Next stop was the hardware store. I studied the paint colors, overwhelmed again. I told myself it was to be expected. For a woman not used to making decisions, I was forcing myself to face plenty of them recently.

My fingers slid down cards as though they were jewels, just waiting for me to pluck them out. I finally settled on a soft, pale yellow. The man in the paint department was helpful since I’d never painted before, assisting me with rollers and tape. He even disregarded my vision that his cat had clawed the side of his dining room table.

Walmart was next. I forgot to measure the windows, but there weren’t many choices in lengths. Overwhelmed anew, I finally decided on plain off-white panels that would be soft and breezy with the pale yellow walls.

On my way to the checkout, something soft and shiny caught my eye. I was passing the edge of the lingerie department, if you could really call the underwear/pajama section at Wal-Mart lingerie. My gaze had found a nightgown, a kind I had never worn before. It looked more like a slip than a nightgown, only it was a soft lavender and covered in tiny deep purple flowers. My fingers reached out to touch the fabric before my mind could tell them to be reasonable. Once they touched, there was no dissuading them. My fingers were ensnared by a nightie. As they slid over the silky cloth, my mind wondered what it would feel like to wear such a thing.

My face burned with shame. When had I turned so wicked? But the nightie was planted in my mind and sprouting like a fast-growing weed, spreading and choking out every thought until there was nothing left but the want of it. To shut up my evil thoughts, I pulled the hanger off the rack and stuffed it under the curtain packages. Then I looked around to see if anyone saw me.

When I checked out, my nervousness made me jittery. I half expected the girl at the register to give me a look of reproach, but she scanned the curtains and stuffed the nightie in the shopping bag without even flinching, as though she did that sort of thing every day. Then again, I guess she did.

I hurried home, eager to start my new project. But first, the blood-stained sofa had to go.

After shoving the kitchen table against the wall, I scooted the sofa to the door and promptly wedged it in the doorway.

Crappy doodles.

I went out the seldom-used front door and tried pulling from the outside, with little success. Lodging my shoulder underneath, I tried to stand, hoping that might unwedge it.

“What on earth are you doin’?” Joe asked behind me.

Startled, I screamed and fell on my butt. “Why do you keep sneakin’ up on me like that?”

He laughed. “I didn’t ‘sneak up on you,’ I merely walked over to see what you were doin’. What are you doin’?”

I started to get up, surprised when he reached down to help me. “What does it look like I’m doin’?”

“It looks like you’re tryin’ to injure yourself removin’ that sofa from your house.”

I scowled at him. “It’s covered in blood and I can’t look at it one more minute. I had to get it out.”

“Well, why didn’t you come and ask me for help?”

I raised my eyebrows, stumped. “Honestly, it never occurred to me.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “You need to angle it more, then it should come right out. Go in the house and take the back side. I’ll take this end.”

Once we got it outside Joe asked, “Now where?” Joe asked.

“I dunno. I hadn’t thought that far. My entire goal centered around gettin’ it outside.”

Joe shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Let’s put it behind the house for now. The neighbors are riled up enough without havin’ to look at your bloody sofa.”

His plan sounded reasonable but something about the way he said it got under my skin. We set it down in the backyard, away from the telephone line.

“If you like, I can have someone come and remove it tomorrow.” Joe said.

“Thanks,” I said, unsure what to do next.

“I’m goin’ to check the door jamb and make sure you didn’t bang it up too much.”

My irritation returned, but he was right. I went in the kitchen and left the door open so he could examine the frame.

“You paintin’?” he asked, nodding to the paint cans.

“The livin’ room. I tried to get the blood off the wall but mostly I just ended up takin’ off the paint.”

“Have you ever painted before?”

I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t buildin’ a rocket. How hard could it be?”

“I’m sure a professional painter might take offense to that.”

“Well, I’m not hirin’ a professional painter.”

“I’m not suggestin’ you do, but I can make sure you know what to do before you get paint everywhere.”

“Why?” I asked.“Why would you help me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say I was gonna paint the room for you. It’s only a few pointers.”

I appreciated his offer to help, but his attitude rankled me. Why did that man irritate me so?

Chapter Five

Joe ended up helping me move all the furniture into the dining room, then helped me tape. We didn't talk much while we worked, and after my initial nervousness of being near him in such tight quarters, I got used to his presence.

When we finished taping, he looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. “You goin’ to paint in those clothes? Since you’re new to this, you’re bound to get paint on ‘em.”