CHAPTER 22
Sybil
The smell of coffee lured me into consciousness.
Never in my life had I awakened to the smell of coffee.
Cat was a tea person. When I lived with her, tea was the only caffeinated smell that permeated the morning air. I was too paranoid of automatic coffee makers—heaven forbid they start a fire—so instead I opted for the AeroPress.
Poking my head from under the covers, feeling like a bear leaving its cave for the first time post-winter, I couldn’t help but tinker over how to get my hands on some coffee for myself.
If there was anything on this planet more motivating than coffee, I was yet to find it.
I felt Mr. Beans stretch and stand at my feet, the front set of his nails curling into the comforter and pricking my ankle through the fabric.
Sitting up, I found the TV still tuned to the Hallmark Channel, though at this time of day, it showed reruns of the Golden Girls. I watched for a moment while I relaxed out the last dregs of sleep.
It was only after several more moments that I realized Bill was missing.
I reached out with my hands, flattening the down comforter to see over it to the floor. As much as I hoped to find him there, he wasn’t there either.
Heaving the comforter back, I felt like I was emerging from under a lifeless body. Heat poured out into the cool room. I planted my bare feet on the floor, the bathroom door ajar and my attention landing on my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes still appeared puffy, but better; however, the mascara I’d failed to wash off before bed had flaked off around my eyes. I gently rubbed to remove as much as I could from my bottom eyelids.
I blew a few crazed strands of hair out of my face. Using my hand to comb down the tangles, I stood and stretched my arms above my head, leaning side to side. My spine cracked a few times.
The tumbler and empty bowl on my bedside table were gone as magically as they had appeared. In its place was a glass of water.
I picked it up, finding it cool to the touch. I took a sip.
Placing it back down on the metallic coaster, I walked around the end of the bed to the window. I could hear murmurs. My curtains were open, and daylight filtered in. The brightness caused me to squint, and it took a minute for my eyesight to adjust as I neared.
The murmurs grew until I found their source.
Below the deck and toward the back of the garden space, Nash was sitting in a weather-worn Adirondack chair.
He was smack in the center of a small grass patch, facing away from the house and toward a wall of vines speckled with light flowers that covered the back fence of his property.
There was a white mug on the right arm of the chair, and Bill was running circles around him as he held something up in the air. Squinting, I thought it almost resembled a stuffed alligator, but I couldn’t be sure.
With my arms crossed against my chest, I allowed myself to swoon a little. Bill looked so happy, and it surprised me how unbothered he seemed with the bandages on his legs and feet.
While I played with Bill as often as I could, he was a boundless ball of energy. Working dogs like him needed things to do. This was good for him.
Letting my arms fall to my sides and shoving my hands into my sleeves, I figured this was a smart moment to make an attempt at coffee.
With half the house busy and accounted for, perhaps I’d be able to get back to my room unnoticed.
After a quick stop in the bathroom to relieve myself and brush my teeth, I tiptoed to the door.
I turned the knob and peeked out through a two-inch crack. The door was quiet and sturdy, and its hinges differed from the ones at my townhome. All my hinges were original to the home, and every door sounded like cranking open a prison door on a crusty pirate ship.
The hallway looked empty, so I crept out. I kept my back pressed to the wall, letting my fingertips, still in their sleeves, brush along it. Looking down, I sighed, annoyed by the chipped black polish on my toenails. I’d need to get some new supplies to fix them. I made a mental note to do so.
Nearing the corner that led into the kitchen, I poked my head around.
Bee sat on the island and looked up, noticing me.
I tucked back around the corner, though I regretted it. She saw me, and now it seemed weird pretending she hadn’t.
“Sybil,” she sang. There was playful encouragement in her voice.
I chewed on my sweatshirt sleeve, disappointed it wasn’t already as frayed as the ones I usually wore that were ash by now.
“I see you,” she went on.
Braving it, I poked my head around the corner again, my body following. I stood there, allowing a brief grin to shape my lips as I gave a little wave with the sleeve I’d been chewing on.
A crackled, “Hey,” escaped my lips.
Bee smiled, beautiful dewy cheeks reaching skyward and perfect teeth glittering. She was makeup-free as far as I could tell, and still gorgeous.
