Arrogant Devil(45)

My efforts are thwarted when I see that Jack has half a dozen ranch hands working on the shack all day. By the evening, they’ve not only fixed the floors, they also repaired the drywall and moved all my stuff back inside, plus there’s a new pendant light hanging in the center of the ceiling. It doesn’t even look like a shack anymore, more like one of those adorable tiny houses from HGTV.

With the A/C on, it is—dare I say—chilly inside. I lie awake that night with TWO soft blankets tucked around my body, worried sick about Jack having gone to all this trouble.

Helen’s words keep reverberating in my mind, leaving bruises.

You better not be taking advantage of him, Meredith.

Keep your head down, work, and try to make yourself as useful as possible.

My only choice is to redouble my efforts on Tuesday. Jack sends a few guys in to retile the shower in the shack-turned-tiny-house, so I decide to draft a list of menu options for him. I’ve seen the way he scowls when I put down a plate of salmon or try to pass off baked asparagus as a carb. No more! If he wants burgers with mac and cheese by the boatload, by golly he’s going to get it! The list I compile includes everything I’m comfortable making (or attempting to make) for his lunches, that way he can cross off anything that doesn’t sound appetizing.

Later that morning, when I’m sure he’s not too busy, I tap, tap, tap on the door of his office and let myself in after he gives me the go-ahead.

“Good morning!” I chirp like a songbird.

“What do you need?” he asks gruffly, skeptical of my cheer.

I pass him the menu across his desk.

“What’s this?” he asks, not even looking up at me.

“I thought I’d get your taste preferences so I can avoid making anything you don’t want to eat for lunch. I’ve separated things into categories for you. There are protein options and side dishes—”

He shakes his head and pushes the menu back to me, gaze already falling back to his work. “Just keep doing whatever you’re doing. I don’t have time for this.”

My upper lip wants to curl with annoyance, but I don’t let it.

“Are you sure? You could just—”

“I’m sure.”

Alrighty then. I take the menu and march right on out of there, determined to find some other way to be useful.

I’m loading clothes into the washer when Edith finds me.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

I smile and keep tossing clothes in. “I’ve been in here, loading and unloading. Tell me, how do two people produce so much laundry? It’s like you both change your underwear forty-five times a day.”

She ignores my question and holds up two yoga mats still in their original wrapping. My eyes go wide with wonder.

“Where’d you get those?”

“In town, yesterday.”

My fingers reach out as if to say, Gimme, gimme, gimme. My eyes glisten. My fingers twitch anxiously. I want one of the mats so badly. I need it. Even with the prospect of new floors, yoga on a thrift store rug is getting kind of old.

Too bad my conscience prods me to remember my mission for the week: Be useful! Happy! Helpful! Especially do not accept any more help from Jack or his well-meaning, impossible-not-to-love grandmother.

I drop my hand and turn away.

“I hope they’re both for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The blue one is yours. My new year’s resolution is to start doing yoga, and you’re going to help me.”

“It’s June,” I point out.

“I’ve learned that if I don’t start resolving until midway through the year, it’s much easier to make it to the finish line.”

I smile at her genius. “Right, well, you’ll have to find someone else to help you. I need to keep cleaning.”

“No, you need to come help me yoga. Can yoga be used as a verb? Anyway, it’s nice out and you need a break from this laundry room.”

“I don’t think Jack would agree with that.” I close the door on the washer and the machine rumbles to life.

“I just asked him, and he did.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, his exact words were, ‘I don’t care. Leave me alone,’ but coming from Jack, that’s all the approval we’re ever going to get, and all the approval I need. Now c’mon. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with my child’s pose.”

“That’s really more for resting.”

“Good. Best to start slow.”

I’m helpless to resist her, not only because I’d love a break from laundry, but because doing yoga outside under a shady oak tree sounds too good to pass up. I convince myself accepting the mat isn’t going against my mission for the week because technically helping Edith with her yoga practice will make her stronger and healthier. Jack wants his grandmother healthy, ergo I must become her yoga Yoda.

Once I reassure myself my logic is sound, I run to change into the yoga pants I got at the thrift store then meet her outside. I’ve been practicing yoga for years, but I’ve never led anyone else through a practice. I’m a little clunky, not sure how to best explain certain poses for a beginner, but Edith is a good sport. We start slow, and by the time we roll up our mats, she’s proven I shouldn’t have underestimated her. I wasn’t even really going easy on her; all in all, it was a pretty decent workout.