#HotAndHandy (Keeney Builds #1)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

M ost of her night was spent on the bathroom floor. Nausea hit in the wee hours of the morning, and the bed was too far from the toilet, so she grabbed an afghan and pillow, and lay curled in the fetal position on the cool tile, staring at the baseboards Vincent installed. Her heart was a shriveled-up barren wasteland, and her stomach was a twisted knot of discomfort. In her despair, Hilary felt destroyed, defeated, defiled, and defective. After the nausea and diarrhea passed, the words dehydrated and desiccated came to mind.

Around mid-morning, she felt able to leave the bedroom. Huddled in the afghan, she grabbed her dead phone and dragged herself to the kitchen to paw through her briefcase, only to discover that she’d left her charging cord at work. Lovely. Never mind. Wallowing was the only thing on her agenda for the day.

Putting the kettle on to boil, she searched the cupboards for herbal tea, something without caffeine that she could keep down. Food was the last thing on her mind. She didn’t know what made her ill but suspected the stuffed mushroom cap appetizers served at the gala. She hadn’t eaten much else .

The gorgeous, sophisticated nude heels she’d strutted around in less than twenty-four hours ago sat by the door. They and the others should be boxed up, as well as the dress, and returned to Vincent. She touched the bracelet on her wrist. She couldn’t take it off because the clasp was tricky, and she didn’t want to damage it. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Sunlight through the window mocked her as the water boiled. How could it be such a beautiful day when she felt so awful? Glancing to the side, she saw her Prius in the driveway, an empty space, and then Vincent’s truck. That space between them seemed so significant today. Was it her imagination? Because it seemed to be getting wider.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. In tight jeans and a white T-shirt, Vincent exited his house and strode across the yard to the garage, not bothering to glance her way. A minute later, he reappeared with the lawn mower and went about his usual day, totally unaffected by the events of the night. She should have known. Why would he want her anyway?

She unplugged the kettle. Wrapping herself in the afghan, she shuffled to the living room, and faceplanted into the couch.

A knocking at the door penetrated her fog. Wincing against the sunlight, Hilary brushed hair out of her eyes and waited for the interloper to go away. The knocking persisted. With a sigh, she heaved herself up off the couch and walked to the door, still wrapped in the afghan.

The stupid French doors meant Fiona freaking Han could see her. Gah!

Hilary didn’t trust herself to speak. She opened the door, eyebrow raised in question.

“Hi… Doesn’t Iris McLeod live here?” A frown marred Fiona’s perfect features. She’d gone casual on the sunny af ternoon; crisp, sleeveless white blouse tucked into cropped, red trousers and red espadrilles. Pearls around her neck, and her hair in a French twist completed the look.

Hilary didn’t have the energy to care about her own appearance. “Iris lives downstairs. I’m her tenant.”

“Oh.” Fiona colored. “I didn’t know.” She flashed a tiny smile at Hilary, and turned to the stairs.

“She’s not home right now. She goes to the church on Saturday afternoons to teach cooking classes.” Hilary glanced at the clock on the stove and back at Fiona. “She should be home in half an hour or so.”

“Thanks. I’ll go wait in the car.”

While there was no sign of him, Vincent’s truck was still in the driveway. He’d punched out Fiona’s husband last evening, it was doubtful that an encounter would go well.

“Would you like to come inside and wait?” She wasn’t sure who she was protecting, but the words were out of her mouth, and she couldn’t take them back.

Fiona shifted from one foot to another. “If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

A soft fragrance drifted in her wake as she entered. Hilary hoped Fiona couldn’t smell the aftereffects of a night of nausea on her. Fiona stopped next to the fireplace, her gaze moving around the room before settling on Hilary. “Were you ill?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Hilary shuddered. “Something didn’t agree with me. Maybe the mushrooms.” She shuffled into the kitchen and plugged the kettle in again. “Do you have a charging cord with you? I left mine at work, and my phone is dead.”

Fiona scrunched her face up in apology. “No, I don’t. Sorry.”

Hilary heaved a sigh. “That’s okay.” She focused on the electric kettle, willing the water to boil faster in the awkward silence. Without the energy to make polite conversation and seeing a piece of dried-up something on the afghan, she said, “ I’m going to have a quick shower. Would you please make the tea?”

Fiona nodded, and Hilary disappeared down the hallway to the bedroom.

Thirty minutes later, she was back, dressed in loose linen trousers and a loose linen shirt, both white with thin gray stripes. Getting dressed pretty much sapped what little strength she had, so she hadn’t bothered with makeup, and her damp hair curled around her face.

Fiona looked up from where she sat on the couch and placed her phone in her purse. She smiled wanly. “I owe you an apology. It was definitely the mushrooms that made you ill. So far, thirty people who attended the gala last night have contracted food poisoning.”

