Chapter 15
Fifteen
A month passed, and somehow the new direction of Alex’s life held. The ghost had not expected to learn anything from Alex during their enforced association, but as it turned out, he did. Alex had to wrestle his addiction hour by hour, sometimes even minute by minute, but he was about as stubborn as it was possible for a man to be. To the ghost, quitting drinking looked a lot like jumping into the water and hoping that somehow you’d figure out how to swim before you went under.
Alex distracted himself with work, and plenty of it. He did such meticulous handwork on the Dream Lake cottage that any master craftsman would have been proud to claim it. Alex worked long into the nights, sanding, buffing, staining, painting, and in the process he consumed enough candy bars to send a normal person into diabetic shock. Thanks to the ghost’s nagging, Alex also ate regular meals throughout the day, although he would have to eat a lot more to make up for the deficit of calories he’d been used to consuming in the form of alcohol.
Alex saw Zoe on two occasions, once to collect paint swatches. That had lasted about a minute and a half, and then he was gone. The second time, Zoe had come to the cottage for Alex to show her the progress on the remodel. He had been businesslike. Zoe had been restrained. Gavin and Isaac, for their parts, had been so mesmerized by Zoe that neither of them had so much as hammered a nail while she was there.
From all appearances, Zoe’s visit had barely affected Alex. He knew how to build a wall, how to fortify it until nothing could break through. There was no way for Zoe to reach Alex now, and that was probably for the best. Still, the ghost couldn’t stop feeling regretful about it. And Alex refused to discuss exactly what, if anything, he still felt for Zoe. The subject was off-limits.
The ghost understood.
A woman could do that to you—reach that place in your soul where the best and worst of you was kept. And once she was there, she owned that place and never left.
That was why he hadn’t told Alex about his newfound memories of Emmaline Stewart, the scenes unrolling in front of him like a moving-picture show.
Emma had been the youngest and liveliest of Weston Stewart’s three daughters. She was bookish, and funny, and just farsighted enough that she’d occasionally needed reading glasses. Wonderful cat-eye glasses with thick black frames, which she loved to wear to goad her mother, Jane. Emma would never catch a man, wearing those glasses, her mother had said. And Emma had claimed that she would catch the right man by wearing those glasses.
The ghost remembered being alone in the cottage with her, after sharing a picnic beside Dream Lake. She had read to him, a piece she had written about local high schools that had forbidden female students to “paint” their faces, meaning to use lipstick, cheek rouge, or powder. High school girls across Whatcom County had objected to the regulation, and Emma had interviewed principals of three different schools about the controversy.
“The wearing of lipstick leads to the ruin of the first barrier of a girl’s nature,” Emma had quoted one of the principals, her eyes bright with amusement behind the glasses. “Next come cigarettes, then liquor, and after that, unmentionable acts will occur.”
“What unmentionable acts?” he had asked her, kissing her cheek, her neck, the soft little space behind her ear.
“You know.”
“I do not. Describe one for me.”
Emma had laughed deep in her throat. “No.”
But he had persisted, kissing and teasing, trying to pull her hands to his body. She had giggled and feigned reluctance, knowing how to provoke his desire.
“Just tell me which body parts are involved,” he’d said, and when she’d still refused, he’d made suggestions about just what might constitute an unmentionable act.
“Dirty language isn’t going to get you anywhere,” she’d told him primly.
He had grinned. “It’s already gotten me past the first four buttons of your blouse.”
And she’d flushed and gone still as he murmured softly to her, pulling all the little buttons free of their moorings…
The remembered physical intimacy with Emma was intoxicating. And yet the desire and pleasure that a soul could experience was far deeper and more profound than any mere physical sensation.
The day that he would see her again was approaching. But the fierce anticipation was tempered by the feeling that something was wrong, that there was something he needed to know, to set right. He was grateful for the time Alex spent at the cottage; it had given him enough gossamer filaments to be woven into a memory or two. But that wasn’t enough. He needed to go back to Rainshadow Road… something had happened there that he needed to remember.
