DAY 4
T illy woke him up every four hours, as instructed. Luckily for him, he went right back to sleep. Unfortunately, Tilly did not follow suit.
At eight that morning, she found herself studying his sleeping face. That newspaper photo hadn’t done him justice. He had very nice eyes, deep brown, with the longest, silkiest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. His hair needed a trim and was darker than she remembered, more like a chestnut brown. He had a mole just at the right edge of his very full lower lip. There were the beginnings of a scruffy beard and a strong, almost hawkish nose.
Nobody would call him Sticks now. He’d filled out in the years since high school, and although he wasn’t a muscle-bound freak like Denny, she could tell he took care of himself.
She glanced up at an old oil portrait of some ancient Crowe ancestor and recognized the nose, although not the cruel expression from the portrait.
“Hey!” George was awake and struggling to sit up. “You’re still here?”
“Doctor’s orders,” Tilly said. She adjusted the pillows behind his back. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve felt better,” he admitted, gingerly touching the back of his head.
Smoosh, who had an innate wariness around strange men and thus was crouching on the floor near the door, gave a warning bark.
“And there’s a dog too?” George asked, looking from Tilly to Smoosh.
She bristled. “Do you have a problem with dogs?”
“Not at all,” George said. “Love dogs.” He patted the sofa and whistled softly. “Here, girl.”
“This is Smoosh. He’s a boy. And he won’t come closer until he knows you better, because he has trust issues.”
“Don’t we all,” George said.
“Are you hungry?” Tilly asked.
“Starved.” George blushed. “And also, I, uh ...”
“Need to pee?” She grabbed his crutch and extended an arm. “Come on. I gotchu.”
Once he was standing, he wobbled unsteadily, and Tilly grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling. She felt a tiny thrill of electricity at the touch of his warm skin against hers.
“Well, this is incredibly embarrassing,” George said, trying to adjust the hospital gown to cover his bare extremities.
“I found some pajama pants in your room upstairs,” she volunteered. “They’re in the bathroom.”
“Thank God for small favors,” he said, hobbling in that direction.
“Holler if you need me,” Tilly called, trying not to giggle at the sight of his naked butt.
Later, she fed him oatmeal and hot tea and gave him his meds. He slept some more. She wandered the house at will, poking around in the small paneled library full of boring-looking musty volumes of tax codes until she found a worn and well-loved copy of The Night Before Christmas . She curled up in her armchair and found herself fantasizing what it might be like if it were just the two of them, cozy and snowbound, with herself in her kerchief and George in his cap, settled in for a long winter’s nap.
Smoosh whimpered and pawed at the back door, so she took him outside, and they stomped around in the snow, which hadn’t let up. Everything in the yard was coated in it, and it reminded Tilly of a scene from a Christmas card.
When she got back inside to check on the patient, he was sitting up, looking around at the parlor like he’d just discovered it.
“You don’t really have to stay here and watch over me, you know,” George told her. “I’m sure you need to get home to your family.”
“The doctor was pretty adamant that you couldn’t be alone,” Tilly said. “Anyway, I don’t have family in town, so it’s no bother. Are you hungry?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I bought some groceries. Nothing very fancy, I’m afraid.”
True to his words, George’s idea of groceries was typical guy stuff. Canned soup, hamburger, deli meats and cheese, and a huge bag of Fritos. Nothing green. She heated up a can of chili, ladled it into bowls, then topped it with slices of cheese, and popped it in the microwave. Finally, she crushed up some Fritos and sprinkled them over the top of the chili.
He dug into the chili, then scooped it down, stopping every few bites to say “Amazing” and “Fritos, great idea” and “Is there any more?”
Finally, he handed her his empty bowl. “Awesome. Sorry I can’t clean up the kitchen.”
“It’s just the one pan,” Tilly said, “I think I can handle it.”
She heard his phone ringing from the kitchen and the caller ID announcing that Vanessa was calling. Again. He didn’t pick up.
What is up with that? Tilly wondered.
George was reaching for his crutches when she got back to the living room. “Bathroom break,” he announced.