“You’re awake.” She moved, sliding from her stool and setting down the magazine she’d been looking at in front of her. “Not to scare you, but I’ve been sitting here all morning waiting to see if you’d emerge.” She giggled. “I’m, like, so excited you’re here.”
I stood my ground, toes locked together.
“Let’s get you some coffee.” She opened the upper cabinet, retrieving a mug.
I noted its location, so I’d know where to hunt for one next time. Below the cabinet, she pulled a glass carafe from a very interesting-looking coffee machine made up of several clear beakers and fancy metallic pieces. She poured the black liquid into the mug.
“Do you want milk? Honey?”
I nodded.
Both sounded good. I’d never tried honey in coffee before, but my achy throat longed for it. While it felt a lot better, a smoky taste still lingered. I was hoping it’d go away soon—the taste of it already made me feel like brushing my teeth again.
I cleared my throat, not wanting to sound like a dying horse when I spoke. “Thank you.” I was glad when I didn’t.
“No problem! None of us can live without coffee in this house. Just wait until you meet my dad—he always has a cup in hand.”
I jumped at the sound of a door slamming at the end of the hall, followed by the familiar sound of Bill’s thumping footsteps on the floor. Bill’s conversational chatter was audible, alongside a deeper one I recognized as Nash.
On reflex, I drew the sleeve of my sweatshirt back between my teeth. I’d have this sleeve worked through in no time at this pace.
With Nash at the end of the hall, and Bee here, my brain tossed red flags in the air and screamed—you’re trapped! I tried not to let that idea take root.
Please don’t panic. Not now.
Despite my efforts, I felt the hot scrape of fear claw its way up my back. I tucked my free arm around my center. Blood whooshed to my head, causing Bill’s approach to sound dull and echoed. He reached me, whining with understanding.
Butting my elbow with his nose until I conceded, my arm fell from around my middle and I gave him my hand.
The second he licked it, I felt grounded.
To my utter relief, the panic receded before digging in too deep.
A cool tingle replaced the suffocating heat of the bell jar that was descending over me.
Trying to appear normal, I took the proffered mug now held out in Bee’s grasp.
My hand shook, but I hoped she didn’t notice.
My sleeved fingers wrapped around the warm porcelain, stilling its rattle, and I brought it to my nose.
I inhaled the scent, soothed by the humidity the steam gave off.
The more my senses flooded with sensations, the more my monkey brain became distracted—like giving a toddler a new toy to play with.
Nash’s heavy footfalls echoed from the direction Bill had appeared. I wasn’t sure how to handle myself, so I remained planted in place, smelling the bean juice and trying to act unbothered.
I felt the moment he entered the room, his wall of heat pressing against my back. A brush of what I thought might be his fingers, crossed over my shoulder blades.
His presence leaned closer. “Good morning.”
Voice in my ear and breath near enough to move a few strands of my hair, he stepped around me. I found myself surprised I didn’t shy away.
Bee rolled her eyes, showing her disapproval of his bold action, then she scoffed at him. “Don’t tease her, Nash.”
His broad shoulders filled the kitchen, and he sauntered to the sink, grinning.
He had on a pair of jeans, secured with a leather belt.
The crisp shirt, a shade of weathered mid-gray, tucked into his jeans, the fabric fitting against every muscle and shifting with his movements.
Bare feet padded on the cool floor. His hair looked tossed, as though he’d rolled out of bed without a care.
He looked delicious and comfortable, like a cozy chair I could crawl into, wrapping his arms around me like a blanket.
I swallowed thickly before cleansing my throat with a sip of coffee.
The taste of sweet honey coated my tongue, body reacting to the caffeine with immediate effect.
I didn’t take my eyes off him as he rinsed his cup a few times before reaching around Bee and pouring another cup of coffee. He kept his black.
Bee let out a humming sigh. “What should we do today?”
I didn’t respond, unsure of how to begin. ‘We’ had never been a thing. I was prepared to default to my new solo routine of Hallmark, books, and trying to ignore the smoking shitstorm that was my home across the street.
Avoidance was going to be the best approach.
Bee was smiling in a way that suggested she already had a plan.
“What do you want to do, Bee?” There was amusement in Nash’s voice as he entertained her question. He’d likely come to the same conclusion I had.
She sat forward from where she’d been leaning against the counter, big ideas now animating her hands. Her eyes grew large. “First, a makeover. Then, a basement movie fest, at least five movies.”