Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
G eorgie remained in the car.
“Is he going to come back?” she asked the empty space. The car didn’t respond, of course. And if she shook a Magic 8 Ball in that moment, the answer would probably be, all signs point to no.
Eventually she got out of the car. Was Burke watching? Probably. He’d probably climbed a spruce and was watching her like Mowgli, silent and unseen.
Her chin quivered a little because she hated confrontation with anyone, couldn’t stand the thought of anyone being upset with her. But she also had her pride, so she faked a sneeze, putting on a good show to cover the chin wobble. Maybe he’d think she caught a cold, sitting in the freezing car. Then he’d be sorry.
The only place to go was indoors, but it held no appeal for her right now. She didn’t want to share space with Burke at the moment, even if he was in his attic lair.
I’ll hang the wreaths, she thought, and it felt like a stroke of brilliance. While most of the food for the winter festival was already prepped, she had only barely started to decorate the inn. One simple thing she could do right now would be to hang the two giant wreaths on the front facade. They were four feet in diameter, nearly Georgie’s size. But not overly heavy. And the hooks remained on the house, meaning she only had to hang the actual wreaths, a simple enough task she was certain she could handle on her own. Brody usually did it for her, with a little pleading and persuasion. This year she’d intended to ask Burke, but she didn’t need him; she didn’t need anyone. She could do it on her own.
The ladder, however, was another story. An extending ladder that could reach up to thirty feet, it was much too heavy and oversized for Georgie to carry. It took her several tries to learn that fact, however. Several attempts to lug it from the detached garage to the house that ended with Georgie toppling over like she had a bad case of vertigo.
At last she dragged it, dead body style, and, after a few more attempts, propped it upright and extended it.
See? I don’t need a man, Georgie thought, and then sat down and put her head between her knees until the spots disappeared and her breathing returned to normal.
When she could stand again without wobbling, she tucked a wreath in the crook of her elbow and began her ascent, thankful she wasn’t afraid of heights.
Progress was painfully slow. The wreath hadn’t felt heavy on terra firma, but hauling it up a ladder was another matter entirely. Georgie was sweating so much she could swear she could smell nutmeg, as if the snickerdoodles she’d eaten that morning were now oozing through her pores. Was it possible to sweat spices? If so, should she have that looked at?
I can do this, she answered herself, using it as a mantra to prod herself up the ladder one rung at a time.
Finally she reached the top, and that was when she felt it, a strange vibration beneath her right hand.
She glanced down, a tactical error, because the ground was very, very far and, oh, no, maybe she was a tiny bit petrified of heights after all.
The other thing her eyes beheld was a furious Burke. He held a metal pipe in one hand, and he’d apparently used it to bang on the ladder so it would vibrate and get her attention. When he had that, he pointed to the ground and mouthed, Down. Now.
Wreath. Here, she mouthed, forgetting he couldn’t read lips.
He pointed to the ground.
She motioned to the wreath and almost took a header backwards off the ladder. Right, so extraneous motion is out, she thought. At this point that included breathing because she’d started to hold her breath so long she was seeing spots again. Her arms slid around the ladder and gripped for dear life, another mistake because the giant wreath banged against her left side, almost knocking her asunder again.
The ladder vibrated again. She chanced a glance at Burke, wishing desperately that he would come up and carry her down, fireman style, and that gave her an idea.
“Can you call the fire department and tell them your landlord is stuck on a ladder?” she yelled. “Tell them if they come, I’ll give them cookies.”
His face softened slightly. The motion of his hand changed from a demanding point to a come hither crook of three fingers.
“I’ll fall,” she yelled.
“I’ll catch you,” he assured her.
She hesitated. Did she trust that Burke would catch her if she fell?
Yes. She took a step down the ladder.
As soon as she was within reach, he grabbed her from behind and set her on the ground, holding her tightly against him, her back to his front. She was trembling, she realized as her heart thumped relentlessly. He was breathing hard in her ear. She chose to believe it was out of fear and not from the exertion of hefting her off a ladder. Gently, he put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him, and started to yell.
“What were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?”
“I needed to get the wreaths up,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
“You were mad. It seemed easy,” she argued.
“Did it seem like it was worth dying for?” he yelled.
“It was a straight climb, easy peasy. Don’t be so dramatic.” Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. Burke wasn’t exactly the overly reactionary dramatic type. But she was so mad and flustered and, yes, embarrassed that she’d almost died for wreaths. In retrospect, this hadn’t been her best idea. It was too late though; she was entrenched in defending herself.
“Maybe it’s a straight climb for someone who knows how to use a ladder.”
Gasoline to a fire, Georgie thought, her temper flaring to impossibly greater heights. “I can use a ladder, Burke. It’s not rocket science.”
