Chapter Six #2
Dude, at least, seemed to still like me. He barreled across the room and shoved the top of his head into my palm. “How was your day, buddy?”
Hannah gave him an annoyed look but said nothing. She carefully stayed on her side of the taped line, working her way around the room to sit on the edge of the recliner next to mine, all while staying within her taped-off perimeter. “I did some thinking today, O’Malley.”
“I’m listening.” I leaned forward, finding I was eager to hear what she had to say. There was something about Hannah Spencer that pricked my interest even though we were at odds over the house. It wasn’t personal. I just had obligations that I couldn’t ignore.
“I propose six months–six months,” she said.
“Meaning?”
“I have the house for six months and then you do, and we alternate,” she said. Dude left me to go to his favored spot on the couch.
“But I don’t want to live here for six months,” I said. “I want to sell.”
“But why?” she cried. “Do you know what I did all day?”
“Obviously, no.” I didn’t mention that I would have loved to know if she hadn’t shot out of here this morning like I carried the plague. I felt I showed great restraint in not saying as much.
“I’ve been revisiting some of the local sites,” she said. “The Wright Brothers National Memorial and the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. It’s so beautiful here. I have a list of places I want to get reacquainted with and you should check them out, too. How can you want to sell?”
“It’s not a matter of want,” I said. It was as close to the truth as I was willing to share. “It’s about being practical.”
She pursed her lips, and her eyebrows lowered.
“I understand that you have an attachment to this place, I do.” And I did. I hoped she could hear the sincerity in my voice. “But making a long-term decision based on emotion…”
“It’s only partly that, it’s also—” she started to answer but a crack of thunder overhead drowned out her voice. We both jumped and Dude let out a pitiful wail and dove from the couch to the floor.
The enormous dog belly-crawled under Hannah’s legs, wedging himself between her and the chair. Then he put his head down and covered his eyes with his paws. She glanced at me. “Dude doesn’t like storms.”
“Poor guy. I saw it rolling in when I was on the dock. This one’s gonna be a banger.”
The wind whipped the branches of the trees against the side of the house.
Hannah opened her shoulder bag and took out a small pouch of treats.
She gave one to Dude while she stroked his head and crooned reassuring words to him.
Dude didn’t move the paw from his eyes but his shivering eased a little.
“He’ll be okay,” she said. “That was a calming dog chew. It should kick in soon.”
“Lucky dog.”
“I could give you one, too,” she offered.
Her prior irritation was replaced by a wide smile and her eyes crinkled in the corners.
I glanced away, refusing to acknowledge the warmth I felt in my chest when she smiled so big and bright.
At least she didn’t seem quite so peeved with me and was smiling at me instead of growling.
A shutter slammed outside and I wondered if one of the loose ones had been torn free. Excellent! If this storm produced enough damage, it might sway Hannah to let go of her sentimental attachment and sell her half to me. A guy could hope.
“Listen,” Hannah said. I met her gaze. Gone was her mischievous smile and in its place was a look of determined resolve. “I don’t want to be contrary but I’ve made up my mind. I’m not selling my half to you or anyone.”
Well, hell.
She patted Dude’s head and then reached up and finger-combed her windswept hair, releasing the faint smell of a coconut-lime shampoo.
It made me think of the summers of my youth—surfing the waves, flirting with pretty girls, and mistakenly thinking the freedom of those days would never end.
It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed a summer like that and a wave of nostalgia washed over me.
Hannah used the hair band she wore on her wrist to tie her hair up in a high ponytail.
She was wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts with boots, the sort made for hiking.
I wanted to hear more about what she’d seen on her adventure today, but I wasn’t quite ready to put the topic of her selling the house to me to bed just yet.
“Okay, but if you should change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
Our gazes met and held. The divide between us was much wider than a flimsy piece of masking tape.
“Looks like we’re at a stalemate.” Hannah broke our eye contact and glanced around the room, taking it all in—the art on the walls, the tchotchkes tucked in among the books on the bookcase and on the table beside her where there were several framed photographs.
I watched as she picked up the picture on the end.
It was of two men standing side by side, each holding up their catch of the day and grinning at each other.
I recognized Gramps immediately. His baseball hat was pushed back on his head, revealing his receding hairline.
He was wearing his favorite fishing vest over an eye-wateringly colorful Hawaiian shirt that was not his usual utilitarian style.
When Hannah paused and stroked a finger down the face of the other man, it confirmed it was her Pops.
A soft sigh escaped her and she sniffed as a tear slipped down the curve of her cheek.
She brushed it away with a fingertip and closed her eyes as if willing away the grief that was presently consuming her.
Ambush grief. I knew it well. I waited, not wanting to intrude.
Instead, I returned my gaze to the photo she still held.
The man beside Gramps appeared to be about the same age and sported a head of thick white hair and aviator sunglasses.
He wore a blue golf shirt and baggy shorts.
The photo captured his fish in mid-wiggle but it was clearly bigger than Gramps’s.
Given how competitive Gramps could be, I found it surprising that his grin was so wide. Had I ever seen Gramps look that happy?
Gramps had been the backbone of our family, taking over the raising of us when my mom passed away and my dad dipped out.
Gramps was a tough-talking, whiskey-swilling, cigar-smoking man’s man of the first order.
He worked hard, played harder, and devoted himself to his family.
I had always thought he was happy with his life but this picture of him made me question that assumption.
Time spent with Gramps made up some of the best memories of my childhood.
He taught Charlie and me how to drive a boat, fish, and camp.
When Lorelei insisted that she be taught these same life skills, Gramps had included her, unable to say no to the force of nature that was my sister.
He loved us fiercely and never missed any of the big or small moments in our lives, but again, when I saw his smile in the picture, I knew I had never seen him that full of joy.
I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was seeing Gramps in an entirely different way, sort of like the difference between seeing a lion in captivity and one out in the wild.
Hannah’s eyes opened and she turned to me with an apologetic glance. “Sorry. Sometimes, the grief just sneaks up and flattens me.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I said.
I envied her ability to grieve so openly even in front of a stranger.
I had yet to shed a tear for Gramps. I felt that if I didn’t allow myself to grieve then I could deny that he was actually gone, which was ridiculous and I knew it, but still the tears didn’t come.
“Why do you suppose they didn’t tell us or anyone about their friendship or their shared ownership of the cottage?” My voice was strained with the grief I was unable to express. If Hannah noticed, she didn’t show it.
“I have no idea,” she said. “But I’m going to find out.”