But when I tried to apply the base coat, my hand shook so badly that I got it all over my fingers.
I removed it and tried again, bracing my hand against the table. But the difference that made was minimal.
What was wrong with me? If I couldn’t do something as simple as paint my nails, how on earth could I drive to Maine tomorrow and testify at a parole hearing?
Tears filled my eyes and I slammed the bottle down.
Half a second later, a knock sounded at the door.
Dragging myself from my chair, I wiped my tears on the sleeve of my T-shirt.
Josh was standing patiently under the porch light.
“I just wanted to see you,” he said as I opened the door.
I nodded, unable to say anything in response.
“No need to talk. I was just walking Wayne. Wanted to wish you luck.”
He’d wished me luck at the hearing no less than a dozen times. It was sweet.
His hands were shoved into his pockets.
I didn’t want to talk, to be “on,” to explain myself.
But I also didn’t want him to leave. I wanted his strong, quiet presence.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” I asked.
He nodded, following me silently into the kitchen. Wayne walked right into the living room and curled up on the floor in front of the couch.
“What are you doing?” Josh asked as I put the kettle on.
He gestured to the table, where the bucket filled with polish, files and the light thing sat.
“I was trying to paint my nails,” I said, looking down at my sad fingers. “Wanted to look professional, you know?”
“I’m sorry. I can get out of your way,” he said as if nail care was some deeply personal ritual.
“No. It’s fine. It was a dumb idea. Every time I try, I make a mess.”
I held up a hand and his eyes widened as it trembled. He reached out and squeezed it between his warm palms. I stepped toward him, looping my arms around his chest and burrowing my face against him.
He said nothing, just gently held me while I clung to him.
“Can I help?” he asked into the top of my hair.
I tilted my head to look up at him. “You want to paint my nails?”
“Sure do.”
“How much manicure experience do you have?”
“Absolutely none. But as a licensed operator of precision equipment, I think I can figure it out.”
He was so kind. But I couldn’t ask that of him.
“Will having your nails painted make you feel more confident?” he asked.