The vow, p.3
The Vow, page 3
Assuming the small house looked like ours before he started, he’s scraped off the popcorn ceilings, redone the texturing on the walls, replaced all the lights, and brightened it up quite a lot with lighter colors. “What floors are you considering?”
He shows us the new laminate floors he chose, and then he walks us through the bathroom he’s already finished, which I love, and the kitchen he’s nearly completed. “The backsplash is obviously not done.” He swallows, and I realize that he’s nervous.
If the clean, modern subway tile in the bathroom hadn’t already won me over, the light, wood-look floors and the silvery glass tile backsplash in the kitchen would have.
“I’d have preferred stainless appliances, but with the budget Jed set, I had to find these white ones used.” He shrugs. “It’s still a lot better than the faux wooden ones it had before. They were from the seventies.” He grimaces.
“What’s your schedule like?” Amanda asks.
“Some of that depends on my bosses.” He grins. “They can be real slave-drivers.”
“Do you have time now to check things out?” I ask.
“Like, right now?” Kevin sets the paint can down. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“We have a wish list,” I say, “but we need someone with a little more knowledge to tell us what’s reasonable.”
“Do you have a budget?”
“Sixty,” I say. “For everything.”
“Alright. I wasn’t really expecting to go over today, but sure. Let’s do it.”
“Abby doesn’t mess around,” Amanda says.
I’m impressed with his ideas—he thinks we can do a large bonus room, a storage room, and an extra bathroom. “It’s an oversized three-car garage,” he says. “And if we knock out this wall, we can connect to it in a much more natural space, and allow the bathroom to be accessed from the add-on as well as the main house hallway much more easily.”
We’re going over a rough blueprint when I realize dinner’s almost upon us, and I’ve done nothing at all on the memorandum I promised Lance for tomorrow.
“Would you have time to go look at tile and flooring in the morning?” he asks. “If we pick the bathroom tile and fixtures, I could give you a much better cost estimate.”
“Sure,” I say. “But if we’re going to do that, I’d better get caught up on my work.”
With a goal in mind that excites me—selecting things for the renovation—I’m finally able to focus. That, combined with a few strokes of luck on my case law research, and I manage to finish up just before midnight.
The next day, Amanda’s as excited as I am. We talk about colors on the drive to Green River, and through it, all the way to the Home Depot in Rock Springs. By the time we arrive, we have quite a few ideas in mind. Kevin parks and cuts the engine. “Now.” He doesn’t open his door or get out. Instead, he spins in his seat until he can see both Amanda on the passenger side and me in the back. “You two, listen real good.”
What could he possibly need to say that he didn’t say on the long drive we just had?
“This is where things usually fall apart.”
“Huh?” Amanda looks as confused as I am.
“It’s usually married couples I bring, but sometimes it’s moms and their kids or whatnot. Any which way, people get along when we are talking about what they want done, usually. Then we get to the little stuff, like tile colors and light fixtures, and these people who love each other turn into crazy folks. So when we walk in there, just remember that the color of the tile and the shape of the light bulbs doesn’t really matter.”
I laugh. “That’s ridiculous.” It’s not like Amanda and I will fight over what color the bathroom tile is! We’re both desperate for an extra toilet, shower, and sink. “You don’t need to worry,” I say. “I’m not overly attached to anything, and besides. For the remodel component, we can each pick the details of our own bathrooms separately. If we disagree on this new one, I’ll let Amanda choose.”
“That’s not a great plan.” Amanda’s head swivels to face me. “The entire house needs to be done in a consistent style so that if it is resold soon, it won’t look patchwork or disconnected.”
I groan. “Then you can just pick everything. How’s that?” Typical, that’s what it is. The person who can’t control her own children is going to throw a tantrum if she can’t pick the tile? Fine. I can live with anything. “Let’s just go. Maybe we’ll get lucky and like the same things.”
Amanda doesn’t argue, but she looks like I feel: much less excited, thanks to Kevin’s condescending warning.
In the end, it’s actually good that he warned us. Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference. “Every single tile you like is the most expensive tile on the wall.” Amanda arches one eyebrow, accusing me. “We’ll never be able to stick to a budget if you insist on everything being high end.”
She’s right—but I’ve always been like this. I can walk into practically any shop, anywhere on earth, know nothing about what they sell, and still pick the most expensive option. “Let’s try this, then.” I point at the wall. “From here on out, you pick a top three that are in our budget, and then I’ll select the final one from among them.”
“So I never get to make any final decisions at all?”
If God waltzed into this store and offered Amanda three wishes, she’d complain that he was late and that three wishes wasn’t enough. “What do you propose?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t think that’s fair.”
“We aren’t even confirming final selections,” I say. “We’re merely here to get an idea of what we want and a ballpark price.”
“I hate to say this,” Kevin says, “but including my estimates for electrical, framing, windows, drywall, paint, trim, and plumbing, you’re already over the sixty grand, and that’s without any remodeling of the current home. It’s just for the extra 1200 square feet you’re adding when we convert the garage area.”
