The Doctor's Devotion. Cheryl Wyatt
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would learn that in time. He refused to infringe on the sacred, and she and Lem had shared losses that immortalized them from ever letting the importance of one another go.
She was just insecure right now, was all. Hopefully.
The lower cabinet creaked as she opened it. Haphazardly stacked pans toppled out onto her toes. Mitch hunkered next to her to help restack the storage space.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“Sure.” He lifted heavy pans as she held the cranky-hinged cabinet door. “I’ve been meaning to fix that. Time gets away from me.”
“I know the feeling,” she said softly, surprising him. Vulnerable eyes flitted to his then to where Lem cackled at the TV. Then her gaze lowered to the floor.
She needed to know Mitch wasn’t a threat. He had no intention of stealing her grandfather away from her. He also had no intention of pulling back on the reins of his and Lem’s familylike relationship just because it rubbed her wrong.
The solution was to share Lem. The problem was on her end. She needed to come to the realization of how irrational her ire was. Even still, compassion tried to take up residence next to Mitch’s resolve not to let her anger influence his actions.
Disarmingly quiet, she hung the damp dish towel on a rack affixed to the wall then joined Lem. Mitch found a screwdriver. He grew intent on working the creaks and kinks out of the cabinet. And from this uncomfortably tense and trying situation.
Mitch would be here long after Lauren left. Lem needed stability in his life. Lauren had made it perfectly clear she didn’t intend to stay past summer’s end. That reality made Mitch sad for Lem, who desperately wanted Lauren close. Had she any idea how deeply Lem ached for her and her nearness?
Hopefully Lauren didn’t have the kind of self-absorption that his ex possessed which led her to decimate important relationships in her life.
He shouldn’t liken Lauren to Sheila. But the recent breakup still smarted. Perhaps he should withhold judgment and extend grace, as Lem taught him growing up.
Lauren reentered the kitchen with a funny expression. “Trash runs tomorrow. He asked us to clean out his fridge.”
On the way to it, Mitch caught sight of Lem, sniggering over his coffee cup as he eyed the pair. “I’m sure he did.” Mitch shook his head.
Lauren reached in and started checking dates on goods while Mitch peeled the lids of leftover dishes and looked with fear.
Lauren set about helping him. Only, she popped the tops off, poked her nose inside and smelled the contents.
“You are brave.” He indicated the containers. “No telling how long some of that stuff has been in there.”
“Ew!” Lauren’s nose pinched as she clamped a lid back on a bowl. “I don’t think those beets were supposed to be pickled.”
Mitch laughed and tried not to enjoy her response too much.
She shook her head and surveyed the fridge contents. “I’ve never seen anyone with so many butter containers in one place.”
“He likes using them for storage. Not just food. He has an entire garage wall lined with shelves of butter tubs. Full of batteries, bolts, nuts, nails and everything imaginable.”
Her lovely smile dimmed, making him wish he’d kept quiet. Last thing he wanted to do was cause her to have to contend with more hurt. He was just trying to make conversation.
All these containers and no way to butter her up? Think, Mitch.
“Wanna help me wash?” Mitch lifted a dozen empty tubs.
“Of course.” She also took an armload to the sink and they began doing the dishes. Again. This time the silence between them leaned toward sweet instead of stilted.
What gave him the nerve, Mitch didn’t know, but he rested his elbow against hers as they worked together. Just as in surgery. Like a team. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist.
Joy rose when she squeezed the detergent bottle and giggled. He loved the sound and intended to ensure Lem heard it more. Lem worried himself sick over Lauren.
Not only that, laughter seemed to deter her from the frank jealousy she possessed over his friendship with her grandpa.
Lauren stilled then stiffened. He peered at what she did.
Photos on the fridge. As many of Mitch with Lem fishing and doing other recreational activities as there were of her and Lem.
She narrowed her gaze, turned fiercely on Mitch.
“Yeah, we like to have fun,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”
“There lies the problem. You don’t see.” She swept her hand toward the fridge surface as though tempted to sweep the photos away, but stopped and eyed Lem. Her hand dropped with defeated finality. “Fishing was our thing. Always. Just me and Grandpa.”
“This isn’t a competition, Lauren.” Mitch touched her arm gently.
She jerked it away—not so gently. “He isn’t your grandpa.”
He was, though. Sort of. Not by blood maybe, but by tears and time invested and years of talks of dreams and fears. “How about next time we go fishing, you go with us?” Mitch offered.
“How about next time we go fishing, you stay home?”
Stunned by the amount of scorch in her words, Mitch formulated his own retort but scaled back the rudeness. “Lem’s life will go on as normal. Period.”
She’d have to learn to live with it. Lem had reached out like a dad to Mitch growing up, and he wasn’t about to abandon Lem over mismanaged emotions and envy. Hopefully soon she’d see how irrational, abrasive and self-destructive her jealousy was.
Otherwise she was in for a miserable summer. So was he.
And so was Lem. Which is why Mitch needed to cool his jets and try. Attempt to reason with her instead of letting his sympathy wane every time she opened her mouth. Problem was, every third time she opened her mouth, acid spewed out.
He leaned in and softened his tone. “Look, if we don’t nip this tension between us now, Lem will get wind of it and worry.”
That seemed to snap her to her senses. Thankfully the anger didn’t make an ugly encore, and envy managed not to rear its head. Mitch doubled his efforts to listen more than he spoke. It worked. Slowly they began less caustic verbal exchanges, sparring at first then funny and sincere.
It was obvious they were both putting their best foot forward. For Lem’s sake, of course.
They had a second set of dishes done in no time flat, yet Mitch could have stood there talking easily with her all day.
Talking turned to laughing, which turned into total hilarity when Mitch kept pushing the plastic bowls down only to have them pop up again. She giggled every time it happened. He did, too. The shared humor drastically disintegrated the tension.
“Help me hold them down?” Mitch entreated after another bowl bobbed up and flung an airborne glob of soap in his eye.
“Think physics. You have to turn them sideways and fill them at an angle. See? The water and the air stop resisting one another and meet halfway.” As she showed him, their hands touched. Their motions startled then slowed at the pleasant but wholesome sensation. Not only that, her carefully exacted comment about meeting halfway held unmistakable emphasis.
He met her gaze. “Meeting halfway sounds better than fighting constantly.”
The depth of beauty and bravery in her smile plunged all rational thought into disarray. He had not expected it.
Seemed to him they took their time near the end of the butter bowl baptizing marathon.
Afterward Lauren