Chapter 6
Chapter Six
A s Blaise put her lunch dishes in the dishwasher, she thought about the evening to come.
She had never belonged to a book club. Her modeling life had been too chaotic to join anything that organized, but she liked the idea of it, and she loved to read.
It was how she’d occupied herself during the long hours in hair and makeup.
It had also been a way to escape the grief and humiliation of the past few years.
Joining a book club seemed like a great way to get to know more people and if she was going to make a life for herself here, she ought to be involved in the community.
Maybe a book club was a small step compared to some of the other things she could be doing, but a small step felt the most manageable.
What did one wear to a book club? It was hours away, but with her wardrobe pared down, she liked to put her outfits together early to give herself time to think. It also gave her time in case something needed to be steamed.
She had a walk-in closet, her one sticking point when she’d chosen her floor plan, but it was still overstuffed.
She selected a pair of crisp white ankle pants, a paisley turquoise button-down that she’d wear with the sleeves rolled, and white Hermes sandals. She’d add a white Hermes belt with a gold buckle and some understated gold jewelry.
She stepped back. Did it need a scarf? Maybe if she did a low ponytail, she’d tie it with a scarf.
Or she could wear the scarf instead of the belt.
That was always a nice detail. She was probably overthinking it, but once people found out who she was—or rather, who she’d been—they scrutinized her outfit. She’d seen it happen.
Beau whined.
He was either unhappy her evening plans didn’t include him, or he had to go out. Most likely the latter. “Come on.” She went around the bed to the door that led out to the back porch.
He scampered after her, a sure sign that out was the answer. They went through the screened porch and into the backyard.
Because the housing lots were staggered, the yard behind hers wasn’t one yard, but two halves of the neighbors’ properties. The areas were separated by low white poly fences, the only kind allowed, and they had gates to let the yard men through.
In the back and to the left of her was a woman she’d seen enough to wave at but didn’t know. To the right was a cranky old man she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He was usually on his back porch, scowling out at the water.
No clue who he was or why he was always in such a bad mood. Pretty hard to live in a place like this with all the palm trees, blue sky, and gorgeous Gulf views and still maintain a perpetual bad mood but somehow, he managed to do it.
She hadn’t lived here that long, obviously, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing a visitor at his place. Just him. Not even a pet.
As she was staring at his porch, he came out from the house, a plate in one hand. He sat in his chair, plate on his lap.
She looked away before he caught her staring. The woman one house over was watering the pots on her back deck. She waved and Blaise waved back. Beau had to be done by now. She looked around and couldn’t find him. Had he gone into the side yard?
She walked around to the left. No Beau. She turned to walk to the right and saw the gate between her yard and Mr. Grumpy’s was open.
Beau was in Mr. Grumpy’s yard. Squatting.
Oh, crap. Literally.
“Beau, no,” Blaise yelled as she went after him, poop bag in hand.
Mr. Grumpy was already coming out of his screened porch. “Let the dog poop in peace. So long as you clean it up, I don’t care.”
She stopped a few steps into his yard, shocked by his words.
She’d expected to be yelled at or at least reprimanded for letting her dog out of her yard.
Of course, she hadn’t let Beau out. Someone had left the gate open.
“Sorry to disrupt your lunch.” She held up the bag in her hand. “I’ll clean it up.”
Still standing by his screen door, he looked at her, then looked past her. “You ought to check that latch.”
She glanced back. “Right. I will. Thank you, Mr…”
“Earl Tanner. Everyone calls me Brick.”
She had no idea why that might be. “Nice to meet you, Brick. I’m Blaise.”
Beau kicked his back legs through the grass, having done what he’d come to do.
Brick snorted. “Everyone knows who you are.”
Oddly embarrassed at being recognized, she crouched and cleaned up what Beau had left behind, then got herself and Beau back into her yard. She closed the gate, only to find that the latch was hanging loose, thanks to a missing screw.
She frowned. She’d have to call maintenance. It was a simple thing to fix, but she didn’t have a screw to replace it with and she doubted she’d find it in the grass.
