Chapter Thirteen
Gideon dropped off the stained wood samples in Arden’s mailbox at the end of her driveway, along with the official estimate. He sent her a text to let her know they were there.
That way, he avoided conversation and the temptation to take her up on the coffee she’d probably offer.
Since he had the day free, he thought he’d start on the design he’d worked up for a salad bowl set deal. He didn’t really get why people wanted or needed a specific bowl for salads, but they did.
And he had some nice olive wood.
He could turn a good, deep bowl, slightly V-shaped, some small ones, then the tossing tools.
It would keep him busy.
Too much time on his hands meant brooding. And brooding ended up annoying him.
Besides, he liked his life here more than he’d expected to. He missed being on the job, and accepted he always would.
He’d wanted to be a cop as long as he could remember.
But now he wasn’t.
He knew being here helped his grandfather, but it helped him, too. He had a purpose here. Not so much at the store. They both knew pretty much anyone could do what he did there.
But he served as a companion, a housemate, a sounding board. Pop wasn’t alone and mired in grief. He could and did help around the house, with the meals, the garden, the chickens.
House repairs, when needed? They usually did together.
All that left him plenty of time for his hobby. And there he had access to a workshop and tools he’d never have managed in LA.
He could make bowls, lamps, cutting boards, boxes, maybe a table, a bench. Whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
He didn’t get tagged in the middle of the night to stand over a dead body, or investigate a home invasion. No high-speed chases or foot pursuits. No writing up reports or digging into case files.
Christ, he missed it.
His phone signaled a text when he pulled up at the house.
Arden. He hadn’t expected a response so soon. That made her either an early riser or one of those people attached to their phone even in sleep.
Quick work, thanks! And since your total is damn close to the rough estimate, clearly you’re many levels superior to me at math.
But most are. Definitely the oak. I’m mulling the stain, but leaning heavily toward door number one, the dark walnut stain that shows the grain.
But yes to the estimate and the oak. And once again, I won’t pester you about how long it takes.
I appreciate this. Also want to add a thanks for taking it so well when my niece threw herself at you and kissed you on the mouth.
I’ll let you know re the stain in a day or two.
Gideon read it through, decided she’d managed to have a conversation anyway.
Oak’s the right choice, so is the dark walnut stain. But let me know if you want to make the wrong choice on that. I’ll let you know when I have something to install.
The kid was fine. Women routinely throw themselves at me.
He considered. Salad set or bookcases, then started to back out again. Might as well go get the oak. He stopped when she texted back.
Understood. It’s taken a heroic effort for me not to do the same.
He let out a laugh. Sarcasm. He liked it.
Then he drove off to get his supplies.
He’d made a joke. Unexpected, Arden thought. She wasn’t sure her impulse to reply in kind had been the best idea. Which was why she generally resisted impulses.
But done now.
She studied the wood samples she’d leaned against the wall with the paint swipe. He was right about the stain, which meant she was right about the stain.
But she’d come back and study again in the afternoon light, and then in lamplight.
And next trip into town, she’d talk to Joe about the fireplace. She’d start hunting for her chairs. Big, gushy leather chairs. A couple of interesting tables, lamps. A moody piece of art—think Jamie—for over the fireplace.
All on the list.
“Six months,” she told the room, “and you’ll be mine. I’ll take a book out of my beautiful bookcase, sit in my gushy leather chair in front of my adorable fire, and read by the light of my interesting lamp.”
But now her list consisted of workout, shower, then writing.
Nine months, Dustin thought as he suffered through another group session. As long as it took a woman to squirt out a squalling kid.
He could handle it. He’d think about it as his own rebirth, and he’d handle it.
He’d walk out of this hellhole a new man. Smarter. More careful and controlled. They’d taken his leather bracelet long ago, but he no longer needed it.
He’d walk out a man in control, and with access to his goddamn money again.
And with his purpose clear.
The cabin. Somewhere out west, remote, secluded. He’d need to take care of that. Payback. How he’d enjoy working his way down the list of people who owed him five years of his life.
Arden. The prize at the end of all his suffering.
Waiting to see her again hurt, sometimes with a pain so deep and throbbing he wanted to pound his fists into someone’s face. Anyone’s face.
He’d done that once in the first weeks of the endless five years. The paunchy, rubber-lipped little asshole had deserved it. Snickering, always snickering.
