One
Frustrated by her limitations, Rosie sat back and contemplated her home. So many little things that had been easy to do before left her defeated. Jobs that would have been done in a flash were now out of reach. She needed someone to cut the grass and put her suitcases up in the loft. She needed someone to empty the high cupboards as she couldn't climb up to them anymore.
She had accepted her mobility issues but found it more challenging to accept the fact that she needed to ask for help. Rosie tried very hard to focus on what she could do rather than what she couldn't. Most of the time, she was stoic. She didn't show her frustrations to others, but in private, they were ever-present. In public, she painted on her smile as well as her makeup.
She was vain, she admitted. It was so important to her to still look like herself. To look as good as she was able to. She was not one of those women who would pop out without makeup or with her hair screwed up into a knot. If she looked better, she felt better. She was also honest enough to admit that despite her physical issues, she still liked to gain an appreciative glance from a gentleman.
Help was hard to find; she certainly wasn't at the stage when she needed a carer; she was only fifty. She could afford a cleaner on her ill health pension for a few hours a week, but they were clear on what they would and would not do. Eventually, her dad, Jim, came up with a solution.
"My friend, Ken, is at a loose end. He will do all those little jobs for you. He will be more than happy to do your garden for you. He owes me a favour or two. I wish that I was up to helping you myself."
Dad wasn't in the best health, but Ken was different. Although in his mid-seventies, he was fit and active. It was hard to believe he was old enough to be her father. He seemed so much younger than her dad.
So, it was soon organised. Ken would come and help Rosie out. He sorted the grass out and quite enjoyed sorting out her loft. He liked things to be organised. She liked that. He was an excellent listener. He let her rattle on. Rosie was grateful for the company, but everything he said showed kindness, empathy, and insight into her feelings.
They were having coffee and cake after he had finished his job one day.
"You know Ken, you know what term I hate? Differently abled. It makes it sound like I can do extra things, like see through walls or fly, not do less!"
"Is that how you see yourself now, Rosie? That you are somehow less than you were before? I think that you are far more now than you ever were. You are strong, resilient, and kind and have a great capacity to love. You are still as lovely as you ever were. I know what I'd do if I were twenty years younger."
"What would you do, Ken?" Rosie asked, suddenly feeling shy; she didn't take compliments well.
"I'd do this," he smiled and kissed her. It wasn't a paternal kiss, yet it was not quite the kiss of a lover. It was a kiss of exploration. He tasted of coffee and the buttery lemon of the cake. The kiss lingered as they held each other. As he pulled away, she could briefly feel his tongue caress her lips before it was gone.
He jumped up, shocked and suddenly anxious to leave. "I'm so sorry; I never meant to; I shouldn't have," he managed to say before he almost ran out of the house.
Rosie was too slow to catch him up, tell him it was OK, and ask him to stay. To ask him to do it again.
Two
Rosie hasn't heard from Ken for a few days. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to talk to him, to reassure him that he didn't have to worry or feel embarrassed about the kiss they had shared. What could she do? She couldn't approach her dad; what would she say?
Ken knocked at the door four days after she had last seen him. He didn't come in.
"I'm here to sort the garage out, like I promised. I won't disturb you," he muttered and was gone with that.
She left it a while before she managed to go outside carrying a drink for him, which was not easy when she needed to use a cane for her balance.
"I've brought you this, Ken."
"Thank you, it's very kind of you. Just leave it on there," he answered, unable to meet her gaze.
"Can you look at me, please, Ken?"
Sighing, he turned and finally looked at Rosie. "I can't; I'm embarrassed and ashamed of myself. An old man like me taking advantage of you."
"You didn't, Ken; it was just a kiss."
"Well, it wasn't just a kiss to me." He mumbled and then continued moving the lawnmower into a better position. It was apparent that the conversation was over.
Rosie quietly returned to the house, watching the garage closely. She wasn't going to let him go without sorting this out. She heard the garage door open, and she tapped on the window. She got to the door, and when she opened it, he was standing there with his cap in his hands.
"Please come in, Ken; I need to sort this out. You've become a good friend, my sounding board, and I trust you. I've got that cake that you like."
They settled at the kitchen table, the kitchen clock ticking, dominating the silence.
"You seem to think you have upset or offended me somehow, Ken. You haven't. I'm very flattered."
"How can you be flattered that an ugly old man like me kissed you."
