Violet’s Bucket List Read online

  Violet’s Bucket List

  Tuesday Embers

  Contents

  1. Unlucky Lucky Charms

  2. Hot Guy Blurts

  3. Special Assignment

  4. Raw Steak and Ginger Ice Cream

  5. Stewing and Flirting

  6. Leprechaun on My Bed

  7. Hot Guy, Cold Shower

  8. Orange Sherbet and Herpes Breath

  9. Number 26 – High-Stakes Betting

  10. Number 17 – Skydiving

  11. How High I Would Crash

  12. Orange Juice from Ireland

  13. Eli’s Blurts

  14. Boxing Gloves and Mittens

  15. Seeing Brady Naked

  16. Finally, a Use for Number 34

  17. Someone for 007

  18. 007 in Bed

  19. Number 23 – Climbing a Mountain

  20. Cat and Mouse

  21. Boyfriend Eggroll

  22. Coming Home Late

  23. Mr. Li’s Daughter

  24. My Fort of Isolation

  25. Mr. and Mrs. Skeleton

  26. Dia De Los Muertos

  27. January Thirtieth

  28. Unemployed in a Miniskirt

  29. The Fat One

  30. Buenos Noches, Papi

  31. More of You, Not Less

  32. A Girl, a Boy, a Bed and a Desk

  33. Hello

  34. Destroyer

  35. Eli’s Rage

  36. Antonio’s Fort

  37. Working on Antonio

  38. Going Out with a Bang

  39. The Difference Between Physical Therapists and Geishas

  40. Dropping the Gavel on Number 34

  41. Number 50 – Find True Love

  42. Number 47

  Exploding

  1. Ladles and Labels

  Books by Tuesday Embers

  Also by Tuesday Embers

  Copyright © 2016 Tuesday Twomey

  Cover Art by Shayne Leighton

  of Parliament House Book Designs

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: June 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For information:

  http://www.tuesdayembers.com

  1

  Unlucky Lucky Charms

  “That’s really great, Frank. Now try and push against my hands. Come at me like you’re trying to bowl me over.”

  Frank was in his late sixties, and had been battling tremors for months now. Working at a rehabilitation facility that mainly serviced veterans was a privilege I didn’t take lightly. Some of the physical therapists showed up late on occasion, but I was always the first one there. I didn’t work in the best neighborhood (if you asked Caty, she would tell you it was the worst in the tri-county area), but I couldn’t help it; I loved McCale’s Rehab Clinic. Frank was only one of the reasons I adored my job so much.

  “I’m not sure I’m feeling it today, Miss Violet,” he admitted, rolling his arthritic shoulders.

  I gave him my best stink-eye, meeting his wavering with my bull-like attitude that I wore like a superhero cape at work. “I’m not sure that much matters. I’m the sergeant, here, and I say you need to push me over like you mean it, soldier!” My commands were laughable when you considered that Frank was more than twice my age, and more than twice my weight, but the words rallied him, as I knew they would. His uneven and stained teeth gritted together through his noises of frustration. He shoved at my arms with renewed vigor. I could see the fight flaring up in him, and something in my soul blossomed at the miracle. Strength he’d assumed was left on the battlefield of a war long forgotten rose up in his heart, puffing out his chest. I saw it in him, and knew he could still rise to the occasion. Even if he hadn’t believed in himself, I had. Sometimes that’s all a person needed. My left side moved slightly further back than my right as he pushed and grunted, but I could clearly see his progress.

  Frank stopped pushing me on my order, and looked down in defeat, frustrated with how far his ability to fight off life’s obstacles had fallen over the years. “It’s useless, Miss Violet. The stroke did away with my right side.”

  I shook my head at him, knowing a gem that he didn’t. “That’s where you’re wrong, Frank. When you came in, you couldn’t move me at all with your right side. But I felt you this time. You moved me back with about half the strength as your left side.” I met his eyes that had lost hope a long time ago. My voice was quiet with the trepidation of Frank’s first steps to the epic recovery I knew he had in him. “Frank, you’re doing it!”

  Christmas trees pale with their ability to light up when compared with a vet getting back the use of some part of him he’d thought long gone. It was what I took this job for – these were the real benefits. I would imagine this was the kind of joy mechanics found in restoring something once thought fit only for the junkyard, and teachers found in their problematic student acing a test. My daily dozen were lost men and women. Many of them had written off as their glory days being behind them. But I got to catch a promising glimpse of them standing on their own again after too many internal and external wars.

  The best part? I got paid to watch the magic happen. Plus, I got to yell at grown men, and have them thank me for it. Double bonus.

  On the way home, I was riding the high of Frank’s victory, telling my best friend Caty all about it on the phone as I trudged up the road that led to a bed, a bed, and a bed. I was so tired, I wasn’t focused on much else.

  The leaves were starting to turn mischievous colors, mutating from lush green to browns, yellows, oranges, and a few purples. The air smelled crisp and new, making me feel like anything was possible.

