Taking Tiffany (5 page)

Tiffany

I GROANED BEFORE my eyes opened. The alarm made the most obnoxious buzzing sound, penetrating the fog of sleep. I wanted the fog back. I needed the fog back. My hand felt like a hundred pounds as I slammed it down on the clock, missing the snooze button.

I’d slept for only two hours, fifteen minutes. Today would not be fun.
Coffee, coffee,
repeated in my head. I could do this.

It was a bit chilly for the middle of February, the forecast a high of thirty-eight, but it wouldn’t slow the progress for the Habitat Homes project Jain and I were working on. The house, for an ALS patient, was almost complete, a yearlong charitable venture born from love.

Love
. Oh my goodness, Jain’s baby! I sat up straight and rubbed my eyes.

I’d almost forgotten about her with the annoying alarm still ringing in my head. A beautiful girl, six pounds, ten ounces. Colin and I waited through the night to make sure mother and child were doing okay. When we entered her hospital room, Colin teared up—which set off Jain, which in turn started my waterworks. We were hugging and crying when Braydon came in with one of the nurses. He smiled and shook his head. We were a trio, the three of us. We may not have the same blood running
through our veins, but we were still family
.
A close one.

Knowing mother and child were safely taken care of, my other job needed my attention. While Jain recovered in the hospital, I needed to pick up the slack and make sure everyone stayed
on task. The cute little home in the Rainier District would stay on schedule. I’d make sure of it.

 Jain usually took care of the administrative role, and I was in charge of the fun stuff—like painting and landscaping.

I threw on some clothes, left my warm and cozy cottage, and dragged myself to the kitchen in the main house. Dad sat on his usual stool at the end of the long center island, reading his newspaper. Lucky for me, he’d already made coffee.

“Can you pass me the coffee, Dad?” Thankful to be upright, I grabbed my favorite mug from the cupboard. I wouldn’t last long without my fix. I did not do well with sleep deprivation.

“You look …”

“Awful? Horrible?” I thought I’d help him along a little. I poured the coffee in my mug.

“No! You always look lovely. You just look a little tired. Are you okay? You feeling all right?”

My dad acted like a mother hen at times. He always checked to make sure I ate right and took care of myself. Both my parents were the picture of health. Dad, with his salt and pepper hair and fit body, was still handsome by anyone’s standards. Mom was as beautiful as ever. They were both in their fifties, but looked thirty-five. I hoped I’d inherited their good genes.

 When I eventually moved out, he’d probably take it pretty hard. I’d need to make sure he started a new hobby—one that didn’t include hovering over me.

“Nothing a couple gallons of coffee won’t fix.” I raised my cup and plopped down on the stool in front of the long, granite-topped island. My mom remodeled the entire kitchen last year in the farmhouse style, with whitewashed cabinets and an apron sink. It was cozy and understated. I loved it.

“Are you working at the house today?” Dad asked.

He knew my usual Sunday plans. Wake up, go to church, and work at the ALS/Habitat Home until dinner.

“Yep. I have double-duty because Jain had her baby. A girl. Yay!” The warm, happy feeling from last night came back with a big whoosh. After work today, I’d be right back at the hospital.

“Give her my congratulations, will you? I’m headed out. I have a date with a fishing pole.”

My mouth dropped open. “What? Who? Where?” My dad never fished in his entire life. This was a good thing, his new hobby. Now I wouldn’t have to find him one.

“Braydon Decker’s dad, Brian,” he answered.

“You two sure hit it off at Jain and Braydon’s wedding.”

“He’s a great guy. Anyway, he invited us out for a day of fishing with his girlfriend, Jennifer.” His next words almost toppled me off my stool. “Your mom is going also.”

“Mom. You mean
my
mom?” I don’t think I’d witnessed my mom out in public without a pair of high heels in my entire life.

He laughed and rubbed my head.
Oh, dad. I’m not five
.

With my sternest tone, I said, “Dad, I’m not—”

“Five. I know, but you’re still my baby. You can’t get out of that.”

Yeah. Totally a daddy’s girl. No denying it. But I loved him. He was the greatest dad any girl could ever want.

I grabbed a bagel and my coffee to-go and headed out the door. “See you for dinner. Don’t fall off the boat!”

“Don’t fall in a can of paint!”

“Deal.” I stopped. “I’m glad to see you and Mom doing something fun. You two work too hard.”

His expression softened. “Thanks. We know things won’t stay the same forever.” Oh no, he looked like he was about to tear up. “So, your mom and I decided to pick up a few hobbies. I picked fishing. She’s chosen shopping.” He laughed softly. “We’re still negotiating.”

“I’m glad, Dad.” The truth hung in the air, unspoken. We all knew I’d be moving out soon. But it didn’t make it any easier.

