Page 56 of Fear of Flames
Her laugh started as a nervous snicker and morphed into a full-belly laugh. It must have been contagious, because soon, Fletch was laughing too. “I know. It’s a mess.”
“Bedrooms?” Michelle asked as she tilted her head toward the left.
“Two, but one is…Let me show you.” He led her toward the room with the open door and turned on the light.
It was a bedroom, all right. There was a bed—a king-sized bed with a fitted sheet, pillows, and a tangled knot of blankets. A television sat on top of a long dresser, where drawers were opened in disarray. Fletch went to the dresser and shoved the clothes inside the drawers as he closed each one. A bathroom was attached.
“There’s a second bathroom in the hallway.”
Michelle nodded, holding a nugget of hope that inside the closed door she’d find another bed, one not in disarray. While the space could be a bedroom, it was obviously Fletch’s office. The room was overstuffed with computers and more computers.
Looking back into the main bedroom, she let out a breath and asked, “Do you have a laundry? Like a washing machine and dryer?”
“In the kitchen.”
“How about extra sheets?”
He contorted his face in question. “You need more sheets?”
“No, different ones.” She pointed at the coffee stain on the side of the bed. At least she hoped it was coffee.
Exhaling, he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m fucking great at what I do. Cleaning isn’t part of that.”
“Not a problem. I think we found something I’m better at than you.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he reminded her. “Don’t you want to sleep?”
She went to the bed and began pulling blankets from the pile. “You’ve totally messed with my sleeping schedule. How about some housework first?”
“Chell.” There was a bemused apologetic tone to the one word.
Michelle stopped what she was doing and walked closer to Fletch. “Hey, I’m alive because of you. I don’t care how you live.” She shrugged. “But if you want me here?—”
“Here is where you’re safe.”
“If you want me here, I have to clean.” She pointed to the computer room. “I’m sure you have things in there that you want to do.”
“Fuck,” he said, “I can’t let you clean my place.”
Michelle’s cheeks lifted with her smile. “For now, it’s our place and yeah, I’m going to clean.”
The first thing she did was to strip the bed and pillows and start the sheets in a wash. Thankfully, he had detergent. Next, she decided to tackle the kitchen. It appeared that instead of cooking, Fletch preferred microwaving. It took boiling water inside the microwave for her to begin to chip away at the layers of the last fifty food items he’d heated.
She rummaged through his cabinets, finding mostly nonperishable foods: soups, canned vegetables, rice, boxed macaroni and cheese. At least it was the kind with the gooey cheese, not the powdered cheese. To her surprise, Michelle found cleaning supplies.
Michelle didn’t know where to begin with the countertops. Her goal was for organized clutter as she stacked papers. The books, much to her surprise, were thrillers, military and psychological, as well as multiple titles of non-fiction. The tomes she moved to an under-utilized bookcase in the living room.
Each room was an adventure.
Once the sheets were in the dryer, she started a load of towels, kitchen and bath.
She’d also collected an assortment of plates, silverware, and glasses and started the dishwasher.
While it wasn’t exactly the glamorous life of a New York Times bestselling author, the menial tasks accomplished something Michelle desperately needed. They took her mind off the shit show her life had become and gave her achievable goals.
Each shiny or dust-free surface was an accomplishment.
The bed was made, the towels were in the dryer, and brewing coffee filled the apartment with a delicious aroma. Finally, she sat down on the sofa. The clock near the television read near four in the morning. Her days and nights were catching up to her.