She dropped the bag in the trash bin and took Beau inside. She washed his feet in the bathroom sink, then went back into the bedroom. She doubted Brick could see her, but she could see him. Sitting on his porch. Eating his sandwich. Scowling.
He wasn’t a bad-looking man even with the scowl. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a scowl. He was rugged in that sort of squinty, Clint Eastwood kind of way. Face lined by sun and experience. He wore his steel-gray hair short, nearly shaved on the sides.
Like he’d been in the military.
Maybe he had. He held himself tall and straight. Like good posture had been drilled into him.
She was so surprised he hadn’t thrown a fit about Beau pooping in his yard. In a million years, she wouldn’t have predicted that outcome. A good reminder that she’d judged the man before knowing him.
Which was what happened to her all the time. Something she’d come to abhor.
She should do something for him to repay him for that unexpected kindness.
But what? She’d been planning on making brownies for the book club group.
They were her go-to indulgence and she’d been making them for years.
She’d gotten the recipe from the personal chef of Calvin Klein, a designer she’d had the pleasure of working with several times, and the chef claimed the recipe was Katherine Hepburn’s.
Blaise could just as easily make two batches and take one to Brick. She thought she had enough ingredients. Smiling, she went to the kitchen to be sure.
She did. She turned on some classic tunes and got to work. Beau was lounging in his usual spot by the doors that led out to the front porch, sprawled on the tile, which was undoubtedly cool.
She set the oven temperature. Thankfully, she’d bought a foil baking pan so she could leave the brownies behind at the book club, and the pans came two in a pack.
She sang along with the songs, old stuff that her parents had listened to and now filled her with a sweet nostalgia, as she measured and mixed. If Beau minded her singing, he was too nice to say.
The oven beeped its readiness. She popped the two pans in and set a timer, then went to catch up on the day’s events on her iPad while she waited for the brownies to bake.
A sudden idea came to her. A nosy kind of idea, but it was the kind of thing she figured others did to her all the time.
Blaise sat cross-legged on her sofa, the afternoon sun slanting through the sheer curtains and across the cushions. With her iPad balanced on her knees, she told herself she was only indulging in a harmless bit of curiosity.
Everyone Googled their neighbors, right? Especially ones like Earl Tanner, who looked like he’d been carved from old stone and scowled as if smiling was an expense his budget didn’t cover.
She typed his name—Earl Tanner, Beechwood, Florida—and waited.
Not much came up at first: a few public records, some outdated property listings, a mention in the minutes of a local homeowners’ meeting from some community years ago.
He seemed to have perfected the art of leaving no trace.
Blaise admired that a little. She’d spent years being photographed, recorded, and commented on.
Disappearing entirely sounded like heaven.
Then she found it.
Patricia Ann Tanner, beloved wife of Earl Tanner, passed away peacefully at home on May 14, 2018.
A dedicated teacher, gardener, and volunteer, she is survived by her husband of forty-two years, her sister, Caroline, and her two sons.
Services are private. In lieu of flowers, donations are requested to the Wounded Warrior Project and the local animal shelter.
Blaise read it again. Forty-two years. That kind of devotion felt rare these days. It was the sort of loyalty she’d once thought defined love. She felt an ache in her chest she hadn’t expected, but then, she’d been thinking about Jay. He’d been that loyal.
If he hadn’t gotten sick, he’d still be right here beside her.
Beau stretched, sighing in his sleep, and sunlight caught the edges of the tablet. Blaise set the iPad aside to stare at the bright afternoon beyond her windows, the Gulf visible at the horizon where one blue melded into another.
She hadn’t meant to go snooping, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about Brick—the man next door who mostly spoke in single syllables and carried himself like someone used to enduring life rather than living it. Whatever his story was, she hoped someday she’d get to hear it.
Maybe Earl Tanner wasn’t such a grump after all—maybe he just hadn’t found a new reason to smile.
Something she understood all too well.