Color of Loneliness (9 page)

Jim chuckles. “I was sound asleep. Besides, I told you to come over any time you need to.”

After she thanks him again, Myra runs quickly back to her house. She hurriedly makes her way to the fireplace and starts a fire, warming her frozen hands and backside against the flickering flames.

With her computer in hand, she sinks down into the worn leather recliner snuggling a knit blanket that her Grammie made around her legs. She begins work on her book starting with some character development. Flashes of the old West dance through her mind: visions of dusty cowboy boots and spurs, gun-slinging, and a tall, lean man with angry eyes, peeping out from underneath a dark cowboy hat. She frowns because for some reason, the cowboy in her imagination looks vaguely like her contractor.

After getting some thoughts down about her story, she makes her way into the kitchen and grabs a couple of water bottles to start some coffee. Stepping into the bathroom, she starts to sit on the toilet when she remembers that she doesn’t have a working toilet right now. Slamming the bathroom door shut and stomping into the living room, she throws her coat back on and makes her way back over to Jim’s house. Quietly letting herself in, she uses his restroom and starts counting down the minutes for the contractor’s arrival.

* * *

When Myra hears his truck pull in the driveway, she excitedly jumps off the couch and opens the door before Dylan even gets out of his truck. She watches as he hefts a bucket of tools from the back and carries it with him.

She patiently holds the door open for him. “Hi,” she says with a warm smile. She feels confident that she can tolerate his hateful self as long as he gets her house fixed up as quickly as possible. Desperation does things to a person.

Dylan simply nods, his eyes flashing to hers for a moment before he steps inside.

“I need to take a look at the pipes. I’ll track down the water issue then I’ll re-do the estimate,” he says in an unfriendly voice.

“Sure. Do whatever you need to do,” she says, smiling as she waves him into the kitchen.

* * *

When Dylan drops his tool bucket on the kitchen floor, it makes a loud clanging sound. He can’t believe this woman has more shit to add to the list of shit that she needs done to her shitty house. And he especially doesn’t like the fact that she seemed so happy to see him this morning, opening the door like she did and looking so damn excited.

Shrugging out of his coat, he tosses it on one of the kitchen chairs. Bending his tall body down into a squatting position, he looks under the sink and scowls because he can’t get a good look at the pipes. Huffing, he lies on his back and scoots himself backwards into the cabinet. His awkward angle and large shoulders barely fit, causing his shoulder blades to ache in the small space. Once he gets a good look at everything, he slides his long torso back out.

Standing up, he groans and stretches out his sore back before jotting down some notes on his clipboard. Grabbing his coat, he steps out the back door and takes a look at the water line and finds a busted pipe. Lucky for her, it looks like something he can fix without calling in a plumber. Back in the kitchen, he sets the clipboard on the kitchen counter, leaning his elbow against it, and quickly writes up the additional costs for the extra work.

Dylan steps back into the living room and hands Myra the paperwork. “Here’s the amended estimate,” he says. She quickly reads it, signs and hands it back to him.

“Do you think you can get my water working today?” she asks.

“Don’t know.” He wants to roll his eyes at her because he hasn’t even started on the job yet.

“Okay,” she mumbles, staring down at the floor.

* * *

Myra watches out the window as Dylan drags tools out of the back of his truck. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.

“Hey.”

“Is he there yet?” Susie asks.

“What’s wrong with you?” Myra hisses into the phone.

“So he is. Is he wearing a wedding ring?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. I know you looked. Now tell me.”

Myra’s face scrunches up because she does not want to admit that she knows the answer to that question. “No,” she finally says.

Susie squeals in her ear. “Okay, now here’s the deal. I want you to go take a picture of him with your phone and send it to me. Hurry.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“You have two choices here. You can either tell me what the guy looks like – which you refused to do by the way – or you can take a picture of him. And if you don’t, I will call your lovely neighbor, Mr. Grampie-like, and ask him to take a picture of the two of you posing together.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, yes, I would. I’m actually searching for Jim’s phone number right now on my computer.”

Myra’s shoulders slump. She knows Susie always follows through with her threats; with no remorse whatsoever. “Fine.”

Susie squeals in triumph. “Okay, so how old do you think he is?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Well, he’s not Grampie-old is he? Is he close to your age, or will you be robbing the cradle?”

“Good God. I have no idea,” Myra says. She closes her eyes and rubs one temple. “Probably around my age.”

“Perfect. How tall is he?”

“Taller than me.”

“I’m calling Jim...” Susie says in a sing-song voice.

Myra lets out a little growl. “Fine. He’s tall, all right? Over 6 foot.”

“So is he like basketball player tall like 6’ 5” or something?”

“No, maybe 6’ 1” or 6’ 2”. I don’t know. Besides, what does it matter?”

“It’s important to my visualization process. Now what’s he built like? Is he all tanned and muscular like a fuckhawt construction-worker type with muscles bulging everywhere?”

Myra rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “No. He’s more like, slim and lean.”

“Hm. That’s different than I pictured, but it still works. So what’s his face look like?”

Myra growls again. “I don’t know. He’s got nice eyes, a square jaw, and um, never mind.” Myra presses her palm to her forehead with her eyes closed tight, wishing she could make this all go away.

“What?”

“God. Okay, he has… nice lips. I cannot believe I just said that.”

Susie giggles with delight. “Does he have good hair? What’s it look like? He’s not going bald, is he? I hate cue balls.”

“No, he has nice hair, I guess. He’s not bald.”

“Oh good. I…”

“Here he comes. I’ll call you back.” Myra hastily flips her phone shut, her face flushing as Dylan knocks on the door before pushing it open.

