Chapter 19
It was a warm summer afternoon. The wind had died down for the time being, and on the horizon, out past the cotton-ball clouds glued to the sky, the sun was bright. I was sweating as we carried the last of my parents’ things out to the RV.
Bobby, on the other hand, wasn’t sweating. Bobby looked like he carried luggage and boxes of books and other heavy things all the time. Because it was such a nice day, he wasn’t wearing anything but shorts and a gray tank, and twice now, I’d almost fallen on the stairs. The second time, Indira had cleared her throat—pointedly.
After we’d stacked the last box of “research” books in the RV, my mom said, “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Easy for you to say,” I said. “You weren’t the one carrying the boxes.”
“How far are you driving today?” Bobby asked. “Aren’t you getting kind of a late start?”
“Only to Portland.” My mom shooed us out of the RV and followed us onto Hemlock House’s drive. “We’ll have a nice dinner with friends and hit the road early.”
“That sounds nice,” Bobby said.
“Bobby,” my dad called. He was standing on Hemlock House’s lawn, and—because he was a normal dad and we were a normal family—he had a gun in his hand. “Do you have time to give me some quick pointers?”
“No,” I said. “He doesn’t.”
Bobby laughed quietly, kissed my temple, and jogged over to my dad.
“He missed every shot,” I said. “Every single one. That’s got to be statistically impossible.”
My mom gave me a look of cool amusement. She looked better today—her eyes clear, her expression alert, the fatigue and strain of the last few days already easing out of her face. Of course, I probably looked better too. A little R they didn’t want to miss their dinner reservation. A few minutes later, after hugs and kisses all around, the RV was headed down Hemlock House’s long drive, and then it reached the end and turned out of sight.
“Oh thank God,” I said, collapsing against Bobby.
He hooked an arm around me, kissed the side of my head, and said, “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It was pretty bad, Bobby. They got involved in a murder investigation. You had to arrest them. All my childhood fantasies about my dad being the fastest draw in the West were obliterated.”
“He might still be the fastest,” Bobby said drily. “He’s definitely quick on the draw. And I didn’t arrest them. I mean, not technically.”
I laughed. And then I wiggled around until my nose was pressed against his, and his arms around me were warm and solid.
“Hi,” Bobby said.
“You survived my parents.”
“They’re very nice.”
“No, they’re not. I mean, they definitely weren’t nice at the beginning.”
“They’ve been worried about you. And they didn’t know me.”
“You’re a saint.”
He got a hint of that goofy smile.
“You’re the single best boyfriend who’s ever lived,” I told him.
He nodded, going for solemn and not quite making it. That goofy smile was still trying to slip out.
“You can have anything you want,” I said. “Just name it. My fortune. My land. My literary estate.”
“Anything?” Bobby asked and nuzzled closer.
“Oh. Um, yes. Definitely. Anything.”
“Great,” he whispered. His breath was hot on my neck. “I signed us up for a Labor Day 5K.”
I shot backward, breaking free of his grasp.
“You said anything,” he told me with a shrug.
“Bobby, that’s not—you can’t—there were implications !” I lowered my voice. “About sexy times.”
“I’m serious about the 5K,” he told me as he turned me toward the house and steered me inside. “And if you thought this was bad, wait until you meet my parents.”
“Uh, was that supposed to sound as ominous as it did?”
“It was supposed to sound reassuring,” he told me. “Because we’re in this together.”
“Yeah, reassuring isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind.”
Laughter came from the billiard room, and when I glanced over, I caught a glimpse of the room on the other side of the pocket doors. Keme had stolen Millie’s hat—which was bafflingly enormous—and was playing keep-away. Millie was shouting, “GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!” in a way that threatened the structural integrity of the house, and Fox, in a hat that was only slightly smaller (and which featured a beekeeper’s mesh net), was shouting almost as loudly, “I’m trying to watch Teen Mom !” Indira was saying something to Keme—probably about not teasing Millie—but I couldn’t hear her for all the noise.
Instead of heading straight into the melee, which is what I’d been expecting, Bobby turned me toward the den. When we stepped inside, he shut the door behind him.
“Okay, this is even more ominous,” I said. “Wait, are your parents here?”
“Are they in this small room that we’re currently in?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man.” I lowered my voice. “Would they like it if I said something like that?”
Bobby looked like a man drawing on inner reserves of equanimity. He reached past me to the mantel and picked up an envelope resting there. Then he held it out—but something in his face warned me not to take it yet. “I understand that I have a tendency to, uh, take more ownership of relationship problems than might be healthy.”
