He pauses. “I’m sorry. About a lot of the things I said and how I…I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I know now’s not the best—”
“We’ll talk when I get back,” I say firmly. “Hopefully I’ll be back by Monday, but if not, could you call my office and tell them the situation?”
He says he will, telling me to be safe and that he’s still going to try to get me out, but we both know the odds are slim.
I hang up, letting out a sigh.
“Who was that?” Nikhil asks. He says it nonchalantly, but his tone is careful. Too even and measured to be casual.
“No one,” I say, and his eyes narrow. “Just my sister.”
Nikhil never met my sister. He once met my parents in passing, but I never formally introduced him to any of my family. Even though we were married—aremarried—they never knew about it. Or him.
His face hardens, as if he remembers that fact.
“Huh,” he says. “Her voice is deeper than I thought it would be.”
Damn it. So, he did overhear.
“Yeah, well…” I trail off, hoping he’ll just let it go. “So, the windows. Is that what we need to do next?”
He holds my gaze for a second, before scrubbing a hand across his face. “Yeah. Sure.”
He stalks back toward the garage door, grabbing a toolbox along the way. Then he leads us to a pile of plywood.
“I already measured everything and cut these to size,” he says.“I’m just going to need some help positioning them over the windows so I can drill them into place. And if we have time to do the second-story ones, I’ll need your help with the ladder.”
I nod. He grabs a few pieces of plywood, slinging them under his arm in one smooth movement. He’s strong. He’s always been strong. And this is his area of expertise. He used to work in construction. Still does, I think.
I get my hands around a piece of plywood, and half carry it, half drag it to the front. In the time it takes me to do that, he’s finished lugging the rest of them.
We start on window number one, and fortunately it’s not too difficult. I just have to hold the board in place while he does all the work. It’s not a bad arrangement. Though there’s tension between us. Something staticky. Prickly.
We settle into a rhythm. An uneasy temporary truce. The only words we exchange are related to our task.
When I lose my grip and the plywood slips slightly, he grunts out a “You got it?”
I get the board back into position and mutter back a “yeah.”
When he asks me to pass him the drill, I do it carefully. Delicately. Making sure our hands don’t accidentally touch again.
I follow his instructions, shifting the board whenever he asks me to, and when it comes to his part, he’s quick. Efficient. I try not to watch him as he works. Try not to notice the intense expression of concentration as he drills. The sweat that beads near his temples. The way he wipes it away with the back of his arm.
I used to love watching Nikhil at his job. He was always so serious. So focused. Sometimes it felt like a role reversal. Here, he was the rule follower and I got to be the fun one. Here, I got to feel free. I still remember how he’d looked the first time I’d shown up at one of his construction sites, back when we’d started dating. He’d had abright yellow hard hat on top of his head, and a wary expression on his face as he’d handed me a hat of my own.
“If you’re going to visit me,” he’d said, “you’re going to have to follow the rules.”
“Rules, schmules,” I’d joked, teasing him just for the fun of it. Everything had been so new back then. Every smile I’d wrangled out of him had felt like a gift. He was generous with them, but I’d counted them up anyway, saved them like treasures, guarded them deep in my heart.
He’d slipped the hat over my head, fastening it under my chin.
“There,” he’d said. “Now you’re OSHA compliant.”
“I’m not an employee here so I’m pretty sure those regulations wouldn’t apply…”
“Law nerd,” he’d said affectionately.
“Safety nerd,” I’d shot back with a grin.
