"Harry?" I murmured as we were waking up the next morning.
"Mmmm," he replied, his face buried deep in the pillow.
"Sorry, I thought you were awake," I whispered.
He rolled over and yawned. "I'm getting there," he said and flashed me his irresistible smile. He leaned over and kissed me, then flung his arm over me in a sloppy fashion.
I reached my arm under his and around his back, pulling him close to me. "Why haven't you ever taken me to your house?"
"It's messy," he grumbled. His eyes were closed again, but I could see that he was fighting for consciousness.
I laughed at his answer. "I don't care if it's messy. I just want to see where you live. That seems like a big part of you that I'm missing out on."
"Believe me," he said with a low, rumbling laugh. "You're not missing out. It's not just messy. It's kind of a...disaster."
"It can't be that bad," I argued. "I can help you tidy up."
When we arrived at Harry's house in Rosedale Park later in the morning, I was proven completely wrong. It could be that bad, and it was. No, it was worse than bad.
From the outside, the 1940's Cape Cod looked like it could use a little TLC, but it wasn't terrible. The yard was still full of leaves that hadn't been raked and bagged and the driveway was cracked and uneven, but that was pretty typical for Michigan. The house itself looked like it had a fairly recent paint job, white with navy blue shutters. So I wasn't expecting the complete disaster that awaited us inside.
Harry led me in the side door by the driveway, which opened to a small landing. The landing was part of the stairway to the basement, so we could either go down or go up; we went up the three stairs into the kitchen. I couldn't even see the countertop or the sink at first due to the piles of dishes that hid them. The floor was dirty and the windows were grimy. The stove was piled high with pots and pans, the burners full of scorched food, and the wall behind the stove - what I could see of it over the - was covered in splatters and grease.
"Wow," I said, trying to downplay my first impressions. "It's messy, but all it really needs is a good cleaning."
"You're too kind," he laughed under his breath.
We moved into the dining room where there was a nice oak table surrounded by four ornate oak chairs. More dishes had accumulated in the small space that looked like it was actually used for eating. The rest of the table held boxes of craft supplies, unopened sets of dishes and small appliances, and bags of who knows what. The rest of the furniture was covered in dust and the area rug needed a good vacuuming.
I held my tongue as we walked into the living room. There was one recliner with evidence that it had been recently used, left in the reclined position with a mass of blankets spread over it. An alarm clock and some prescription bottles sat on the end table next to it. The couch had boxes or bags of items stacked on it, mostly new things like towels, drapes, rugs, and a hodgepodge of smaller items. A smaller loveseat held a towering pile of laundry. More boxes marked with a variety of items were stacked in front of the front door, completely blocking the entrance. Things like Cathryn: High School Memories or Cathryn: Childhood Keepsakes, etc. were written on the boxes. It didn't make sense to me as to why those things would be sitting here in the main part of the house.
The part of the living room that I really liked was the floor to ceiling bookshelf on one wall, which was crammed full of books. In front of it, there were piles and piles of more books, waiting to be rescued from dust and disuse.
"It's bad, huh?" Harry asked, slipping his arms around my waist from behind.
"Yeah," I said in a hoarse whisper. "I mean it's not really dirty; there's just a lot of stuff. What is all of this?" I asked, motioning towards the piles of boxes and bags.
"Cathryn was a shopper," he said, huffing out a small laugh. "She had so many dreams for this house and she shopped almost any chance she could get. The problem was that we were both busy with grad school that most things never made it out of their boxes. Obviously."
"Do you sleep out here?" I asked, nodding towards the recliner.
"Yeah," he said quietly, almost reverently. "I just can't sleep in our room without her."
His words felt like a punch hitting my chest. It was hard to reconcile the fact that he still mourned for Cathryn, yet he claimed to love me. I tried not to show my confusion; I simply nodded in understanding. I told him I would support him with everything he was going through, but it just felt awkward to know his heart was still divided. And I had no idea at what point it would stop feeling like that. Of course he would always remember her and he would always carry some sadness in his heart for her, but it didn't seem like he was fully functioning without her just yet, regardless of his confessions of love for me.
