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“Oh! I’m so sorry. I have a lint roller in my car, I should have—”
“It kind of says something about a cleaning company when the cleaners themselves are untidy.”
Brielle felt as if she’d been slapped. He had a point. But he was also being so rude about it. Still, her mom would kill her if she lost a six-days-a-week client like this. Brielle’s gaze wandered over Archer’s head as she examined the place. It was nice enough but pretty small. She wondered how hecouldafford $50 a day. “It was a client’s cat,” she said, nervously taking in the living room. She knew there was no excuse, that she was just sloppy, that the time away from the job, her distracted mind, had made her less sharp when it came to the details. She’d even gone to lunch like that. Yuck. “I came here afterward and—are those sketches?” She zeroed in on the table where Archer had spent the past few minutes.
Archer scrambled back across the living room, far faster in his wheelchair than Brielle had ever thought possible. “I’ll thank you for not gawking at my personal effects.”
Well, excuse me.“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I just thought it was interesting. So you’re an artist?”
Archer crouched over his table and picked up a pen. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s neat.” Brielle was glad that despite Archer’s clipped tone, she seemed to have shifted the conversation away from her slovenly appearance. She stepped out and looked around the living room, spotting a few framed works of art—one of a pretty fall country scene, the other of a beautiful woman looking over her shoulder. “Did you paint those?”
Archer looked up from the table. “No.”
“Oh.” Brielle dried her hands on her apron. She took a survey of the room as she walked around, watching for areas that might need dusting and trying to pinpoint the garbage cans. There was one next to the kitchen area and one overflowing with crumpled up paper between his drafting table and his computer desk. Brielle felt stupid for wondering why there wasn’t a desk chair in front of the desk at first. In fact, there was only one small loveseat, period, in front of the TV. Even the small dining room table only had one chair, and it was shoved against the wall, out of the walkway. Brielle shook her head. “I’m going to run to my car, get that lint roller—”
“Don’t bother. You’ve already spread the fur and dander all over. What’s a few more strands?”
Brielle bit her lip as she stared at the back of Archer’s head. He had hair that was perfect for ruffling. Daniel had hair like that, although it was a much darker color.
You told yourself you never thought about Daniel without reason, didn’t you?
Brielle removed the roll of garbage bags from her apron pocket and pulled out a single bag, preparing to empty the trash bins. She crouched beside Archer to grab his overflowing basket. “Should I recycle these or—?”
“Good god, woman!” Archer jumped in his chair and slammed the pen in his hand on the table. He scowled down at her. “Can you not sneak up on me?”
“Okay…” Brielle raised an eyebrow despite herself. She’d just been talking to him; he knew she was behind him. “Sorry?” She started grabbing for the papers that had fallen out of the basket. A strange drawing poked out of the corner of one of them—it looked like a huge fist. She unfolded it quietly and saw what looked like the rough sketch of several comic panels featuring a man in a superhero outfit in combat with a large, bulking alien. “Oh my god!” she said, before thinking better of it. “You draw comics?”
Archer reached over to snatch the paper out of her hand. “Personal effects, remember? Just do your job!”
Brielle frowned. Part of her felt like he got extra sympathy points for being in a wheelchair, but she also felt like he was working overtime to destroy those extra points and obliterate the empathy she had for anyone until they proved unequivocally that they were a jerk. “I’m sorry,” she said, shoving the rest of the crumpled papers into her garbage bag. “I just thought it was interesting is all.”
Archer snorted and picked up his pen again.
Brielle took that as her cue to get out of there and clean the rest of the place. She didn’t speak to Archer again for upward of an hour, simply finding where the dishes went through trial and error and examining the spare closet nearest the door to find the vacuum. Good thing it was there, too. She wouldn’t want him accusing her of “rifling through his personal effects.” Honestly, he talked like someone from a century ago. Maybe because he didn’t have enough chance to work on his socialization staying at home all day and what little chance he had, he totally blew.
There wasn’t much remarkable about the sole bedroom and its connecting bathroom, other than there were grab bars on the wall and the side of the sink. Even the bed had those grab bars that went up and down that you saw in hospitals. There was a half-bathroom in the hall on the way to the bedroom, too, and that had the grab bars as well. He was a little untidy, but the place was hardly filthy. Of course, that was what happened when you had someone in to clean every day. Brielle figured she’d only need to do the dusting every other day to stay on top of it, although she did it that day since she’d missed the holiday and who knew how thorough a job his mom did on Sundays.
By the time Brielle finished in the bedroom and came out to say she would see him—regrettably—the next day, she found Archer near the front door, bent over on his chair.
Brielle watched him warily and grabbed her bucket from the kitchen, making sure everything was in place, hoping he’d get back to his table and not say another word. But he was still there in front of the door. She’d have to walk by him.
“All right,” she said, clearing her throat. “I finished everything for the day, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” She held up the key to his condo as she got nearer. “I’ll be sure to come in a clean shirt and let myself in.” She winced. It didn’t seem like a good idea toremind himof her failures.
Archer grunted. As she approached, she had to lift her bucket up to avoid hitting him as she squeezed past. His pants were rolled up and one of his legs had a brace on and he was struggling to put the brace on the other leg. Despite his top half being rather buff—his arms especially—his legs were awfully thin. So skinny, he looked sickly. Brielle immediately felt dumb for even thinking that.
Archer swore under his breath as his hands slipped and he had to tug his brace closer.
“Do you need any help?” Brielle bent over, grabbing for his leg.
“No!” Archer dropped his brace like a hot potato and gripped his wheels, backing up to put space between them. “Don’teverdo that!”
Brielle’s head snapped up; she felt tears welling in her eyes and swallowed them hard. He was right, of course—that had been inappropriate of her. It was invasive. She felt so stupid. But still, did he have to besocruel about it? She’d just meant to help. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. She bowed a little, unable to look at Archer and deal with that rage on his face. She couldn’t believe she was gettingthisupset. Even Daniel didn’t ever get herthisupset. “I’m sorry,” she said again, bowing. She didn’t even know why she was bowing. It felt so dumb.
She scrambled for the door knob. “Sorry,” she said again, quietly.
She cleaned two more houses in blessed solitude afterward, trying to stop the tears from falling as she scrubbed, and spent the hours until her mom got home Facebook messaging with Lilac and Gavin, only somewhat really there in the moment to deal with Lilac’s tales about how amazing Florida was and poor Gavin’s upset about his jackass of a boss. More than once, she started typing: “Wait until you hear about the jackass client I cleaned for today…”But she kept hitting the back space button as she pictured Archer’s face. She felt as if she’d violated him. And she probably had. She didn’t really tune into the conversation until Gavin mentioned that Pembroke hadn’t responded to any of his messages, and that she’d been acting weird that graduation weekend so he couldn’t just fluff it off as her being busy.