But Dustin had paid for that few minutes of pleasure and release.
Isolation, medication, loss of privileges.
So he’d learned to save up the pain.
And she still came to him in dreams. The dreams soothed him, always soothed him, whether he punished her or pleasured her.
He often did both in dreams.
And when, finally, they united again, they’d have a lifetime.
They’d live for each other, need only each other.
He’d have to train her, of course, but he’d be patient as well as firm. And he’d enjoy it.
“You’re smiling, Dustin.”
Dustin forced himself to tune in to Gavin Norse, the idiot therapist who ran the group.
“Can you tell us what makes you happy today?”
“Hope.” Dustin broadened his smile. “I have hope, and I wouldn’t have it without all the help I’ve gotten here. In a few months, I’ll be back in the world. I’ve been a little nervous about that, anxious, you know? But today I have hope.”
“Easy for rich boys to have hope.”
Randy Sovini, the fat little psycho who’d thought his grandmother was a demon, so he’d decapitated her. Dustin imagined beating in his skull with a bat as he put on a solemn look.
“It really isn’t. You have to find hope. You have to look for it and find it. It’s really easy to find despair or anger. I always found those. Hell, I didn’t even have to look for them.
“I didn’t think I was good at anything, so I’d give up. You know, fuck that, and expect more. Lots of more I didn’t have to do anything to earn, you know? I always figured if I wanted something, I should just have it. I’m not going to live that way anymore.”
Because I will have all I want. Everything and more.
“Mommy’ll take care of you.”
Dustin nodded earnestly. “Sure she would, Randy. I’ll probably need to lean on her some at first. But I know I took advantage of her, and I treated her like shit. She still loved me. One of the things I have hope for? I’m a better son. I’m sure going to try to be.”
Right up until I choke the life out of her.
“I feel good today because I looked for and I found hope. I’m going to hold on to it.”
“Thank you for that, Dustin. Sam, can you tell us something you hope for?”
“I hope we don’t get that fucking tuna fish salad for lunch.”
That brought on some laughs. Dustin joined in as he thought: Asshole. Pathetic assholes. And wished he could set fire to the whole damn place as he walked out.
As scheduled, Arden stopped into the hardware store on her next trip to Riverbend.
She’d left Tessa painting the library, which told her she liked and trusted Tessa enough to leave the house with her in it.
She saw Joe with a customer, didn’t see Gideon, but the clerk—she flipped through her mental files—Corey—came over.
“Hi. Hey, Zorro, hey, boy. Did you come to see Elvis?”
“He sure did. I’m here because I’m told you can get electric fireplaces.”
“We can do that. I’ll show you a catalog.”
When the dogs got together, Corey, mid-twenties, little beard, and nut-brown eyes, pulled out a catalog.
“So many.”
“You take your time. Just let me know if you have any questions.”
When he went off to ring up a sale, Arden paged through.
She’d looked at them online—what she considered part of the process.
There was one style she kept coming back to, so she focused on those choices.
“Did Corey get you started?”
She looked up to smile at Joe. “He did. But … tell me what you think of this one.”
Joe adjusted his glasses, pursed his lips. “It’s a good brand or we wouldn’t sell it. For your library?”
“That’s the plan.”
“My opinion? It’s a good choice to go with the bookcases you’ve got Gideon building.”
“You think? I think. I like the stone, the varied browns, and that the mantel’s not fussy, just a slab. It’s the right scale for between the windows.
“Is Gideon around? He’d have an opinion.”
“Not today. He’d be in the shop, I imagine, building those bookcases of yours.”
“Well, hooray for that. This one, Joe. I know the size works. I did the cardboard cutout thing on the wall for this size. It sits directly on the floor, and the width seems perfect.”
“Plugs right into the wall, too. No hardwire. Easy install.”
“Music to my ears.”
“I’ll get it ordered for you.”
“While I’m at it, I need a grill for my deck, and I will go modern on that. Bells and whistles, the works. My aunt and uncle are coming from Ohio, and my cousin and his family from California for a few days. My house tour includes a cookout.”
“I can help you with that. Your parents aren’t visiting?”
“I lost them when I was fourteen.”
She saw his face fall into both sorrow and sympathy. “Arden, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too. They were great, and I didn’t have nearly enough time to make sure they knew I thought they were.”
He rubbed the back of her hand. “They knew.”