“Fantastic,” I snap, knowing I’m being a jerk. I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to get my irrational emotions under control. So much for this being fun. “I’m sure you’ll disagree, but I don’t mind chipping in some of my own money to help offset the costs of the remodel. Especially if we can get things done quickly and improve our quality of living.”
“What exactly were you thinking of doing with your own funds?” Amanda seems more annoyed, not less.
“The hall bathroom first,” I say. “Having two sinks and some storage in there would be tremendous. My kids are still keeping their things on that wobbly wire rack. Plus, the shower pressure is terrible. At a baseline, a plumber needs to diagnose and repair that issue. I’d love to get new appliances in the kitchen, like true convection ovens, for one, but even new enough ovens that they bake properly would be a big improvement.”
“There’s only one oven in there now,” Amanda says. “I’ve never seen much point in having a second.”
“If you were baking a triple batch of cookies, you would.”
“A triple batch?” Amanda looks horrified.
“New counters that don’t take forever to clean and aren’t stained would also be nice. But then I’d probably want new cabinets to put them on.”
“Not all of us have millions in savings,” Amanda says.
“Do any of us have millions?” Kevin laughs, clearly trying to dispel the tension. “Remember what I said, guys?”
Judging by Amanda’s expression, we both remember, and we’re both annoyed. But at least it gives us a common enemy.
“Let’s just price out some basic options,” I say. “If you don’t want to pick them, Kevin can select some middle of the road stuff, and then we can make more decisions as we firm up our plans.”
She huffs, but she points at a few tile options and Kevin writes the prices down. We move along, from one category to another, even taking the time to check out the true convection oven options.
“Why is it so great, exactly?” Amanda asks. “I mean, what makes it true, as opposed to, say, a false convection oven?”
“Cute,” I say. “But it’s pretty simple. Convection means the movement of heat. Most supposed convection ovens made for residential purposes have little fans in the back to circulate air. That means they’re still hotter on top when it’s actively heating than anywhere else. A true convection oven has heating coils on all sides in addition to the fan, so the heating is actually as consistent as it can get. It also means that it can effectively cook more than one pan of cookies, for instance, instead of burning the top and bottom of each.”
She doesn’t roll her eyes, but I can tell from her sigh that she’d like to.
Amanda drags Kevin ahead two rows to look at faucets, leaving me behind to peruse the lower cost countertop options. That’s when I hear a familiar voice.
“Kevin! What are you working on these days? Finally done with the old house?”
I hear a startled, “Oh,” from Amanda. And then she says, “He’s helping Abby and me.”
My heart kicks into high gear, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Abby?” Steve’s voice is as deep as ever, and hearing him say my name. . .half of me wants to sprint around the corner and catch up to them. The other half wants to turn tail and run. Why am I so split? What is so confusing about this?
If I’m a viable option, I’ll never get the green light. Dating me is too dangerous.
Steve’s words from the summer come back to me. Is that really it? Am I afraid to see him again, afraid that if we date, I’m betraying Nate? Of course not. I’m not that confused.
But for some reason, when I hear Amanda say, “Yeah, she’s here somewhere. She was looking at countertops—” I duck.
I crouch down low and crawl on my hands and knees under one of the fake display countertops.
My heart really takes off then, like I’m an ingenúe in a slasher movie, and the terrible serial killer is coming for me with a chainsaw.
“Abby?”
Worse even than one of those idiotic teenagers, I’m facing inward, my eyes focused on the cabinet in front of me. Did I think if I couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t recognize me?
This is worse than when I fell in the lake.
I spin around and stand up, plastering a smile on my face. “Steve?”
His expression is bemused. “What were you doing down there?”
There are many things I can’t do, but I’ve never had trouble talking my way out of something. “The last time I chose granite, it wasn’t very well processed.” Very well processed? What is wrong with my brain? Move on, move on. “Flakes kept falling off the bottom. I was. . .” I clear my throat. “Um, I was checking this one.”
“That’s silestone,” he says, his gorgeous eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. “It’s manmade, so I think you can be pretty sure it won’t ever flake off.”
He knows. Of course he knows. He’s not a drunken horse trainer, like I thought. He’s an emergency room doctor. People probably lie to him all day long, more elegantly than I just did.
But that reminds me of something, a way to turn the tables on him. It’s the best defense if you’re scrambling—put the other side on defense instead. It’s a total hunch, but not a terrible one. After all, Amanda told Steve I was coming, and he probably knows school starts Monday. “Don’t you work in Green River? What are you doing here?” I glance over at Kevin.
He looks down at his shoes. It’s not conclusive proof, but people often look down when they’re lying or hiding something, and Steve’s not in scrubs. He could have changed, but I doubt it.
“I work fifteen minutes away,” Steve says.
He notably did not tell me he just got off work. I’m a lawyer. Did he think he could throw me off with that kind of non-statement? “So, you just got off work?”
Steve’s brows draw together. “I needed sandpaper and some zip ties.”
He didn’t just get off work, or he’d have said that. “You drove all the way from your property out here for zip ties?” I bob my head. “That makes sense. I’m sure they don’t have them at the True Value, you know, the one you drove right past.”
