“I didn’t mean—” I started, my tone conciliatory.
Deke didn’t feel like being consoled.
“We done here?” he asked.
“You haven’t answered about the coffee.”
“Thanks,” he clipped, not sounding grateful at all. “I’m good.”
He then turned on his work boot and tramped out of the arched entryway, shifted left and I lost sight of him.
As I seemed to do a lot around Deke, I stood in the door where I noticed belatedly the chill from outside was no more chilly than the chill inside and I stared at the place I last saw him.
Okay, so I’d sorted my brain about Deke yesterday, which was good.
Today, it was barely dawn (right, so actually it was past dawn but it seemed barely dawn to me), and I’d already created a situation where I needed to sort different things out with Deke.
“Shit,” I muttered as I closed the door.
I moved through the house to get to the garage to start coffee, wondering if I should have turned on the furnace that now had nice, shiny thermostats in three places.
Since I had no insulation, and even rich as sin, I didn’t feel like warming the Colorado night around my house along with warming my house, I hadn’t.
I’d be glad for insulation.
Which meant I needed to be glad I had Deke because I’d be screwed if I didn’t.
Which meant I had to sort things out with Deke.
Shit.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, hair wet and hanging down, wearing a dress made of pretty much nothing but cream lace (over a cream shift, of course) that had short sleeves and a shorter hem (this hitting me at mid-thigh) as well as a pair of sky-blue wellies with ladybugs on them, I made my approach to Deke. I was carrying a mug of hot coffee in one hand, a carton of milk in the other, a bag of sugar held against my chest with my arm.
He heard me coming, turned, gave me a once-over, and his usually expressionless face formed an expression.
Irritability.
I’d earned that, being a bitch, so I ignored it.
“Hey,” I called as I got close.
He did not return my greeting.
I finished getting close, which was to say stopping four feet from him, doing this a little surprised that the large rectangular fire pit that would eventually be the focal point in the middle of the deck was already constructed to three feet up, rising from the moist earth.
He worked fast.
And it looked good.
I turned my gaze to him.
“I brought you coffee,” I shared unnecessarily.
He didn’t even glance at my hands.
He also didn’t say anything.
“Okay, dude,” I started quietly. “Just to say, I’m not a morning person.”
“Got that,” he grunted.
“Doesn’t give me a right to be a shrew,” I went on. “I’m sorry about that.”
He shifted but only to cross his arms on his chest.
This brought my attention to his chest which was not a healthy place for it to be if I didn’t want to blurt out I’d met him years ago, that meeting meant something to me, doing this just moments before I jumped his bones (something I didn’t want to do, because I did but he didn’t), so I looked to his face and that wasn’t much better.
I persevered.
“I’ll set an alarm from now on.”
“Don’t tax yourself.”
Now, wait.
I’d apologized. I’d brought coffee. I’d been a bitch but I’d explained and now I was being cool.
He needed to meet me halfway.
So I didn’t give up.
“Or I can give you a key and you can just,” I swung out the mug, “get on with things.”
“Whatever way you want it. You’re the boss,” he returned.
Deke was stubborn.
Damn.
I kept trying.
“I’d like you to be comfortable here.”
“Comfortable enough when I’m workin’,” he replied.
Which meant he’d be good if I just left him alone.
He wanted it that way, fine. I’d been uncool, apologized for that, he wasn’t going to let it go, that wasn’t my problem.
He was there to work. He was not there to become my best friend.
“Right,” I murmured, turned, saw the stack of wood tarped and bound with thick wires that was sitting up against the side of the house, and I moved there. I put the mug on top, the milk, the sugar, and turned back to him. “There’s a spoon in the sugar, you need it. I’ll come out and get the stuff later. I won’t bother you when I do.”
“Obliged,” he muttered and turned back to his stone.
I didn’t linger.
I got out of there.
An hour later, I went back and the pit was up five feet.
It was going to be awesome.
I grabbed the milk, the sugar and the (I was weirdly pleased to see) empty mug and took it back to the house.
* * * * *
I listened to my brother’s ugly voicemail message again and waited for the beep.
Then I sat at the edge of the seat of my Adirondack chair, leaned over, staring at the toes of my wellies, and left my message.
“You’ll be glad to know, but I hope you know how sad I am to say it, that this is the last message you’ll get from me. I really want you to do the right thing, Mav. I’m still holding out hope you’ll figure out what that is and do it. And I hope that you’ve got it in you to realize that if Dad was still here, how this would cut him. Straight down to the bone, baby brother. He’d die another death, a more painful one this time, knowing his boy was acting this way to the two women in his life that he loved the most. Please, please, please, Maverick, the only person you’re hurting is you. I hate that for you. Dad would have hated it for you. So don’t do it.”