***
After going through the storage space where she and Justine kept odd pieces of furniture and framed pictures and other items they had never found use for, Zoe had gathered an assortment of objects for the Dream Lake cottage. Among them were a set of vintage metal bowling alley lockers, each square little door painted a different color… a retro wall clock shaped like a coffee cup… a teal blue Victorian cast-iron bed frame. She had also tagged some pieces of furniture from Emma’s former apartment that had been sent to Friday Harbor, things like a set of leather club chairs, a wicker trunk table, a collection of teapots that would be displayed on a set of built-in bookshelves. The quirky mixture would fit well into the new clean lines of the remodeled house, and Zoe knew that her grandmother had always enjoyed touches of whimsy in her surroundings.
It had been six weeks since Alex had started remodeling the cottage. True to his word, the kitchen had been completed, and so had the main bedroom and bathroom. Since the original wood flooring had turned out to be unusable, Zoe had agreed to let Alex install laminate flooring in a honey maple shade, and she had to admit that it looked beautiful and surprisingly natural. The second bedroom and pocket bathroom still had to be completed, and the garage hadn’t been built yet, which meant that Alex would be spending time at the cottage after Zoe and Emma had moved in. Zoe wasn’t certain how she felt about that. On the recent occasions when she’d seen him, the strain of mutual discomfort had made them both awkward.
Alex looked healthier, more well-rested, the shadows gone from beneath his eyes. But his rare smiles were as thin as a knife blade, his mouth was hard with the bitterness of a man who knew he would never have what he truly wanted. His remoteness wouldn’t have bothered Zoe nearly so much if she hadn’t seen the other side of him.
With Justine’s help, Zoe would spend a couple of days getting the cottage ready with dishes, bed linens, pictures, and other things to make it cozy and welcoming. Then she would go to Everett and bring her grandmother back to the island.
Emma’s nurses had provided frequent updates about her physical therapy and the course of medications they had put her on. They had also warned her that Emma had already started to show signs of “sundowning,” which meant that late in the day or in the evening, she might become agitated, and ask repetitive questions more frequently than usual.
Over the course of several conversations, Colette Lin, the elder-care consultant, had also helped Zoe to understand what to expect in the future. That whenever some of Emma’s abilities were lost, they were not likely to come back. That she would have sequencing problems, doing things in the wrong order, until something as simple as making a pot of coffee or doing laundry would be impossible. Eventually she would deteriorate to a point when she would start to wander and get lost, and then she would have to be taken to a secure locked facility for her own safety.
It was difficult to read Emma’s moods, especially over the phone, but she seemed to be facing her illness with the same mixture of pragmatism and humor she’d shown all her life. “Tell everyone my dementia is early-onset,” she’d told Zoe with a mischievous chuckle. “That way they’ll think I’m younger.” And another time, “Every night, no matter what you make us for dinner, tell me it’s my favorite meal. I won’t remember if it is or not.” When Zoe had told Emma that she’d found a home-care nurse to stay at the cottage in the mornings while she worked, Emma’s only question was, “Does she do manicures?”
***
“I know that inside she has to be scared,” Zoe told Justine, the night before they started to move things into the cottage. “It’s like little pieces of her are being chipped away, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.”
“But she knows she’ll be safe. She knows you’ll be there.”
“She knows that right now.” Zoe began to pet Byron, who had just crawled onto her lap. “But she may not always know it.”
After handing a glass of wine to Zoe, Justine poured another and sat on the other side of the sofa. “It’s weird, when you think of it,” she said. “About what you are, when you take away the memories and desires.”
“You’re nothing,” Zoe suggested morosely.
“No, you’re a soul. A soul on a journey… and life on earth is just part of that journey.”
“What do you think happens after we die?”
“According to my family—at least, on my mother’s side—some souls are lucky enough to go up to the ultimate life force. Heaven. Whatever you want to call it.” Justine crossed her legs and settled more comfortably into the corner of the sofa. “But other souls, who’ve made mistakes during their lives on earth, have to go to a sort of waiting place.”
“What kind of waiting place?”
“I’m not exactly sure. But it’s their chance to understand what they did wrong and learn from it. The coven calls it ‘Summerland.’”
Byron curled himself into a doughnut shape on Zoe’s lap and began to purr. Zoe sipped her wine and studied her cousin with a perplexed smile. “Did you just say ‘coven’? As in witchcraft?”
