Maid by Mistake - Miley Maine Page 0,4
horses. Now that it was the first day of July, I was too late to get the planting started, but maybe in the spring I’d be ready.
I spent a few hours ripping out every shred of carpet and then I loaded it all up and hauled it to the dump.
I had one more errand. A visit to the post office. I still liked to send packages overseas to the guys from my SEAL unit that I’d left behind. I braced myself, because the woman who worked the counter always wanted to talk.
Today she only grinned at me. And as soon as I turned away from the counter, three people were waiting on me, blocking the exit.
One was the sheriff. One was the librarian, who was also my sister, and one was the town doctor.
“What’s wrong?” I was hot, dusty, and tired. This had better be important.
“Nothing’s wrong,” my sister said.
“Hey son, can we talk to you for a minute?” the sheriff asked.
Son. I wasn’t his son. My dad was dead from an early stroke. But I wasn’t going to argue with the old man. He’d been sheriff of this town for forty years.
“Of course.” I had no idea what they wanted, but they’d obviously planned this. It better not be a fucking intervention. I already knew my sister thought I needed to get out more. She thought I was isolating myself, and brooding over in the farmhouse.
Dr. Jones went first. “We all noticed how helpful you’ve been around town.”
I nodded. I’d spend time training on how to handle tense situations. I didn’t mind helping out.
Now the sheriff reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.
I did my best not to flinch away. They were all too fucking close to me, but I could handle it.
“We think you’d be a great sheriff for this town,” he said.
I did not see that coming. “Sir, you’re a great sheriff. You love Pine Hills.”
“I need to retire. And soon.”
My sister stared up at me. “There’s an election coming up. We want you to run. Even mom agrees.”
That was a low blow.
Abigail clasped her hands together. “You have all the right qualities. Please.”
I took a step back. They were crowding me, and I had to get away, right then. “Sorry guys,” I said. “I don’t think I’m the right person for the job.”
I went back home to my empty house. I don't know what the hell they were thinking asking me to be Sheriff. Most of them knew what I'd been through. Especially my sister and my mom. They knew I needed a break from guns and conflict and violence.
I took a shower and brushed my teeth. I dragged the process out, dreading the inevitable. I stared at my bed. I didn't even want to lie down. I wasn't sure what the point was since it would take me hours to get to sleep. I had tried all of the meditation techniques and the visualization techniques too. I tried them with a therapist, and I'd tried the online apps too.
Some of my buddies from the SEALs were resistant to any of the methods that didn’t involve alcohol or sleeping pills, but I was pretty open-minded. I’d do anything if it worked.
I turned away from the bed. I couldn't face it tonight; maybe the couch would be a little more tolerable. I grabbed my pillow and banged down the stairs. There was no reason to be quiet here -- there was no one to disturb.
That’s your choice. You chose this. You wanted to live alone.
Both my sister and my mother had offered me a home with them. But I’d chosen my grandparents’ farm house, which had been sitting empty for five years. My best friend Barrett, who was living in Florida, had also offered me a home with him.
But I needed this time apart from other humans. Outwardly, to people who weren’t my mother or sister, I seemed like I’d made a seamless adjustment back into civilian life. I’d saved all the money I’d earned. I could look people in the eye. I didn’t have obvious panic attacks. I was lucky.
My problems started when I went to sleep. If I could even sleep at all. It was a far cry from my days in combat, when I could fall asleep in seconds while lying on a rock.
I grabbed one of the afghan quilts from my grandmother’s lined closet. In the closet was an extra set of sheets and three blankets. That was it. My grandparents