I can’t argue. I’ve seen plenty of gorgeous views on summer vacations and spring break trips, but this ranks up there with the best of them because it’s unexpected. It’s nearly dark now, but it only adds to the appeal of the shadowy water. I imagine in the bright sunlight it would be postcard worthy.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Lindy says, gesturing to the door opposite the window. “I put in fresh towels, and there’s a small fridge next to the closet with water and a few snacks. I cook three meals a day. Nothing fancy, so if you need anything in between, or anything else, you’re on your own.”
“Sounds great,” I say, giving her a small smile. “Although I’m not really hungry when I travel, so I’m good for tonight.”
I haven’t eaten since breakfast save for the pretzels on the short plane flight, but my appetite has definitely deserted me for the moment. It probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve somehow gotten myself into the mother of all disasters.
“For meals, do the caretakers usually eat with Paul?” I ask.
Lindy’s lips press together for a moment. “No. He takes most all of his meals in the study, some in his bedroom. You are of course welcome to eat with Mick and me at any time, although we tend to eat in the small house.”
She says it in that way people have of not really expecting you to take them up on the offer, and I admit I’m a little depressed by the fact that I’m apparently expected to eat by myself. My family has always made a big deal about sharing meals, so the thought of four people living in one home and eating separately seems strange.
Then again, eating alone seems a lot less strange than sharing a meal with Paul. As if he’d even allow it, especially after the way I behaved. Although, oddly, I still don’t regret my over-the-top rudeness. It was worth it for the sheer surprise on his face. And something tells me that surprise is the only thing I’ll have going for me if I want to have any chance of keeping the upper hand.
Lindy heads toward the door. “There’s a phone in the kitchen and at the end of the hall, and both have a number listed for the small house. I usually head over there shortly after I get Paul his dinner, so if you need anything…”
“I’ll be fine.”
She studies me for a moment, and I’m pretty sure she wants to call my bluff.
Instead, the door closes behind her, and I stand for several moments staring at bobbing sailboats, wishing I could be on one of them sailing to anywhere that’s not here.
It’s a testament to just how cushy my life has been up until the past couple of months that I’ve truly never given much thought to being unhappy. I mean, I never really thought about being happy either. I guess you could say I’ve floated, but in a harmless, life-is-good kind of way.
And now?
Now I can’t bear the thought of returning to my life with all of its glossy ease, and yet staying in Maine is almost as unfathomable. Not just because it’s foreign, and not just because Paul is a complete asswad who may or may not turn me on. But because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Tomorrow morning is right around the corner, and I’ll be expected to do the job that they’re paying me for: being a companion to a guy who can’t take care of himself. Except, beyond that limp and the sneer, he seems to be managing just fine. I can’t imagine he’ll want me to read the classics aloud to him while he dabbles in watercolors. I’ll be lucky if he even lets me in the same room.
The futility of it all threatens to choke me, and I go through the motions of unpacking the suitcase that Mick carried upstairs for me. With each bra I drop into the dresser drawer, I keep hoping it’ll help my brain accept that I’m staying.
Instead my mind is going down a more ridiculous path…wondering which bra Paul would most like to see. Wondering what it would feel like to have him take it off me. Wondering…