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Her green eyes blink wide, and her cheeks flush. She looks down at her tank top and leggings before looking up at me again, her blonde ponytail bouncing.
“I live here.” My jaw is tight, and I’m not interested in her hair or her body or her bright green eyes.
“Yes, but I thought you’d left for the day.”
“I need to pick up my tool kit.”
Her face lights, and I can tell she’s about to say something I won’t like.
“Perfect timing! Give me just a minute to shower, and I’ll ride with you to Miss Gina’s.”
“I’m not staying that long.”
“Good, because I don’t need that long!” she sings out, dashing up the stairs. “We’ve been moving all morning, so I just need to get the sticky off me. I’ll be right back.”
Shifting my weight causes me to wince, and thankfully she doesn’t notice. I tear my eyes off her round ass bouncing as she jogs up the stairs. I swallow a groan, wishing I didn’t have to follow her to get what I need.
“What is this music?” I gingerly take the stairs, doing my best not to give any indication my back is aching.
The last thing I need is her to offer free massage therapy again. As Miss Gina’s new nurse slash assistant, we’re basically co-workers, and I do my best to avoid being around when they’redoing things like yoga or water aerobics. Rachel has more curves than I want to think about.
“It’s RuPaul!” she calls out before slamming the bathroom door. “Drag queen music is the best! It’s about surviving and being strong and optimistic.”
“Does it have to be so loud?” I shout from across the hall as I pick up my canvas tool bag.
“She’s always loud,” Edward grumbles.
“She’s come to the right place.”
Today he’s wearing a threadbare They Might Be Giants T-shirt, and I notice he’s quietly humming to himself.
“I like your shirt.”
He looks down. “Their songs are like little stories. Like ‘Particle Man,’ critics try to make it about science versus religion, but John Linnell said it’s strictly about the characters in a literal sense.”
My eyebrows rise. “And John Linnell is?”
“The songwriter.”
“I guess he’d know.” My brow furrows when I notice an unusual, smoky-herbal scent. “Is something burning?”
“Sage. Rachel says it clears negative energy and promotes healing.”
“Sounds like bull sh–pitto me.”
“Schpit.” He repeats the word frowning. “I’m not familiar with that word.”
I do a quick sweep of his size and weight. He’s skinny, but he’s as tall as Rachel, and I understand why his grandmother would be concerned if he has started to have episodes or fight, although to be honest, he doesn’t seem like the fighting type.
“I misspoke. I think burning sage is bull spit.”
Hesitating, I lift a framed photograph off the dresser and my jaw tightens. Talk about bullshit.
It’s a man whose face I haven’t seen in a long time. Not since I was a boy, and my parents decided to open a restaurant on thebay. A man who caused a lot of pain and disappointment for my parents, and someone I never want to see again.
“Why do you have this picture?” I can’t keep the anger out of my tone.
Edward takes a step away from me. “That’s Papa.”
