Chapter Four
Calisa walked outside with the broom in her hand and stood on the porch.
She stared out at the jumble of weeds and brambles, the pine tree forest, and the winding road that led away from the bed-and-breakfast. The sun had set at some point while they were repairing the porch, and now dusk lay like a gray cloth over everything, muting the colors and deepening the shadows.
What had just happened?
I imagined it.
Or there was a malfunctioning light bulb that had flickered at just the wrong moment while the wind howled outside. Yes, that was much more plausible than her brain suddenly deciding to present her with a gaping void where a broom closet was supposed to be.
“Calisa?”
Except Auntie Zee’s reaction had been so over-the-top that it made Calisa feel like she must have experienced some kind of unusual—
“Hey? Calisa?” A hand landed on her shoulder, and Calisa yelped and spun, brandishing the broom like a sword. Jack jumped backward. He held his hands up in surrender. “You, um, want me to sweep the sawdust?”
Calisa felt herself blush. “Oh! Sorry! No, I can do it.” She began to sweep, smacking the new boards with the bristles with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.
Sawdust billowed into a cloud around her ankles.
She was aware that he was watching her, and she wondered if she looked as unsettled as she felt.
“The closet in the hallway…” She trailed off, not knowing how to complete that sentence in any way that made sense.
“Ah, you opened a door.”
Calisa halted mid-sweep. “Yes. What did—”
“This place has old wiring. Sometimes if you open a closet too quickly, you hear creaks. Groans. Weird light stuff. Old houses get quirky over time, my dad says.” He shrugged, as if that was an explanation, and maybe it was.
It had only been a fraction of a second before Auntie Zee had slammed the door shut.
“But why would Auntie Zee react so—” A lace curtain flicked in the sitting room, and Calisa cut herself off. Was that Auntie Zee, eavesdropping? It could be. “Never mind. It’s fine.”
So her great-aunt owned an old, creaky inn and was very, very touchy about it.
So what? This was still a far better place to be for the summer than Brooklyn.
I can make this work. She’d expected a little quirkiness as a side dish to the Vermont bed-and-breakfast charm.
“I’ve never stayed at a bed-and-breakfast,” Calisa said, trying to sound light and cheerful as she not very subtly changed the subject.
“Except for visits when I was little, which I already told you I barely remember. What’s it like living in one? ”
“It’s great!” Jack said. “Lots of, you know…breakfast. And beds.” He winced, as if aware he was being less than profound. “Anyway, if you’re hungry, there’s food in the kitchen. You can just help yourself to whatever you want. We, uh, don’t have a cook. But there’s soup. And…cheese. Bread.”
“I’m fine, but thanks.” She’d bought a panini in Penn Station and eaten on the train.
She might not be a natural with carpentry stuff—and Jack seemed to have that covered anyway—but cooking…
I could help with that. Every Mother’s Day, birthday, special occasion, and the occasional random Sunday, she’d make pancakes for Mom-Kate and Mom-Elise.
The first time, when she was about six years old, they’d turned out so lumpy that it was like eating gummy pebbles, but she’d improved, thankfully, and she liked to think she now made excellently fluffy pancakes.
If she made breakfast for everyone in the inn, would that impress Auntie Zee?
“Do the guests like pancakes? I could cook pancakes tomorrow morning, if that would be helpful.”
He perked up like a puppy who’d seen a squirrel. “You know how to make pancakes? My dad makes the best pancakes. When he’s here. When there’s time. It’s his special-occasion breakfast.”
If it was his dad’s specialty…“I don’t want to step on any toes….”
Jack shook his head vigorously. “Pancakes would be awesome. We have the ingredients. Come on, I’ll show you.
” He headed inside, and she followed with the broom.
He strode through the lobby. “You’re going to love our maple syrup.
We buy it locally, and it’s seriously ambrosia.
Got a bunch of specialty flavors too. One guest said he was coming back every year just for the maple syrup, and he did until he got himself eaten.
Auntie Zee sent him a care package with syrup, but he still hasn’t made another reservation. ”
As she passed the mirror on the wall of the lobby, she saw a flicker out of the corner of her eye, like a wisp of smoke crossing the surface of the glass.
She glanced at the mirror, and it was cloudy, as if it were reflecting only the shadows of what it saw.
