Drown #11: three little birds, part 2

February 2086. Stephanie Nova is 26, Justin Kim is 25. Sharon Coolidge is 32, Adam Thompson is 53. 

* briefly NSFW


"You look so handsome," Stephanie said, "I bet they’ll give you two jobs."


"Thanks," he said.

He didn't look sure, but she was sure that he could do anything he was tasked to do. He was the studious one, the overachiever, the one with the survival closet. They'd been through a war together. They'd been through a couple of bad marriages and some great children together. Now his hair was combed and his tie was straight and he was wearing real dress shoes. At some point the silly boy she used to crush on had become this incredible man who wanted to share his life with her, and she didn't know how she got so lucky.

"I don't know anything about history or preservation," he said.

He had an interview this afternoon with The Great Lakes Historical Preservation Society.

"You'll learn," she said. "There hasn't ever been a thing you couldn't learn when you needed to. Remember freshman trigonometry? You didn't know that, either, but by the end of the year you were top of the class. Come here." She patted the bed beside her. She took his shoulders into her hands and worked out the knots.


"You're too good to me, Steffie," he said. "I'm gonna take care of us. I'm going to make this work."

"I know you will," she said. "And when you get home, you can help me put together that couch."

He grinned. "I'm gonna make you the best self-assembly couch you ever had."


Kisses for luck, and they sent Justin off on his great quest for employment.


Stephanie was surprised that afternoon when she didn't want to run straight to bed and lie still. She actually felt okay for once, and she wanted to make the most of whatever short window of time she would feel alert and normal in this body. She decided to make a hearty stew for lunch from scratch, daydreaming about the garden she would plant once the last spring frosts had passed.

There was a knock at the door.

She answered it, smiling, then reprimanded herself for not worrying that it might be Jeremiah. For some reason, she never considered it. She'd become too comfortable here. But it wasn't Jeremiah. It was their neighbor, the inn keeper, Sharon.


"Hello, neighbor," Sharon said. "I wanted to say welcome, a few weeks late, I'm afraid. I've been swamped with the inn. Wow. Whatever you made in there smells so good. Probably even better than what I brought."

"Come in and have some," Stephanie said.


The girls dove straight into Sharon's plate of frosted cookies.

"I’m sorry, I just ruined their lunch, didn’t I?"

"Oh, it’s okay," Stephanie said. "We have cookies for lunch all the time."


Sharon apologized a few more times for not coming to greet them sooner, then she insisted that Stephanie tell her exactly what went into this wonderful stew. Stephanie asked how business was going at the inn, and she got an earful for an answer. Sharon confessed that she was rather new to the hospitality business herself. She'd been an English major in college and her aunt had wanted to retire from the day-in day-out business of lodging guests. It was more work than she'd expected.

"I'm in over my head, I worry," Sharon said. "As the air improves, people want to travel more and more and I'm just overwhelmed. I've just booked two luncheons next month, and I already have a wedding booked for June. All of my other help went home to their families during the war. I'd love to do something with the grounds—the bride asked if we had a nice fountain or patio outdoors—if only I knew how. It's all grown over and wild out there. But they're expecting air quality to improve over the summer. Did you hear that we might be able to sit outside for fifteen minutes by fall?"

"Really? Did they say that?"

"Do you know much about gardening?"

"Uh, yeah, I kind of know a little," Stephanie said.

"I'm sorry if this seems forward, but I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job?"


"Oh, me?" Stephanie said with a mouth full of cookie. "I don't know. I'm just ... very pregnant right now."

"Yes, I remember you said that. That's perfectly fine. I've had ladies work during their pregnancies before. I wouldn't have you deal with any cleaning chemicals or anything. Someone else could do that."

Stephanie hadn't given much thought to what kind of work she would do here—she'd been too busy throwing up—but now that she felt well enough to consider it, it sounded like a good fit. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, Sunday brunches are from ten to two. I usually start prep work around eight in the morning. Then, as you're feeling up to it, maybe you could start some plants in the greenhouse. I'd love to have my own crop of tomatoes or basil or maybe some spring onions. Some berry bushes would be incredible."

