I continue watching the game for a while, and I must have dozed off.
When I open my eyes, the room is filled with orange light from the setting sun. I blink, because I swear something woke me, some sound. I stand, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the heel of my hand, and go searching for Kami.
I see her through the back screen door. She’s hobbling toward me, limping on one foot. Her face reveals the pain each step takes.
I bat the screen door open and am down the stairs and to her in two strides. “You okay? What happened?”
“I just tripped over the hose and twisted my ankle. I’m okay.”
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her toward the house.
She squeals. “What are you doing? Put me down before you drop me.”
I ignore her and carry her inside, setting her on the sofa. Then I squat down and look at her ankle. I pull her shoe off, toss it aside, and take her foot in my hand. I look up at her for signs of pain as I rotate it. “Does that hurt?”
“Oww. Yes.”
I bend it the other way, but she doesn’t flinch. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we should put some ice on it.” I retreat to the kitchen, grab a baggie and fill it, then wrap a dishtowel around it and bring it to her. “Lie back.”
She does and I put the pack on her ankle. I grab her some painkillers and a bottle of water, making sure she takes two. “What the hell were you doing?”
“I was pulling weeds, and watering the azaleas.”
“Azaleas? I’ve got azaleas?”
“Yes, along the fence. Those pink flowering bushes.”
“Huh. Did not know that’s what those were.”
“Oh, bullshit.” She calls me on my teasing. “You’re father was a landscaper. You helped him all the time. You know exactly what those are.”
I grin.
She lays her head back, and I can see she’s exhausted. I know exactly what she needs. I go into the bathroom and turn on the taps of the claw-foot tub, plugging the stopper and then find her fancy bottle of shampoo. I smell it. It’s a sweet floral scent that I immediately recognize as hers. I squirt a bit under the stream of water and it suds right up. Then I walk in the bedroom and spot the small candle I’d seen the other day, one she must have bought. I carry it into the bathroom and pull out my lighter giving it flame. It gives off a fresh apple scent. I put it in the windowsill above the tub, and turn off the lights. With the dim light of dusk and the glow from the candle, the mood is relaxing. I take out my phone and pull up some smooth jazz. I’m not into it, but it works for the setting, and I think chicks dig it.
I return to the couch. “How’s the ankle?”
“Better. I think I can lose the ice pack now.” She picks it up, and I set it on the table. I scoop her up, catching her off guard.
“What are you doing?”
“Hush.” I carry her to the bathroom and set her on her feet, then pull her shirt over her head. She glances around at the setting.
“Saint—”
“Not expecting anything, here, babe. Just giving you a nice soak in the tub. Can you stand long enough to undress and get in by yourself?”
“I’ll manage. Thank you.”
I grab a towel and set it on a small stool near the tub, then retreat.
I wait outside until I hear the splash of the water as she gets in, then I stick my head in. “You okay?”
She squeals and covers her chest, even though she’s covered in suds. “Get out.”
“Just makin’ sure you’re okay.” I move into the room and sit on the stool.
“I’m fine. Go.”
“Relax, angel.” I move my hands to her shoulders and massage. “You’ve been working around here too hard. You need to take it easy for once.”
She seems to give in to the fact that I’m not going anywhere, rolling her shoulders and moaning under my ministrations. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You’re always running off.”
“Not tonight.”
“Lucky me,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
I splash her with water.
“Hey!”
“Be nice and I’ll be nice.” I continue rubbing her shoulders. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” she begrudgingly admits, and I grin.
“Babe?”
“Yes?”
“Let your guard down for one minute and let’s talk.” My words have the opposite effect, and she tenses up. I grip her muscles and squeeze. “Relax.”
“I’m trying. You’re not making it easy.”
“When this is over what do you want to do?”
“You mean with my life?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I don’t know.”
“You were going to college. What were you going to study?”
“None of your business.”
Education seems to be a sore subject, so I change tactics. “When they came to clean out your house, of all the things they took, what do you miss most?”
“My mother.”
“Babe, that’s a given. What else?”
“That’s easy. Our Grand Piano. Not the fancy clothes, not my fake friends or even my Porsche. Our grand piano. It was the first thing they hauled away. I cried when it rolled out the door.”
“So you play?”
“Yes. I’ve had lessons since I was six.”
“I remember that now. I remember cutting the hedges outside and looking in one of the windows and watching you play… the same song over and over. But it sounded nice.”
“Thanks. You asked about school. The truth is, I was suppose to study music at the San Francisco Conservatory, but the money’s gone.”
“What about a scholarship?”
“I had one that paid partial tuition, but I have no hope of paying the rest. No, that dream is gone. I do miss playing, though. It was always my escape when the world closed in.”
“I’m sorry they took that from you.”
She scoops up a handful of water and bubbles and watches it sift through her fingers, her gaze telling me she’s a million miles away. “They took everything.”
“Finish your bath. I’ll make you something to eat.” I stand and retreat to the kitchen.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing at the stove when I hear her walk in.
“What smells so good?”
She’s standing in the archway in one of my Kings T-shirts. I guess she snagged it from my closet. My eyes sweep over her, taking in her legs. If she’s got shorts on under there, the shirt’s too long to tell. I clear my throat and answer her question. “Tamales.”
“Your mom’s recipe? My favorite.”
I waggle two fingers at her, motioning for her to come here, and I lift a tamale to her mouth.
“Mmm. So good,” she says around a mouthful.
I smile. I’m finding I like making her happy, even with something this simple. “So besides piano, what other talents do you have?”
She shrugs. “Everything my mother could sign me up for. Tennis, yoga, karate, ballet.”
“I saw you outside earlier doing some ballet moves. You must be very good.”
“I was okay, but it was never my passion. Enough about me. Now it’s your turn.” She leans a hip against the counter.