His phone rang again while he was in the bathroom, with another call from Vanessa.
“You had a missed call,” Tilly told him when he’d settled himself back on the sofa. “It was Vanessa.”
George pretended to busy himself pulling up the quilts and rearranging the pillows under his ankle. “I’ll, uh, call her back later.”
Tilly gave him an appraising look. “Sorry to be nosy, but when I picked up your phone, I noticed you had three other missed calls from her. She’s probably worried sick that she hasn’t heard from you.”
George cocked his head and stared right back at her. “I actually do know you, you know.”
Tilly shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
“High school glee club,” he said definitively. “I knew I knew that face and that voice. It’s been bugging me since the first time you answered the Piney Point Vacation Rentals phone. And then I found the registration papers in the glove box, after I had the Kia towed. You’re Matilda Farriday. Or, you were in high school.”
Tilly’s face flushed, and she worried about what he must think of her. She hadn’t showered in three days, her hair was shoved up under a Piney Point High Seagulls baseball cap, she was in dingy jeans that were more depressed than distressed, and, worst of all, she was braless under her shapeless, oversize Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping George wouldn’t notice.
“You were a soprano, right? And oh my God. I remember. You were a Sea-Gal too.”
She groaned. “Lamest name for a high school drill team ever. You notice they didn’t call the football team the Sea-Men. No, they got to be the Shorebirds.”
“But those cute little sailor outfits with the short skirts were awesome. You had great legs.” Then it was his turn to blush. “Geez. That sounds kinda pervy, doesn’t it? I just meant ...”
She stretched out her legs now, flexing her toes and grinning. “That you remembered my legs from twenty years ago is pretty remarkable. So I’ll take it as a compliment.”
George’s expression darkened. “Whatever happened to that douchebag boyfriend of yours? Denny? I’ve conveniently blocked his last name.”
Tilly’s smile faded. “Markovich. I wish I could block it too. I was married to him.”
“Was?”
“I left him six months ago.”
“Good for you.”
George’s phone lit up again with another incoming call. He sighed.
Tilly stood and called for Smoosh, who was still perching, shyly, in the living room doorway, ambivalent about their host.
“Come on, bud,” she called, heading for the back door. She glanced over her shoulder. “The poor girl must be frantic.”
“George? Why haven’t you called? I’ve been frantic!”
“Sorry. Lots going on with the house.” He decided not to mention the concussion, the broken ankle, or, even more alarming, the gorgeous classmate who’d been camping out in the attic. “It’s snowing like crazy up here. I wish you could see it. Is it snowing in Boston?”
“Never mind the snow. Did you find the claim ticket for your tux? The ball is in two days.”
“I’m so sorry. I just can’t find it,” he admitted.
“The idiot woman at the cleaners couldn’t find it either. Which is just inexcusable. So I called the owner and had her fired. Then I posted a one-star review on their Yelp page.”
“Alma? You had that sweet lady fired? Over a misplaced tux? Tell me you didn’t really.”
“She copped an attitude with me, George. I had no choice.”
“Vanessa!” he said sharply. “Do you understand how incredibly awful what you just did is? Getting someone fired over a lousy tux?”
“It wasn’t just some lousy tux. It was an Armani, George. And I’d had it custom tailored for you, not that you ever appreciated the trouble I took to make you look your best. But I was afraid something like this would happen, so I already ordered a backup tux. You can have it fitted when you come home tomorrow.”
George reclined on the stack of cushions and contemplated his plaster-encased ankle while he wondered how he could fix the latest carnage Vanessa had wrought. Maybe he’d offer to buy the dry cleaner so he could rehire Alma, the nice white-haired widow lady who always remembered to put extra starch in his dress shirts.
And right after that, he’d find a way to extricate himself from the dilemma of Vanessa. But not right now. Not over the phone. His head was aching, and his ankle was throbbing.
“The thing is, I’ve kind of hit a snag up here.”
“What kind of a snag?”
Vanessa didn’t believe in snags. She believed in action.