“Oh, it’s just a joke my mother and her friends have,” Justine said with a dismissive little wave of her hand. “They’ve called their group a coven forever. They even named it. The Circle of Crystal Cove.”
“Are you part of it?”
Justine made a scoffing sound. “Do you ever see me with a broomstick?”
“I don’t even see you vacuum.” Zoe smiled down into her wineglass, but looked up as a thought occurred to her. “What about that old besom broom in your closet?”
“My mother gave it to me as a rustic decoration. I like to keep it near my clothes because it smells like cinnamon.” She made a comical face as she saw Zoe’s expression. “What?”
“What’s the word for when people go astray from their religion?”
“Lapsed.”
“I think you might be a lapsed witch.”
Although Zoe said the words lightly, Justine gave her a strangely intent glance before asking with a grin, “Would it make any difference to you if I was?”
“Yes. I’d want you to cast a spell to make my grandmother better.”
Her cousin’s expression softened. “I’m afraid spells can’t take her off the path she’s on. If I tried, things would only get worse.” She stretched out a long leg and rubbed Byron’s furry bulk with her foot. “All I can do is be a friend to you both,” she said. “For whatever that’s worth.”
“It’s worth a lot.”
The next morning, after making breakfast at the inn, Zoe called Emma. “Guess what I’m doing today?” she asked brightly.
“You’re coming to visit me,” her grandmother guessed.
“Close. Today and tomorrow I’ll be busy getting the cottage ready, and the next day, you and I are moving in together. Just like old times.”
“Come get me now, and I’ll help.”
Zoe smiled, knowing that even though the offer was sincere, Emma wouldn’t be of any practical use. “I can’t change the schedule,” she said. “Justine and I have everything worked out. Her boyfriend Duane is going to help us, and—”
“The man from the motorcycle gang?”
“Well, it’s not really a gang, it’s a biker church.”
“Motorcycles are noisy and dangerous. I don’t like men who ride them.”
“We like the ones who have big muscles to help us move furniture.”
“Is Duane the only one helping you? Those club chairs are very heavy.”
“No, Alex will be there.”
“Who is he?”
“The contractor. He has a pickup with a trailer hitch.”
Mischief edged her grandmother’s tone. “Does he have big muscles, too?”
“Upsie,” Zoe chided, and felt her color rise as she remembered the hard strength of Alex’s body pressed to hers. “Yes, as a matter of fact he does.”
“Is he attractive?”
“Very.”
“Married?”
“Divorced.”
“Why did he—”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Zoe said, laughing. “I’m not interested in a love life right now. I want to focus on taking care of you.”
“I’d like to see you find a good man before I’m gone,” Emma said wistfully.
“You’d better hang around then, because at this rate it’s going to take me a while.” Hearing the back door of the kitchen open, Zoe turned to see Alex walking in. She smiled at him, her heart beginning to beat faster.
“When are you coming to get me?” Emma asked.
“The day after tomorrow.”
Her grandmother sounded perturbed. “Did I already ask that?”
“Yes,” Zoe said gently. “It’s fine.” At the periphery of her vision, she saw Alex looking at a pan of muffins on the counter, and she gestured for him to take one. He complied without hesitation. Zoe went to pour him some coffee, while she said on the phone, “I’d better get busy now.”
But the minor mistake had made Emma anxious. “Someday I’ll look at you,” she said, “and I’ll think ‘that’s the nice girl who makes me dinner’ and I won’t know you’re my granddaughter.”
The words caused a painful tug in Zoe’s chest. She swallowed hard and poured some cream into Alex’s coffee. “I’ll still know who you are,” she said. “I’ll still love you.”
“That’s awfully one-sided. What good is a grandmother who doesn’t remember anything?”
“You’re more to me than what you remember.” Zoe slid an apologetic glance to Alex, knowing that he disliked to be kept waiting. But he seemed relaxed and patient, his gaze averted as he ate the muffin.
“I won’t be myself,” Emma said.