“I’ll see you tonight, honey. It’s great what you’re doing for that family.”

He meant the Anderson family. The father lost everything after his health started to fail from the effects of ALS. We couldn’t give his health back, not yet, but we could give him and his family a lovely place to live. Along with hope and the knowledge the community supported and cared about them.

I loved working on this project.

“Thanks, Dad. You’ve spent the better part of your life doing the same and are a great example for me.” I went around the kitchen island and gave him a big hug. “Enough of this. I need to get going.” I smiled and grabbed my purse off the counter. Resigned to a long, uneventful day without Jain, I headed out to the worksite.

Todd

LOVE.

I FELT IT. Savannah. The emotion, smooth and rich, coursed through my veins. She lay next to me, her hand over my heart. It skipped a beat as I looked into her beautiful, green eyes. She smiled her dimpled grin and said, “I’ll love you forever.”

Groaning, I tossed the covers back and rolled over. I sat forward and ran shaky fingers through my sweaty hair. I asked God, or the Universe, anyone or anything, to make the dreams stop. They were going to kill me.
But they weren’t just dreams, were they?
They were stronger and more painful than any dream I’d ever had. 

It had been four long years, and the dreams still haunted me. I remained frozen, a prisoner to emotions I couldn’t shake. In my deep sleep, I felt the love we shared almost like it was yesterday. Had she moved on? Was she married? I’d guess she’d moved back to the south and lived the life she was born into. One where I hadn’t belonged.

I enjoyed my four years at The University of Washington, but never more than I did on that particular day
.

“Oh, aren’t you a gentleman!” she said in the sweetest southern drawl I’d ever heard. God, she was beautiful. Tiny, blonde, and drenched—she stood under my favorite tree on campus, getting pelted by the rain. I’d run over in an attempt to shield her with my umbrella. It was too late, but, nevertheless, she looked up at me as if I were her savior. She took my breath away. Flawless skin, perfect nose, full, pink bow-shaped lips, and a dimple in her right cheek.

I jumped up from the bed in attempt to snap out of it. It was bad when the recollections started to encroach on my waking hours. I thought they were locked up. Was it because I’d kissed Tiffany last night? Maybe. I’d enjoyed that kiss. A lot.

I hadn’t wanted to think about a possible relationship until now. Something had unfurled within me, and I was powerless to stop it.
A year
. I’d held myself back for an entire year. Damn. All that effort to stay away from Tiffany; all that work undone in a few minutes’ time. That kiss undid me. I’d known instinctively it would happen if I touched her.
Why was I so stupid?

I knew the reason. It’d been the hurt look on Tiffany’s face. I couldn’t stand it. When I’d heard Fletcher’s poisonous words, I wanted to punch him. He couldn’t handle rejection, and Tiffany got caught in his line of fire. My hands formed into fists thinking about it. My choice had been to either knock Fletcher out or kiss Tiffany. I’d made the right decision, but a part of me felt like there was unfinished business.

       Tiffany could handle it, though. She always reminded me of the picture of strength and positivity. I smiled remembering the ALS research gala the month before when she put herself between two large, angry drunk men. Both were itching for a fight with their red faces, loud voices and tightened fists. Everyone in the crowd stayed frozen, waiting for the inevitable violence to begin.  I watched from the opposite end of the room as she left her table and placed herself between them, speaking animatedly while she poked her index finger on the chest of the first infuriated man, turned and did the same to the second. As if they received a dressing down by their mother, they peered down to the floor and shook their heads while she continued to speak, using both words and hands to convey her message. When they skulked off in opposite directions, she flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and returned to her seat as if it were an everyday event. She was brave, determined and resilient—and also funny and happy. Which made the sadness in her eyes last night unbearable.

And I was pretty certain I was falling in love with her.
Or maybe I already had
. That’s why the dreams and memories of Savannah were hitting me with a vengeance. It was my subconscious warning me.
You fool! You’ve been in love before and what did it give you? Pain and misery. Shut it down! Lock it up!

Could I? Now that I’d had a taste—her sweetness, her warmth—would I be able to resist?  I grabbed a towel and headed to the shower. Hopefully, cold water would bring me to my senses.

Two hours after a freezing shower, my skin still cold from the icy temperature, I realized I was no better. I turned the heat to full blast in my car and tried to warm up on the journey across town to visit Braydon and his new family in the hospital.

After a few minutes of conversation, Jain asked me to fill her shift at Habitat Home.

“Tiffany will be there.” She smiled innocently at me.

Heart racing I replied with a nonchalant, “Oh?”
Good one
.

Sitting next to Jain’s hospital bed, I held their new baby girl in my arms. Braydon hovered close by, making sure I didn’t drop her.

