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10
Jackson
Jackson
I feel a little sorry for Bree as I tighten the nut on the faucet. Clearly, she had wanted to feel independent and do it all by herself. Other than the fact that she had forgotten to turn the water off, I’d say she’d have done a pretty good job on her own. She was obviously embarrassed, but she had no reason to be. There were a million and one women in the world who would not have even attempted to do such a job by themselves.
I ensure that the faucet is secure, before leaning back under the cupboard and turning the stopcock back on. I turn the faucet on and off to check my handiwork, and the water flows through easily, and stops when it’s supposed to. That being said, I didn’t get a chance to ask what the fault was to begin with, but the fact that Bree had the new washer and seal ready, I guess it was something like a drip or a leak.
She is not back downstairs yet, and, looking at the water on the floor that splashes as I move about, I go routing for something to clean it up with. I find a mop and bucket tucked into a cupboard in the corner, and so I get mopping.
“What are you doing?”
I look up and find that she’s back in the living room, looking at me somewhat strangely.
Carters cottage was built many years ago using brick and mortar, unlike the cheap cardboard houses they built these days. The floor was so solid that I had not heard her come back down the stairs. Judging by what she says next, I can tell that she feels awkward to see me clean up her mess, and hands me a towel and a large sweater. Bree is dressed in fresh dry clothes, her damp hair tied in a knot above her head. It shows off her long neck line while strands of red hair drape down and frame her face.
She says something that catches me unawares, and it hits me.
“… I already feel bad enough.”
She has no reason to feel bad. She made a mistake that a thousand other women, and men, had also likely made, and it isn’t such a big deal. But I can tell by the tone of her voice, that it is a big deal to her.
“Why do you feel bad?” I ask curiously.
“…because of all this.” She gestures in the general direction of the kitchen. “The mess, and me making a disaster out of something that should have been simple, and you having to come here and save me.”
Once again, the tone of her voice grips something in me. Due to my own sufferings, I feel like I understand her. “Do you not like being saved?” I ask.
Bree now looks at me, a million tiny nuances dancing across her face. I can see fear, and guilt, and shame. And I clearly don’t know why. I haven’t really taken the time to get to know her story. Up until yesterday, I’d been too busy purposefully avoiding her. She looks like she’s on the verge of telling me something important; but then, in a flash, it’s gone, and she goes for flippant humor instead.
After her harsh words at the fair, I had deduced that Bree was a confident woman who could quite easily take care of herself. Now, I’m certain that her confidence and general happiness were to mask pain. I should know, I’ve been wearing a similar mask for years.
She flies past me and disappears again as I dry my hair. With her out of the way, I quickly whip off my soaking wet t-shirt. The towel feels soft on my skin, and its floral scent reminds me of Bree. Unconsciously, I’ve likely breathed in the same scent on her clothes whenever she’s been near me. I breathe in deeply now, enjoying the fragrance.
A moment later, I turn around to find Bree gawking at me. Not casually glancing or just normally looking, but full-on, jaw-on-the-floor, gawking. I suddenly feel the need to cover myself, but I fight against it. Perhaps now that she has realized that I’ve seen her, she’ll turn away, or move to another room, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, and I feel utterly exposed. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve been naked in front of another woman. The last time was with my ex-wife, and that was years ago. I can feel heat rising to my cheeks and I want to say something, but what can I really say?
Bree snaps out of her stupor and looks mortified, clearly as embarrassed as me. I don’t want things to get weird between us again, and so, as she passes me, I quickly grab the sweater. I need to say something.
“Thanks, by the way.”
It’s weak, but Bree doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy mumbling a hurried reply before turning her back on me. Only then, do I allow myself a wide grin. If nothing else, she’s given me a confidence boost.
Shortly after, Bree invites me to sit with her on the porch. She’s holding two beers.
“It’s the least I can do,” she says, handing me a cold bottle.
The old porch swing is still here. It’s been part of this cottage for as long as I can remember. But I don’t sit on it. Instead, I walk past it and sit on the chair opposite to it. The chair’s new, clearly an addition from Bree. She sits on the swing though, and tucks her long naked legs underneath her.
“It looks like you got the raw end of the deal, huh?” She smiles before taking a swig of her beer. “You came to return my purse, and ended up getting roped into a tsunami of my doing.”
There she goes again, demeaning herself.
“So, what brought you here?” I ask. I have no idea if she’ll open up to me or not, but I’m doing what I should have done in the first place. Being a nice person.
She heaves a great big sigh.
“Wow, that good, huh?” I smile at her.