“I don’t wanna have to knock on your door every time. All right?” he says.

“Mmhm, that’s fine.”

“Your water main has a busted pipe. I should be able to fix it.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’ll get it better insulated.”

“Okay.”

“I need to go get supplies then I’ll get started.”

She nods.

He says nothing before he abruptly turns around and exits the door.

* * *

Several hours later, Myra grabs a banana, taking a bite as she climbs the stairs to the second floor. Walking to the window in her bedroom, she casually pulls the curtain back an inch, her curious eyes peeking out, searching for the contractor. She sees him perched on the tailgate of his pick-up truck with his left leg up and his elbow resting on it. He has a thermos sitting beside him and a cup in his left hand. His right hand scribbles on his clipboard which lies on the tailgate beside him.

She watches him for a few more minutes before she shakes her head at herself, and walks back down the stairs, book in tow.

Lying on the couch, she starts reading. Sometime later, she jerks slightly when she hears his boots on the porch. He flings the door open and a cold blast of air hits her. Never glancing in her direction, he wordlessly plods down the hallway towards the downstairs bathroom. She hears the sound of air burping through a pipe before water splashes in the sink. She sits up excitedly.

He steps back into the living room. “Got your water working. I’m gonna turn off the water to the kitchen, but the rest of the house should work,” he says before he heads swiftly out the door, leaving Myra in a gust of cold air.

“Thank you,” she calls out to the closed door thrilled to be able to use her toilet again.

* * *

“Hi,” Myra whispers into her phone.

“Why are you whispering?” Susie whispers back.

“Because the contractor’s downstairs working in the kitchen, and I don’t want him to hear me.”

“Ah. And you think he might hear you all the way upstairs?” Susie asks with a snigger.

“Shut up,” Myra whispers.

“I think he sounds dreamy. A hot, angry contractor in a small town. Why don’t you ask him to dinner?”

Myra doesn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“I’m not wasting my breath on your asinine question.”

“I’m serious. You’re new to town; he’s working hard all day on your house and you know a man needs to eat. And have sex. This is perfect.”

“No way in hell,” Myra whispers.

“
Ms. Sommers?”
Dylan calls out from downstairs.

“Gotta go,” Myra says before she tucks the phone back into her pocket and makes her way quickly to the staircase.

“Yes?” she calls out. She swallows hard as she carefully makes her way down the steps.

“Your piping is worse than I thought. I’m gonna replace everything with PVC; it’s plastic so it won’t rust.”

“Okay. Oh, and you can call me Myra.”

His eyes tighten slightly before he continues talking. “I’ll start the tear out today, but I probably won’t have time to install the new piping until tomorrow.” He rests his right hand lightly on the hammer on his tool belt.

Myra nods. With his head down, he walks back into the kitchen.

* * *

Myra slips Jim’s key into her coat pocket and heads to his house to return it. Knocking, she frowns when after a few minutes he doesn’t answer. Peering into the window, she notices there are no lights on; Jim always has a light on.

She knocks again, and when she gets no answer, she walks the short distance to his garage and looks inside. Her heart pounds when she sees his car because that means he has to be home. Knocking harder and still getting no response, her stomach tightens as she pulls his key from her pocket, and quickly unlocks the door. Pushing it open slowly, she calls out into the darkness, “Jim?”

CHAPTER 6

SCARLET, ANGUISH

With her stomach in her throat and her mouth dry, she steps into Jim’s dark living room and calls out his name again. With no lights on and not being overly familiar with his house, her fingers fumble in the dark along the wall for a light switch. But she can’t find one.

Taking a wobbly step forward in the darkened room, she prays that she doesn’t knock anything over. Her wide eyes finally adjust a bit more to the darkness allowing her to make out a few shapes. Keeping her hands straight out in front of her, her jelly-like legs take a few more steps forward until her hand touches something soft. Grabbing onto it, she sighs in relief when she discovers it’s the soft fabric of a lamp shade.

Practically panting, she quickly switches the lamp on, flooding the room with light. “Jim?” she calls out again. Taking in some rapid breaths, she walks as fast as her unstable legs will allow into the kitchen.

After searching the entire first floor and not finding him, she stands at the bottom of the stairs and looks up the long staircase. Swallowing hard and with her heart pounding wildly against her ribs, she climbs the stairs and her fingers quickly find the light switch. Scanning up and down the hallway, she freezes when her eyes catch sight of the lowered attic door which has a dim light emitting from it. Bending over and leaning her hands on her knees for a moment, she tries to catch her breath.

When she reaches the attic stairs, she looks up and nervously calls out to him again but gets no response
.
Climbing the stairs fast, her eyes frantically search the attic for her beloved neighbor; she sees nothing but mounds of boxes piled from floor to ceiling.

“Jim?” she calls out again in a shaky voice. She slowly moves through the small path of boxes and junk, peeking behind and around each section of boxes, searching for any sign of him. A hand grasps her shoulder as a voice speaks in her ear, “Myra?”

She screams at the top of her lungs.

Jim answers with a startled yell of his own. Whirling around, she finds his frightened face staring at her, his eyes big as saucers.

Myra covers her face with her hands as her heart races and her body trembles.

“Are you okay?” Jim asks before he starts chuckling. He gently pats her on the back as his chuckles turn into full-on laughter. Myra joins him. Her shoulders shake uncontrollably as the bottled-up nerves let themselves loose in a frenzy of loud giggles and snorts.

After laughing until tears run down her face, she swipes them away with her coat sleeve and gives Jim a tight hug. “You scared me half to death,” she whispers.