  Except making it up this stupid hill.

  “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation,” I said as I sidestepped a two-foot long puddle, like a ninja. Night had fallen around me, and I knew that puddle would try and ruin my sneakers. Not on my watch, Nature.

  Caty tsked me. “Brady finding someone to replace me as Roommate Number Three in the apartment isn’t a ‘situation.’ I’m sure the new guy is great. Brady said his name was Eli O’something.”

  I tried not to huff into the phone as the hill I was walking up hit the steep incline that led to my apartment. “Unless his name is Caty, I’m not all that thrilled. You had to go and get engaged. You just had to go fall in love and be eternally blissful. We had an agreement! The three of us till the end. You, me and Brady,” I teased. The trees grew taller on the side of the road, the bushes thicker as the bodega came into view. The only drawback to our two-bedroom apartment being directly above a Chinese food place is that we’re constantly smelling soy sauce. “How’s almost-married life treating you?”

  Caty fished around to produce a vague answer. “Oh, you nailed it right. Eternally blissful. Dennis leaves the toilet seat down, so I feel like since we don’t have to deal with that hurdle, things are pretty smooth sailing.”

  “Caty?” I prompted her tentatively. Usually that was all it took for her to spill her guts. It never took much to get my little platinum blonde cheerleader talking. We looked completely opposite – her thin, pale waif-like features contrasting with my curvy shape and dark skin that showed off my Mexican heritage.

  My best girlfriend of eighteen years started confessing every detail of the fight she and Dennis
had devolved into over choosing the flowers for the wedding. “Then Dennis called me dramatic. Me! I listened to his mom and his grandmother argue for three hours about invitations. Three hours! All I said was that we weren’t getting anywhere, and maybe we could pick the conversation back up tomorrow because I have work in the morning. Suddenly I’m the dramatic one.”

  “I was going to tell you to tone it down. I mean, sheesh, Caty,” I teased.

  “When I mentioned work, his mother actually rolled her eyes at me. ‘You teach art to elementary school kids, dear. How much work are you really doing?’”

  I guffawed, frustrated whenever someone undervalued what a treasure Caty most certainly was. “You want me to take out a hit on her?”

  “No, thanks. After I got home, some awesome girl had a dozen purple carnations delivered to me. That made up for all the crappy comments I shut my mouth through today. Have I told you you’re amazing?”

  “You have, but you should tell yourself that. I bet Dennis’ mom wouldn’t last a minute in a room with twenty-five kindergarteners.”

  Caty sighed. “I miss your mom. I keep picturing myself doing all this wedding stuff with her.”

  I swallowed the bile that rose up in me and offered a glib, “Uh-huh.” I didn’t like thinking about my mom since her untimely death not even a year ago, but lately, Caty had taken to bringing her up every now and then, testing the waters to see if I was ready to talk about it.

  Nope.

  “Tell me more about wedding stuff,” I said, making it clear that the subject would change, and the spotlight would be far, far away from me.

  I trudged up the steep incline, trying to tell myself that a good workout never hurt anyone. Brady called the hill “Shin-Splint Mountain,” and he was not wrong. I listened to the wedding drama with the occasional grunt that doubled as an “I’m here for you, girl” kind of sentiment.

  Caty sighed, and I could tell the bridal planning was starting to weigh her down more than usual. “Tell me flowers aren’t super important, and that this isn’t the hill to die on.”

  “I’m currently hiking up the hill to die on, and I don’t see any flowers anywhere.” I let out a particularly unladylike grunt as I hefted my backpack further up.

  This stinking hill.

  Caty chuckled. “The one thing I won’t miss about living with you two is that walk. How is that curvy wonder? Is she still uphill both ways? Why don’t you just drive?”

  “My car was making that clanking noise again. I haven’t had time to take it in, because I took on a few more hours at the clinic.”

  “How many more hours are you picking up?” she asked with a preemptive scold in her tone.

  “Oh, a few,” I answered noncommittally.

  Like a good best friend, she saw right through me. “Pants on fire. How many?”

  I belted out a heavy exhalation. “I’m swinging fourteen-hour days now. I think I’m winning.”

  “Oh my gosh, you have a problem.”

  Caty rattled off all the reasons why I needed to slow down in life, but I couldn’t be bothered. I was almost to the top of the hill which, in my mind, meant I could conquer anything. I had a love-hate relationship with Shin-Splint Mountain. It always seemed insurmountable after a long day, but once I beat her, she never seemed more beautiful. I suppressed the urge to throw my fists in the air and do a Rocky-like victory dance – mostly because I was exhausted. Fourteen-hour days were no joke, and my job at the rehab center was quite physical.

  After a few totally false assurances to Caty that I would slow down, I ended the call and readjusted my black and red backpack.