“They cost less out here,” Steve says doggedly.
Amanda snorts from behind him.
“Do you know how hard it is to bump into someone who never leaves the house?” Steve crosses his arms.
“Calling or texting might have been easier,” I say.
“We’re going to go look at the shower options,” Kevin says.
“You can,” Amanda mutters. “I’m not going anywhere. This is the most fun I’ve had since the Fourth of July.”
“Your sister-in-law is scary,” Steve says.
“Don’t I know it.” Amanda smirks.
“You didn’t call me, either.” Steve leans against the counter, the muscle in his arm bunching as it shifts to hold his weight. In faded blue jeans, worn cowboy boots, and a dark blue shirt, he’s basically lethal. In that moment, I have no idea why I didn’t call him.
“Why didn’t you call him?” Amanda asks. “Are you blind?”
I’m going to kill her when we get back home.
“At least you should have texted him,” she says.
With my bare hands.
“I’ve been swamped,” I say. “Between packing, and the move back, and catching up with my work, and enrolling the kids—”
“You’re happy to see me again, then?” Steve smiles slowly, one dimple showing up like a sneaky little heart assassin.
Happy feels like an inadequate word. Delighted? Giddy? Overjoyed? “Kevin has to get back soon,” I say. “He still has to make a run with Ethan to check on the herd.”
“They went out without me.” Apparently Kevin only moved an aisle over. Far enough away that we can’t see him, but close enough to hear every word.
“Great,” I shout. “Fabulous.” Why is no one on my side? “But we do need to get back so we can throw something decent together for dinner. We have people coming over.”
Steve straightens like a puppet being yanked, and his eyes flash. “People? What people?”
I point at the back of the store. “I’m pretty sure the sandpaper is on aisle 24 and the zip ties are on aisle 22.” I have no idea where they are, but it seems likely enough. That’s when I realize Steve’s already holding both items. “Wait, if you have what you came for, what were you doing back here?”
He chucks them under the counter where I was hiding. “Abby, I didn’t need anything. I drove out here because Kevin said you’d be here.” He steps closer. “I figured if you drove a few thousand miles, the least I could do was drive sixty.” His voice drops a bit more. “And I would walk five hundred more, if that would help.”
Classic love songs. For an old guy, Steve has some game. I can barely breathe right now.
“If you two could talk a little louder, that would be great. I can barely hear you, so I’m guessing Kevin’s missing most of it,” Amanda says.
I spin around. “Were you in on this too?” My hands naturally go to my hips.
She inhales sharply. “Well, Kevin wasn’t sure if he should tell Steve to come or not.”
For the love. “Look, we’re busy tonight, and then tomorrow—”
“Do you know Donna?” Amanda asks. “She has a son named—”
“Aiden.” Steve’s cocky grin is back. “I’ve known her for decades, now.”
“Would you feel comfortable having dinner with all of us?”
Oh, Amanda won’t be at the dinner. I’m going to kill her on the way home.
“What can I bring?” he asks.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m standing right here.”
Steve shrugs. “The only thing worse than having allies is not having them.”
“If you think quoting Winston Churchill is going to impress me. . .” Well. He’d be right. “Fine. Bring rolls. And a dessert.” I cross my arms. If you ambush me, you get to do some heavy lifting. “And sodas.”
Steve laughs. “Anything else?”
“And it’s not a date,” I say. “It’s just a dinner with friends.”
“Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’m a patient man,” he says.
“See you at five-thirty,” I say.
“You told Donna four-thirty.” Amanda’s a sell-out.
“So the kids can play.” I shake my head. “Did you want to play Twister, Steve?”
His smile is basically wicked.
“Scratch that question.”
“See you at four-thirty.” Steve’s smirking when he spins on the heel of his boot and turns to walk away. I’m still staring when he turns around.
And also when he looks over his shoulder and catches me watching him.
But his wink. . . It’s almost worth it.
Amanda whistles once he’s out of sight. “Now that was impressive. Most men won’t get up to get the remote. He drove all the way out here so that he could line up a date, and he settled for some kind of potluck without any complaint.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “He came all the way out here because he was too nervous to call me.”
“You don’t make a shaky pass when you need a touchdown. That’s when the quarterback has to run it himself.” Kevin’s looking very pleased with himself.
“Stare decisis,” I say.
“Huh?” Amanda and Kevin both say at the same time.
“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s the Latin phrase for lower courts needing to follow the precedent set by higher courts. I thought we were all saying things that the other people in the conversation wouldn’t understand.”
Kevin snorts. “You’re strange.”
“She’s right, though. What were you saying about a touchdown?”
“Steve couldn’t risk fumbling the ball—not when he knows she’s skittish as a spring deer.”
“You’re saying he drove out here instead of calling. . .because he cares about her that much?”
“Yes.” Kevin nods. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
3
Donna
My very first love in life was art. I think I started with finger paints, but I quickly progressed to paint books with paint dried on the paper that I activated with water. I worked my way up from there to the little white watercolor trays, filled with dried paint. Finally, once I was old enough to take care of my own brushes, I graduated to the kinds of paints you squeezed out onto a palette.