I decided I would simply offer practical help for the moment and not worry about how to handle his lingering grief just yet. "So, where do we start?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" He eyed me suspiciously.
"I mean that I'm going to help you clean up," I told him.
"No, you don't have to do that. That's not why I brought you over here."
"I know - you brought me because I asked you to," I said. "Here's what I think - I first met you when you were having trouble even caring for yourself; I can't imagine it was easy for you to care for your house, too." I was stating the obvious for his benefit. "But now it's just overwhelming for you, isn't it?"
He shrugged and tilted his head in a sideways nod, looking somewhat upset.
"Let me help you," I said gently, holding his hands and looking up into his saddened eyes.
Still holding my hands, he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, coaxing me to open my mouth to him after only a few moments. Our steamy kiss lasted long enough, but he pulled away suddenly, looking at me with what appeared to be shock.
"What?" I asked, wondering what was going through his mind.
He shook his head and smiled. "Nothing. Let's get started, shall we?"
"Okay, let's start in the kitchen," I said, leading the way. Looking more closely, it was a surprisingly cute room with white cabinets, antique metal handles and red trim around the countertops. It looked to be the same design from around the time the house was built, probably in the 40's, but it definitely contained more modern elements, like the stainless steel refrigerator and stove, and the red small appliances like the Kitchenaid mixer and the coffee maker.
I opened the doors to the under-sink cabinet and I saw nothing but rags, a kitchen plunger and a can of dusting spray. "Dish soap?" I asked, looking back at Harry.
"Ah, part of the reason I haven't done dishes in a while," he said with a closed-mouth smile. He bent down and took a look for himself. Reaching to the far back of the cupboard, he pulled out a bottle of Dawn that had maybe a teaspoon of liquid left.
"Okay...." I said. "Why don't we figure out what else you need and we can make a run to the store?"
We went over the cleaning tasks to be done and discovered we would need dish soap, Windex, laundry detergent, Lysol, some sponges and some trash bags. "Why don't you run to the store and I'll stay here and get started on the dishes. This should be enough for a few sinks full anyway."
"You sure?" He asked.
"Of course, I don't mind at all."
He kissed my cheek and headed out. I pulled my phone out of my purse and turned on Spotify. Listening to music was always the best way to do household chores, in my opinion. Once the music flowed into the quaint kitchen, I pulled the dishes out of the sink so I could find the drain plug. Running the water until it was as hot as I could tolerate it, I plugged the sink and poured in the last little bit of dish soap. I searched a few drawers before I found a faded washcloth. I used it to wipe down a small area of the countertop where I planned to wedge the dish drainer. Then I set out to wash as much as I could without the benefit of a scrubbing sponge - those dishes would have to wait until Harry got back.
I had only been working for about 20 minutes when I could have sworn I heard Harry coming back into the house. I glanced towards the stairway next to the kitchen, where we had originally entered, but I saw nothing. I was sure I had heard the stairs creaking, but I shook my head and went back to washing. After another 10 minutes or so, I stopped suddenly, almost positive that Harry was standing right behind me. How he could have gotten in without me noticing was beyond me. I turned around and found nothing. No one. Not a trace of Harry.
Trying not to be spooked, I calmly dialed Harry's cell number. "Hey," I said cheerfully when he answered. "How's it going?"
"Miss me already?" He laughed.
"Kind of," I answered.
"I'm actually on my street. I'll be pulling into the drive in about thirty seconds."
I laughed and hung up the phone, waiting eagerly for him to drive in. When he came into the house carrying cleaning supplies, in addition to a pizza and a bottle of Coke, I was flooded with relief. I wasn't sure what to make of my eerie senses while he was gone, but I eventually chalked them up to the fact that I was unfamiliar with Harry's house. Each house has it's creaks and settling noises and I hadn't been there long enough to know what was what.
* * * * *
Thanks for your patience. There's only one chapter update tonight, but I'll be working on more soon. And thanks for 11K reads! <3
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