Chapter 7 Linden
Linden
Well, I was an asshole.
I'd known it when I stomped up those basement stairs.
Known it when I cleaned up the mess from the broken box.
Known it when I'd hopped in my truck and drove to the liquor store forty-five minutes away, the one that stocked the good white ale from Clown Shoes Brewery.
And I knew it when I looked out my kitchen window and caught sight of Jasper sitting on her back porch, her shoulders shaking in the unmistakable shudder that accompanied sobs.
That was my fault. All my damn fault.
I didn't stop to think. I hooked my fingers around the beers and made a beeline across the backyard.
I didn't know what I was going to say but I knew I couldn't watch anymore.
I couldn't do it earlier today, I couldn't do it now.
And maybe that meant I was all the things Jasper accused me of being.
Maybe I was a terrible neighbor. But I couldn't sit back and watch her cry out here, all alone.
She sat on the edge of the porch, her legs folded in front of her and one arm banded over her waist while she kneaded her forehead with the other hand. Loud, hiccupping sobs filled the night air—and made my arrival more stealthy than I'd intended.
I had to announce myself. It was that or wait until her tears slowed enough to notice me here, standing sentry to her meltdown.
Couldn't do that either. I couldn't just be here, I had to do something.
What the literal fuck was wrong with me? For real. What the fuck.
I set the beer down on the porch's battered floor, hard enough to grab her attention. "Hey, Jasper." I snagged a folded bandana from my back pocket and held it out to her as she lifted her head. "Sorry about, you know, everything."
She plucked the bandana from me and pressed it to her face. "Oh my god. Linden, seriously, I can't right now."
"I'm not—"
"Can we do this tomorrow? Please?"
I shook my head. "I'm trying to tell you—"
"I can't fight with you tonight and I can't just sit here and take it while you yell at me either."
I sank down beside her. "Would you shut up for a minute?" She sniffled. "I brought beer."
She dropped the bandana, just enough to eye the quartet of tall cans.
Her brows lifted before she resumed mopping her face.
A time that bordered on painfully long passed with only the sounds of early night mingled with her sniffles and shuddered breaths between us.
It was a warm evening for this point in September, the breeze mild and dry. Hoots and calls echoed from the forest.
Then, "I have wine." Jasper held up an unopened bottle. "I don't need your beer."
"When did I say I was sharing any with you? I just said I brought it."
This pulled a splashy, hiccupping laugh from Jasper. "I can live with that. If you'd brought a cheese plate and refused to share, things might be different."
"That's your end zone? A cheese plate?"
"Oh, yeah. I'd fight you for that." She patted the porch floor, its paint nothing more than a faded suggestion of color now. "No one sits on my ramshackle porch without sharing their cheese with me."
I cast a glance over the structure, its wood planks rotted in some spots, warped and jutting up from the surface at others. "Goddamn, this place is one problem child after another."
Her shoulders shook as she pressed the cloth to her eyes again but her sobs seemed to mingle with laughter this time.
"It's like you're physically incapable of keeping these observations to yourself, Linden.
" She glanced over at me. "Like, for once, do you think you could not call out my shit? Just once?"
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant. You came over here after being in your clean, sturdy house with its fancy hot water and reliable electricity, and you can't not stare at the deck that's five minutes from collapsing under us."
I freed one of the beers from its ring and popped it open. "Sorry about that. And what I said earlier too."
Jasper dropped the cloth to her lap and shifted to face me. "Is that why you came over? Because you thought I was—I was upset about this afternoon?"
I jerked my shoulders up in agreement as I sipped.
"I wasn't crying because of anything you said." She reached back, grabbed the wine bottle by the neck. "I was crying because I don't have a corkscrew."
That didn't make sense. Not even a little bit of sense. No one became this upset over inaccessible wine.
I set my beer down and pushed off the porch to reach into my back pocket. "I can take care of that for you."
"Why am I not surprised to hear this?"
I pried open my Swiss Army knife and beckoned for the bottle. "You could've come next door and asked to borrow a corkscrew."
With the cork freed, Jasper held out her empty glass. "The last time I went over there, you insulted my baking."