He told her about the crumbling roof and ceilings, the fact that the roofer was down in Florida. With the exterminator. “Maybe they’re an item,” he joked lamely.
“George! There’s nothing more you can do. Just come home. Today. If you leave now, you can be back in time for the Woodsons’ dinner party.”
“I wish I could.” He tried to make himself sound wistful. “With all this snow, if the ceilings cave in, the floors and walls and everything will be ruined. Things will only get worse, and it’ll affect the sale price.”
“So what? You’re not a poor man. You don’t need to make a killing on that dump.”
“It’s not just about me. I took on the responsibility of getting the house ready to sell for Layton and Paulette and Abby, and I just can’t let them down.”
“But it’s okay to let me down?”
He took a deep breath. “I just don’t think ... in fact, I know I can’t make it back for the ball.”
Another long silence. And then a click.
He looked at the phone in disbelief.
George was still staring at the phone when Tilly came back with a fresh mug of coffee. “She hung up on me.”
She set the mug of coffee down, threw another log onto the fire, and poked the embers until they flamed up again, then sat back down.
“By the way, I think I spotted your tux. In the dry cleaner’s bag in the back seat of your Jeep.”
“You heard?” he asked.
“Not intentionally. You had the phone on loudspeaker.”
“Oh God,” he moaned. “I didn’t think I could feel any worse, but now I do.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but your fiancée sounds like a horrible person.”
He clutched his aching head with both hands. “She kinda is. But I don’t know what to do about it.”
Tilly gave him a sympathetic smile. “Believe me, I know what that’s like.”
With effort, George raised up on one elbow. “That guy Denny was always a jerk. Why’d you wanna go and marry him?”
Tilly shrugged. “My parents hated him. My friends hated him. I guess ... I thought I could change him, somehow. You know? If I showed him what it was like to be really loved, maybe that would make him kinder, more understanding. My advice? Get out now, before it’s too late.”
She jumped up, eager to change the subject. “Would it be all right if I took a shower? The water heater at my place is on the blink, and I’m feeling pretty grungy.”
“Make yourself at home. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? For how long now?”
Her eyes widened, and she scooped Smoosh into her arms to cover her embarrassment at being found out. “When did you figure it out?”
“I was suspicious after the first night. But the bacon sealed the deal. Not even the aggressive, prolific rats you claim inhabit Piney Point can cook bacon. Plus, you kept leaving the toilet seat down. But I didn’t know it was you until I found the registration for the Kia.”
“Why didn’t you sic the cops on me?”
“Tell you the truth? I’m not sure.” He studied her so intently she had to look away. “Go take your shower,” he said. “Then you can come clean with me, literally.”
She took her time in the shower, letting it run so long the hot water ran out. Poor George. He’d need a new water heater, along with a roof. And probably plumbing.
“Feel better?” he asked, when she rejoined him in the parlor, dressed in her only clean pair of jeans and the red quarter-zip fleece Ruth had given her to celebrate her divorce from Denny.
“Amazing,” Tilly said, fluffing her damp hair. “Like a new woman.” It was strange how good it felt coming clean, literally and metaphorically, with George. She could really be herself with him, just as he seemed to feel with her. She sat back down in the armchair. “Two weeks.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve been squatting here at the Crowe’s Nest for two weeks. My landlady found out I had Smoosh and evicted me. Couldn’t have come at a worse time.” She explained how she only got paid commission on vacation bookings, how expensive rents here had become. “I’m pretty much broke after paying the deposits on my new place.”
“What about your family? Friends? You were so popular in high school. Couldn’t any of them help out?”
“A lot of my old friends moved away because they can’t afford to live here. My parents retired to Florida, on a fixed income. I just ... couldn’t admit this is how I’ve ended up. To anybody. Because they told me so, you know? Everybody told me I shouldn’t marry Denny. But I wouldn’t listen.”
He nodded sympathetically, and for a moment, Tilly wondered what her life would have been like if ...