With a sympathetic grimace, Hilary said, “That’s not good.” She moved into the kitchen, where Fiona had set out two bright blue ceramic mugs that matched the teapot on the counter. She poured herself some tea. It was an orange/ginger herbal tea. Perfect for a dicey stomach. Holding up the pot in silent inquiry, she poured another cup at Fiona’s nod.

“I have no idea how to fix this. You invite people to give you money, and in return, you make them sick. This is a nightmare.” Fiona raised both hands and massaged her temples.

A tiny hint of satisfaction bloomed inside Hilary at Fiona’s obvious distress. It lasted only a moment before her usual desire to help others rose to the surface. “You put together care packages with tea, Imodium, etc. Include a handwritten apology and a coupon worth two hours of free labor from a Keeney Works student for the project of their choice. You deliver the packages yourself today.” It was always easier to fix other people’s problems.

Fiona’s mouth hung open. “You’re brilliant,” she whispered .

Hilary handed a mug to Fiona and rested a hip against the counter. She shrugged. “When crap happens, you acknowledge it, apologize, and make amends. Blaming others for a bad situation never does any good.” Running away, though, that had merit. She flicked a glance out the window then back at Fiona. She’d start looking for another place as soon as Fiona left. As far away from Keeney as possible. Maybe Drumheller, where she could hang out with dinosaur bones.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but the board of Keeney Works wants you and your team to present to them at their next meeting. They’re very interested in the program you’ve designed.”

Hilary continued to sip her tea in silence, too worn out to care.

Fiona cleared her throat. “This is a lovely apartment you have. It doesn’t look at all like it did when Iris lived here. I mean, it’s not that Iris didn’t have a lovely house. It’s just that this looks so different. The kitchen cabinets look custom-made.”

“They are custom-made. Vincent designed and built them to Iris’s specifications.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Fiona dropped her gaze to the countertop.

Hilary moved to stand on the other side of the peninsula from Fiona. “You don’t know much about your mother-in-law, do you?”

Fiona shook her head. “I was led to believe I was not welcome in her home.”

“Eddie?” Derision dripped from Hilary’s question. “I’m sorry, I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt and that every person has some redeeming quality, but I seriously doubt that pertains to Eddie McLeod.”

Straightening her back, Fiona placed her cup on the counter with a clatter and opened her mouth like she was about to defend her husband. Nothing came out. Her shoulders slumped, her mouth closed, and she fiddled with her bracelet.

Taking this in, Hilary watched Fiona stroke the green jade. “I was married to a man I thought had my back and would stick with me through thick and thin. Then I got breast cancer. He was kind and supportive through the chemo, the hair loss, and the mastectomies. We didn’t sleep together when I was going through the treatments and after the surgeries. We would go to bed together, he would hold me, and then after I fell asleep, he’d move to the other bedroom. When I was healed, he returned to spending the night with me. I wanted to have sex, but he’d just hold me, saying that if we waited a bit longer, it would be more comfortable for me. I agreed, thinking he was the most generous man in the world.” She sighed.

“When we found out I couldn’t have implants, he wanted me to wear bras with fake boobs. He got some for me. Did you know you can order them on Amazon? Bras with built-in boobs and fake nipples. I couldn’t do it. We argued.” Hilary sipped her tea, continuing to stare at Fiona’s hands. “Apparently, a wife with fake boobs was preferable to a wife with no boobs. He stopped touching me. He moved out of the bedroom. And then I found out he’d moved on to another woman. Young, blonde, busty. All the things I wasn’t anymore.” Hilary looked up at Fiona, and bitterness filled her smile. “She was also fertile, another thing I lost to cancer. The last I heard, they were expecting baby number two.”

Hilary pushed past Fiona and sat at the table, wrapping her hands around her mug. She gestured at another chair in silent invitation.

Fiona brought her mug with her but did not drink from it.

Hilary propped her head in her hand. “I have no idea why I told you that.”

“Have you told your story to anyone else? ”

Her gaze drawn out the French door to the tiny house, Hilary answered, “Yes, but I left out a few details.”

Fiona placed her hands flat on the table, either side of the mug, and fixed her gaze on it as if memorizing the pattern of the flowers etched into the ceramic. “Eddie is the only man I’ve ever had sex with. Six months ago, I was diagnosed with an STD. When I confronted him, he accused me of having an affair. He went on and on, twisting things around until I almost confessed to it. While I spoke briefly with Vincent last night, I realized how much and how often my husband has lied to me.”

At the sound of Vincent’s name, Hilary’s heart leaped, and then did a deep dive. She buried the feeling and concentrated on the conversation. “If things were falling apart, why go to Vegas with him?”

“I didn’t. Eddie told me he was going to a trade show. I flew down there when the hospital called me.” Glancing up at Hilary, she said sadly, “I think he had someone with him.”

Silence descended for a few moments, then Hilary pointed her chin at Fiona’s hands. “You’re not wearing your rings.”