“You’ll still be you. You’ll just need a little more help. I’ll be there to remind you of things.” At her grandmother’s silence, Zoe said softly, “I’ve got to go, Upsie. I’ll call you later today. In the meantime, you’d better start packing. I’m coming to get you the day after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow,” her grandmother repeated. “Bye, Zoe.”
“Bye. Love you.”
Ending the conversation, Zoe slid the phone into her back pocket and stirred some sugar into Alex’s coffee. She handed it to him.
“Thanks.” His face was unreadable as he looked down at her.
Zoe’s throat was so tight that she wasn’t sure she could talk.
Seeming to understand, Alex filled the silence by saying easily, “I’ve already loaded the boxes into the pickup. I’ll take you and Justine to the cottage, and you can start putting away the dishes and books and that stuff. When Duane gets there, we’ll hitch up the trailer and move the furniture from storage.” He paused to take a swallow of coffee, his gaze sweeping briefly over her.
Zoe had dressed in a pair of jeans, a shapeless T-shirt, and a pair of old sneakers. And unlike Justine, who was slender and long-stemmed no matter what she wore, Zoe didn’t have the figure for baggy clothes. On a woman with her breasts and hips, anything that didn’t fit well was unflattering.
“This outfit makes me look dumpy,” Zoe said, and was instantly annoyed with herself. “Forget I just said that,” she told him before he could reply. “I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m just feeling insecure. About everything.”
“It’s normal to feel that way,” Alex said, “when you’re facing a lot of challenges. But ‘dumpy’ is never a word that could apply to you.” He drained the coffee cup and set it down. “And if you need a compliment… you’re a great cook.”
“Can you tell me one that’s not about my cooking?” she asked wistfully.
That almost made him smile—she could see the subtle deepening at the corners of his mouth. “You,” he said after a moment, “are the kindest person I’ve ever known.”
Before Zoe could recover from that, he started for the door. “Get your bag,” he said in an offhand tone. “I’ll take you to Dream Lake.”
***
The cottage on Dream Lake Road was spotless and light-filled and beautiful, the rows of new casement windows glittering in the sunshine. It smelled agreeably of fresh paint and scrubbed wood. They carried boxes inside, Alex taking two heavy crates of dishes to the new kitchen island. Following him, Zoe was surprised to see the retro dining set, finished with a gleaming coat of new silver chrome, the chairs reupholstered with liqht aqua vinyl that approximated the original hue. She set down the box she was carrying and stared at the dining set in amazement. “You restored it,” she said, running her fingers over the shiny white tabletop.
Alex shrugged. “Just gave it a few shots of chrome spray.”
She wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance. “You did a lot more than that.”
“I worked on it now and then when I needed distraction. You don’t have to use it, by the way. You can sell it and use the money for another dining set.”
“No, I love this. It’s perfect.”
“It goes with your bowling lockers,” he agreed.
Zoe grinned. “Are you making fun of my decorating style?”
“No, I like it.” Seeing her dubious expression, he added, “Really. It’s cute.”
Her smile lingered. “I suppose your decorating style is very tasteful.”
“It’s impersonal,” he said. “Darcy always said that no one would ever be able to tell a thing about either of us by looking at our house. I kind of liked it that way.”
Noticing a couple of objects in the center of the table, Zoe picked one up. It was a little plastic strap with a buckle, and something that looked like a miniature transmitter. “What is this?”
“It’s for the cat.” He retrieved the other object on the table, a tiny remote control of some kind, and showed it to her. “This goes with it.”
She shook her head, mystified. “Thank you, but… Byron doesn’t need a shock collar.”
That drew a brief grin from him. “It’s not a shock collar.” Taking her by the shoulders, he steered her to the door that led to the back patio. “It’s for that.”
A small Plexiglas square in a frame had been set into the wall beside the main door. Alex pressed a button on the remote control, and the clear pane slid upward with a quiet whoosh.
Her mouth fell open. “You… you put in a cat door?”
“The collar will activate it automatically, but only when Byron approaches directly. So nothing else will get in, including spiders.” At Zoe’s silence, he added, “It’s a gift. I figured you’d be busy enough with your grandmother, you didn’t need to be opening the door a dozen times a day for a cat.” Alex pointed to a sticky note on a nearby cabinet. “Those are directions for how to use it. The instruction manual is in the—” He broke off as Zoe reached for him. Reflexively he snatched her wrists in his hands before she could put them around his neck. The remote control clattered to the floor.
