“So you do have a partner.”
“Not at all. Not for a long time, actually. I’m sure this isn’t going to be a surprise, but I’m not used to asking for help. I tend to like to handle things myself.”
Matty shrugged. “I think it comes with the territory. You’re used to helping others.”
“True. It’s like my lifeline right now. I feel like—I feel like work is the only thing I have actual control of right now. Everything else is chaos. That’s why I called last night. I was fed up with not being further by now.”
Matty felt like there was a lot more going unsaid but wasn’t sure what. The need to comfort the woman, hold her hand, or pull her into a hug came over her, but she resisted. Reese had just started to open up. Matty had the instinct that physical touch at this point would make the wall go back up. “Not making progress as fast as you’d like is frustrating. I’ve been trudging along for over two years now, and sometimes I feel like it’s going really slowly. Look, whatever it is, I’m happy to help.”
Reese didn’t speak for a long moment. She kept looking back at the house. It was a relief when she finally spoke. “It’s, well, it’s embarrassing.”
Matty’s heart stopped when Reese’s eyes finally met her own and nothing but vulnerability and shame shone back at her. God, she wished she could hug her. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I’m not here to judge. I’ve lived a life that in no way could allow me to.”
“Oh, Matty, you can’t—”
“No, ma’am, don’t go all counselor on me and turn the attention on me instead,” she said kindly.
Reese’s eyes widened, but so did her smile. “Did you really just do that?”
“Just keeping us on topic.”
The smile softened but didn’t go away. “You’re right.”
“I’m what?” Matty asked, cupping her ear and leaning.
“God, now who’s the ass?” Reese said with a roll of her eyes, then she sobered. “Okay. I guess I do need to do this. I tell the guys it’s okay to ask for help. It’s only right if I do it too.”
Matty only nodded. She had a feeling Reese would keep going, and she was right.
“Alright, I—shit, okay. I’ll be honest, I’m embarrassed by what you’ll see. I’m not accustomed to outsiders seeing anything other than what I present in public. I already feel weird that I had to use your shower.”
“Tell you what, once your shower is fixed, I’ll come over and use yours. We’ll be even.”
The cute little snort was back, making Matty mentally pat herself on the back. “I guess I should stop stalling. Please, um, please don’t tell anyone about this? Like what you’re going to see. And if it’s too much, you can totally leave, and I won’t fault you.”
Matty knew whatever was behind that door wasn’t going to make her leave. It would completely destroy Reese. Any steps to get help or open up would burn right down. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. Can we go in?”
Reese visibly swallowed hard as she stared at the front door. “I guess. Look, so my momma, Joyce, she, well, she was sort of a hoarder. She died and left me this mess, and now I’m being forced to clean it up.”
“I’m sorry to hear she passed.”
“Don’t be. She was an awful person. I had no contact with her for years before she died. Having to deal with this has been interesting, to say the least.”
Matty nodded. “Alright, well, let’s get to work so you can start making more progress.”
“Right. Yeah, okay.”
Reese led her the last few steps to the door. Her hand hovered over the doorknob. It was clearly hard for her to share something so personal.
“It’s okay, Reese,” Matty whispered.
She nodded, not turning to meet Matty’s eyes. The stuttered sigh that left the auburn-haired woman broke Matty’s heart.
When she opened the door, Matty was overcome with the smell of dust with a hint of mildew. It almost choked her, but she was determined to keep her face as neutral as possible for Reese’s sake.
They appeared to have walked right into the living room. Reese had made obvious progress in the room, as there were areas cleaned, like paths leading to different parts of the room.
She stepped around Reese to stand beside her. Her foot clipped something, sending it across the floor. A vodka bottle.
