Color of Loneliness (13 page)

Sighing loudly, he shakes his head and runs the water, flipping on the disposal. “What’s the last thing you put in here?”

“Um, let me think. I cleaned out my refrigerator because I had too many leftovers. I always make too much food. It’s hard cooking for only one. It’s so much easier cooking for two, I…”

His eyes narrow as he interrupts her. “Answer the question.”

“Oh, well, as I was trying to say, I put a lot of stuff in there. Let’s see, I put some homemade mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, spaghetti…”

“You can’t put all of that down a disposal. Especially spaghetti. Don’t put any type of pasta in there. Use your damn trash can every once in a while.”

Squatting down, he looks under the sink. “This is an old model, not much horse power. More than likely, you’ve clogged it and it’s gonna need to be replaced.” He does some additional checking and determines that his assessment is correct.

He grabs his tool bucket, glad to be done and ready to make a fast exit. “I’ll write up an estimate and get back with you tomorrow,” he says before making his way as fast as he can towards the front door.

“I’ll be cooking tonight, and I know I’ll make too much. Can you stay for dinner?” she asks from behind him.

“No, definitely not,” he answers rudely as he grabs the doorknob and practically runs to his truck.

“Oh, well, maybe another time. We should get to know each other.”

Dylan slams the truck into reverse extra hard as he backs out of the driveway. Lighting a cigarette, he lets it hang loosely from his lips as he makes his way back home.

* * *

While Susie takes a shower, Myra’s lips turn up gently as she picks up the photos that Jim gave her. Glancing through the top few and remembering the stories he told her about them brings tears to her eyes. Wiping at her face with her sleeve, she carefully gathers the photos together and places them in a container. Opening the bottom of the china cabinet, she sets the container down with care. She’ll work on that project soon and put those memories safely in an album. Both her family’s memories and Jim’s.

* * *

Dylan’s fist shoots out and pounds hard into the bag. Over and over again. Jab, uppercut, straight punch, hook punch. Left, right. Back and forth. Sweat streams down his naked chest through the light spattering of hair coming to rest in the waistband of his black nylon shorts. The muscles in his back and arms flex and contract with the effort. His matted wet hair sticks to his forehead, and his face flushes from the exertion.

He can’t keep his thoughts in check. He usually has good control of them because he works hard on that shit to keep his mind disciplined. But he finds himself slipping. All because of what happened at Myra’s house. Images of
his
face keep popping up more frequently causing him to want to beat the hell out of something.

He needs to figure out a way to make this shit stop.

Out of breath and exhausted, he grabs the large black punching bag and leans on it, panting. After a few minutes, he steps away and hits it one last time as hard as he can. “Damn it,” he mutters. Stripping off his black gloves, he throws them on the floor. Leaning down, he picks up a towel and wipes the sweat off of his face, chest and arms and pushes his damp hair out of his eyes. After rubbing the towel over his back, he reaches his hand up and rubs his painful neck muscles. He grimaces slightly when he stretches out his lower back.

After a quick shower, he grabs his phone and hits number one on his speed dial.

“Hello,
mi querido
.”

“Elaina,” he says. “Are you available?”

“Sure am. Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on over.”

* * *

Dressed in black from head to toe, Myra stands in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom, staring at her reflection. She feels a strong sense of déjà vu having just gone through this with Grampie. She does not want to go to this funeral today. Her stomach churns as she swallows hard.

“Are you ready to do this?” Susie asks softly from behind her.

She nods, knowing full well in her heart that she isn’t ready at all.

CHAPTER 8

GRAY, GRIEF

Myra shifts in her seat, tugging on her skirt. She quickly wipes her sweaty hands on the tissues she clutches as she sits on the front row of the church between Jackie and Susie. As soon as she and Susie stepped into the quaint little building for the funeral service, Jackie pounced on them and insisted that they sit next to her. Not wanting to cause a scene, they obliged, even though they’re not immediate family and felt they should not
be sitting in the front row.

An elderly woman makes her way slowly to the podium and begins singing
Amazing Grace
in a sweet, soft soprano. Myra keeps her eyes on her hands in her lap. She tries to swallow around the lump in her throat, but when she hears a sob escaping Jackie, her lip quivers before a matching sob rips from her chest and tears begin streaming down her face.

Myra buries her face in her hands as Susie wraps her arm tight around her, hugging her close.

The small service goes by relatively quickly, but Myra doesn’t hear much of it. And before long, she stands at the cemetery, shivering in the cold, holding Susie’s and Jackie’s hands. The minister’s voice seems far away as she focuses on the red roses that adorn the gold casket in front of her. But when her gaze strays just a short distance to the tombstones of her own family, a strangled sob escapes her lips.

* * *

“Lay down,
mi querido
,” Elaina says with a twinkle in her eyes as she smirks at Dylan. A small, crooked grin forms on his lips in eager anticipation.

Without speaking, he lies down and a groan inadvertently slips from his lips as her warm hands move under his shirt and touch his skin.

“Fuck, yeah,” he says from his slightly parted mouth as his eyes roll back in his head.

“Does that feel good?” she murmurs. He can smell her rose-scented perfume.

“Jesus, yes.”

“You’re so stiff,” Elaina says as her hands press against him.

He moans in agreement, his eyes closed in ecstasy.

“I’ll have you relaxed in no time at all,” she says.
Oh yes
, Dylan thinks to himself. Elaina definitely knows how to make him feel good.

Dylan groans, low and muffled. He can’t believe how incredible her hands are.