“I was just going to hug you,” Zoe said on a breath of laughter. No gift had ever pleased her as much. She was too filled with delight to be cautious.
His grip on her wrists was gentle but inexorable. His face had gone taut, grim, as if he’d just found himself in mortal danger.
“One hug,” she whispered, smiling.
Alex shook his head slightly.
Zoe watched, fascinated, as a band of color crossed the crests of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The front of his throat rippled with a swallow. How remarkable his eyes were, striations running through the light blue-green irises like spokes of starlight. He looked at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. And instead of being nervous, she was filled with giddy excitement.
Since he was still holding her arms, she lifted on her toes and leaned close, until her lips caught gently at his. She kept her wrists yielding in his grip, understanding that he was fighting some inner battle. She sensed the moment that he lost. Slowly he brought her hands behind her back, pressing them toward the base of her spine until her breasts were arched upward. His mouth came to hers. He held her in a way that made movement impossible—she could only answer him with her mouth, her lips clinging desperately.
Still kissing her, he let go of her wrists and lifted his hands to her face, cradling her cheeks. He seemed determined to pull in every sensation and make it last forever. Neither of them was rational, there was no room left for thought. Only for feeling. Only for wanting. Zoe reached under his T-shirt until the skin of his back was against her palms. She drew them slowly along the muscles on either side of his spine. He reacted with a quiet grunt and pushed her back against the edge of the wooden countertop, and tugged the front of her shirt upward. His breath was rough, but his hands were gentle on her breasts, squeezing and stroking as he kissed her. He licked inside her mouth, hot and deep. His fingers slipped beneath the top edge of her bra until his knuckles brushed a sensitive peak. The tender flesh went tight, and she felt the sweet ache of his touch all through her. He caught the tip and tugged, gently harrowing until the pleasure made her writhe. She struggled to get closer to him, rising on her toes, while he kissed her as if he were feeding on her, openmouthed and wet and slow—
Someone opened the front door.
Too startled to react, Zoe felt Alex yank her shirt back down. He grabbed a box from the island and carried it to the counter area near the sink.
“We’re here,” Justine announced, shouldering her way inside the cottage with a box in her arms. “Duane’s right behind me. Wow. Would you look at this place. Fantastic!”
It was difficult to think past the cloud of dream-colored heat that surrounded her. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Zoe asked, feeling swoony and unsteady as she retrieved the tiny remote control from the floor.
“It’s beautiful and a great investment,” Justine replied. “I’ll have no trouble renting this place out someday. Nice work, Alex.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, using a jackknife to open the box.
“Out of breath already, old man?” Justine asked with a grin. “It’s a good thing Duane’s here to help with the heavy lifting.”
“Look at this, Justine,” Zoe said hastily, before Alex could say a word. “Alex installed a special door for Byron.”
The electronic pet door was duly admired, while Duane entered the cottage with another couple of boxes.
Duane was a good-hearted man who attended his biker church regularly. He tended to be rowdy and impulsive, but he was loyal to his friends and always ready to help someone in need. His appearance was so intimidating—muscle-bulked arms protruding from leather vests, both arms sleeved with tattoos from wrist to shoulder, his face half obscured with boot-shaped sideburns—that it had taken Zoe a while to feel comfortable around him. But he seemed devoted to Justine, with whom he’d been going out for almost a year.
“I’m not the falling-in-love type,” Justine had once told her breezily, when Zoe had asked if the relationship with Duane might deepen into something permanent.
“You mean you’re leery of falling in love, or is there something about Duane—”
“Oh, I’m not leery of it. And Duane is great. It’s just that I can’t love anyone.”
“You’re a very loving person,” Zoe had protested.
“To friends and family, yes. But I can’t love someone in the romantic way you’re talking about.”
“But you have sex,” Zoe had said, bemused.
“Well, sure. People can have sex without love, you know.”
“Someday,” Zoe had said wistfully, “it would be nice to try both at the same time.”
