I don’t have the energy to argue, and my stomach has been screaming at me for the last hour. Plus, it’s kind of nice, someone offering to do something for me after I’ve spent years being the giving person for someone else.
"Mind if I make myself one too?"
"Knock yourself out.”
"You’re so kind," he responds, opening the drawers in search of a sandwich knife he finds rather quickly.
"I try."
Though I’m in a daze as he slaps together two sandwiches, I realize I am staring at the tattoos peeking out beneath his cuffed sleeve on his left arm. Then there’s thedefinition of muscles in his arms—they flex and tighten with each move he makes. I wonder what kind of job he had in the Marines. "Were you ever deployed?"
"Twice. The first time to Afghanistan and the second time to Okinawa in Japan. Once I got back from Japan, things changed a bit."
"Oh," I reply, wondering if he’ll elaborate.
He doesn’t. Instead, he brings over two plates withsandwiches, places them down, and returns to the counter to clean up his mess.
A man who cleans up after himself.They do exist.
As Brett sits down to eat his sandwich, Mom comes through the front door. I hear the release of her belongings fall to the bench, and the buttons from her coat hit the wall as she places it on the hook. Her keys are the last to clamber as she drops them in the glass bowl on the entryway table.
Black smudges line the slight bags beneath her eyes, and her face is pale. She looks like she’s past the point of exhaustion. "I’m glad someone is eating up the lunch meat. I was starting to think it was a waste," she says. "Brett, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing. I called your mother to thank her for watching your daughter so you could help us as well. Elizabeth and I are planning to have lunch tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. It will be nice to catch up."
"She’s been worried about you. I think she tried calling a couple of days ago," Brett says.
"Yes, she did, and I just—"
"No excuse needed. She knew," he says.
Brett seems to inhale his sandwich within a few bites, takes his plate to the sink and cleans it before replacing it in the cabinet where he found the dishes. Mom gives me a look and smirks with an approving look. Except I wasn’t seeking approval.
"I’ll get out of your hair now. Oh, Melody, Mr. Crawley called me earlier. He’s feeling much better. So, he’ll be back tomorrow, which means I can keep an eye on the shop. If you need to be with your dad ... I have—"
"I’ll stop in," I interrupt him.
"Whatever makes you comfortable," he says. "In the meantime, if either of you need anything, call me. Do you still have my number?" He’s looking at me with a question in his eye. Maybe he’s wondering if I have the piece of scrap-paper with the number he handed me as we were getting off the airplane.
"It’s in my coat pocket.”
"Good. Try to get some rest. I’ll see myself out." He nods his head with a quick smile and leaves, making sure to give a dog-friendly goodbye to Benji on the way.
Mom sighs as the door closes. "You know what I hate," she says.
There’s probably a long list at the moment. "What’s that?"
"The quote, ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ I can’t see a reason for your father being sick, but the side effects of him being sick—it’s changing our lives, and our lives will not be over when his ends. We need to remember this.”
10
I don’t knowhow I slept for a solid five hours, but exhaustion must have taken over my spinning thoughts and worries. However, the three seconds between my eyes finding the light spilling in through my blinds and the contact I make with my phone, causes my heart to stop. What if I missed a call from the hospital? Would they have called me? Maybe Mom didn’t hear the phone either. The three of us are on the call list if something happens.
My phone has an empty display, and my racing heart slows to a normal pace. I feel like I’m living in this warped time-zone where life is dangling between the unknowns.
It’s only seven, but I can’t sit around. I must keep moving, or I will break down.
A shower doesn’t offer much relief, but I do what I can to make myself look human before heading downstairs, finding Mom in another baking frenzy.
"I’m making muffins," she says. "They’ll be ready in a minute."