“Braydon, my sister has two kids. I’ve got this.”

He smiled a little and with hesitation moved back a few inches.

Jain continued, “You’d be helping me, Todd. Really.”

“I thought you agreed to stop your matchmaking last night?” I touched their daughter’s cheek. A real beauty—all soft and chubby, just like a baby should be.

Jain’s eyes twinkled and she chuckled. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me. Really, though, Tiffany is going to need help today now that I’m indisposed.” She grinned and looked at her daughter in my arms. “If I know Tiffany, she’ll work day and night to stay on schedule. She won’t want to let the Anderson family down. She counted on my help.” Her eyebrows arched, waiting for my reply.

“Okay.” I was a goner.

“Okay? My favorite word! Braydon, did you hear that? Todd said ‘Okay’.”

Braydon laughed and shook his head. “You’re a goner, you know that?”

Oh, I knew.

***

ANOTHER HOUR AND I was parked on the street in front of the Habitat Home. Tiffany was out front, directing the workers. She hadn’t spotted me yet as I sat frozen in my car. She wore yoga pants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, her hair up in a high ponytail. The sight of her made me catch my breath. I’d only seen her at the charity functions—dressed to the nines. But now, looking so natural, she looked…spectacular.

Tiffany went back into the house. Time to make my move. She needed my help; that was obvious. But would she take it from me? She’d looked plenty angry with me last night. Maybe I could make it up to her.

I approached the front door just as a delivery man walked out. I stepped into the front hallway and looked around. It appeared they still had a lot to do. The shell was in place—roof, walls, windows, and such. But the floor wasn’t done, and the walls needed painting. I walked farther in and saw Tiffany wrestling with one of the many cans of paint.

“Need help with that?”

Her body stiffened. Not a good sign. She removed the lid, dipped her paintbrush, and turned toward me.

With narrowed eyes, she examined me. “Nope. I got it.”

“Jain sent me. I’m here in her place.”

Tiffany’s lips pursed together. I was sure there were some choice swear words being held back.

“She did, did she?” Her expression morphed into a full-on scowl.

“Yeah. I can do…whatever you need.” Looking down at the paint can, I said, “I love to paint.” I told the truth. The great memories as a child helping my mom resurfaced. I reached down for one of the brushes in the tray that held a pale green paint. I liked the color; it was calming.

But Tiffany’s eyes were anything but calm. I’d say a storm brewed there. She looked angry. No, she looked
pissed
. She reached over to take the paintbrush out of my hand, but I pulled back, splattering paint onto her shirt and face.

Shit.

I should have been repentant and apologized. But she looked comical with green paint splattered across her scowl. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think that’s funny?” she asked. A hurricane brewed in her eyes. With a calculated, slow movement, she took her brush, the one dripping with paint, and, starting at my forehead and working down, proceeded to slide it down my body. I stood still as she did her damage. I guess I deserved that.

 The house was empty. It was close to twelve, and the volunteers had all left for lunch. Time to have some fun.

A little paint fight wouldn’t hurt. The room was void of anything that could be damaged. A little retribution was in order. I leaned down and dipped my paintbrush back into the tray. Tiffany saw what I planned to do and took a step backwards. Wrong move. Her foot got caught in one of the trays, and she went flying, flinging paint everywhere as she slid down on her backside. I tried to step forward to prevent her fall, but my reaction wasn’t quick enough. I made the same mistake and slipped in one of the full paint trays, landing next to her with a thud, spilling more on my way down. We were both covered.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, looking up and down, praying she wasn’t.

She flopped on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “No. I’m not hurt. Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at soccer practice? Why did you come?” Her expression seemed more confused than angry. “I thought I was a…”, she air quoted, “…mistake”.

I moved closer. “I ditched practice. I want to help.” Then I added, “Nothing about you is a mistake.”

I gently tried to remove some of the green paint I’d splattered across her face and mouth. But I only made it worse by smearing it. My finger slid over the silky substance that coated her lips. Her breath hitched, and I felt it to my core.

“Here, that’s not working.” I leaned down and let my tongue skate across her lips and into her mouth. Kissing her overtook all my senses, so much so, I didn’t even taste the paint. 

She groaned in frustration, grabbed my shirt with both hands and pulled me to her. Ah, that was more like it. Our lips met in a frenzy of green paint and panting breaths.

A voice boomed across the empty room. “What the hell is going on here?”

Tiffany stopped stone-cold beside me. She whispered into my lips, “Oops. I guess you get to meet my dad.”

Hell no
. I worried Gerald Thompson would hate me because of my meager upbringing and tainted history, but he didn’t even need that excuse now. I was on the floor in the middle of a worksite, passionately and irresponsibly kissing his daughter. With green paint…everywhere.

I got up and turned to face the firing squad.