“Oh my God, Bobby, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Yet.” Then that goofy smile slipped out. “I didn’t get a job as a night watchman. I didn’t tap into my surfing fund. I didn’t even sell any of my sneakers.”
“Uh, were you seriously going to do that stuff?”
“I know it’s a mistake to believe that I can fix things if I work harder. The same way I know it’s a mistake to believe I can do everything on my own.”
“But I’m not trying to do everything on my own. That’s what’s so genius about my plan.”
“You keep talking about this plan,” Bobby said. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m going to turn Hemlock House into a bed-and-breakfast.”
Bobby stared at me.
“I got the idea from Stewart. Before I realized he was a murderer.”
“Stewart suggested making Hemlock House a bed-and-breakfast.”
“Well, not exactly, but it was in the ballpark. I mean, he probably wouldn’t think it was in the ballpark, but that’s how genius works—free association, you know.”
One of Hemlock House’s big, expensive clocks ticked away the seconds.
“Dash,” Bobby said.
“No, it’s a good idea, I promise. I did some research. We can charge whatever we want, especially during tourist season. And the house is already paid off, so our expenses actually aren’t outrageous. And during the winter, I can pick up some teaching at the college—I mean, I think I can. It won’t be a ton of money, but it’ll carry us.”
Bobby adjusted his tank. It was—to say the least—distracting. All those muscles under all that golden skin. Then his eyes fixed on me, and he said, “You want to run a bed-and-breakfast.”
“I mean, sure. Why not?”
“You.”
“Okay, that’s kind of rude—”
“The same person who once told me that he wanted the library to install a drive-thru so that he wouldn’t have to, quote, ‘fight my way through the crowds.’”
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but if you’d ever seen the Friday afternoon rush—”
“The same person who said the self-checkout should win employee of the month because it didn’t ask you if your kids were going to enjoy all those Pop-Tarts.”
“It wasn’t even that many Pop-Tarts if you consider I was getting a sampling of all available flavors.”
“The same person who asked me if it would be morally wrong to take a nap while he got a haircut so that he didn’t have to make small talk.”
“That and naps are, like, super relaxing, so, it would kind of be like a spa treatment.”
Bobby’s eyes have this unbelievable intensity sometimes.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I’ve got to do something, Bobby. And teaching a few classes at the college won’t be enough.”
“Yes,” Bobby said. “We need to figure out a long-term plan. And I am—” He took a breath. “—working on not taking this on myself. But Dash, sweetheart, this house is your safe space. You love it here. I think you love Hemlock House more than just about anywhere. And I don’t want you to give that up. You deserve somewhere you can let your walls down, feel comfortable, and recharge.” He wagged the envelope. “This is two months’ rent, from me and Indira.”
“No, Bobby, I don’t want—”
“We split it up so that we’re also paying a share for Keme. You’re expected to contribute too.” I opened my mouth, but Bobby spoke over me. “We talked about this, Dash. You and I talked about this. I love that you want to be more independent. And you’re doing that. But part of being independent is knowing your limitations. That’s where your friends come in. Take the envelope, babe. Catch up on bills. Hire someone to come take a look at the chimney.” He grinned, and it was surprisingly goofy. “Buy me a nice dinner.”
I stared at the envelope. I thought about strangers tramping through Hemlock House—scuffing the floors, putting holes in the walls, asking for more shampoo or complaining that they were too cold or too hot, coming and going at all hours, demanding breakfast when any decent person would still be in bed.
“I’m going to teach those classes,” I said.
“Good.”
“And anything I make from my stories, it’ll go in the fund.”
Bobby nodded. He proffered the envelope one more time.
I took it.
Slipping an arm around me, Bobby stepped in. He kissed me lightly, pulled back, and checked my face. Whatever he saw there made that goofy grin grow again. “See how easy that was? That’s how it’s supposed to be, sweetheart. We take care of each other.”
My throat was unexpectedly thick, but I managed to say, “Tell that to Keme the next time he tries those Mortal Kombat fatalities on me.”
Bobby cupped my cheek and kissed me again.
“He tried to rip my heart out,” I said. “My ribs got in the way, but it still really hurt.”
Bobby kissed me again.
“And he tried to break my spine over his knee, but then I fell. He caught me, and it was actually kind of sweet.”
“Do you seriously want to talk about Keme right now?” Bobby asked as he leaned in to kiss me again.
When I came up for air, a little more flustered than usual, I was surprised to find Bobby had ninja’d away my glasses, and all I could do was blink owlishly at him. “We take care of each other, huh?”
“Of course we do,” he said, drawing me closer. “We’re a family.”