Covet

| Undeserving

The next day, Paul drove his truck down the ocean highway, as the sun peeked over the horizon. The morning chill bit at my skin as I pulled the sides of my jacket tighter. Embarrassment crept into my cheeks. I'd made a fool of myself last night. Dread built in my stomach knowing that I'd have to face them all this morning. He stopped at a red light nestled in a small housing estate.

Paul looked at me from the corner of his eye. "Don't be nervous. You've got nothing to worry about."

I looked at the nearest house where an older lady was outside on her lawn in what looked like a nightdress and a pale pink dressing gown. She fiddled with a cord that was attached to what looked to be the oldest lawnmower in existence. Pulling hard on the cord and the lawnmower hummed to life. Her frail hands gripped around the horizontal handle as she attempted to shift the mower to a new starting position, but it didn't budge. She kicked it in frustration and it began to chew up the patch of lawn it was sitting on as the engine whirred in protest.

"Dana, talk to me."

"She's going to hurt herself. She looks five minutes away from a heart attack."

Paul looked over his shoulder in the direction I was staring. "I'll help her later," he sighed, "We can talk about this if you're worried."

"She'll probably be dead by then," I remarked.

Paul dragged a hand down his face and with another sigh, opened his door and leaned out. "Mrs. Jameson, I'll mow the lawn for you later, okay. Go back inside."

The older lady turned off the lawn mower and squinted to see who had spoken. The white haze of her eyes told me she probably couldn't see very well even if we had been standing right in front of her. She smiled, nodding her head obviously familiar with his voice. Paul sat back in his seat and closed the door, just as the light changed.

"Now can you talk to me?"

"I made a fool of myself," I answered, the remorse from the night flooding me once more.

"No. I don't think anybody thinks that. They are just concerned."

I shrugged and smiled, gazing out the window at the rolling tree line. As we neared the edge of town, he took an unexpected turn off the main road. "Where are we going?"

"Making a quick stop at my dad's place first," he explained, pulling into a driveway. He cut the engine outside the small pine cabin with a deck. He reached behind my seat producing a bag. The prescription bottle of pills were visible through the sheer plastic.

"Who lives here?" I asked.

"My dad," he replied. "I check on him before work."

"Your parents!" The weight returned to my shoulders.

"Parent—non-plural. Plus, however erratic you think your moods are, you've got nothing on this guy. He won't even remember you came." His smile was genuine when he opened the truck's door and hopped out, slamming it behind me. "Are you coming, Dana?"

"Shit," I mumbled, unlocking my belt, and following him out.

"Dad," he called out, "you left the door unlocked again, you idiot."

Past the entryway was a living room, and a small open-plan kitchen was behind that. A man sat with his back to us in a high-back armchair in front of a wood burner. Paul set the bag down on the kitchen table.

His Dad looked up at us, his eyes clouded with confusion momentarily before recognition set in. "Takes one to know one, son." He chugged a laugh with a slight whistle that morphed into a hacking cough. "Who's your girl?"