Taking Connor

Vick watches me for a long moment but says nothing. I’m biting my tongue to keep myself from babbling.

“It was nice to meet you, Demi. Sorry, I interrupted your prayer, there.”

I’m not sure how well I do at hiding my shock. Wasn’t he going to ask me out? Internally, I roll my eyes at myself. I must’ve scared him off with my widow business. I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed he didn’t ask. It’s the first time in two years that I’ve considered even going out with someone.

“Yeah. You too, Vick. Good luck with the new job.”

As I watch Vick until he disappears from the aisle I’m standing in, my cell phone rings again and from where it sits in my purse, I can see Mom lit up on the screen. Thrusting my cart forward, I ignore her call and finish my shopping, wondering if the new guy in town was even remotely interested in me.

I’m almost home when I see my neighbor, Brian, working under the hood of his truck. Pulling up beside him, I shout, “Hey Brian!” Apparently I startled him because he jolts and hits his head on the hood.

“Shit!” I cringe. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” he laughs as he rubs the back of his head with one hand and adjusts his glasses with the other.

“Truck broke down?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Piece of shit. I gotta leave for Oklahoma next weekend, and the damn transmission is acting up.”

“Can you fix it?” I ask.

“No. It’s going to have to go to a mechanic. Vehicles are like a foreign language to me.”

And here comes my sales pitch. “Well, I happen to know just the mechanic for the job, and he’s right down the street from you.”

When I return home, the garage bay door is open, and Co

Snapping myself out of my lust-filled daydream, I climb out of the car, scolding myself for checking him out. Again. I’m obviously in need of some . . . something. I can’t keep checking out my cousin-in-law. That thought sends disappointment to the pit of my stomach. It’s too bad Vick didn’t ask me out. Wendy’s been begging to fix me up with one of Jeff’s friends, but I hate the idea of a blind date. So awkward.

I’m pulling a bag of groceries out of the trunk when Co

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had help carrying bags in,” I call to him as I follow. “I’m going to get spoiled.”

Climbing the steps to the back porch, he says, “You deserve to be spoiled, Demi.”

Once we’re inside, he sets the bags on the kitchen table and begins pulling out the items. “Plumber just left. He says he’ll have to come back later in the week to fix the shower. The copper piping is rusted out or something.”

“He’s fired,” I huff in frustration. “That’s the third time he has been out here and claimed he’ll have to come back for some other reason.”

“I can fix it myself, Demi,” Co

I’m about to say that would be great, but a thought occurs to me. “You know what? I’ll ask Jeff if he can fix it. He’s out of work and could use the money I’m sure. In fact, there are a few things around here he could help me with. He’s a great handyman.”

“How long has he been out of work?”

“A little over a month. But when you have five kids, and you’re a single income family . . . money was already tight. I think Wendy is starting to freak out.”

“I bet,” Co

“Oh . . . by the way. I just found your first client. My neighbor . . . well, our neighbor,” I correct myself, “Brian. His transmission is messed up or something. He’s bringing it over this afternoon.”

Co

“Blake loved you so much, Co

“I’m a lucky bastard to have such a good friend.” He smiles and gives me a small wave as he leaves the kitchen.

The next night, as promised, Co

“Do you like to cook?” I query as I sip my beer.

“Eh, like is a strong word,” he chuckles. “But it can be a kind of therapy, I guess.”

“Therapy?”

“When I was . . .” he pauses on a sigh, “in prison,” he finishes quickly. “I worked in the kitchen. It was nice to have something to stay focused on.”

I have no clue how to respond to this. It’s not like I can empathize with such a feeling; the feeling of being caged and needing something to keep me busy to make time pass by faster. But I decide to take it head on. I think it’s important for Co

“So prison taught you how to cook?” I wager. “That could be useful information. Might have to have you cook for me more often,” I jest.

“Well, unless you like spaghetti and shitty meatloaf, you’re out of luck,” he laughs. When he bends over the stove and tastes some sauce on the wooden cooking spoon he’s holding, he smacks his lips. “I’d like to tell you it’s amazing,” he begins, “but that would be a lie.”

“Is it bad?”

“It’s edible,” he surmises.

“That’s good enough for me,” I assure him. “I’m not cooking it. That right there makes it amazing in itself.”

Music drifts into the room from the hallway where my Wurlitzer jukebox, one of my most prized possessions, plays.

“That jukebox is badass,” Co

“It’s the only thing I have left of my father’s,” I note. “He loved that thing.”

“How’d he go?” Co

“On a Greyhound bus, I’m told,” I reply somewhat bitterly.

Co

“Don’t be. He left when I was ten.”

Taking his beer, he steps toward me and raises it in a toast. “To deadbeat dads.” Then after a beat adds, “And deadbeat mothers.”

I toast him with my beer and can’t help the sad smile I give. Co

“Oh, I have something for you.” I jump out of my seat and grab the small shoebox from the hall closet in the living room, returning to the kitchen with it and placing it on the table. Co

“Well I’ll be damned,” he chuckles as he picks it up and gazes at it.

The photo is of Blake and Co