More labeled boxes were brought in, including those containing Emma’s belongings. After Alex and Duane had left to get the furniture out of storage, Justine and Zoe unpacked shoes and handbags. They put them away on the shoe racks and shelves in the closet of the main bedroom. “I don’t remember all these built-ins being listed on the invoice,” Justine said. “It looks like Alex has been doing some extra work around here. Have you paid him on the side?”
“No, he did it without even asking,” Zoe said. “He really wants to make the house comfortable for Emma.”
Justine’s mouth twisted with wry amusement. “I don’t think Emma was the one he did it for. Is there something going on between you and the human iceberg?”
“No, nothing at all,” Zoe said emphatically.
Justine’s brows lifted. “I would have believed you if you said ‘a little flirtation here and there,’ or ‘we’ve gotten to be friends.’ But ‘nothing at all’… nope, I’m not buying it. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is noticing.”
“What way?”
“Like he’s a starving climber who’s just been rescued after three days with no supplies, and you’re a Cinnabon.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Zoe said.
“Okay.” Justine continued lining up shoes.
After a moment, Zoe burst out, “It’s not going to go beyond kissing. He’s made that clear.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because you already know my opinion.” Justine began to open another box.
“He’s a better man than you think he is,” Zoe couldn’t resist saying. “He’s a better man than he thinks he is.”
“Don’t do it, Zoe.”
“Don’t do what?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You’re thinking about doing it, and you’re trying to find all kinds of ways to justify it because of your attraction to emotionally unavailable men.”
“The other day,” Zoe retorted, “you told me that you were emotionally unavailable to men. Does that mean no one should have sex with you?”
“No, it means only a certain kind of man should have sex with me, or he’s going to get burned. And if he does, it’s his own fault.”
“Fine. If I get burned as a result of becoming involved with Alex, or anyone, I won’t ask for your sympathy.” Zoe’s irritable tone caused Justine to glance at her in surprise.
“Hey, I’m on your side.”
“I know that. And I’m even pretty sure you’re right. But it still feels like I’m being bossed around.”
Justine pulled shoes out of the box. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said after a moment. “You’re going to be so busy with Emma, you won’t have the time to fool around with Alex.”
Later Duane and Alex carried furniture and mattresses into the house and set various pieces where Zoe indicated. The afternoon sun was ripening by the time the heavy work had been completed. Now it was just a matter of putting an array of smaller items in their places, which Zoe would finish tomorrow.
Alex carried Zoe’s old dressmaker’s mannequin into the smaller bedroom, which hadn’t yet been painted. He unwrapped the mover’s blanket from around the mannequin. It was richly covered in a treasure garden of brooches made with crystals, gemstones, enamel, or painted lacquer. “Where do you want this?” he asked Zoe.
“That corner is fine.” Zoe had left most of her brooch collection pinned to the mannequin, having only removed about a half dozen of the more valuable ones. Taking them out of her bag, she went to pin them back onto the mannequin.
“I’m sorry this room isn’t finished yet.” He frowned as he glanced around the small space. The carpeting was new, but the room still had to be repainted and the old light fixtures replaced. Although a new wall-to-wall closet had been framed, it hadn’t been drywalled or fitted with doors.
“You’ve done an amazing amount of work,” Zoe replied. “And the most important things were the kitchen and my grandmother’s room, which are beautiful.” Scrutinizing the mannequin, Zoe pinned a brooch on an empty space. “I’m either going to have to stop collecting,” she said, “or get another mannequin.”
Alex stood next to her, looking over the array of jewelry. “When did you start the collection?”
“When I was sixteen. My grandmother gave this to me for my birthday.” She showed him a flower covered with crystals. “And I bought this to celebrate graduating from culinary school.” She held up a red enameled lobster with gold antennae before fastening it to the mannequin’s chest.
“What about that one?” Alex asked, looking at an antique gold-framed ivory cameo.
“A wedding present from Chris.” She smiled. “He told me if you own a cameo for seven years, it becomes a lucky charm.”
“You’re due for some luck,” he said.
“I think people don’t always know when lucky things are happening to them. Or they only realize it later. Like the divorce from Chris. It turned out to be the best thing for both of us.”