"Your baking insulted me," I replied, filling her glass.
"See? This is why I didn't ask you. I didn't need another round of unwelcome commentary."
I returned to my spot on the porch floor while Jasper tucked into her wine. "You would've changed your mind about that if I had a cheese plate."
"Do you?"
I mentally paged through the contents of my refrigerator. There wasn't much. "No."
"Don't tease a girl like that. Can't you see I'm up to my ears in issues, Linden? Don't dangle cheese in front of me unless you have the goods."
She wasted no time putting that wine away and soon held out her glass for a refill.
"There's this little market around the corner from my apartment.
They sell cheese plates for one. Just a little assortment of cheeses, some apple slices and fig jam, a bit of bread and nuts.
Whenever I was in town and had the night off, I'd pick up one of those.
Even knowing exactly what was in it, I don't think I could perfectly recreate it.
I don't know why. It just wouldn't come out the same. "
"Really is your end zone," I murmured.
She replied with a quick shrug. "You don't have to stay. You've uncorked my wine and saved me from attempting to saber it with the axe I found in the garage—"
"Jesus Christ, Jasper."
"—which is an adequate apology for your little rant today."
"Please don't use that axe for—for anything. Okay?"
"I do not need your permission." She turned her gaze toward me now, her brows lifted and her eyes softer than I'd ever seen them before. Probably the wine at work. That was it. Nothing else. "This thing really is five minutes from falling apart, isn't it?"
I glanced around the weathered structure. "Yeah."
"It took me most of the week just to fix up the side steps, and since we're on the topic, why does a small house need so many entry points?
The side door, the back door, the front door.
It's bananas. Just one door, in and out, that's all I need.
" She frowned at the floor. "It would take all month to tackle this thing.
My god." Her frown deepened. "I guess I have the time.
There's gotta be a YouTube tutorial for it. "
"Is that what you were hammering? Those little stairs on the other side?"
She nodded slowly. "Mmhmm. Since I was replacing the broken glass in the door, it seemed like the next logical task."
"How'd it go?"
"I only did it wrong three times. I think that's probably good." She cut a look in my direction. "You were listening to my banging?"
Two things were true right now. One, Jasper was a mess. A hot mess but a mess nonetheless. I'd lived a lot of low days, and I knew breakdowns like the one I walked into weren't the result of a missing corkscrew.
And two, I didn't hate her when we were sitting here and talking like this. I didn't hate anything right now.
"Couldn't miss it if I'd tried."
"Still not sure why it bothers you so much that I'm here."
"It doesn't bother me," I replied quickly.
It bothered me in many complicated ways, none of which I could explain to myself, let alone Jasper.
"I'm…I'm concerned. This place is in bad shape.
I wouldn't be comfortable staying here for long.
" Since I enjoyed making things worse, I couldn't stop myself from adding, "I wouldn't let my sister stay here. "
Jasper took a sip, blinked at me over the rim of her glass. I could almost sense her coiling up to strike—and seeing as I was more than a little perverted when it came to this woman, my pulse quickened in anticipation.
"You have a sister."
"Yeah. Magnolia. We're triplets."
"Triplets," she repeated, nodding. "Well, that's nice."
"Something like that."
"And you decide where and how this sister spends her time?"
I almost—almost—said Magnolia had a husband for that now but stopped myself with a long pull of my beer. Now empty, I set it aside and reached for another. "If my sister was living in this place, I'd get my ass over here and help her fix it up. It's the right thing to do."
"Is it though? I'm sure your sister is capable of looking after herself or requesting support when she needs it. Why is it incumbent upon you to insert yourself into the situation?"
"You're missing the point."
She shook her head. "I think I'm seeing it rather clearly."
"You're seeing what you're choosing to see.
Sometimes it's not that complicated. It's helping someone out, even if they have a hard time asking for that help.
" Before she could interject with another twisted remark, I added, "You know who always inserted herself into situations?
Midge. The first year I lived here, I couldn't get her to leave me alone.
I started thinking I'd made a huge mistake buying my place because I couldn't go a day without her banging on my front door over one thing or another. "