Viktor was no longer fretting about my hands. He was now huffing and puffing over a contestant’s failure to guess the number one answer to the question ‘What do people do before going to bed?’. The contestant might have heard the question wrong. She hesitated and then blurted, “Roller skate!”
“That’s wrong!” shouted my uncle and shook his head with disgust.
I smiled. My mother had always called him Uncle Viktor and the title annoyed him. When I was five he said to me, “I don’t call you Niece Gracie. I call you Gracie. You call me Viktor.” At the time I remembered thinking that he was the only logical adult I knew.
With the pill doses neatly organized and Viktor occupied with his game show, I examined the bandages on my hands. The blisters weren’t awful and had been treated with antibacterial cream. I peeled the bandages off and the irritated skin was hardly noticeable. Yet for a musician there was no excuse for failing to safeguard one’s hands. Without hands there was no music. In elementary school I used to sit out recess in the school library at my mother’s insistence.
“You’ll hurt your hands, Gracie. And don’t you dare talk back.”
She taught orchestra at the high school and had always been bitter that no matter how many years she trained, her talent never matched her mother’s. Or mine.
“Frank’s coming over,” Viktor said with his eyes still on the television. “He’s bringing his checkerboard. Claims I owe him a tournament.”
I nodded. “That’s good.” Frank was one of Viktor’s closest friends. He’d sat beside me at the hospital while we waited for Viktor to get out of surgery.
“He’ll probably hang around all evening.”
“Okay. I bought one of those frozen chicken casseroles for dinner. There’s more than enough for the three of us.”
A commercial for floor cleaner interrupted the show and Viktor muted the volume. His features had always resembled that of a large bird. The weight loss from his health issues had hollowed out his cheeks and made his long nose even more prominent. He regarded me with solemn dark eyes.
“I just wanted to let you know that he’ll be sticking around in case you want to go out tonight.”
“Oh. Well, I think I’ll stay in for once.” A joke. I stayed in every Saturday night.
Viktor did not press the issue. I knew he was troubled that I never dated or befriended anyone my own age. Or any other age. I worked or I hid in the small two bedroom house that had been my refuge when no place else would take me in. After I’d put them through hell, my parents had refused to allow me back into their home. When Viktor invited me to live with him I was seventeen, a high school dropout, and horribly cynical after trying to keep up with a wild, depraved existence that was always out of my league.
More than three years had passed but those months spent chasing sex, drugs and petty crimes had sapped something vital from my reservoir. Sometimes I couldn’t imagine that I would live to see my hair turn grey. Once, soon after I moved in with Viktor, I said this to him but he dismissed the idea. He said young people can’t imagine they’ll ever grow old and that was because the passing of years was such a slow moving condition. He didn’t understand that I meant I felt old already.
The high pitched chime of the doorbell startled me out of my gloomy thoughts.
Viktor made a move to rise from the couch but I hopped off the bar stool before he stood.
“Stay,” I warned.
He sat back. “It’s just Frank.”
I shuffled over to the door and flung it open without checking the peephole.
Then I gaped in shock.
“Gracie.” Thomas turned on a wickedly sexy smile as he stood there with a bouquet of yellow flowers in one hand and the string of a helium Get Well Soon balloon loosely grasped in the other.
“What?” I said.
“Hi,” Thomas answered.
“What?” I repeated as my brain tried to catch up with reality.
He must be lost. He must have been wandering the neighborhood in search of the girl he wanted to give those flowers to and accidentally found me.
“I’m sorry to stop by unannounced,” Thomas said, the model of politeness, calmly unconcerned by my frozen state of disbelief.
“Who’s that?” called Viktor from the couch. “It doesn’t sound like Frank.”
I stared at Thomas. He’d lost his polo shirt, coach’s whistle and baseball cap. He wore a short sleeve white buttoned shirt that showed off his considerable arm muscles and his dark blonde hair was neatly combed. His jeans appeared to be brand new. I didn’t have a history of being drawn to the clean cut, conventionally good looking types but Thomas was quite something. I could never admit that I’d replayed our meeting over and over again in my mind and managed to be a lot more witty and interesting in my imagination than I was in real life. I had not said a word about him to Viktor. My uncle was more perceptive than most. He might have guessed that five minutes in the presence of Coach Thomas had left me with some serious infatuation hardships.
I found my voice. “It’s Thomas.”
“Hey, Viktor. It’s Thomas Gentry.” His eyes remained locked on mine.
Viktor was both pleased and surprised. “Thomas!”
I could hear him trying to escape the sofa and so I shook off the hypnotic spell, stepping back from the doorway. Thomas did not hesitate to walk right in.
My uncle greeted our unexpected guest with enthusiasm while I hung back, quietly shutting the door and watching from the foyer. Thomas offered Viktor a warm handshake and placed his gifts on the table, tying the balloon string around the base of the flower bouquet before taking a seat in the overstuffed armchair. He’d obtained Viktor’s address from none other than Dalton Tremaine, the owner of Dream Fields. Dalton had been friendly with Viktor for years, ever since Dalton was a high school sports star playing in venues where Viktor tended the grounds. Dalton called the house every few days to check up on Viktor’s recovery and had sent the largest basket of fruit ever assembled.
“I was sorry to hear about your surgery,” Thomas said, checking out the medical supplies clustered on the end table. And he did indeed sound sorry. Most people said things like that out of courtesy but Thomas was sincere.
Wait, what was wrong with me?
I didn’t even know this guy. And here I was, marveling at his sincerity. I should know better. I’d come a long way from the wide-eyed girl who’d fall for a sexy grin. I huffed out a breath over my own stupidity.
But my sigh had drawn stares. Thomas’s head swiveled to locate me hovering in the entryway. Viktor lifted an eyebrow, perhaps wondering why I seemed annoyed.
Viktor gestured to me. “Thomas, let me introduce you to my niece, Gracie.”
I forced myself to take a few steps forward into the living room. “Actually, Thomas and I have already met.”
“Is that right?”
“Yup.” Thomas had made himself comfortable in the armchair. “The other day at Dream Fields. Did you get your trouble sorted out?”
Viktor frowned. “What trouble?”
“Nothing.” I narrowed my eyes at Thomas. “Gus was just in a bad mood.”
“Ah, that sounds like Gus,” Viktor sighed. “You didn’t mention he was giving you a problem. I’ll give him a call and talk to him.”