“Because women are so infuriating.” He throws his arms out wide and slaps his hands to his thighs.
“It was just sex, right?” I toss out, feeling sick to my stomach. The look on his face is indescribable, but I’d say murderous might be a good adjective.
“It wasn’t that great. Isn’t that what you’ll say next?” he hisses, reminding me of how I tried to dismiss our first kiss.
No, that’s not what I think of the best sex I’ve ever had, but I’m not admitting anything to him.
He kissed another woman in front of me!
Did he really kiss her back, Emily? The question has been haunting me all night. He’s wrong. Men are the infuriating gender.
“None of this matters, Jess. I have stuff to do around here.” In an attempt to dismiss him, I thrust the spade edge at the dirt. I don’t even make a dent in the earth.
Jess steps up to me and brings his fingers to my chin. He tips my head so I’m forced to look at him. “Of course it matters. You matter to me.”
Not really a glowing declaration, I decide and tug my chin free.
“Why are you here?” I ask, still irritated with him.
“I’m here about the sink, remember? You need to replace the whole thing to fix the faucet.”
I still, resting my forearm on the shovel handle, placing my forehead against my sweaty skin. I can’t take any more repairs to this place.
“How much will something like that cost?”
“I have a few options for you, but really, you should just gut that kitchen and update the entire room. Make it to your liking.”
“I don’t need to like the kitchen,” I retort, looking up at him.
“Why not? It’s yours.” I’d already told him about the fifty-fifty inheritance and how Grace and I needed to decide how to split things down the middle, so he knows it isn’t exactly mine.
“I’ve decided to sell,” I blurt out although I really haven’t decided anything, and I’m crestfallen by what I’ve just said.
Jess turns away from me again, narrowing his eyes at the Mueller’s backyard. His jaw works double-time, his finely edged cheeks clenching.
“And that’s plan A,” he mutters under his breath.
“There doesn’t seem to be a plan B.”
We remain standing in silence until he reaches for the shovel from under my arm. He turns to the stump, and with four sharp thrusts, he unearths a good chunk of the thick root system. He uses the shovel to loosen the gnarled wood enough so that he can grab onto it with his hands. With a tug from his muscled arms, he removes the stump and tosses it into the yard behind us.
“I can do the rest of them for you,” he mutters.
I stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at me. “You don’t need to do that.”
He nods, but I can tell he disagrees. His jaw still clenches. He has something to say, but he won’t.
And for the first time, I’m out of words myself.
+ + +
Jess and I work in silence for a good portion of the day. By the time we finish, I have a pile of old bushes by the street and a gaping, empty expanse along the back stretch of Nana’s property. It’s too open, and I decide I need a decorative wrought-iron fence to edge the yard and add some character. I say these things aloud, and Jess recommends a place to pick out the fencing. Then he says he can install it for me in two days. I shouldn’t agree to his offer, but I do. I need him because I’m running out of time again.
Next week will be my final week here. I’ve already been put on an assignment for a story in Naperville, a southwest suburb of Chicago. I could argue the placement, but I don’t have the strength to tackle my boss and his directives. The underlying tone of the email I received suggested a finality to the decision.
Be there or else.
The longer I stay here, the more my thoughts have been flooded with memories of Nana. Her house holds a story in every corner. I think of the pile of articles I found in her dresser drawer upstairs, now safely stored in a plastic bin for future reading. Something still nudges at me whenever I consider her column. I chalk it up to how she did what she wanted to do, wrote what she wanted to write, and how she did it from