A Home Like Ours by Fiona Lowe (inspirational books for students .txt) 📗

arm’s length. Now she recognised it as him trying hard to tell her how much he loved her.

They were yet to have sex or even have a conversation about it—there’d been too many other things to worry about. Not that she didn’t miss sex—she did. But she’d read how important it was for anyone with a chronic illness to feel like they had some control over their condition. She’d unwittingly stolen Jon’s control before the diagnosis by going into fix-it mode and she knew if she did it again, it would only make things worse. Still, knowing it didn’t make it any easier to sit back and wait. She was hoping now they both knew erectile dysfunction was part of Parkinson’s, he’d raise the topic without any coaxing from her. But hope was a double-edged sword.

Jon dropped into the cane chair, weary but thankfully not grey with fatigue. ‘Great moon.’

‘Gorgeous. How was cricket?’

‘I arrived just as they were packing up.’ His mouth tweaked up in a rueful smile. ‘Must have missed the email about the time change so I only stayed for one drink. People were scattering as they had things on. Stretch and Solly were going to some community meeting about Riverfarm. Do you know anything about that?’

‘Sure it wasn’t Landcare? They’re both involved with that.’

‘Might have been.’

‘Actually, Helen Demetriou from the community garden was asked to move out of the old manager’s cottage. The shire told her it was uninhabitable.’

‘She’s the woman writing all the letters to The Standard and pushing for a tiny houses village, right?’

‘Is she?’ Tara hadn’t read the paper in weeks. She suddenly sat forward, propelled by the idea she’d jettisoned during her dark, angry and self-indulgent days. ‘I’ve been inside that cottage. It’s got the original pressed-metal dados, wallpaper and fireplaces. I doubt the shire wants to spend a cent on it, but they might sell it to us.’

‘Why would we want to buy it?’

‘It’s a piece of Boolanga history that needs preserving. If we approached the historical society and they provided a space for it, we could restore it to its former glory. Just think, it could be Hoopers Hardware’s very own The Block.’

He smiled his old smile—one she rarely saw since Parkinson’s had blanked it out—and she gave thanks the drugs were restoring it. With the help of hindsight, she now realised how much its absence had tied into her insecurities about the state of their marriage. Then the smile faded.

‘What?’ she asked.

He rubbed his jaw. ‘Before I got Parkinson’s, a project like that would have been a challenge to juggle with work and the kids.’

‘I’m thinking bigger than just us. More like a twist on The Block. We’d decide on all the fittings, exterior work, paint and interior designs, but we’d coordinate the project. You’d be Scotty and I’d be Shelley. We can invite the best local tradesmen in to do the work and have volunteer labourers. That way we get to advertise how Hoopers can source anything anyone needs for a renovation, the tradies get free advertising, and the volunteers can learn a new skill. It can be a community project and we’ll video bits of it and throw it up on Facebook as well as making a big display instore.’

Jon was quiet, but she could see his mind working, clicking the idea over and trying it on for size. It just about killed her not to ask What do you think?

‘We’d be giving back to Boolanga and generating goodwill. And if Bunnings comes after us, we’ll have another finger in the community pie and loyalty from the tradies involved.’ He grinned at her. ‘I love the way you think.’

Warmth spread through her. ‘So will I contact the shire and see if they’re interested in selling while you do some initial costings?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ He shifted in the chair. ‘What made you change your mind?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Months ago I suggested you set up an interior design consulting service and you didn’t want to do it. Now you want to spearhead a reno.’

She swallowed and dug deep, honouring the silent pledge she’d made the day after his diagnosis when she’d revisited her marriage vows. In sickness and in health. Making that promise when she’d been head over heels in love with a man whose height and breadth declared him invincible had been easy. She’d spoken the words glibly when not even a hint of trouble was on the horizon and any thought of it was such a foreign concept she couldn’t fathom what it might mean. The ‘in health’ part was straightforward. Sickness was a totally different beast, taking control and pushing them away from each other. If they were going to make it, they needed to be honest with each other.

‘Back then, I thought you only wanted me as a business partner and a mother to your children.’

His shoulders sagged and the tremor started in his fingers, racing up his right arm. ‘How close did I get to losing you?’

She sucked in her lips, knowing instinctively that this particular truth would only damage their new and still fragile way of being together. The wife part of the relationship she had down pat. The carer part was like tiptoeing through a minefield of Jon’s pride and independence and her own overzealousness and reluctance. As for the lover part, it was absent.

She shuffled her chair in close and placed her hand over his. ‘I understand now why we stopped having sex.’

‘Yeah, but it’s still not happening.’

‘No.’

He heaved in air. ‘You’re not the only one who misses it, T.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means there’s hope.’

‘Glad you think so.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve been reading the stuff the clinic gave me on ED. It’s freakin’ terrifying. There’s stuff they suggest that I only ever thought was kinky.’

She noticed he couldn’t even say the words erectile dysfunction. ‘Like what?’

‘Pumps.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘Cock rings.’

‘Like from sex shops? Seriously?’ Tara had never got past reading about Viagra.

‘Yeah.’ He rubbed his face.