She banished the thought. “I didn’t think it would hurt anything if I stayed here till I figure out my next move. We keep the heat on so the pipes don’t freeze, and I knew we didn’t have any guests checking in. The place really hasn’t been rented out in over a year.” Tilly gave him a pleading look. “Collette? My boss? If she finds out what I did, she’ll fire me. I promise I’ll leave as soon as my car is fixed. And thanks for that, by the way. I swear I’m gonna repay you. So if you could just, you know, not tell her?”
“Snitches get stitches, or so I hear,” he said. “Besides, I’m pretty much helpless right now. If you leave, who’s gonna fend off these vicious Piney Point mice?”
“Smoosh and I are on it,” she pledged. “In the meantime, I can help get the house fixed up. My boss kept trying to get your uncle to modernize it, but ...”
“The old tightwad,” George said, his expression bitter. “He’d let the whole place fall in before he spent a nickel on it. Now, I’ve gotta do something about the roof ...”
“You’re probably gonna need a new water heater too,” she added, looking around the room. “It’s such a great old house, though. I honestly don’t think it would cost that much to fix it up. If it were updated with new kitchen appliances and some cosmetic stuff, you’d be surprised how much a house this size would rent for during the season.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a moot point, but surprise me anyway.”
“Five bedrooms, two baths? That bedroom I was sleeping in—”
“Before I showed up,” he said, with a faint grin.
“Is so big, you could easily carve out a bathroom and a decent closet. And the attic—”
“Where you’ve been hiding out since I got here—”
She didn’t deny it. “You could make a couple of bunk rooms for kids, with a Jack-and-Jill bathroom between them. There’s no bedroom on the first floor, but you could turn the library into an en suite. You do that, you’ve got eight bedrooms, five baths—houses that size, with waterfront access, make bank.”
“The dock is still intact? I assumed it would have fallen in by now.”
“It needs some repairs, but the main thing is you have deeded bayfront access, and that’s huge. People want to have their boats here in the summer.”
“That all sounds very promising, but my cousin and my little sisters are really hoping for a quick sale of the house.”
“And what about you? No fond memories of the family manse?”
“We had a lot of fun here when my grandparents were alive. Never put on shoes all summer, just ran wild, swimming, sailing, playing pirate. But after Uncle Gus inherited the Crowe’s Nest, that all came to a screeching halt. My family only came here for command performances.”
“I guess I don’t blame you for not wanting to stick around Piney Point, after what Denny and his buddies put you through.”
“It was pretty hellish,” George admitted.
Tilly’s face colored. “I’ve always been ashamed that I didn’t do more to try to stop what they did to you.”
“Nobody could have stopped those clowns. But you were the one who saved me from total humiliation, with that homecoming cape and crown,” George said. “And you were nice in other ways. Shared your Rice Krispies Treats after glee practice, gave me a ride home after Denny let the air out of my bike tires ... anyway, that’s all in the past. My job now is to get the place ready to sell. I really need to get that roof tarped.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I shared my Rice Krispies Treats? I must’ve had a secret crush on you, ’cause I don’t share snacks with just anyone.”
George laughed in an effort to hide his embarrassment. He’d been the one with a secret crush on Matilda Farriday all through high school. He needed to end this discussion before it took a dangerous turn.
“About that roof,” he repeated.
“I’ve got an idea,” Tilly said, picking up her phone.
An hour later, a pair of brawny teenagers pulled up to the house in a pickup truck.
Ruth and Gina’s sons, Dooley and Theo, piled out and enveloped Tilly in a hug.
“Mom sent you this,” Dooley said, handing her a huge dutch oven. “Beef stew.”
“And this,” Theo said, handing her a bottle of red wine.
“You’re sure you two are up for this? Your moms will kill me if either of you gets hurt.”
“Piece of cake,” Dooley said, unloading tools, rope, and a bundle of tarps.
Dark had fallen by the time Tilly heard the boys clomping down the stairway. They emerged into the parlor, red cheeked and windburned.
“All done,” Theo announced.
Tilly gestured at George. “Guys, this is the homeowner, George Holloway.”
“Hey, man,” Dooley said.
“Nice to meet ya,” Theo chimed in.
