And - this was a much more complicated fix - the broken section of her garage door had mended itself. For more than a year, the plywood facade of one panel had been steadily splitting, exposing the cheap foam insulation inside. It lent the property a certain trailer park aura that she could really do without. On the other hand, she had no spare money to spend on repairs that weren't strictly necessary.
It took her a day to even notice. But one afternoon, Willow smelled sawdust in her garage. But since she did not shut the old garage door that night, she did not spot the reason.
That night, however, she'd climbed out of bed at eleven o'clock because she heard the scrape and stumble of somebody moving around in the driveway. Tiptoeing to the kitchen window, she watched as someone (standing on one leg) eased the garage door down. Even in the dim light she could see a pale patch where new wood had replaced the old broken part. She heard the sound of faint whistling as a tall, curly-haired figure leaned down to dip a brush into a can of paint.
While Willow watched, he began to paint the new portion of the door.
"Who paints in the dark?" Willow whispered to herself. Nobody normal, that was for sure. But Dane was out there, curly hair poking out of the bottom of his knit cap, just like the first night she'd seen him.
How strange.
She'd spent the last few weeks trying not to think about Dane. But that had become nearly impossible since Callie's big revelation. Dane's life had just been turned on its ear, and she couldn't help wondering what that meant for him.
It's just the psychologist in me that wonders how he's doing, she'd told herself.
Yeah, right.
Staring at the moonlit figure painting her garage door, it was impossible to deny that her interest was more personal.
"I'm not boyfriend material" he'd said that first night, while they waited for the plow truck in his Jeep. Dane wasn't the first man to give a woman that sort of brush-off. But the words sounded different to her now that she knew what he'd been living through. Dane had probably believed that he would never have a partner. That any relationship he began could only end in heartbreak.
Willow's relationships had always ended in heartbreak, even without the help of a fatal disease. Then again, they'd each had the possibility of a happy ending. In contrast, Dane must had imagined himself living in a world where everyone else got a fair shot at a happy ending. But not him.
It made her shiver just to imagine it.
There was a sliver of a moon outside, just enough to reflect off the snow. Dane painted the door with slow strokes of the brush. She knew she ought to just go back to bed. But it was too tempting to admire the sturdy set of his shoulders as he moved. And to remember the way his hair had felt between her fingers.
Painting her garage in the dead of night was an odd thing to do. But it was almost fitting. Because every single interaction between them had been unpredictable.
Willow sighed. She really needed more boring men in her life. Dane was a bad investment by any measure. She knew this. So why was it so hard to look away? She'd been drawn to him like a moth to the flame, even on that first night. The tug she felt when she looked at him defied all reason. It didn't solve her problems, and it did neither one of them any good.
Even though Willow knew this was true, she kept watching.
After a time, Dane stepped back to admire his work. He took a flashlight out of his pocket and aimed it at the paint job. He touched up the paint in a few places, before finally shutting off the light.
She watched everything, until the job was done and he capped up the paint. She watched until he disappeared back into the apartment.
Willow padded back to her bed and got it. With a hand on her still-flat stomach, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But even then, she saw him on the backs of her eyelids. He was smiling at her. He was making espresso in her kitchen. He was passing her a beer in a darkened car.
Stop, Willow commanded herself. He and Coach would disappear at the end of April, when Coach's lease was up. It didn't matter that she wanted to know what he was thinking, or whether he would be able to move on and be happy.
She wasn't really a part of his life, even if she wanted to be.
At least if he moved several thousand miles away, she could stop thinking about him. And maybe stop feeling so crazy.
Twenty-five
"I need to grab the pricing sheet," the guy from the hardware store said into Dane's ear. "Can you hold for a moment?"
"Sure." Dane's voice was scratchy. He had barely spoken to anyone for days.
Some limp elevator music began playing in his ear. Dane looked out the window, where a patch of darkening sky was visible. Supposedly, they were about to get one more winter storm. That would put a damper on his Mr. Fix It plans.
He'd completed several projects already, and had already brainstormed new ones. An old house like Willow's always needed something. At this rate, he could keep his hands busy for a decade. Today's project? Order replacement glass for two small window panes that were visibly cracked.
He also hoped to figure out why Willow's truck engine made a knocking sound every time she started it up. But that was going to be trickier. Because whenever Willow's truck was home, so was Willow.
He didn't want to ask permission, either. Because he didn't want to explain why he did what he did. The truth was that everything he did for Willow was really something he did for himself, too. Since the night when Dr. Callie had brought him unexpected news, he'd had a lot of trouble figuring out how to feel about it. There were times when he caught himself feeling gusts of incredible relief.
Unfortunately, relief was always immediately followed by crushing guilt. Even at this moment, as he listened to an instrumental version of a Pearl Jam tune over the telephone, Dane felt himself standing only a few feet from the precipice of despair. When Finn died seven weeks ago, Dane had only felt numb. But now, thoughts of grief were his constant companions. It wasn't fair that he would live, when Finn and his mother had died.
He was the lucky one, but he'd never behaved as if that were true. How did a lucky person behave, anyway? Was he up to the task?
Dane was saved from answering this giant question by the reappearance of the hardware store guy on the phone.
"Okay," the man said. "You need two panes of glass."
"That's right. They're small, because it's an old divided-light window," he said.
"What are the dimensions?"
"Well, one of them measures ten inches by six," Dane said. "The other one … " he hesitated.
"Do you need to go and measure it?"
Dane chewed on the end of the pen he held in his hand. "The other one looks to be the same size. But it's on the second floor, so I can't be sure."
The hardware man coughed once. "You could, uh, go upstairs and measure it, right?"
"That's the thing, I don't have access to the house," he said.
"Maybe you should just order the one you've already measured," the guy suggested. His voice hinted at impatience. And Dane didn't blame him. Who ordered replacement panes for someone else's windows?
He did. Because fixing little things on Willow's house gave him a way to help her. And at the same time, it gave him something to do with his hands.
Dane gave the hardware store his credit card number and then hung up the phone.
Across the room, Coach stepped into his boots. Dane was grateful that the man hadn't made a single comment about Dane's strange new hobbies. "The storm that's coming could bring us twelve inches of snow. So I'm going for groceries." Coach grabbed his jacket.
"Could you … " He swallowed. "Would you see if Willow has everything she needs?"
Coach tilted his head, his expression soft. "I would do that," he said. "But she isn't home. Callie picked her up a couple of hours ago, they went off to some appointment at the hospital." He snatched his keys off the nail by the door. "I hope they make it back before the snow gets any feistier. See you in an hour." Then he went out the door.
Silence descended on the room, and Dane turned Coach's words over in his mind. Appointment at the hospital.
He stood up quickly, bile rising in his throat. Had Willow gone to have an … ?
Dane's heart banged against his ribcage. He should already made a proper apology. Christ. He should have told her that whatever she decided, it was okay.
He'd been such a shit.
Dane lifted his hands to his head while the room threatened to spin. He could still apologize. He would. But what if she'd already listened? What if she believed he thought she was … all those nasty things he'd said.
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
The sound of the wind grew increasingly loud, rattling the roof. Dane got up off the sofa. Pulling his crutches off the floor, he maneuvered over to the window. The snow had begun in earnest about an hour ago, and now Dane saw that the flakes had already covered the patches of grass that had shown through the recent thaw. The window revealed its slice of Willow's yard and the barn beyond. Dane waited, watching.