Page 19 of Waiting for Gilbert

“Pretty much.” He shrugs. “I hang the towel on the hook by the door and wipe the walls down every few days. Use the squeegee to dry the floors. It doesn’t take much effort.”

Huh. That’s what the long-handled squeegee in the corner is for. “You’ve been living here, then?”

He nods.

“Recently?”

He squeezes past me out of the bathroom. There’s a hall closet across from us, and he opens the door. Inside is a cello case. “Recently.”

“How recently?”

He points into the closet. “A few hours ago. I didn’t expect a renter until after the holidays, but Nickie said it was urgent.”

I clasp my face between my hands. “Gilbert! I had no idea. I donotneed to kick you out of your home. Why were you living here when you’ve got a house next door? Nickie didn’t tell me any of this! She and Aunt Jewels went on and on telling me howperfectthis place was, and howluckyI was to get it before anyone else found out about it.”

Gilbert presses his lips together. He looks annoyed. With a shake of his head he mutters, “Typical.”

“I’m confused. Did you not want to rent it? Don’tyouown this place? Why put Nickie in charge if you live here?”

“No, Cordelia?—”

“CJ.”

“Right, sorry. I thought Diana introduced you as Cordelia?”

“She did, but I go by CJ now.”

“As of… recently?”

“Yes. You were saying?”

He draws in a breath. “I needed a renter. I asked Nickie if she’d find someone and she volunteered to handle the paperwork since she’s at her office everyday. I’ll do any maintenance on the place, and yes, I own it. It’s all good. She did what I asked. No problem. I would love to do a walk-through with you. Maybe tomorrow? And you can make a list of things you’d want fixed first.” He looks past me into the bathroom. “It’s functional, but you’ll see what I mean. About Nickie—” He lowers his right arm from his chest and pulls away the flannel. His cream-colored thermal beneath is stained red. “So this happened.” He replaces his hand before I see the cause of the fresh stain.

“You’re hurt!”

“‘Tis but a flesh wound.”

“Oookay. Make all the jokes you want?—”

“I left my first-aid kit here.” He nods to the shelf above the cello in the closet. “I don’t suppose you—” His gaze flicks down my petite frame.

“Psh.” I jump but cannot quite reach the white box. “Hold on. I got it.” With my hand on the door trim. I jump twice more but only succeed in pushing it to the back of the shelf.

“CJ. Move.” His chest bumps my shoulder as he reaches over me to grab the box and easily hands it down to me. A pink smear is left where his hand touched it.

“Thank you.” Box in hand, I hustle to the table. “I’m glad I was still awake. What would you have done if I’d been asleep like a regular person?”

“I would’ve figured it out.” He hisses as I help fold up his sleeve. There’s a slice about three inches long and gaping open a half inch along the top of his forearm.

“Oh my word, Gilbert, what did you do?” I don’t give it more than a cursory glance, or I know it will make me sick.

His face is paler than when he came in. “Shoot. This is worse than I thought.” He drops his chin to chest. When he lifts it, his jaws are clenched together. “You think it needs stitches?”

“Definitely.” I pat him on the shoulder and spend another moment brushing sawdust from his flannel.

“I don’t think it’s that deep?—”

“It’s gaping open!”

---