"You have a greenhouse?"

"Oh, yes. It used to be very lovely when my aunt took care of it. I'm afraid I have a bit of a black thumb because nothing survived once I'd taken over. I'd love to have your help. Even if you can only do a couple of hours at a time. I'd pay you well. My family has always paid our help very well. The thing is, I can get almost anyone to clean the rooms for me, but not just anyone knows their way around the kitchen and the garden like you seem to."

"Oh, gosh," she said, blushing. "Well, I guess it might be worth a shot. I'll talk it over with Justin when he gets back later. I could probably stand to do something with myself besides sleep and throw up all day. At least until the baby gets here."


Stephanie promised Sharon that she would consider the offer and they said their goodbyes. She went back inside, feeling full of ideas and the thrill of creation, but also absolutely exhausted.


She put the girls in front of a quiet movie. "Just sit here and watch this movie. I'm just going to close my eyes for ten minutes."


Justin called soon after to check in on them and Willow answered Stephanie's phone. She said, "Shh, mommy is sleeping."

"Okay, sorry," he said. "You girls be good then."


Justin drove thirty minutes to Old Town, and from there he had to wait another hour for the ferry to the island. The ferry boat captain said, "Once y'all step off this boat, you have three minutes to get to the hoist house where there's air. No time for sightseeing. It’ll take you the whole three minutes to walk to that hoist house, so be quick about it. You will be charged a rescue fee if they have to call out the medics for your dumb asses."

Everyone made a dutiful single file line straight to the old hoist house building.




Inside the old brick building, the gathering of job hopefuls was not what Justin expected to find.

"Close the door behind you," someone called out. "You're letting out the air."

Justin stepped inside and closed the door behind him.


The room was set up with folding makeshift furniture, smelling of dust and mildew and the grease, sweat, and farts of a couple dozen men. And one single woman who was easily mistaken for another man. Everyone wore their work clothing, tool belts, steel-toe boots, and hats. These people didn't look like they'd seen a tie in their lives, and Justin wondered how he even managed to stumble into such a wrong place.

"Oh, look! They're hiring accountants!"


Some meathead with biceps the size of his leg said, "Hey, Accountant, what do you bench? A Popsicle stick? Ha ha ha. Wanna arm wrestle?"


"Oh, wait, or are you IRS?"

"No, I'm not," Justin said.

"You're the building inspector? If you find something wrong, I didn't do it. Wasn't me, 'cause I ain't started yet! Ha ha ha."

When the meathead didn't find anyone else to laugh at his jokes, he lost interest and began to pester someone else instead.


Justin sat on a plastic bench and buried his head in his phone. There was a text from his mom.

Stephanie told me about your big day! Good luck, sweetheart! 

He felt so dumb. He wanted to run straight out of the room, but like the ferry boat captain (another job Justin was unqualified for) had told them, they had to stay until the next boat arrived because there was nowhere else to breathe out there.

But, maybe this was the right place after all. He decided to just stick it out and wait for his name to be called.


Mr. Thompson looked like he would have felt more comfortable in a suit and tie, but even he wore work clothes like the rest of them.

Justin said, "I thought I'd be interviewing for the historic site manager."

"That was for the estate site, not the mines. But yes, we are looking for someone. You have an art degree or equivalent art history experience?"

"Uh, no. I studied economics. I have experience in management, sales, and marketing."

"Maybe you paint?"

"Do you mean, like, walls?"


"Uh, no. We're really looking for someone with some gallery knowledge for that position. There are some very old and valuable paintings and sculptures there. Although that wouldn't necessarily be required for some of our other sites, but those sites aren't prepared for management at the moment. Like this one. Right now, we just really need maintenance crews to repair the damage—some of these sites were used by military during the war—and get the ventilation systems up to speed. We need welders, electricians, plumbing, cable laying, building inspectors."

Maybe he only ever had a job like he had before because of Keri’s dad. That was what she always said. Now he found out that maybe it was always true.

"Do you still want to take the test?"

He'd better take the test, he thought. Who knew when something else might come along. "Sure, I'll give it a shot."