George handed each of the brothers two crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“Any chance you guys would be available to do some more work around here? Trying to get the place ready to go on the market.”
“Aww man, you’re selling the Crowe’s Nest?” Theo exclaimed. “This place is sick !”
“We’re up for anything,” Dooley said quickly. “Tilly can tell you how to reach us.”
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” George told them.
Tilly heated up the stew, and they ate from trays in front of the fire, which she’d replenished and stoked until the flames were dancing and the not-unpleasant smell of woodsmoke drifted their way. She noticed that he kept glancing at his phone, which was sitting on the coffee table.
She sipped the wine Ruth had sent over with her sons.
“Aren’t you going to call her back?”
He scraped his spoon on the bottom of the now-empty bowl. “And say what? I can’t make it home because I fell off a ladder and broke my ankle and got concussed trying to climb onto the roof—the exact thing you warned me not to do?”
“Is that all there is to it?”
George looked up at the ceiling and didn’t answer.
“Now that the roof is tarped, you actually could leave. Ruth’s kids could finish up the repairs. They’re good workers, and I could be here to supervise—if you want.”
He let out a long sigh. “The thing is ... I hate these stupid charity galas .” He enclosed the word with air quotes. “What’s the point? Why not just donate the money to the worthy cause du jour? Why do I have to put on a tux and pretend to have a good time with a lot of other rich people? Plus, okay, I suck at dancing.”
“So you deliberately broke your ankle to get out of going to a ball? There must be an easier way.”
“You don’t know Vanessa.”
“I don’t think I want to either.” Tilly swirled the wine in her glass, tilting the ruby liquid so it glowed in the reflection of the Christmas tree lights, which she’d switched on earlier.
“Tell me about her,” Tilly prompted. “How did you two meet?”
“I hired her to plan a party for my investors. That’s what she does—plan events. She’s beautiful, smart, successful, the whole package, and totally out of my league.”
Tilly noticed that his eyes didn’t light up when he described his fiancée. He didn’t mention the color of her hair, or her eyes, or the passions they shared. In fact, his summary was what you’d expect from a man describing a new car. “When’s the big day?”
“She hasn’t decided yet. Maybe fall.”
“By then you’ll be off crutches and able to waltz at your own wedding. Right?”
He ignored the jibe. Instead he rose up on his elbows and looked down at his ankle. “And what about you? And Denny? How long were you guys married?”
“Eight years. But it felt like eighteen.”
“No kids?”
“I wanted them; he didn’t. Guess it’s just as well, since Denny was child enough.”
“Please tell me he’s fat and bald these days.”
“Ha! He’s too vain for that. Works out like a fiend and spends more on hair products than any woman I’ve ever met.”
Eager to close the topic of her ex, she pointed to the wine bottle. “It’s been twenty-four hours since your head injury. Want some?”
“I guess a glass won’t hurt.”
He sipped his wine and looked around the room. “My granddad used to have a chess set in the library. I don’t suppose you play?”
“Afraid not. And don’t bother suggesting we watch television, because your uncle was too cheap to pay for cable.” Tilly pointed at the clock radio on the mantel. “We could be positively old fashioned and listen to some Christmas music.”
He smiled in a way he hadn’t when he was telling her about Vanessa. “That’d be nice.”
She got up and switched the radio on.
Bing Crosby was crooning “White Christmas,” and before he knew it, George found himself humming along.
“I wish you’d sing,” Tilly said impulsively. “That’s how I figured out it was you the other day, when you were singing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’ I recognized that baritone, from all those years ago in glee club.”
“Come on,” George said, his cheeks reddening.
“It’s true. Please? Just a few bars?”
He hesitated, then sat up a little straighter, opened his mouth, and sang. After a few notes, Tilly joined in, knowing her voice wasn’t a match for his but singing anyway, just for the enjoyment of harmonizing, something she hadn’t done since her high school days. It felt surprisingly delicious.
When the song ended, she clapped wildly.
“That was kind of fun,” he said, suddenly shy. “I’ve haven’t sung in front of anyone else in years.”
“Really? Does your fiancée know what a gorgeous voice you have?”
