3. George
Chapter three
George
After dropping Catherine off, I dive straight into work, eager to get started.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before I realize I didn’t bring everything I need. I tell Lynn that I’ll be back, all the while kicking myself for forgetting something so simple.
Lynn’s beach house is far enough out of town that she has few neighbors. One of the nearby properties is for sale, and I eye the dilapidated house as I pass it.
Maybe I should look into buying property myself. I certainly have enough money to buy something, rather than renting like I do.
A project house may not be the best idea. I think of that old expression, ‘the shoemakers' children go barefoot.’ With my dad also in construction, I’ve seen the way projects around the home tend to never got done.
On the other hand, I could simply hire my own company for the work.
Chuckling, I continue on. It takes me just over half an hour to get through Sandburrow and to the other side, where my house is.
As I pull up, my stomach drops.
An unwelcome surprise sits on the gravel driveway. My dad’s old blue Chevy.
Great. I told them I’m busy today.
Guess they ‘forgot.’
I jump out of the truck and head inside, unsurprised when I find the hall tree on the opposite wall that I keep it on.
“Mom? Dad?” I call as I pad into the house.
Mom is in the dining room, fussing as she slides the window seat to the next window.
“Oh, hello George,” she says. “Help me with this, will you?”
I cross the room and nudge the seat back to where I had it before. “Mom, please don’t rearrange my furniture.”
Mom puts her hands on her hips. “Georgie, I know what I’m doing. I bought you new curtains and this old thing will clash with them. It needs to go to that window where you won’t see it.”
“I don’t want new curtains,” I say.
“But these are so old-fashioned.” She gestures to the lace curtains that belonged to my grandparents. “You need a woman’s touch in this house.”
Dad, sitting in the living room, laughs. I glance over and grimace. His feet are up on the footstool, the TV is on, and he has a beer in his hand.
“Don’t argue with your mother, George. You know she’s always right.” He rolls his eyes and laughs again. “You know this wouldn’t happen if you were married. A woman’s got to boss her men around. If you had a wife, she’d be doing the bossing.”
I bite back on the surge of irritation that courses through me.
“I didn’t give you a key for you to just wander in and start changing things,” I insist, pressing my legs against the window seat as Mom tries to move it. “What are you even doing here?”
“The AC broke in our apartment,” Mom answers. “But speaking of marriage, I heard that Catherine Hart is back in town.”
Of course, they did.
“Lynn said that she was coming, sure,” I say with a shrug. “But that’s not the point. You need to call me before just showing up and rearranging my house.”.”
“But it’s not even yours,” Dad grumbles.
Mom nods, switching her attention to the vase of flowers that has suddenly appeared on my table. “That’s right. Old Ernie owns the place. And he doesn’t mind if I put up new curtains.”
“He doesn’t live here.”
I don’t even know why I’m arguing. This behavior isn’t uncommon for my parents. No matter how many fights we have over it, they always end up wandering back into my home like they own the place.
Maybe I will get married sometime.
Maybe I should buy the place out near Lynn’s house, and then simply not give my parents keys.
I love them dearly, but it’s hard dealing with them sometimes.
“When you and that Hart girl were little, you would go everywhere together,” Mom says, now dragging a chair to the window.
No doubt to change the curtains.
“Mom, Catherine and I haven’t been close for years,” I groan.
“I was so worried that I’d end up with her as a daughter-in-law,” Mom continues.
“Now we’d pay her to take you off our hands,” Dad calls from the living room.
My jaw clenches. I have to bite back on the desire to really snap at them. Losing my temper isn’t going to help anyone.
“Mom, don’t change my curtains,” I tell her. “And leave my stuff alone. You can stay here and use the AC if you want but I have things the way I like. Please don’t mess it up.”
Mom huffs as she drags the chair back to the table. “I was only trying to help.”
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say. “Please just don’t mess with my stuff.”
I manage to gather my tools, kiss my mom on the cheek, and leave without being drawn into another argument. I just hope that when I get back, I’ll still recognize the place.
I’ll never understand why my parents feel so comfortable ignoring the things I say I want.
Sometimes I wonder if having a wife would actually change things.
Or if would it just create more problems with my parents rearranging her decorations, hanging new curtains, and insulting her cooking.
In any case, I have no plans to get married anytime soon.
I shake the annoyance from me as I head back to Lynn’s place.
When I pass the old neighbor's house, though, I slow down. How much damage does it actually have? How difficult would it be to fix?
When I get back to Lynn’s place, Catherine is outside. She paces back and forth, her cell phone held to her ear.
At first, I think she’s trying to call Tony. But when I get out of the truck, her tone is far too agitated to be over a simple tow job.
I grab my tools and an extra pack of screws from the truck bed.
“No, I’m not saying—no! I don’t want to do that,” Catherine is saying as I start toward the house.