He pointed to the base of the ladder, where one of the feet was resting crookedly instead of flat, and then upward toward the ladder’s middle. “You didn’t lock it. You were five seconds from collapsing, and that’s if you didn’t pitch backwards because you had it at the wrong angle. Don’t you know anything about physics?”
“Of course I don’t know anything about physics, I own an inn in a small town. Why would I?” she yelled, tossing her hands wide. The entire argument was ridiculous, but pride wouldn’t allow her to let it go.
“Everyone should have a rudimentary understanding of physics,” he bellowed, and that did it. Georgie broke. A giggle tittered out of her. She stared up at him with big eyes as he huffed and puffed, scowling down at her. She leaned forward on her toes and pressed the cold tip of her nose into the crook of his neck, grabbing his shirt in both fists to anchor herself.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I messed it up. And I’m sorry about before.”
He didn’t speak, because that would have been pointless when she couldn’t see his lips. But he did ease his arms around her and rub a little circle on her back. Then he picked her up, not like she’d earlier fantasized, cradled in his arms like a lifesaving fireman. She was straight up and down, like a baton he was about to pass to the marathoner behind him. But she’d take it.
“You’re freezing,” he said and proceeded to carry her inside.
Her feet paddled uselessly as they walked, like one of those puppies who mimics swimming when held over water. He somehow managed to open the entryway, close it, and set her down, all without breaking stride. He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, which had no effect whatsoever because it was a buzz cut. But it was a gesture she’d never seen him use before, and she thought it communicated some sort of emotional upset, so she waited patiently and silently for him to speak.
“When I was fifteen, I entered an engineering contest and I won. The first prize was a full ride to MIT.”
Her eyes widened. “You went to MIT?”
He shook his head. “A condition of the contest was that you had to accept the prize in person, and my mother wouldn’t let me go. I had to forfeit.”
Before she could ask why, he continued.
“When I was twelve, my appendix almost ruptured because my mother didn’t want me to go to the hospital. When they wheeled me into surgery, she had to be sedated. She ruined every opportunity I ever had, every friendship I attempted, wouldn’t let me out of her sight, barely let me out of the house. I don’t know how I found the fortitude to escape, but I did. As soon as I was eighteen, I left home and disappeared, going no contact for a while. I thought if I could prove myself, gain independence, get my footing, then I could return and things would be different.”
She reached out and clasped his hand, holding it gently. “But they weren’t,” she guessed.
He shook his head. “As soon as I reentered her life, it was as if she picked up where she left off. Maybe worse. She called me thirty, forty times a day, invented stories to get my attention, that she’d been robbed, that she’d fallen down the stairs.” He let out a heavy breath and took a replenishing one. “So I found a facility for her, more like a senior village than a retirement home. I put her in there and set up some boundaries and parameters for my life. Twice a week I call her on an encrypted line, and occasionally I visit. She doesn’t know where I live, and she doesn’t have my number. The place where she lives has my number, in case of emergency. And, yes, she’s tried to get it from them. But they understand the situation and they guard my privacy. It’s been a little better since she moved there, she has other people to focus on, other outlets besides me to think about. She’s started acting in their theater group and has occasionally been a member of the board. She’s up for election again, but I don’t know if she’ll make it because, not surprisingly, she’s sort of a dictator when she gets a taste of power. Like the president of the home owner’s association run amuck.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes, pushing away the tension.
Georgie studied him, reading all he left unspoken, that he loved his mother, that it pained him to not be able to contact her, that he wished things were different and he’d had to let go of a whole lot of emotional baggage to arrive in the space he now dwelled. She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, about all of it. I’m sorry that you’ve had to deal with that all on your own. And I’m sorry for my part of it. In my head I know I can’t resent people who still have their parents, but sometimes my heart betrays me and I find myself resenting things I shouldn’t. And I’m sorry.”
He gave her a little nod of acknowledgment.
“What now?” she asked, because she was helpless to know. It should have been awkward to stand in the entryway of the inn and stare at each other with the heavy weight of his confession over them, but somehow it wasn’t. It felt intimate and safe, as if they’d forged a deeper awareness of each other, two people who understood what it was to be outcasts.
His free hand reached out and gently touched her jaw. “Now I hang your wreaths.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she asked, gripping his hand tighter. What if something happened to Burke? How would she stand it?
He nodded. “I have more than a rudimentary understanding of physics.”
She laughed, and he smiled. “I have more than a rudimentary understanding of cocoa. Maybe I’ll make some and have it ready as a reward.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, offering her a tiny smile that wrenched her heart for reasons she couldn’t articulate. She watched him go, shivering when the wind blew in the open door and rattled around her.