like I had been riding for all these years. I rode in a wide circle around my driveway, and it was just like I was twelve years old, again. Joe watched me, smiling, and I realized I was smiling, too. After two laps, I stopped in front of him and rang the bell.
“It’s perfect,” I said. I opened the garage, and Joe helped me park the bicycle where I normally kept my Mercedes. “Does Delivery Happiness usually offer this service? How much do I owe you?”
“This is the first time for me, and you don’t owe me a thing. Think of it as a karma boost. Totally selfish on my part.”
I shook his hand. “Thank you. You’re the best delivery man I’ve ever come across.”
“Thank you. That’s a mighty good compliment, especially since this is my side career. I’m an artist in my normal life. I’ve been doing this to cover for a friend who’s spending the summer hiking through South America.”
He was an artist. He seemed like an artist. I had never met a real one before. My son Jamie’s fifth grade art teacher sold pictures of her Shih Tzu at the swap meet, but I wasn’t totally sure she would be considered an artist. Joe was exactly what I imagined an artist to be like. His t-shirt was covered in paint splotches, and he had the air of someone who looked at the world differently. I didn’t know why I hadn’t put two and two together before. Of course, he was an artist.
“Well, I guess I should be going,” he said. “I’ve got an emergency Doritos delivery.”
“I love Doritos.”
“I’ll bring you a bag next time I come.”
It was almost a date, and it was my turn to blush. He shook my hand, and I got the zing of calm serenity again, but this time it was accompanied by something else, which I wasn’t prepared to look at too closely.
CHAPTER 5
“They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?”
I vacuumed.
I woke up at three in the morning with a terrible desire to go for a bike ride, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Since I was wide awake and there was no way I was actually going to go for a bike ride in the middle of the night, I had to find something else to do. These days, I would have normally watched TV or ate crap, but something must have shifted inside me, and instead of doing either of those things, I decided to vacuum the living room. Afterward, the eggshell-colored carpet looked beautiful without crumbs, and it invigorated me enough to dust the downstairs and throw out the pizza box and other trash.
When I was done, I went upstairs to take a shower. I was on a roll of positive productivity, and I was incredibly proud of myself. I almost called Hudson to boast about my clean carpet and my soon-to-be clean armpits, but I held myself back and decided to just surprise him when he came to the house.
In the shower, Steve’s beauty products were missing. During the past year, he had accumulated a large collection of expensive skin creams and hair treatments, but now they were all gone, leaving only lonely soapy rings on my tiled shelf. I organized my shampoo and conditioner to cover the rings so I wouldn’t have the reminder of his absence and the fact that he was now hydrating the bags under his eyes for a younger, thinner woman.
Even though I had never felt entirely at home in our decorated house, I had to admit that the shower was beautiful with its rain shower head and a long panel of massage heads. I stepped in, turned on everything, and let the hot water beat me into submission. It was heaven. I even deep-conditioned my hair and buffed my heels. My legs were growing a coat for winter, but my burst of personal grooming wasn’t strong enough to push me into using a razor.
By the time I got dressed in stretched-out yoga pants, one of my son Jamie’s old t-shirts, and my new sports bra, I only had fifteen minutes to get a cup of coffee into me before Hudson was due to show up. I made a cup of hazelnut coffee with French vanilla creamer and three sugars. I got two sips down when the doorbell rang.
Damn him.
I took a last gulp of my coffee, hid the cup and the coffeepot under the stove with the frying pans, and answered the door. Hudson was standing on the porch in shorts and a t-shirt. A large duffle bag was draped over his shoulder, and he was carrying a travel drink holder. He was just as good-looking as usual. His face was an oddity, like a puzzle whose pieces fit together too perfectly. I had never seen bones do that before, connect and knit to make a work of art. Michelangelo’s David maybe, but that was marble, not flesh and bone.
“I thought you said no coffee,” I said, pointing at his drink holder. He stepped around me and walked into the kitchen.
“Protein drink,” he said. “I consume protein six times a day.” He pushed aside the divorce papers and slapped the duffle bag onto the counter.
