Trouble Don’t Last Always (9 page)

“Here it is.”

He jerked back. “I thought you went to get the shirt.”

“I brought it with me. Here it is.”

Adam extended his hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to grope. He didn’t. His fingers closed around soft-cotton material that smelled like sunshine. He barely refrained from lifting the clean shirt to his face. At the moment a too-small shirt was a small price to pay for clean clothes.

“Is it all right?” the woman asked anxiously.

“I suppose,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“I washed your jeans as well.” She touched his hand with the denim.

Adam’s fingers closed around the pants. “Is this all my laundry?”

“Er—”

“Well?”

He felt the additional weight and pressure of more clothes being added to his pile. He had a pretty good idea what. His cotton briefs. For some reason he felt oddly embarrassed by the situation, as she did. “You can take the tray now.”

“You sure you don’t want anything else?”

“Positive.”

Crossing the room, she started to pick up the tray; then she saw the bed. The sheets were twisted. The geometric black-and-brown comforter hung halfway off the bed. “I’ll just straighten up the bed a bit.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“It’s part of my job.” She quickly straightened the sheet on one side, then went to the other. “I’ll just tuck in this sheet, put your comforter back on, and then I’ll be out of your way and you can take a nap.” A few more efficient movements and she was finished. “There.”

Picking up the tray, she went to the door. As usual, Dr. Wakefield hadn’t moved. He certainly guarded his domain. “I’ll go start dinner.”

This time when the door closed she didn’t feel quite so shut out. But she still needed to clean his room.

Lilly expected Dr. Wakefield to open the door soon after she knocked with his dinner. What she didn’t expect was to see him wearing the same soiled clothes.

“You can put the food on the bed,” he instructed.

Unsure of how to delicately suggest he take a bath, Lilly did as instructed. “You said I could clean the room later.”

“After I’ve eaten.”

“But—”

“Later,” he interrupted.

“Yes, sir.” The door shut her out as soon as she stepped past him. Deep in thought, she stared at the closed door. Why hadn’t he changed clothes?

She was still puzzled when she went back and found the empty tray outside his door. Somehow she knew if she tried the knob it would be locked.

Sitting on the side of the tub Saturday night, Lilly watched the water gush from the solid brass spout that gleamed like gold. Absently she sprinkled bath salts beneath the spout and watched the bubbles form and rise higher until they threatened to overflow. Time was running out. She had been on the job two days, and she still was no closer to getting Dr. Wakefield or his room cleaned.

Mrs. Wakefield, although pleased that Dr. Wakefield was eating, wanted her son and the room cleaned as well. She informed Lilly that Dr. Delacroix was already making inquiries.

If that weren’t enough, the housekeeper and her husband were to return on Monday. If by some remote chance they could take care of Dr. Wakefield’s needs, there would be no need for Lilly to remain.

She wanted to stay. The desire now wasn’t so much because she had no place else to go but because of a sense of growing accomplishments. It had felt good to see the empty tray, to know that she had accomplished something others hadn’t been able to do. Then, too, she had finally figured out why Dr. Wakefield made her uneasy.

She looked at him and saw herself. He was a victim just as she had been and, like her, unwilling to fight back. According to those who loved him, he hadn’t been that kind of man in the past. There had to be a way to get him to be the man he used to be.

From all accounts, he had been a neat, clean-shaven man before his blindness. She didn’t know if his sloppiness was because he couldn’t see himself or because he just didn’t care anymore. His mother and Dr. Delacroix were just as puzzled.

Cutting off the water, Lilly slipped off the white terry cloth robe she’d found in the bathroom and stepped into the tub. As soon as she sat down and took her hands from the side of the tub she felt the water lift her. Used to it, she didn’t grab for the side of the tub. Instead, she stretched out her legs, leaned back, and reached for her soap, only to knock it out of the holder.

“Gracious, I’ll never find—” Her eyes widened. “That’s it.” Standing, she stepped out of the tub. Without bothering to dry herself, she pulled on her robe, belting it as she went.

She found a ball of twine and a paring knife in the kitchen and raced back to her bathroom. Unwrapping a new bar of soap, she made a hole in the center, then looped the twine through and knotted the ends.

“Please, Lord, let this work.”

Before she could let doubts creep in, she went next door and knocked on the door. “Dr. Wakefield. It’s me. Please open up. Please.”

Adam heard Lilly, then just as quickly dismissed her. He had few pleasures anymore. One of them was listening to baseball games, and he didn’t want to be disturbed.

With radio, the great equalizer, every listener was on the same playing field, and the announcer recognized that. With television, the aptly named “boob tube,” the announcer’s comments were littered with visual expectations. Did you see that? What a great catch. Let’s watch a rerun.

“Dr. Wakefield, please. It’s important.”

His inclination was to continue to ignore her; then he decided to see what had happened. Tonight her soft, southern-accented voice sounded breathless instead of filled with its usual uncertainty. In that, she reminded him of Kris-ten. Maybe she’d heard something downstairs and it had frightened her. Probably a tree brushing against a window. Kristen certainly hadn’t liked being away from the bright lights of the big city her first trip here.

“Dr. Wakefield, please.”

“I’m coming.” Wishing Monday would hurry so he could send her away, he pushed to his feet and went to the door. He twisted the knob, then cursed under his breath when he realized he had locked it against the same annoying person who continued to annoy him. Unlocking the door, he jerked it open. “What is it?”

“I brought you a present.”

“A present?” Had his mother hired an escapee from an insane asylum?

“Here.” She grabbed his hand and put the bar of soap in it. “I made it. I was taking a bath and lost my soap in the bubbles and I thought how slippery soap can be. I saw this on television once.”

He fingered the soap, then the cord. He honestly didn’t know what to say.