“That wasn’t luck. That was bailing out after a mistake.”
She made a little face at him. “I try not to think of the marriage as a mistake, but more like something fate put in my path. To help me learn, and grow.”
“What did you learn?” he asked with a mocking gleam in his eyes.
“How to be better at forgiving. How to be more independent.”
“Don’t you think you could have learned that stuff without some higher power putting you through a divorce?”
“You probably don’t even believe in a higher power.”
He shrugged. “Existentialism has always made a lot more sense to me than fate, God, or chance.”
“I’ve never been sure exactly what existentialism is,” Zoe confessed.
“It’s knowing the world is crazy and meaningless, so you have to find your own truth. Your own meaning. Because nothing else makes sense. No higher power, just human beings stumbling through life.”
“But… does having no faith make you happier?” she asked doubtfully.
“To existentialists, you can only be happy if you can manage to live in a state of denial about the absurdity of human existence. So… happiness is out.”
“That’s horrible,” Zoe said, laughing. “And way too deep for me. I like things I can be sure of. Like recipes. I know that the right amount of baking powder makes a cake rise. And eggs bind the other ingredients together. And life is basically good, and so are most people, and chocolate is proof that God wants us to be happy. See? My mind works on the most superficial level possible.”
“I like how your mind works.” As he held her gaze, there was a brief, hot flicker in his eyes. “Call if you have any problems,” he said. “Otherwise I won’t see you for a couple of days.”
“I wouldn’t dream of bothering you during your time off. You’ve worked practically nonstop since the project started.”
“It’s no hardship to work,” he said, “when I’m being paid well.”
“I appreciate it anyway.”
“I’ll come to the cottage on Monday. From now on I won’t start until about ten, so your grandmother will have time to get up and have breakfast before all the noise starts.”
“Will Gavin and Isaac come with you?”
“No. Just me, that first week. I don’t want to overwhelm Emma with too many new faces all at once.”
Zoe was touched and a little surprised by the realization that Alex had considered her grandmother’s feelings so carefully. “What are you going to do this weekend?” she asked, obliging Alex to stop at the doorway.
He gave her an opaque glance. “Darcy’s visiting. She wants to stage the house to sell faster.”
“I thought you said it was already impersonal. Isn’t that the point of staging?”
“Apparently not always. Darcy’s bringing an expert in target staging. The theory is that you’re supposed to fill the house with colors and objects that make potential buyers connect emotionally with the place.”
“Do you think that will work?”
He shrugged. “Regardless of what I think, it’s Darcy’s house.”
So Alex would be spending at least part of the weekend, if not all of it, in the company of his ex-wife. Zoe remembered what he’d once told her, that he and Darcy had slept together after the divorce out of sheer convenience. It would probably happen again, she thought, while depression settled over on her. There was no reason for Alex to turn down an offer of sex if Darcy was willing.
Maybe it wasn’t depression. It felt worse than that. It felt as if she’d made a pie with poisoned fruit and eaten all of it.
No, definitely not depression. It was jealousy.
Zoe tried to smile through the feeling as if she didn’t care. The effort made her mouth hurt. “Have a good weekend,” she managed to say.
“You, too.” And he left.
He always left without looking back, Zoe thought, and jabbed another brooch into the glittering mannequin.
***
“What was all that crap about?” the ghost asked in a surly tone, walking beside Alex. “Existentialism… life is meaningless… you can’t really believe that.”
“I do believe it. And stop eavesdropping on me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if there was anything else to do.” The ghost scowled at him. “Look at yourself. You’re being haunted by a spirit. That’s about as unexistential as you can get. The fact that I’m with you means it doesn’t all end with death. And it also means that someone or something put me in your life for a reason.”
“Maybe you’re not a spirit,” Alex muttered. “You could be a figment of my imagination.”
“You have no imagination.”
“Maybe you’re a symptom of depression.”
“Then why don’t you take some Prozac, and see if I disappear?”
Alex paused at the door of his truck and regarded the ghost with a contemplative scowl. “Because you wouldn’t,” he finally said. “I’m stuck with you.”
“So you’re not an existentialist,” the ghost said smugly. “You’re still just an asshole.”