Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
F inn heard the mallet strike the wooden post as Ray swung the tool again and again until the for sale sign was stable in the half-dead grass of the front yard.
With the help of his cane, Pa stood beside him. Finn had checked him out of Wylder for the day to get all the paperwork signed for the house listing.
A heaviness settled around his heart at the sight of the sign advertising his childhood home.
Pa cleared his throat as Ray attached a smaller piece advertising its availability. “You were right about the paint. Looks nice inside. Clean too.”
Finn said, “Norah arranged the cleaning. She knows someone in the business.”
As if the mention of their neighbor conjured her, a door opened across the cul-de-sac.
Norah Fox stepped out of her home and headed towards them.
Her niece Chelsea followed. Both women wore jeans.
Chelsea wore a long sleeve pink tee, her red curly hair a contrast to the surrounding trees.
Norah wore a bandanna around her hair and a long paint-splattered smock, with bits of something gray, perhaps clay, smeared on the front.
Norah wrapped her arms around Charlie and squeezed. “Charlie Murphy, I see you broke out. Want to go to Atlantic City?”
A whist of a smile played over Pa’s face. “You should have asked me ten years ago, Norah. I might have said yes.”
She frowned. “I did. You said no.”
“That’s right.” He shook his head. “The answer’s still no.”
She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed both his cheeks. “Difficult man. How about some iced tea and a tarot reading instead?”
Charlie smiled and turned to Finn. “How long’s my jailbreak?”
The light in his father’s eyes. Pa’s friends in the community.
He hadn’t seen them since he’d moved into Wylder.
Finn had made plans to take him by the garage so he could see Riley Pierce and the rest of the men he’d worked with for twenty years.
He should have thought of Norah as well, guessed she’d want to visit with him.
They’d been neighbors for twenty-two years.
He’d text Stella to let her know they’d be gone longer than planned.
Finn said, “I think you should spend some time with Norah.”
Ever direct, Norah took charge. With a dismissing nod to Finn and her niece, she pulled Pa with her across the cul-de-sac.
Her words carried as they reached the weathered pink single-wide. “We’ll have lunch. I made meatloaf last night. We’ll have sandwiches and potato salad.”
Pa looked back. “Son?”
“Don’t worry, Pa. I can take care of myself. Have some fun.”
He nodded. “I still want to see the boys.”
“We’ll have time for that. Let me know when you’re ready.”
The two older people disappeared into the structure that had seen better days, like every other home in the cul-de-sac. Mature trees surrounded, along with the eclectic metal sculptures Norah welded together when she wasn’t working at her odds and ends shop in town.
Finn looked at Chelsea. “How’s she doing?”
She folded her arms and shook her head. “Busy as ever. She’s been at the wheel all morning.”
“She still welding?”
“Not as much. She’s not as strong as she used to be. She’s focusing on clay.”
He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Pottery’s a safer choice. As well as the Tarot readings.”
Norah’s shop in town offered an array of products. Metal art, tarot readings, and pottery were mere examples of what she sold. The glow of the shop’s pink and purple tarot sign drew customers in. She made a living off the combination.
Chelsea said, “She’s talking retirement. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Maybe Pa will convince her to move into Wylder.”
Chelsea’s expression changed to one of horror. “I’d never do that to Stella. She taught me most of what I know about nursing. I love my aunt, but she’d be a nightmare in that place.”
“How’s the hospital treating you?”
She shifted, swatting something on her pink sleeve. “All right. Still working in day surgery. Commute’s a bitch, but where else am I going to work?”
He knew exactly how she felt. The commute to Asheville wasn’t great. Chelsea made it for every shift.
She asked, “You okay with the house going?”
He shrugged. What could he say? A For Sale sign stood in the yard. “All these houses will change owners someday. Might as well be now.”
“You practice that? I almost believe you.” She didn’t look at him. She wasn’t one to make fun of someone. Subtle sarcasm, more her style.
Finn asked, “You hear anything about weird things going on around here, in town or in the woods?”
Chelsea folded her arms. “Does this have anything to do with Rose Finch?”
“Maybe. What do you know?”
“I hear the gossip. That woman at the grocery, she’s got plenty to say. Most of it untrue. But people listen to her.”
He said, “I remember her. Her last name, Wal?—”
“—Wellington. Blessed Carina Wellington.”
Finn kicked up a corner of his mouth. “You sound like a fan.”
Chelsea shook her head. “The things she’s said about my family…”
“I remember. She and Louise Winston still peas in a pod?”
“Smashed together under a child’s thumb.”
The info shouldn’t surprise him. The combination of the two women’s gossip never ceased. They always had something to say about someone else. Finn knew firsthand how such things could escalate.
He motioned to his vehicle. “I’ve got a couple of things to take care of while Pa’s visiting.”
Chelsea nodded. “I’ll send you a text when they seem close to wrapping up. Aunt Norah’s readings go longer than average.”
“Sounds good.” He headed towards his SUV.
“Finn.”
He turned back. “Yeah?”
“Tell Rose I said hi.”
How did she know?
“I…”
With a cheeky grin, Chelsea waved. “Small towns have large ears and open mouths.”
He found Rose in a pair of patched denim overalls, a body-hugging t-shirt beneath and a large straw hat on her head.
She wore sneakers for once. They looked small on her feet compared to her array of boots.
Her knees rested on a cushion of sorts. Her body leaned over a section of the spiral herb garden that’d been planted during their high school years.
She had headphones in her ears. Didn’t seem to hear him.
He moved within her line of sight, but she startled all the same when he got close.
She tilted her hat back and stood. Her face was flushed.
“Finn. I didn’t expect you.” She pulled gloves off her fingers. He hadn’t noticed she was wearing them. He was too focused on the tinge of pink on her face, the light sheen of sweat on her neck, the strip of skin he could see along the edge of her t-shirt before the skin became covered in denim.
The memory of the last time he’d seen her sent him closer.
He paused only a moment, heard the intake of her breath, then reached out and slid one hand into the hair at her nape, the other around her waist. He waited, ready to step back if she voiced an objection.
She didn’t. Her hand grabbed hold of his shirt as she came up on tiptoe to meet his lips as they touched hers.
Her straw hat drifted to the ground as his fingers drifted farther into her hair.
A tiny moan came from her as she kissed him back.
He pulled her closer, slipped one hand inside her overalls, pressed his palm against her back. She moved against him.
He ran his fingers along that bare strip of skin he’d spotted. Soft and warm against his fingers. “I want my mouth here.”
She took a wobbly half step back from him. His hand kept hold of her waist. Her eyes looked heavy as she blinked dazedly up at him. “I’d like that.”
They made it inside the cottage. The need to touch, to put his mouth on hers, was hampered by her efforts to touch him, the brush of his lips against hers every few feet.
He didn’t know who opened the door, which of them closed it.
The days since he’d last seen her, brushed his hands over her skin, seemed too many, too long.
His lips pressed against her abdomen as the buckles from her overalls clinked on the wood floor.