“Your tub is bigger than mine, and the first time I got in mine I felt like I was going to float off. I still feel like it sometimes.”

He heard the girlish, unself-conscious laughter in her voice, then felt her brush past him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To run your bath. Now you won’t have to worry about finding the soap. While you’re bathing, I can change your sheets.”

“Come back here!”

“Or do you want me to adjust the water in the shower? I forgot men like showers.”

She was talking too fast and confusing him. He wanted her to take her soap and get out of his room. He lifted his arm to fling the soap in her direction, but as his arm came up he gripped it instead. His nose wrinkled at his own odor. He needed a bath.

“Dr. Wakefield?”

“The shower.”

A grinning Lilly turned toward the dresser. “I’ll get your pajamas.”

“I don’t wear pajamas.”

She stopped midway across the room, then slowly turned to gape at him. His mouth was curved slightly as if he had enjoyed the prospect of shocking her. She cleared her throat. “I’ll just take your clean clothes from the foot of the bed and put them on the far right-hand side of the marble vanity.”

Without waiting, she went into the bathroom, put his clothes on the counter, then stepped into the immense shower stall. Adjusting the shower-heads away from her, she turned on the water. She laughed as it shot out, glad she didn’t have any shoes on when water circled her bare feet.

Stepping out, she dried her feet, then went to the linen closet for fresh towels and bed linen. Placing the fluffy oversize gray towels on the warming rack, she took the maroon-and-gray-striped cotton sheets from the linen closet and left the bathroom.

Dr. Wakefield stood at the foot of the bed, his long-fingered hand clutching the bedpost.

“The shower is waiting for you. I put clean towels on the rack to the left as you leave the shower.”

“I ...” he began, then shoved his free hand through his long hair.

She frowned. In the short space of time she’d known Dr. Wakefield, he’d never been at a loss for words. Then another thought came to her: she had never seen him walk unassisted except for the time he had lunged at her and fallen.

“All this rushing around has made me thirsty. I’m going to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade before I start on the bed. Can I bring you one?”

“No.”

“I’ll be right back.” Crossing the room, she opened the door and closed it with a crisp snap of her wrist.

Adam heard the door close. He toed off his loafers and moved cautiously toward the sound of the running water in the bathroom. She might be annoying, but she definitely had her moments. Shedding his clothes, he located a washcloth, put the loop of soap around his neck, and found his way beneath the warm spray of water.

With a minimum amount of effort, he managed to redirect the stream downward. Closing his eyes, he braced both hands securely against the tiled wall, leaned his head forward, and let the water run over him.

She definitely had her moments.

How had he thought he could do this?

The words hammered through Adam’s brain. Head bowed, hands clamped around the edge of the vanity, anger swirled through him. He couldn’t remember where his mother had said she had put his toiletries. She had repeated it to him as if he had lost his mind instead of his sight, and in his anger he had blocked out what she had said.

He was as helpless as he was useless.

Two knocks followed by two. “Dr. Wakefield, do you need anything?”
A new pair of eyes,
he thought bitterly, anger surging through him again.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes!” he shouted, his head coming up. If he wanted her gone, he’d have to prove to Jonathan and his mother that he could care for himself. There was nothing wrong with his sense of touch or smell.

Unclamping his hands, he slid them atop the cold marble, moving from one oval basin to the other. The heel of his hand hit an object, knocking it over. Glass clinked. He reflexively grabbed for it. More glass clinked and clattered.

The sound of glass shattering on the floor went straight through him. The strong smell of his after-shave filled his nostrils. Liquid tickled his toes.

“Damn!”

“Dr. Wakefield, are you all right?” Lilly cried, knocking on the door again. “Dr. Wakefield?”

“Can’t you tell I’m just fine?” he hissed, balling his hands into fists to keep from sweeping the entire mess onto the floor. The main reason he didn’t was that he remembered Jonathan’s taunt that if he was injured he couldn’t take care of himself.

“Well, come on in and clean up this mess,” he ordered.

Moistening her dry lips, Lilly slowly opened the door. The sight of Dr. Wakefield with only a towel wrapped carelessly around his waist, water gleaming on his muscled back and shoulders, caused her to pause, her heart to beat a little faster; then she saw the slivers of broken glass scattered around his feet.

“Don’t move,” she instructed, rushing forward.

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

Reaching for the wastebasket beneath the counter, she picked up the larger pieces, then used a washcloth to pick up the tiny splinters. She didn’t think Dr. Wakefield would wait until she went to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan.

“I’ll go get your shoes.” Coming to her feet, she rushed back into the bedroom. A quick search in his closet and beside his bed produced a pair of loafers. She guessed he didn’t wear slippers, either. Grabbing the shoes, she went back to the bathroom. Seeing the taut way he held himself, she pulled his robe from the hook on the back of the door.

“Here’s your robe.” Although her hands were trembling, she draped the garment over his shoulders, then hunkered down. “Raise up your right foot.”

“Just put them down.”

“I might have missed some of the glass,” she said quietly.

After a tension-filled moment, Adam lifted his right foot, then his left.

Standing, Lilly rubbed her hands on her thighs. Indecision and a small flicker of fear held her still. She’d seen Myron’s body tremble the same way when he raged at her. Afraid the slightest movement on her part would cause him to tear into her, she’d learned to wait until the danger passed.

In the mirror she studied Adam’s hunched shoulders, the head turned away from her. Even with the unkempt beard and hair, he was a handsome man. He would have had a lot of women after him. She briefly wondered if Nicole was one of them. Unreasonable as the thought was, she hoped not. Lord knows she wasn’t in any position to judge others, but Nicole, although beautiful, appeared cold and suspicious. And that would mean Adam was either like her or so blinded by his love that he didn’t see her faults.