"It was awful," he told Stephanie that evening. "I looked so stupid with all of those guys. They’re hiring for the maintenance crew. They wanted to know about cable laying and air duct installations and repairs and can I carry heavy loads up and down ladders into mine shafts and do I have any history of heart conditions or claustrophobia. I have an economics degree and no experience in any of that stuff. But I told him that I knew a little about programming and security installations and installing ventilation monitors, so he let me take the test. It just wasn’t what I expected at all."


"Oh, honey. Don’t do it if it’s not what you want. You can keep looking. We have some money left. You don’t have to rush."

Of all the prospects he’d come across, maintenance work might be the most likely thing he could do here. Even if he was hardly qualified to do even that.

"Maybe. How was your day?"


Stephanie wasn't sure, after all of that, how to tell him that she got a job today without even leaving the house or changing out of her pajamas.

"I, um… took a nap. And we made some stew. And Sharon came over. She brought cookies and we talked about cooking and gardening and stuff, and she wants to buy some of my tomatoes when they’re ready, and the landscaping and Sunday brunch and she wondered if maybe I could help out a little."

"I don't know, Steph. She might get in the habit of taking advantage of you."

"I mean, not for free. She wants to pay me. Like, to help out for a few hours a week. Like, as a regular thing."

"So … you got a job today?"

"Oh, no," she said. "Not a real one. I don’t think. I mean, I wasn’t trying to."

"It’s okay," he said. "It’s just kind of funny."


He didn’t look amused though.

"It’s nothing, really," she said. "I just thought that if I wasn't feeling too bad, I might help her out a little. And she’ll, you know, pay me for my time. Weekends, mostly, and I can take the girls with me during the week. There's lots of room for them to run around and stay out of trouble. It shouldn’t conflict with whatever work you find. But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to."

"Steph, it sounds great. Actually, it just about sounds like your dream job. But not too many hours. I don't want you to get too tired."


He stood up and took her hands in his, pulling her up from the folding camp chair. He pressed his lips to the back of her hands, he buried his face there for a moment.

"Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick shower and change out of this dumb shirt. And maybe I’ll make myself useful and put together that couch so we have some real living room furniture for when the social worker gets here."

His tender heart was so disappointed. She wondered if she could do anything to cheer him up.


She made sure the girls were fast asleep and then she tried to put on something sexy, realizing that she didn’t own anything very sexy, especially nothing that fit her now. The best she could find was something slightly revealing and possibly flattering on her curves. She'd gotten so round already that she hardly knew what to do with herself.





She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to finish his shower. She felt giggly when he came out of the bathroom and smiled.


"You can put the couch together tomorrow," she said. "I don’t feel like throwing up right now. I feel pretty good, you know, besides being all round and swollen. But, if you think you even know what to do with me, I thought it might cheer you up."

"You're beautiful," he said. "And perfect and making a baby for me. I can think of a lot of things I'd love to do with you."

She moved her body over his, perched on her elbows and knees, mindful of their little plum in her belly. It took her too long to situate herself, which gave him too much time to think and worry again.


"Steph, will you stay with me even after you don’t need me anymore?"

"When would I ever stop needing you?" She didn't understand the question. He wasn't just some paycheck to her. He was part of everything. He was in her bones, in her heart, in her laughter, in every ounce of strength she ever had. He was in her children, all of them. He was in her history and her future. "My world doesn’t even work without you," she said.

He started to smile.

"And I still need you to put together a couch and pay ninety percent of the bills."

"Okay."

"And I need you to kiss me, too."

"I can do that," he said.






Maybe it was the vulnerability. Maybe it was the surging pregnancy hormones and the blessed reprieve of the second trimester. Maybe, compared to the deep disappointment of the day, any ordinary romp would have felt like the most incredible sex either of them have ever had. It was sufficient to say that they were both completely cheered up now. Stephanie still felt trembly.

"Holy hell," she said. "That. I need you for that."

"Yeah, that was pretty damn good," he said.

—

outtakes: let's not tell Sharon that she picks up the pancakes off the floor, lol!

footnotes: meeting Sharon // why Justin worries about being unnecessary