Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

“It’s a retaining wall, lady,” he says with another question mark face. I never thought I’d live to see the word “lady” weaponized and yet, here I am.

My cellphone rings and Ronan’s name flashes onscreen. I send it to voicemail. Dealing with one dismissive male at a time is all I can handle. “This is a very small space. We took the lease calculating capacity without the wall you said was no problem.”

I loved everything about this little bungalow on sight. The large picture windows, the whitewashed wood floors, the exposed beams. In hindsight, when Horvat said no problem he probably meant it as a question.

A therapist once told me that when I’m struggling with indecision to picture the best version of myself in my head. What would that kickass version say to the version of me who was struggling? At the time I was as low as I had ever been and I couldn’t for the life of me conjure this image of my kickass self. It felt like I was just learning to walk and the therapist was asking me to run a 5k marathon. I couldn’t do it.

I must’ve asked myself that question a million times until one day a picture of Wonder Woman popped into my head. Although my Wonder Woman wears a full-body leotard because, come on, what self-respecting superhero is going to fight evil wearing a strapless corset and hot pants? Not a one. I’d like to see Spider-Man do that upside-down shit in a corset. But I digress. Since then, whenever I’m struggling, the leotard-wearing, kickass Wonder Woman version of myself coaches me through it.

Stay positive, Amanda. You got this.

Wonder-Woman-in-a-leotard me is right––I got this. “You need to figure out how to take some of it out. Maybe…I don’t know––put pillars or something in its place?”

In desperation, I’ve suddenly turned into a Greek architect. That and failure is not an option.

Horvat’s eyes flicker to my boobs. Then his attention swings around to somewhere over his shoulder. “Rudy!”

“What?!” shouts a guy sitting on the top rung of a ladder. He’s busy taking down an ugly light fixture and stops to glare at us.

“The lady here wants you to take out the wall and put pillars in its place.”

Rudy nods, his unkempt ZZ Top beard twitching with it. He scratches his chin pensively. “Yeah, we could cut out arches and shore up the ceiling with beams.”

I exhale a huge sigh of relief. “That would be great!” I freaking love Rudy. He’s the man. Rudy! Rudy! I’m chanting in my head. “Thank you sooo much!” Bouncing on the balls on my feet, I clap.

“Want a fountain with dolphins, too, sweetheart?”

My face falls. Rudy sucks. Horvat’s expression comes back to me smug with a side of lech.

“Rudy says it can’t be done.”

I don’t got this.

Chapter Four

There’s nothing quite like the magic of dawn. I don’t know what it is, but some undefinable quality makes the possibilities feel endless. As if the universe is conspiring to give you a fresh chance to get it right, and God knows, I’ve needed a lot of chances.

Stepping out of the French doors of the master suit and onto the patio, I scan the horizon, taking in the scene one small piece at a time. In the distance the soft lavender sky blends into sharp blue, the Atlantic calm. The beauty of it moves me. So overwhelmed am I by this blessing that my sinuses feel stuffed.

I take a deep breath, the briny air needling my lungs, and flip open my yoga mat. I’m in lotus position, eyes closed, all set to begin morning meditation with a prayer of gratitude when the peace is torn asunder with the efficiency of a bullhorn.

“Hi, honey.”

My eyes flutter open and track the offensive sound to the opposite side of the patio. Hendricks stands with the phone glued to his ear, bare-chested, oblivious to everything around him.

With all my time devoted to staying on top of the renovations and dealing with Horvat, I’ve managed to see very little of him in the last few days. He stays mostly in his room, venturing out only when his take-out food is delivered. Otherwise he’s sleeping by the pool. This dude sleeps a lot.

“Yeah, I miss you, too…” Sadly, it looks like my luck has finally run out.

A few things leave me confused. One: does he have some kind of dependency? The state of the house when we first arrived suggests he may, in which case I would love to pay it forward and maybe get him some help. I decide to consult with the people at my next AA meeting on how best to go about that. Maybe that’s why he’s being such a giant a-hole to me.

Two: he eats trash, nothing other than greasy, salty foods. I know how anally retentive my brother is about eating clean, avoiding anything that causes inflammation in his body. Most professional athletes place strong emphasis on nutrition, not to mention he’s healing from major surgery. Why does he eat so poorly? Inquisitive minds want to know.