Page 9 of The Newcomer
He somehow managed to shove it aside, and dropped onto the floor, cradling his bare right foot in both hands, rocking back and forth, his face contorted—either with pain or anger, she wasn’t sure which.
“Goddamn,” he cried, glaring at Letty. “I think my toe is broken.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Let me see it.”
He scooted backward, away from her. “No way.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she protested. “Just let me look. Which toe is it?”
“None of your business,” he snapped. He picked up a gnarly-looking rubber flip-flop, slid it gingerly onto his injured foot, stood up, and leaned against the offending washer. “Christ, it hurts.”
“Well, I said I’m sorry. But shouldn’t you have been wearing real shoes? I mean, who tries to do heavy lifting wearing flip-flops?”
“A guy who just got off work after an eight-hour shift,” he said. “A guy who was minding his own business and drinking a cold beer until his mom guilt-tripped him into helping out her newest guest.”
Letty felt her cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and her own guilt. “I said I was sorry. If you’ll let me look at it, I’ll go get some ice and try to help you wrap it up.”
“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’ll live.” He turned back to the washing machine, examining the mover’s dolly. “That asshole Chuck. Shoulda known he’d let this thing get dry rot. Even the tires are shot.”
“What now?” Letty asked.
“Now I take this piece of crap to the dumpster, go back to my place and get a decent furniture dolly. And a pair of boots.” He grabbed the dolly and walked out of the room, slamming the door as he went.
Letty sighed and sat down on the bed beside Maya, who’d witnessed the debacle. “He got a bad boo-boo,” the child whispered.
“Not that bad,” Letty said. “He’s just being a big crybaby, that’s all.”
Whenhe returned twenty minutes later Joe was wearing dusty work boots. He wheeled the dolly into the room. “Let’s try this again. Go slow, okay?”
The second time went much smoother than the first. He wrapped the strap securely around the washer. She pushed the washing machine onto the dolly, its weight shifted, and he was able to roll it out of the room with comparative ease. He followed suit with the toilets and the remaining mattress, and when he came back from the dumpster he carried a crumpled brown paper sack, which he thrust at her.
“What’s this?”
“Peace offering,” he said, his voice gruff. “You were right. It was an accident, and I shouldn’t have blamed you. Definitely shouldn’t have cussed in front of a little kid.”
“Nothing she hasn’t heard before,” Letty said guiltily. She opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of chilled white wine and two plastic cups.
“It’s screw-top, because I figured you might not have a bottle opener, but it’s not cheap screw-top.” He shoved his hands in the back pocket of his jeans and looked at her uneasily. “You drink, right?”
She smiled despite herself. “I’ve been known to.”
He held out another bag. “This is for your little girl.”
It was a pint bottle of chocolate milk. “Her name is Maya.”
“I knew that,” he said, bristling.
“That’s nice of you,” Letty said. She held up the bottle and showed it to her niece. “Maya?”
“Chocolate milk!” Maya snatched the bottle from Letty’s hand.
“What do you say?” she prompted.
Maya was busy trying to remove the plastic seal from the bottle’s neck. “Thanks.”
“Yes, thank you,” Letty said, remembering her own manners. “How’s the toe?”
“Hurts like a mother.”