  I knocked on the door of my own apartment, afraid I might startle the newcomer. I shook my head at my childishness and opened the door. The lights were out and, yet again, there was no sign of a new person inhabiting my little hub. It had been two days since New Guy had evidently moved in, but the only traces of him were the fresh sheets on Caty’s old bed, a blue toothbrush in the holder, and an extra razor in the shower. It was one of those angry chrome razors with like, half a dozen blades that screamed “don’t mess with me. I don’t even tolerate facial hair.” I hoped he would be fun, and that we could add a fourth to our trio of misfits.

  “Hello?” I called. “Er, new guy?” I couldn’t remember his name. I flicked on the lights, grateful that I didn’t have to meet my new roommate all sweaty and gross from the long day of work, plus the brisk walk home.

  I showered and got started on my paperwork, ignoring the text from Caty that read, “You’re taking on too many patients if you’re doing paperwork at home!” This was followed by, “Is the mysterious new roommate cute?”

  I ignored the word of caution concerning work. I was dead set on getting ahead, which meant taking as much overtime as I could get. I wanted to pay off my student loans, plus have enough to cross off the items on our bucket list. I typed back a quick, “I don’t know. I’m starting to think he’s fictional. I have no idea who I live with anymore.”

  I turned on the Scott D. Davis station on Pandora (songs from AC/DC, Guns and Roses and the like, all set to orchestral music), and let the familiar songs relax my stiff shoulders. There was something about the liberal use of the violin that made me both sad and happy at the same time.

  I sat in my brightly-colored tank top and yoga pants, my black hair in a haphazard bun atop my head. The coffee table was my unofficial office, the carpet the best seat in the house. One by one, my stack of forms began to shrink. It was so peaceful in the apartment, the violin music lulling me into a sleepy stupor. With only two forms left to go, I tapped out, climbing onto the beige sectional that Caty had picked out when it was the three of us here, instead of the two, plus one phantom new guy.

  I closed my eyes and dreamt of the following weekend, when I would jump out of a plane with my two besties, hopefully landing in one piece. It was number seventeen on our collective bucket list, which we treated with reverence. We agreed that it was a to-do list, and not a maybe-one-day series of suggestions.

  I hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch that night, or the next, or the one after that. Each time I went to sleep, I had hit the point of exhaustion, papers strewn all over the coffee table. Yet each morning when I woke, my forms were arranged in neat little piles, each one in the proper order according to patient number. How I wished my boss would switch to EMR, so I didn’t have to take home a stack of papers every night. Keith felt that digitizing our records was an expense the facility couldn’t afford.

  When I felt a tug on my hair before the sun rose, I didn’t bother opening my eyes or my mouth all the way, murmuring a sleepy, “Welcome home, Brady,” into the back cushion of the couch.

  I could hear the smile in his voice, but refused to turn around. “Hey, Vi. You’re hitting it too hard if you’re falling asleep out here. You should take advantage of the bedroom. You’ve finally got it all to yourself.”

  I kept my eyes closed, even though he’d turned on the lamp, like a jerk. “Just a few more minutes. What time is it?”

  “Three in the morning. Eli might want to turn on some real lights, babe.”

  I barely heard him through my yawn. “This little conversation? It could probably wait until I’m actually awake.” It was when Brady dipped his fingers into my forgotten water cup and flicked droplets all over me that I roused, shrieking and jolting myself to roll over onto my back. “What was that for? Do you have a death wish, B?”

  He offered me his hand to grip and hoisted me up into a hug I knew we both needed. The lack of physical touch was the only downfall of being perpetually single, as we were. His lean arms molded easily around me. “Missed you,” he admitted.

  “Missed you, too.” My lips were still puffy from sleep, and my eyes drifted shut again. I rested my head on his shoulder for three whole beats before I pulled away and sat back down. Any longer than that, and I knew I’d start to get the itch for distance. I don’t know what my problem was with intimate contact like that. I loved it, but c
ould only tolerate it for a few seconds. Despite my quirks, we both knew how lucky we were to have someone to come home to. When you’re not given to investing in relationships with any kind of future, you cling tight to the friendships that are worth waking up for at three in the morning. “I hate that you were gone so long on this last haul. Did you bring me a lobster back from Maine in your big rig?”

  “I took a picture of one for you.” Brady’s sand-colored hair was short, but still found a way to look pleasantly messy in the wee hours of the morning. He pulled out his phone and thumbed through the photos until he found one of an up-close lobster with too many antennae.

  “Whoa. That is the one thing missing from this place. We need a pet, B. I mean, look at that cute little face. Don’t you just want to pinch his cheeks?”

  “I’m not sure this overgrown cockroach has cheeks to pinch. I’ve got some good news. They’re finally switching me from OTR to home-daily. I have to finish out the month OTR, but after that, you’re looking at me being home every night.”

  Despite my sleepiness, I lit up at the good news. “Oh, that’s awesome! Best news ever.”

  Brady frowned at the table, taking in the papers that hadn’t magically organized themselves in my sleep this time. “This is too much, Vi.”