course.” She also took an armload to the sink and they began doing the dishes. Again. This time the silence between them leaned toward sweet instead of stilted.
What gave him the nerve, Mitch didn’t know, but he rested his elbow against hers as they worked together. Just as in surgery. Like a team. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist.
Joy rose when she squeezed the detergent bottle and giggled. He loved the sound and intended to ensure Lem heard it more. Lem worried himself sick over Lauren.
Not only that, laughter seemed to deter her from the frank jealousy she possessed over his friendship with her grandpa.
Lauren stilled then stiffened. He peered at what she did.
Photos on the fridge. As many of Mitch with Lem fishing and doing other recreational activities as there were of her and Lem.
She narrowed her gaze, turned fiercely on Mitch.
“Yeah, we like to have fun,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”
“There lies the problem. You don’t see.” She swept her hand toward the fridge surface as though tempted to sweep the photos away, but stopped and eyed Lem. Her hand dropped with defeated finality. “Fishing was our thing. Always. Just me and Grandpa.”
“This isn’t a competition, Lauren.” Mitch touched her arm gently.
She jerked it away—not so gently. “He isn’t your grandpa.”
He was, though. Sort of. Not by blood maybe, but by tears and time invested and years of talks of dreams and fears. “How about next time we go fishing, you go with us?” Mitch offered.
“How about next time we go fishing, you stay home?”
Stunned by the amount of scorch in her words, Mitch formulated his own retort but scaled back the rudeness. “Lem’s life will go on as normal. Period.”
She’d have to learn to live with it. Lem had reached out like a dad to Mitch growing up, and he wasn’t about to abandon Lem over mismanaged emotions and envy. Hopefully soon she’d see how irrational, abrasive and self-destructive her jealousy was.
Otherwise she was in for a miserable summer. So was he.
And so was Lem. Which is why Mitch needed to cool his jets and try. Attempt to reason with her instead of letting his sympathy wane every time she opened her mouth. Problem was, every third time she opened her mouth, acid spewed out.
He leaned in and softened his tone. “Look, if we don’t nip this tension between us now, Lem will get wind of it and worry.”
That seemed to snap her to her senses. Thankfully the anger didn’t make an ugly encore, and envy managed not to rear its head. Mitch doubled his efforts to listen more than he spoke. It worked. Slowly they began less caustic verbal exchanges, sparring at first then funny and sincere.
It was obvious they were both putting their best foot forward. For Lem’s sake, of course.
They had a second set of dishes done in no time flat, yet Mitch could have stood there talking easily with her all day.
Talking turned to laughing, which turned into total hilarity when Mitch kept pushing the plastic bowls down only to have them pop up again. She giggled every time it happened. He did, too. The shared humor drastically disintegrated the tension.
“Help me hold them down?” Mitch entreated after another bowl bobbed up and flung an airborne glob of soap in his eye.
“Think physics. You have to turn them sideways and fill them at an angle. See? The water and the air stop resisting one another and meet halfway.” As she showed him, their hands touched. Their motions startled then slowed at the pleasant but wholesome sensation. Not only that, her carefully exacted comment about meeting halfway held unmistakable emphasis.
He met her gaze. “Meeting halfway sounds better than fighting constantly.”
The depth of beauty and bravery in her smile plunged all rational thought into disarray. He had not expected it.
Seemed to him they took their time near the end of the butter bowl baptizing marathon.
Afterward Lauren washed the table. “Mitch, are you going to the trauma center today?”
“No. I’m going tomorrow after I come here and clear out Lem’s gutters. I’ve already rounded at the center today.”
“May I come with you tomorrow, to check on Mara?”
“The texting teen?” He hadn’t meant it to come out so abrupt. But seriously, what was Lauren’s draw? The girl killed someone with whatever string of words she’d felt too important to pull over for. Talk about a death sentence.
Mitch’s annoyance regained ground.
“Yes.” A wary expression accompanied Lauren’s answer. Perhaps his ire was a little overdosed. Yet hadn’t his dad’s life been snuffed out by an equally distracted driver?
Mitch scrubbed the opposite end of the table with fervor. “Suit yourself. But just to warn you, Mara’s still on a ventilator, unconscious. There’s also a possibility I’d get held up at the center because the other surgeon who’s been graciously covering for me is on call at Refuge Memorial, his primary hospital.”
Mitch really did not want Lauren getting attached to Mara. Nothing good could come of that. Right?
The stubborn set to her jaw resembled Lem’s when things—like tractors—didn’t go his way. “I’ll take my chances.”
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