“I’m strictly a sing-along-alone-in-the-car kind of guy these days,” he said.
She hoped he’d keep on singing now, but when the next song was a version of Alvin and the Chipmunks singing “Christmas Don’t Be Late,” the mood was broken. She stood and switched off the radio.
He drained his wineglass and barely managed to stifle a yawn. Tilly followed suit.
“You don’t have to sleep in that chair and watch over me tonight,” he said.
“It’s no big deal,” Tilly told him, eyeing his crutches. “If you got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and fell or something, I’d feel awful. I’ll just bring a sleeping bag downstairs and stretch out in front of the fire. It’ll be fun. Like an adult sleepover.”
George watched while Tilly burrowed into her nest of quilts and sleeping bag. She’d come downstairs dressed in a long-sleeved thermal undershirt and flannel pajama bottoms adorned with dogs in Santa hats. Smoosh curled up beside her, tucking his nose into her armpit, and George found himself wishing he could trade places with the lucky old dog.
Think of something else, George told himself, and soon he was humming “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and Tilly was humming along, too, until her breathing started to slow and her eyelids fluttered and closed.
She looked strikingly pretty in the dim glow of firelight, her face at rest, her light-brown hair splayed out across the pillow. Watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she dozed off was an oddly intimate act, and he felt briefly guilty about such an invasion of her privacy, until he considered that she’d been watching and listening to him since the day he’d arrived here.
Tilly wasn’t still for long. She turned on her right side, then, moments later, on her left. She flung an arm over her head, then scrunched it under a pillow. At some point, she turned again, and the quilt she’d been snuggling under slid off her torso. Without thinking, George grabbed a crutch, hobbled over to where she slept, and was leaning down to cover her up again when Smoosh bared his teeth and let out a low growl. Tilly’s eyes flew open. “What the ...?”
She abruptly sat up, throwing the quilt aside, and, in the act, knocked the crutch out from under him, sending George tumbling on top of her.
He floundered helplessly, arms flailing, his casted leg getting tangled in the quilt. Smoosh was on him now, having decided this was a fun game instead of an attempted assault, wagging his tail and enthusiastically licking the back of George’s head and neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, his face inches from hers. She smelled nice, like shampoo and flowery soap. “I didn’t mean ...”
Tilly was laughing now—howling, really—so hard she couldn’t speak.
“Stay still,” she said finally, putting a hand to his chest and gently rolling George onto his back. “Smoosh, stop.” The dog rested on his haunches and gave his mistress a quizzical look.
She glanced down at George, whose face was turning purple with embarrassment, and pointed at his ankle. “Are you hurt?”
“Just my pride,” he said.
Tilly scrambled to her feet and leaned forward, grasping both of George’s hands. “Come on. Do you think you can stand?”
“Never mind,” he said with a groan. “Just leave me here to wither and die of humiliation.”
“No way,” Tilly replied. “You’re not dying on my watch. Take it slow. Let me do the heavy lifting.”
When he was standing upright, she wrapped an arm around his waist. “Lean on me,” she commanded. “No weight on that ankle, okay?”
George leaned into her warmth, and it was all he could do not to lower his head and nuzzle the top of her still-damp hair.
Slowly, she steered him back to the sofa, where she propped up his ankle on the pile of pillows, then covered him tenderly with a blanket.
“What on earth were you trying to do?” she asked, returning to the wing chair.
George stared up at the ceiling, wishing he could make himself invisible. “You’re a terrible sleeper, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re like a rotisserie chicken, or the spin cycle on a washing machine. You thrash around, throw off the covers ...”
“Denny actually told me that’s why he cheated. He needed a woman who could do more in bed than wad up the covers.”
George winced. “I was afraid you’d be cold, so I was just trying to fix that quilt ... and then that vicious dog of yours ...”
“Smoosh,” Tilly said, holding out her arms so that the dog could leap up into her embrace. “Were you trying to save me from the bad man? Were you gonna lick him to death?”
“I’m sleeping now,” George announced, closing his eyes. “And tomorrow? This never happened.”