Her back is to me, so I’m not sure she even realizes I’m here.
I make noise as I’m walking. Whoever she’s talking to, it sounds important.
“You can’t blame that on me! I’m not the one who—Alright, fine. Fine . I don’t care. I don’t want to hear from you again.” She rips the phone from her ear and aggressively slams her thumb into the ‘end call button.’
Unfortunately, at that moment I swerve to the right to avoid her. And she spins on her heel, marching back toward me.
Our collision is inevitable.
“Whoa,” I shout, pivoting to avoid slamming into her.
Catherine yelps and pivots the same way.
The result is a shower of silver.
That is, screws.
They arc through the air and land with hard smatterings throughout the gravel path.
One can falls off the top of the pile and drops toward my foot.
Catherine tries to grab it. It smashes into her cell phone, making it spin away.
The last screw hits the ground. I balance the remaining supplies in my arms.
Catherine’s eyes are as round as dinner plates. She’s in a half-crouch, the paint can on the ground between my feet, her hands on it as though she’s pushing it into the ground.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Um… I think so.”
I step around her and put the rest of the stuff on the porch.
When I turn, Catherine’s still crouched. Now, though, she’s pulling screws out of the gravel.
“I’m sorry,” she babbles as I join her again. “I was talking with my—um, an old acquaintance. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s okay,” I quickly say. “I should have let you know I was there.”
She looks up at me, her expression guarded. “How much did you hear?”
“Only that it’s from someone you don’t want to speak to again.”
Catherine winces. Her shoulders slump as she leans back on her heels. “It was from a media connection I have. This entire Crimson thing is bigger news than I first thought. I’ve been fielding calls all morning from people wanting the inside scoop.”
All this for a rumor? I fight to keep the frown off my face.
Catherine says she isn’t involved with Crimson. So I believe her. She’s not the sort of woman who runs around with married men.
Maybe I don’t know her as well as I once did.
Nothing will make me think that Catherine Hart of all people would do something like that.
We finish cleaning up the mess and head inside.
“Where’s Lynn?” I ask.
“She decided to go into town and get some new sheets for my bed. I told her it was fine.” Catherine smiles indulgently. “But apparently I’m too old for Sailor Moon sheets now.”
“Wait, you still have those?” I laugh aloud.
Catherine shrugs. “Yeah. They’re wearing out in a few spots though, so I guess it’s a good thing to get new ones.”
We bring my supplies to the living room, where I’ve been working lately.
“Cat, if you want to talk about what’s going on…” I shrug. “I can listen.”
She gives me a look that says she’d rather eat glass. But the aggression of her expression fades quickly.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m pretty sure my career is over,” Catherine says, wincing.
I reach over and gently take her hand in mine. “These sorts of things happen all the time. It’ll blow over.”
She shakes her head, morose. “I don’t know. Crimson won’t put out an official statement denying it. I’ve put things on all my own accounts and people are calling me a liar.”
I frown. “Why won’t Crimson address the rumors?”
“I don’t know. It’s the first thing he should have done, but it’s like…” Catherine grimaces. “If I’m honest, I wonder if he’s delaying an official statement to drag this out as long as he can.”
Surprise ripples through me.
She must see the question in my eyes because she quickly explains.
“It’s publicity. As long as his name is on people’s lips and his face is in the tabloids, it brings people to him. Especially when it’s something like this, that fans will argue over. It means he’s trending. As they say, ‘There is no such thing as bad press.’”
I bite back on the words I’d like to say about that.
“That’s not fair to you.”
Catherine gives me a strained smile. “I’m not sure that he cares. But maybe I’m just being… uh, well, overly emotional.”
She looks away quickly. I wonder what she had been planning on saying.
“The thing is, I need a new story. Some explanation that I can give about why these rumors kicked up in the first place. I can’t do that without Crimson.” A dark look flashes in her eyes.
A new story.
One of the large sheets of plastic flutters in the breeze like a curtain. As I watch it, a brilliant idea strikes me.
Okay, it might be completely insane.
But it’s an idea, one that might be able to kill two birds with one stone.
“Then tell them you’re engaged,” I blurt.
Catherine gives me a withering look. “Engaged to Crimson? No, thanks!”
I chuckle. “No, I don’t mean that. I mean, tell the media you’re engaged. Say you wouldn’t be involved with Crimson because you already have someone.”
Her brows furrow. “I don’t, though.”
“You kept them from the public out of respect for their privacy, but because of the rumors you’ve decided to come forward with them.” I grin at her. “And the best thing is, he’s a childhood friend. One whose parents just happen to be constantly ragging on him to get married.”
Catherine gasps. She pulls away from me, her eyes widened. “You?”
“Me.” I smirk. “What do you say, Cat? Want to pretend like we’re getting married?”