“Money makes men rich in foolishness,” my mother used to say in her judgmental tone.
“He plans to raise horses and work the land to turn a profit. That’s an honest day’s labor right there.”
“How?” I bite. “The man only has one arm.” I shouldn’t be judging. Lord knows, I’m in no position to.
“Don’t be cruel, Momma. He has two, only one’s different from the other, and he seems more than capable to me.”
So capable. Jedd Flemming is a rugged man, as witnessed from the tight tee and fitted pants he wears. Did I notice his behind while watching him through the window during that first meeting? I don’t think I paid his backside any mind, but I should have given it more inspection. A backside that fine is just asking for trouble, as is this man by moving into my barn.
Jedd stops his steps, exiting the structure. His gaze falls to the house, and I sit up straighter. My heart races, and my fingers tighten on my throat.
Can he see us watching him? Does he notice me? Do I look as decrepit as that old barn he’s entering?
The thought forces me back into my rocker. I don’t want him noticing me. I don’t want him anything-ing me.
When I glance at the television and see Tripper and his wife laughing at something, my heart pinches.
I turn back to Jedd, his face still pointed in the direction of the house. His head tilts, his face questioning, as if he’s trying to peer through the sheer curtains but can’t quite make out our figures.
“Step back, Hannah,” I demand. “He’ll know we’re watching him.”
Hannah shakes her head like she’s ridding her mind of a thought. “I’m not watching him, Momma.” She turns her gaze to me, and the weight presses on the side of my face, but I can’t draw my vision from Jedd.
“Momma,” she whispers, and I turn at the soft question in her voice. Her eyes scan my face. Does she fear she’ll look like me one day? Those bright eyes will dim, and lines will form in the corners. Will they be rivers formed from tears, or will she eventually find laughter? Does she wonder if her lips will match mine, permanently curled downward? Can my girl still smile? Will her hair go gray too young as mine did? Will the stress of her life turn her into someone lonely and lost?
I blink back the tears fighting for release. I won’t cry. Nothing left to cry over. It’s all gone.
“Do you fancy him?” my daughter asks, and I choke on the question.
“What…? I…of course not. Don’t be silly. I’m sure he’d be more interested in the likes of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hannah asks, brows rising in surprise.
“I’m sure I don’t need to explain the birds and the bees to you. Men like him only want young things and only want one thing from those young things. I don’t think he should stay here,” I sneer, recognizing the pulse at my neck and the thump of my heart. My daughter is a pretty girl, and this older man could be attracted to her for all the wrong reasons. Young girls go for older men to solve their daddy issues.
“He’s sleeping in the barn,” Hannah counters, her voice deepening in displeasure. Ticking off points on her fingers, she continues, “We don’t need to feed him. He’ll rebuild at his expense or hire what he can’t do himself. The back field will be plowed and prepped for spring planting.”
I snort in response, but my eyes return to Jedd’s movement. Into the barn. Out in the yard. My observation traces down his perspiring spine to the waist of his pants where his shirt has untucked. My fingers curl on the armrest of the rocker as my eyes outline the fine globes accentuated by those smooth pants. My mouth goes dry.
What is it about this man? Why am I suddenly lusting after him?
I can’t. That’s the bottom line. I can’t anything him. Under fifteen percent and tight pants and a perfect backside is still a man with empty words.
My eyes fall blindly on the reality television program. The only man a girl can count on is the fictional kind. I force my attention away from the barn, but my eyes seem to have a will of their own.
“We can’t have a stranger living in our barn,” I huff. Jedd stops, turning in his tracks with a pile of lumber on his shoulder as if he heard me, which is impossible on two counts: the panes of glass and his lack of hearing. Still, he stills, and his eyes narrow on the house as if he knows I’m watching him, I’m talking about him, and I don’t agree with this arrangement.
“Too late. He’s moving in.” Hannah definitively nods, dismissing my opinion as Jedd swings back around. She leans down to kiss my cheek and then exits my room, but I remain transfixed.
Suddenly, reality is more fascinating than television.
My eyes continue the cat and mouse game of watching Jedd disappear and then reappear. I don’t know how much time transpires, but eventually, the bed of his truck is empty. Still, I hold my breath as if the barn is a giant octopus, swallowing him whole. I fear he might disappear forever like Howard did, which is the silliest thought I’ve had in a decade. I don’t need Jedd. We don’t need Jedd. There will be no attachment to him.
But then, Jedd appears at the open barn door and gives a single wave toward the house, and I smile in spite of myself.
After a week of waking to the sound of hammering and the tension of growing curiosity, I decide to see for myself what’s happening in my barn. Jedd has spent his nights in the dark space, or at least I think he has since his truck doesn’t leave in the evenings. However, he disappears for a portion of every morning, and it’s the perfect time to investigate as Hannah is still sleeping from her late-night shift.
My decision to cross the drive involves a choice. Either I struggle to wheel myself over the rough terrain or I use the forearm crutches to tread carefully across the uneven surface.
Hannah believes the wheelchair is more stable for my unstable condition, but today, I’m feeling rebellious like the mischievous person I once was. I opt for the arm supports although my legs quake from disuse. Determination rattles me, but like a foal learning to stand, I decide I will make it across the drive and back before Jedd returns from his mystery morning machinations.
It’s slow going as my left leg lags behind my dominant right. Like a three-legged creature, I develop a strange rhythm with each step and drag movement.
Left behind. Left behind. Left behind.
It’s my greatest fear and my current reality.
By the time I’ve made it to the barn, sweat trickles down my back and my hair is plastered to my forehead. I can’t brush it back without leaning against something to support my strained body, so the locks cling to the edge of my face. I consider I’ve made a terrible mistake when I reach the barn door and realize I’ll need to grapple with the heaviness of the wood on a rusty track. Placing both hands on the edge of the thick barrier, I force it to the side with renewed energy and almost face-plant when the door easily glides open.
Did Jedd oil this old thing?
I’ve faithfully listened to Jedd work for days, not being able to witness the progress hidden within the barn. Although I still get my daily dose of Nailed and Rehab Dad, watching him is better than any reality television. My attention has rarely waned from this project, which I’ve privately dubbed The Jedd Juncture. I no longer sit in the front room, gazing at the television. Rather, I find myself in the brighter light of my bedroom, glancing up at every opportunity from my favorite programs. I don’t know how I missed him fixing this vital mechanism or how he did it.