Part of Your World(80)

The only time I’d spent in Minneapolis these last few months outside of work was the once-a-week coaching session I had with Mom to practice my speech for the quasquicentennial. She’d written it. Not a word of it was mine—which was fine, since I had no idea what I’d even say if it was.

I’d completely stopped going to therapy, just to give the hour to Daniel instead. I didn’t have enough of them to spare. I used up most of my vacation time to give me extra days with him. I even stayed for a ten-day stretch back in July. Didn’t go home once. Told my parents I was on a yoga retreat.

If Wakan had been closer, I’d have gone there just to spend the night. I’d have gone there on my lunch break. But one thing I’d discovered over the last few months was that the second the tourists came back, the traffic started. Road work, a fender bender—any little thing backed up the roads. One day it had taken me four hours to get to Daniel’s.

It was like the universe just wanted to reiterate how unsustainable all of this was.

But still, I made the trip as often as I could. And the town didn’t seem to mind, because Daniel’s garage had turned into a minute clinic over the last twelve weeks.

Ear infections, bladder infections, poison ivy, sprained ankles, burns. If I had what I needed to treat them, I did. So far, I’d only had to send one person to Rochester. And I’d been showing Doug how to do things. He was going to treat them anyway. At least if I gave him some instruction, the outcome would be better. He was a very good student. And counterintuitive to the rest of what I knew about Doug, his bedside manner was remarkably good. I’d actually suggested he go into nursing last week.

Anyway, it was good someone would be there to pick up the torch once I was gone. Because in a few days, I would be gone. The board was voting on the chief position tomorrow, and after that, my training would begin. Then a few weeks after that, I had the court date for the final determination on who got the house.

And I’d have to break up with Daniel.

I was doing my best not to think about it and failing miserably. The vote would be the beginning of the end. The first domino to fall.

Everything was about to change.

It was eight a.m. I was under the sink, fixing the garbage disposal, when Neil came in.

“Oh. You’re here,” he said, sounding surprised.

He should be surprised. It had been weeks since I’d run into him at home.

I didn’t answer.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I adjusted my headlamp. “Sticking a hex-head Allen wrench in the breaker socket at the bottom of the garbage disposal. I need to get the flywheel to turn to free the jammed impeller blades.” I gave it a crank. “Annnnd done.”

I scooted out from under the sink and stood, flicking on the disposal. It ran. I cocked my head at him.

Neil blinked at me. “How do you know how to do that?”

The question made me think of all the times I’d asked him the same thing, and he’d given me some snide comment about not having the time or the crayons to explain it to me.

I took off my headlamp. “The things I’m capable of would shock you, Neil.”

The buzzer went off on the oven, and I put on mitts and pulled out what I was baking. A surprise for Daniel. I set the quiche on the stovetop to cool. “Spinach and broccoli. My favorite.”

His jaw dropped.

Daniel had shown me how to fix the garbage disposal last month. He’d also shown me how to change a tire and put in a car battery and putty a wall. He taught me how to use an iron to get the cloudy white spots off a wood table and how to lift wax out of a carpet. I knew how to roast a chicken and make strawberry jam and compost for the garden. I knew white vinegar got smells out of clothes and how to make a campfire and what poison ivy plants looked like. I could replace a doorknob and install a bolt lock—and I did this on my own bedroom to keep Neil from poking around in there when I wasn’t home.

Neil was watching his power over me dissipate like steam from a shower. I hoped it made his brain explode.

Neil cleared his throat. “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Nope. I’ll talk to you when we start our therapy sessions. That’s more than enough.” I started to walk out of the kitchen.

He spoke to my back. “Did you rehire Maria?”

I stopped in the doorway and groaned internally. He’d fired our housekeeper last week. “Yes,” I said, turning to him with my arms crossed.

“Why? She broke half the coffee mugs.”

“She tripped carrying a tray of them up from your room. It was an accident, and she hurt herself. She has a contusion on her shin the size of a lemon. You added insult to injury by firing her.”

“That was my favorite mug in there,” he said, looking wounded.

I squeezed my eyes shut and rallied my patience before opening them again. “Neil, grace costs you nothing—and God knows I’ve given you enough of it over the years.”

I turned for my room. “If you don’t want her, get a different person for your floor of the house. I’m keeping her.”

“Ali—”

“What?!”

“I’ve been going to therapy like you asked.” His voice was hopeful.

I knew he’d been going. He’d been emailing me the weekly invoices. He was on week twelve of the sixteen-week ultimatum I’d given him. And he’d gone to some intensive four-day weekend therapy retreat thing last month too, which was weird. He missed Philip’s birthday because of it. He also hadn’t told my parents I wasn’t going with him. He was keeping all his promises, which was not only surprising but also annoying, because it meant I would have to keep mine.