Page 3 of Bookworm
I follow behind Ann and make my way into the kitchen, where she’s rinsing the old man’s hand off in the sink. “It’s just a small cut. A Band-Aid will do him fine.” I hate that she’s up taking care of him. She should be asleep, or resting, or reading, or doing whatever it was she was doing before she was interrupted by his idiocrasy.
When she has the Band-Aid in place, she bends over to pick shards of glass with me. Earl stays leaned against the back counter, his hands shaking. That’s new.
“I’ve got this,” I say, standing quick to grab the hand sweep in the pantry. “Why don’t you head back to bed? I can get him to his room.”
We’re kneeling together, eye to eye, our breath mingling like a late summer storm about to take hold of the farm. I need to get out of the same space, or my imagination is going to take over.
“Are you sure?” Her lips move softly, remaining gently parted.
I nod. “I want to talk to him for a few minutes, anyway.”
“Okay.” She stands from the floor and smiles gently toward me, then my father, squeezing his hand as she walks past. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I roll my eyes and finish sweeping the smallest of the shards. He wants that squeeze. He likes it. I need to have a talk with him and let him know she’s off limits.
Footsteps creak down the hall and the heavy wood door to Ann’s bedroom closes gently. I turn toward my father, pressing the pad to the trashcan to empty the glass from the dustpan. “What are you doing out here?”
“Being self-sufficient.” My father turns and reaches for another cup from the cupboard, lowering it to the counter before opening the fridge for the pitcher of orange juice. “I figured Ann needed her sleep and God knows I can’t ask you for anything.”
“Please. I’ve been dragging your dead weight around since I was a kid. You could’ve asked me for a drink.”
He successfully pours his orange juice and shrugs. “Well, I didn’t… so sue me.” He grabs his glass off the counter and carries it toward the hallway, without another word.
“Woah, woah, woah.” I circle to the front of him and stare down at my father. We live together, but it’s been at least a few weeks since we’ve had a real conversation. For the most part, I avoid dinner, and stay in the barn until early morning—by choice. This close, it’s startling how much he’s aged. His face is long and wrinkled, dyed by the sun, and the rim of his hair is silver where his hat used to sit. This man isn’t my father. He’s a version of the man that was supposed to be my father.
“What do you need?” he snaps, clearing his throat. “My shows are about to start.”
His shows?I remember how this man preached every time he saw me watching TV, laying into me with stories about how it would rot my brains, and then find a new chore that immediately needed to be done.
“What were you thinking hiring that girl?”
He narrows his thick brows. “I was thinking the first five women I’ve had all quit. This one seemed to have some stamina. What’s it to you?”
He’s playing coy, as usual, and it’s pissing me off.
“Ann is sweet. Don’t do anything stupid.”
He shakes his head and grins. “And what does that mean, son? Is that another dig at me for your mother? It wasn’t my fault she got sick.”
“It was one hundred percent because of you, but that’s beside the point. Ann is off limits. Do you hear me? No lingering looks, no ass grabs, no flirty comments. Leave her be.”
“You like her.” He grins wider, as though he’s just figured me out.
He hasn’t.
“No! She’s a young girl. Hell… how old is she? Twenty? I could be her—”
“Twenty-four. She’s a part-time librarian, and in school for teaching, I believe. You should talk to her, she’s a nice gi—”
“She’s here until you’re getting around better. Which, by the looks of things, seems to be any day now. So, I’m not sure there’s a need for us to talk.”
I don’t mention that I’m meeting her at the barn in the morning. He doesn’t need to know everything. Besides, he’ll blow it out of proportion.
“Right.” Dad smirks and walks slowly down the hallway. “Well, you should get some sleep, son. You’ve got a big day tomorrow with all thechoresand all.” The way he says chores makes me wonder what he thinks I do out there all day.
If it were up to me, the man would be in a nursing home an hour away thinking about all the shit decisions he’s made in his life, but it’s not up to me. He took that choice away when he spent the rest of our damn money.
I swallow hard and head back into the bedroom, passing by Ann’s door slowly. I’m not sure why. I’m only torturing myself. She’s listening to a soft bluegrass instrumental, maybe twisting a single curl around her index finger while she imagines the romantic scenes playing out in her book. The thought of her only a wall a way sends a shock of electricity straight to my dick.