Had it gotten more dirty since she’d last looked at it? “Wait, did you say ‘eaten’?”
“Ha! No. I meant he had an accident.”
“An accident that involved being eaten?”
“Nope. A ladder.”
Ah, that made more sense. Jack must have had breakfast on the brain. “You have to watch out for those man-eating ladders,” Calisa said solemnly.
Jack laughed, though she thought his laugh sounded a little strained. Granted, it hadn’t been a particularly good joke. It was nice he was being polite.
Reaching the kitchen, he dragged her from cabinet to fridge to cabinet, showing her where all the ingredients were: flour, sugar, eggs, whatever she needed. Oddly, in the wake of her joke, he had switched from friendly to hurried.
He plucked the broom out of her hands. “I’ll put that back,” he offered.
“That’s okay. I can…”
He scooted down the hall, and she listened for a howl or for the old inn to creak and groan.
All she heard was a door open and shut, and he was back a second later, beaming at her.
“All right, then! Pancakes tomorrow, with the world’s best maple syrup!
Can’t wait! You cook, and I’ll clean.” With a jaunty wave, Jack headed for the stairs. “Good night!”
“Good night?” That was it? It wasn’t late—not even nine o’clock—and Calisa had about a thousand more questions to ask about the inn and her aunt and the guests and Jack himself.
He was so different from any of the guys she knew—a mix of competent and innocent, kind and also kind of clueless, equal parts friendly and skittish.
She wanted to know more about what his life here was like, what he was like, why the inn was such a disaster if he and his dad were both groundskeepers.
But he was already out of sight. Did I say something wrong? What just happened?
She heard him thump up the stairs. A door opened, then shut.
And then the inn was quiet.
—
Alone in her guest room, Calisa changed into her nightshirt and flannel shorts.
It felt strange not to say good night to her moms, not to text Ethan (Don’t think about him), and not to talk with Crystal and Maddy until she fell asleep.
She hadn’t even seen Auntie Zee again or met any of the guests, even though she’d dithered in the kitchen until the quiet drove her into her room.
Now it was just her, alone in guest room number two.
And it was, if possible, even more quiet.
She slid under the quilt and then switched off the lamp next to the bed. Shadows layered the room. She stared up at the lace canopy, which looked like a lattice of cracks in the faded-denim darkness, and she tried to figure out why it all felt so strange.
It’s the moon, Calisa decided. She was used to shadows in her bedroom, either sharp from the streetlights outside or undulating like waves from the cars on the street below, but those shadows were always in motion. Here, though, they were soft and still, tinged with blue. She wondered if Ethan was—
No.
She switched to thinking about the broom closet.
She should absolutely not double-check it, especially since Auntie Zee had explicitly told her not to open doors without permission or ask questions. Clearly, Auntie Zee was a woman who valued her privacy, an odd stance for a person who made a living by routinely inviting strangers to visit.
Closing her eyes, Calisa tried to will herself to sleep. She’d woken early to catch the train from the city, had had a long journey, and needed to wake up in time to make the promised pancakes that Jack was so adorably excited about. Go to sleep.
She lay still for several minutes.
Gah, it was way too quiet.
Except for the crickets outside. Those were loud.
She opened her eyes and stared up at the pale blue shadows of the lace canopy.
She wished there was better cell coverage.
It had been a long, slightly strange day, exactly the kind of day that required texts.
She wanted to tell Crystal about the sad state of the B&B.
She wanted to hear what Maddy would say about Jack.
She’d probably say, No rebound guy. Look after yourself.
And she’d point out that Jack didn’t seem to like her very much—or didn’t seem to want to like her, which was almost the same thing.
She didn’t need another guy she had to convince to value her.
Calisa imagined telling Ethan about the broom closet, and she knew what he’d say.
He’d claim it was all in her head. She thought of how he’d immediately tried to tell her she hadn’t seen what she’d seen before he even had his hand fully out from under Jocelyn Pullman’s shirt.
“I can explain” were the first words out of his mouth, before he unleashed a string of lies that she’d wanted to believe so badly but couldn’t when the truth was so obvious.
I saw what I saw.
Hadn’t she?
She heard a clatter outside her room and a soft “Oof.”