Page 38 of Jackson
“Nothing important. I thought I’d come to give you a hand with your chores, and then I can drive you to my place.”
“There’s no need for that, Sir. I’m almost done. I just have to take the last load of laundry out of the dryer. Why don’t I do that and change, and we could go have lunch?” She twisted her hands, hoping she didn’t sound as anxious as she felt.
“That sounds like a great idea. I’ll help fold the clothes while you get changed and packed.” He moved past her to open the door and enter.
Paula gulped and followed him. “I can explain, Sir. Please don’t look at this. Let’s go in the kitchen and…” Her words dried up when she saw his expression. Thunderclouds were less ominous than Jackson’s face.
“Please do explain, Paula.”
“I’m a really lousy housekeeper, Sir. Always have been. Organizing my stuff is impossible for me. This is why I didn’t want you to see the house. I’m working on it now, really I am. I’ve got the kitchen under control, and I’ve been working on my bedroom today. I’ve put in a bunch of my free time already, but the boxes always get to me. I’m really sorry you had to see it like this. Please come to the kitchen, where we can sit down.” The words came out so fast Paula wasn’t sure what she was saying. She kept babbling out how sorry she was and tried to get him through the disaster area that was her living room.
Jackson stopped in the middle of the room and did a 360-degree turn for a complete look. Paula cringed as he eyed boxes and tottering piles of papers and books covering the furniture and most of the floor space. Paula had carved a path through the room and another through the middle so she could reach the thermostat, but the dust would tell anyone the boxes hadn’t been touched in ages. Jackson drew a deep breath, and the storm Paula had feared seemed to pass.
“Lead on to the kitchen, Melda. Let’s see what kind of job you’ve done there, and we can talk about this situation.” He ran his finger over the nearest box and studied the thick layer of dust as if its very existence offended him.
The dining room was similarly cluttered, although the dust patterns showed the contents had been rearranged recently. The kitchen was bright from sunshine, counters and tabletopsspotless, and the curtains freshly laundered. She was relieved to see Jackson’s expression softening even more.
“Please sit down, Sir. Would you like some coffee? I made the pot about an hour ago.”
Jackson shook his head, sat down, and pointed to the chair opposite. “Sit down, Melda. Take a deep breath, and tell me about the boxes that make you a candidate for one of those TV shows about hoarding.”
Paula drew a few deep breaths and began her tale of woe. “This used to be my grandmother’s house. Most of the furniture in the house was hers. She died about six months after my divorce, and as fate would have it, left me the house and everything in it. When I got the chance to join the KCPD, it was like a dream come true. Unfortunately, I had to start work pretty much instantly and never had a chance to go through everything, or much of anything, really. Most of the boxes are my grandmother’s stuff. She was a collector of all things small and delicate. I’ve tried to go through things once in a while but I either end up with a box that’s full of Granny’s breakables or a box of mine whose contents seem to multiply when I open it. It just overwhelms me.”
“Are all the rooms like this?”
“Mostly. Some friends of hers did the packing but didn’t know what to do with the boxes. The other room downstairs is full of cabinets that still have more figurines in them.”
“What about upstairs?”
“My room is almost in order. I was planning on having it finished today. The bathroom isn’t spotless, but it’s clean. There are two other bedrooms that are full of more boxes and all kinds of other stuff. I just don’t know what to do about it all.” Her lower lip quivered on the last sentence.
“Okay. We’ll finish your bedroom first, and then we’ll take stock in the living room. The way to do this is to break it downinto smaller pieces. You go get your clothes from the dryer and meet me upstairs.”
“Yes, Sir.” Despite her embarrassment at having Jackson here, his dominance was working its magic, and she felt more comfortable about the house.
Jackson complimented her on her progress in the bedroom, and they had her laundry put away in less than ten minutes. Then Jackson took the time to look through Paula’s closet while she finished organizing her sock drawer. “What happened to all your pantsuits?”
“They’re at the dry cleaners. I’ve got one there for Monday.”
“I’m glad they’re gone. It gives me space to look for hidden treasures like that gorgeous fuchsia shirt you have.”
“Look away. I don’t think you’ll find much. Clothes have never been a priority for me.”
“We’ll have to change that. I like to see my Melda in pretty clothes. Here’s something.” He pulled a black dress from the back. “Try it on for me.”
“But shouldn’t we get started downstairs?” Paula had never liked that dress and wished she hadn’t kept it.
“Who’s in charge here, Melda?”
“You are, Sir.” She got up and stripped to her basic white bra and panties.
“Your underwear choices are another thing we need to work on. For now, the dress, please.”
Paula pulled her classic “little black dress” over her head and sucked in her stomach as she wrestled with the zipper.
“Allow me,” Jackson said. The zipper stuck a few times on the way up from lack of use, but he managed. “Now turn around so I can get the full view. God, woman, you are gorgeous. Why was this hidden in the back?”
Paula was fussing with the dress’s waistline, trying to move it lower so the dress would cover her knees. “A. It’s too short. B. Itshows every flaw my body has. I’d have to get Spanx to wear it in public. C. I look like a hooker in it.”
