99 Percent Mine(40)

“Sleep in, boss?” the young one says. He doesn’t wait for a reply but follows along behind me. He’s a muscly little nugget, full of youth and mischief. I would definitely card him at the bar. Maybe he’s an apprentice—the next-generation Tom. Fetch. Pull. Carry. He leans on the counter. “Did you say coffee?”

“Sure did. Who wants one?”

“We need to get some equipment unpacked,” Tom says.

“A coffee won’t take a second,” I reply, pulling down a few mugs from the empty shelf. If I know anything in this life, it’s that people feel better once they’ve drunk some liquid. “I think Tom needs two coffees.” I grin over my shoulder at him. If I can just make things feel fun, he won’t feel that perfect pressure so much.

“Unpack the equipment,” Tom says in a bass tone I’ve never heard in my life. It’s the kind of voice that should be saying, On your knees. My joints loosen and my body replies, Okay.

They all turn and walk out. Tom casts me a dark look over his shoulder as he departs. My exhalation in the empty room is like a wheeze. Imagine being bossed around by Tom Valeska. I think he’s the only man I’d trust to do it right with me.

I’ve got to stop having these thoughts.

“Well, I don’t know how, but I’ve fucked up somehow,” I say to Patty. I’ve never seen Tom so deeply annoyed with me. I spoon out some breakfast into her bowl and find Diana sitting on the windowsill in the old laundry room. “We screwed up your house, didn’t we, lady?”

Diana won’t turn to look at me as she stares out the cracked window, her fur fluffed up and her tail wrapped around her toes. I didn’t even make sure she had somewhere to sleep last night. Just because she doesn’t need me, or like me, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep trying. I pick up her stiff, unwilling body and carry her under my arm down to my new bedroom. I leave her with a bowl of her favorite fish brains and an apology.

I wonder if Truly would like a cat.

Besides Diana, the main thing I need to sort out is my passport. I packed the entire house with my own two hands, but it still didn’t turn up. It makes no sense. I checked every pocket, every bag, every shoebox. It’s becoming a very real possibility that Jamie took it with him. I’ve texted him twice about it. Zero replies.

I make my coffee in my #1 Asshole mug, just to establish myself, and with Patty at my heels I go in search of the guys. They are all in the drive, unloading piles of gear. “Are you going to introduce me to everyone?” I sip my coffee and try to look nonchalant.

Tom is dragging ladders out of the back of a truck. “Yes, when we get this stuff out and the others turn up.” He’s got a schedule planned out in his head.

“Here, I’ll take something.”

He regards my outstretched hand with faint disbelief on his brow. “You’re the client.” Then he turns his back on me, and hoists two ladders on one forearm, and picks up a toolbox with the other. I can’t even begin to wonder how much all that weighs.

“Out of the way, please,” he says and walks down the side of the house. Patty has way more experience than me, standing at the side of the path. This time she’s absolutely judging me.

“Excuse us,” the bald guy says, because I’m in their way, too. The old one just eyeballs me, and my mug. Then he thinks to himself, That’s about right, and sniffs. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this useless. Have I committed myself to several months of being in everyone’s way?

“You could take this,” the young guy says, and I am absurdly grateful to be treated like a human being. He gives me a heavy plastic case. Dignity somewhat restored, I follow them down the side of the house. Patty brings up the rear.

I say to the young guy, “Where are you staying?”

“The motel over on Fairfax. I’m Alex, by the way,” he says as we round the corner. Tom looks at my coffee, the Chihuahua at my heels, and the case in my hand.

“I just said, she’s the client,” Tom reprimands Alex in a patient adult voice.

“I’m the worker,” I argue back. “Listen up. I’m part of this team now.” I level a stare at Tom, but he won’t look back. How is my mere presence altering his usual deep calm? Am I embarrassing him or something? I remember he said he can’t focus with me here. I guess he was telling the truth.

“Let’s start again everyone. I’m Darcy Barrett. What’s your name?”

The old guy clears his throat. “Colin.”

“Ben,” the bald guy says hastily, like this is school roll call. Bald Ben, I can remember that.

I point at the kid. “I’ve met Alex. And I know who this grumpy asshole is. His name’s on your shirts. Where do you want Patty?”

“I’ll put her in your bedroom,” Tom says shortly. Grumpy doesn’t suit him. “More guys will start arriving. Are those boots steel-caps?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Tom’s phone, revived and plugged into my powerpack, begins to ring. Judging from the despair in his eyes he’s off to a bad start this morning.

“Hey. Eyes to yourself,” Tom warns Alex before answering his phone. Alex looks like a smacked puppy. As he talks on the phone about a delivery time, Tom crosses to me and fussily tucks the strap of my bra under my tank. I feel it everywhere. It’s the first deliberate physical contact he’s made with me since that cringeworthy moment he touched my neck and I made a sound like a mountain lion. It’s amazing how the mortification just never seems to fade.