“Let go and just relax,” she says, encouraging him.

Her elbow digs into the center of his back. “Holy fucking Christ,” he rasps under his breath.

“Are you ready?” Elaina asks.

He grunts in response.

“Here we go,” she says as she presses into his back again, until a loud pop echoes through the room.

Dylan moans again.

“Your neck and spine are a disaster. You have knots everywhere.” She presses her hands into his skin, running her fingers along the tense areas. “What in the world have you been doing? I just saw you last week.”

“My neck is fucking killing me,” he mumbles as he opens his eyes for a second and stares at the ugly beige tiled floor beneath him through the hole in the chiropractic table.

“Lots of people hold tension and stress in their back and neck, and you,
mi querido,
happen to be one of those people. Plus with your injury and line of work, it just exacerbates the problem. I’m going to add some heat right here, okay?” she says as she lightly touches the back of his neck.

Dylan takes in a deep breath and lets his body relax when he feels the heat against his neck.

“I’m going to work through each of your vertebrae and get that spine lined up correctly. Have you had a stressful week?” Elaina asks.

“You could say that,” Dylan answers darkly.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Elaina continues working silently. The only noises in the room are his contented grunts and groans and the occasional sounds of his popping joints.

He has no desire to share with anyone the mind fuckery that’s been going on in his head the last few days. But he figures it wouldn’t hurt to tell her what happened since she’s a nice old lady and shit
.

Dylan clears his throat. “Well, I kinda had a bad week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I was working on this woman’s house and found her neighbor dead outside in her driveway.”

Elaina gasps and mutters something in Spanish. “Oh my goodness. Was it Jim Townsend?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“No, but I saw his obituary in the newspaper. The funeral was today, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t know,” he growls.

“You didn’t go?”

He bristles. “I don’t do funerals.”

Elaina clears her throat. “Well, the stress you’ve had this week explains the condition of your poor neck.”

She removes the heating pad and gently pats Dylan on his flannel-covered back. “All right,
mi querido.
You should be in good shape now. You can sit up.” She makes her way over to her desk, her pantyhose making loud swishing sounds as her legs rub together.

Dylan slowly pushes himself off of his stomach into a sitting position on the cushioned table. He arches his back, stretching it, rubbing his hand over his neck. His back and neck feel amazing, at least for now.

“I have some new exercises I want you to add. Let me grab the instructions,” she says as she puts on the reading glasses hanging around her neck. Opening her desk drawer, she pulls out a file folder and writes some notes in the margin before she hands the paper to him. “Do those daily and I want to start seeing you three times a week. Remember, you can alternate between heat and ice for your neck pain as well as on your lower back and take Ibuprofen as needed.”

Dylan nods as he folds the paper up and tucks it into the pocket of his shirt. He stands up and grabs his coat from the coat rack.

Elaina pulls out her appointment book and pencils Dylan’s name in for three sessions. Grabbing one of her business cards, she writes the dates and times on it and hands it to him. He glances down at the card for just a second before he shoves it in his pocket.

She walks back around to stand in front of her desk and leans her short, plump body against it as she pushes a strand of escaped hair back up into the tight bun on her head. “You call me any time you’re in pain, okay?”

He nods and heads out the front door.

* * *

“How ya doing, hon? It sure was a long day, wasn’t it?” Susie asks as she yawns and stretches her pajama-clad body on Myra’s bed. She turns on her side and leans on her elbow, resting her head in her hand.

“Yeah. I’m glad it’s over.”

“You got through it with flying colors. I’m so proud of you.”

Myra nods and stifles a yawn.

“It was great getting to meet everyone at the funeral. It’s nice to put a face with a name. I just loved Porter. You said he was your dad’s partner?” Susie asks.

“Yeah. He’s a great guy. After dad died, he really stepped up and tried to watch out for me.”

“His wife seemed awesome too.”

“She is,” Myra agrees, smiling.

“But you steer clear of that Derek Marshall fucker, do you understand? That guy is so nasty and putrid I swear he gave me chills up my spinal cord. I did not like the way he looked at you. He was practically panting. And his wife? Oh my God. Scary.”

“I know. There’s something wrong with Derek, always has been. He’s disgusting,” Myra says, cringing at the memory of his inappropriate looks at her at the funeral of all places.

“Just stay as far away from that sicko as you can.”

“Trust me I will.”

Myra looks down at her lap and plays with the drawstring on her pajamas. She looks up at Susie. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave. I won’t have anybody.”

“You’ll still have me. I’ll be available any second of the day. I’ll even embarrass the hell outta myself and wear a stupid Bluetooth in my ear all day long just for you.” She reaches over and squeezes Myra’s hand. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

“I miss Trent,” Myra says as she continues staring down at her lap.

Susie sighs. “I know, honey. But Trent is a monstrous ass, and he’s not worth missing. Remember what that dick did to you.”

“I know. I know he was a jerk, but we did have some good times. I did love him, I think. I’m so lonely,” she whispers. “I need someone.”

“If anyone deserves love, it’s you, honey. It’s out there somewhere I just don’t know where the hell it’s at. If I could find your future love man, I’d drag him here for ya.”

Myra nods as she wipes away a tear. “Is Trent happy?”

Susie sighs again. “I don’t know. They’re definitely having problems, but that bitch seems to have her talons stuck in him deep. You wouldn’t believe how much more of a royal pain in the ass she’s been around the office since she became pregnant. God, I hate that whore. I’d love to run her over with that giant copy machine at the office and then fling her skinny body out the window.”