Fiona lifted her hands as if noticing them for the first time. “My parents did not want me to divorce Eddie. They said it would be shameful. After last night…I now have their permission.” She met Hilary’s gaze, cocking her head to the side. “The evening wasn’t a total loss.”

A door closed in the distance. Both women turned to see Vincent exit his home, look up at the apartment, then walk to the driveway, head down, hands fisted loosely at his sides.

“You’re not speaking to each other, I take it?” Fiona asked.

Hilary bit her lip and switched her gaze from Vincent to the blue sky mocking her misery. “I didn’t come to the door when he knocked, and he may have called or texted, but my phone died, and I don’t have my charging cord. ”

Fiona switched her gaze to Hilary. “Does he know you were ill?”

She shivered. The nausea may have passed, but she felt like she would never be warm again. Hilary shook her head, still looking out the door.

The garage door opened, announcing Iris’s arrival.

Fiona rose from the table. “Thank you for the tea.” When Hilary didn’t move, she said, “I’ll let myself out.” She pushed her chair in, picked up her mug, and took it to the sink. She paused at the door and looked back at Hilary, still seated, still cradling her mug of tea, head bowed. “I saw you two walk into the gala last night, holding hands. He looked at you like you set the sun in the sky. Don’t make him wait too long. Even the good ones screw up.” She slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

T he grass was cut. Weeds were pulled, and the flower beds were watered. Now, Vincent stood at the back of his truck, organizing the tools in his already organized toolbox. How else was he supposed to keep tabs on Hilary? Both her car and her bike were there, but she wasn’t answering the phone. Peering through the windows was too stalkerish so he settled for lurking in the driveway.

A late model Audi was parked behind Hilary’s Prius, which he hadn’t seen arrive. He had no clue who it belonged to, but whoever it was, they’d been with Hilary for a good half hour. Iris returned from church, threading her Subaru between the other vehicles, and inching her way into the garage. At a snail’s pace, she exited her car, and gathered her purse and cloth grocery bag. She emerged with her eyes screwed up against the brightness of the sun, and acknowledged him with a brief wave.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she murmured as he relieved her of the bag and shortened his stride to walk beside her. “Has she…?” She patted him on the arm at the shake of his head, then dug into her purse for her keys. “Give her time,” she murmured.

They looked up at the sound of light footsteps on the stairs. Iris gasped, then gathered herself and said, “Hello, Fiona.”

Vincent took the keys from Iris, opened the door to her place, and put the grocery bag on the counter. He emptied it, putting the perishables into the fridge, killing time, giving the women privacy. When the crying started, he rushed outside. Locked in an embrace, the two women sobbed on each other’s shoulders. Iris’s handbag gaped open on the ground, Fiona’s clutch leaning against it in sympathy. He heaved a sigh. The inaugural meeting of the “Eddie McLeod Destroyed My Life” club was now underway. He headed to his house, with I’m sorry, and it’s not your fault, echoing in his ears. He settled on the couch, keyed up his cellphone to his audio library, picked up his crocheting, and tried to get lost in an audiobook.

When a knock came, he bolted to open the door, then sagged in disappointment.

“Hi,” Fiona said.

“Hey,” He wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation and had no idea what to say to this woman. He glanced up at Hilary’s apartment. There were no signs of life.

“This is probably none of my business, but I thought you should know,” Fiona tilted her head back to look directly at him, “Hilary was sick with food poisoning during the night.”

“Oh, shit.” He went rigid, then shifted to move past Fiona, intent on getting to Hilary.

She reached out a staying hand, hurrying her words. “She’s better now. But her cellphone died, and she doesn’t have a charging cord, so if you texted or called her last night, there’s a reason she didn’t respond. ”

He stared down at her, then switched his gaze toward the house. Sunshine bounced off the windows, not allowing him to see inside. He swallowed and looked back at Fiona. “I should…”

“Yeah,” she said, mouth turned down in sympathy. “She’s still hurting.”

“Wait here a moment,” he said and disappeared. Returning, he reached behind and pulled the door shut as he stepped outside. “Are you and Iris okay?” he asked the tiny woman beside him as they walked to the driveway.

“We will be. I’m going with her to the police station to see Eddie.”

“Are you going to bail him out?” he asked, thinking they should throw away the key.

Fiona pulled her keys out of her purse and stood beside her car. “I don’t know yet. Neither one of us is sure that he deserves it.”

Iris appeared, looking fatigued yet determined. He opened the passenger door and waited for her to get in and buckle her seatbelt before leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. When the car was gone, he climbed the stairs to Hilary’s apartment two at a time, lifted his hand to knock, but hesitated. Would she answer? He’d been such an ass he wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see him again. The thought curdled his stomach. She’d left Olympia after the last person hurt her. Was anything stopping her from doing so now?

He knocked loudly, pulled a small package out of his pocket, and left it by the door. Retracing his steps, he climbed into his truck and drove off.