3. Sam
CHAPTER 3
SAM
I ’d ended up in Haverford mostly by chance, five days into Dad’s wild goose chase. My plan had been simple, to get on my feet: drive out of Boston till the motel rooms got cheap, then turn one into my short-term workshop. And I’d done that and gone straight on Craigslist, and bought up old nightstands, old tables and chairs. Small, simple furnishings I could refinish and flip. I sold a twenty-buck coffee table for close to two hundred, a pair of matched nightstands for eighty each. By day three I was up to eight hundred, almost ready to scout some more permanent lodging.
That was when the call came in for my mosaic-top table. I’d added the mosaic top myself, mostly for fun, and I was pretty proud of the way it’d come out. But not twelve hundred dollars proud, which was what was on offer. All I had to do was take the ferry to Haverford. Schlep my little table to their craftsmen’s bazaar. I didn’t have much else to do, so I figured why not? I brought an end table as well, and a little hope chest, again thinking why not? Might sell those too.
The bazaar had been busy, and I’d been right. I’d sold all I’d brought and come away with a bonus pie, a luscious peach cobbler to sweeten the deal. I was sitting on a street bench watching the town go by, eating my cobbler, when I had a thought: why not move here? Do the challenge on hard mode?
Haverford was pricey, an upscale tourist town. I’d be paying a premium to live by the beach. But the bazaar could be good for me while I planned my next move. And I could rub my success in Dad’s face: not only could I thrive without the aid of his wealth, I could do it in an enclave of the island rich.
Now, a day later, I was back with no pie and a new mission: find a cheap room. Well, cheap for Haverford, but I felt good. I’d found a place downtown, near the bazaar, priced four hundred dollars below the next-cheapest. And the landlady seemed sweet, if a bit scattered. I decided to walk from my B&B to meet her, get a sense of the town on my way over.
I was passing a bakery with a striped awning when I heard someone shouting. “Brad! Hey, Brad!” I cast about instinctively the way you do, searching for Brad. Then it hit me. That’s me .
“Brad? Is that you?”
I turned around, smiling. A red-faced woman was running toward me, a spoon in one hand, a bowl in the other. “Sorry, sorry. You must be thinking, who’s this?”
I was , but there were only so many options. “Didn’t I see you at the bazaar yesterday?”
“That’s right. I’m Orla.” She dropped her spoon in her bowl and stuck out her hand. “I spotted you yesterday selling a table to Margie, and I must say, I love it. You’ve got a real gift. Will you be back again, at the bazaar?”
I shook her hand. “Yeah, I’ll be here a while. Which days are busy?”
“Every day, once the tourists descend. And that’ll be any day, with the weather getting warmer.” She pointed over her shoulder at a café down the street. “I run Soup and a Bread Bowl, right over there. If you do another mosaic table, come see me first.”
I promised I would, and she promised me a free bread bowl. I marched on up the street with a spring in my step. The town was still quiet this early in the season, but I could see the shops gearing up for the rush. An old man was repainting the sign for his deli. Two women were gardening, planting pink flowers. One of them waved and I glanced behind me, but the sidewalk was empty. She was waving at me.
“Hello,” I said. “Nice flowers you’ve got there.”
“Petunias.” The waving woman wiped her forehead. “They’re my favorite, but they don’t last the winter. So we end up replanting the beds every year.”
“Worth it,” I said, unused to small talk. “It, uh… it brightens up the whole street.”
“That’s what we think, as well. Are you here for the summer?”
“At least for the summer, maybe into fall.”
“Well, you’ll love it in August when the asters come out.”
I realized I was about to be late for Lana, and excused myself hastily and hurried on. When was the last time I’d stopped to chat on the street? With a stranger, no less. Two different strangers. That didn’t happen in Boston, but here it seemed normal. Like passing in silence might be the weird move. I’d have to budget in time for that going forward. Fifteen minutes for small talk along every walk.
I almost walked straight by Lana’s place, caught in my musings — though, to be fair, it was easy to miss. It was above a bookshop, like the ad said, but the storefront was covered in flowering vines. Roses nodded in the flowerbeds, white, pink, and yellow. They covered the number nailed up by the door, and part of the window display full of books. The air smelled sweet, floral, and I drew a deep breath.
“She’s upstairs,” called someone, from inside the shop. A messy blond head poked out of a side window. “Take the stairs around back, and you can’t miss it.”
I circled around behind the bookshop — more flowerbeds, more roses, a tiny herb patch. The fresh scent of rosemary tickled my nose. A bee buzzed my head and I stood still till it passed. Then I headed upstairs and knocked, not too hard.
A firm knock means business, said Dad, in my head. Or don’t knock at all. Barge in. Be powerful.
But this wasn’t business, and barging was rude. And the last thing I wanted to do was scare Lana. I needed to remember, I was Brad, not Sam. A carpenter between jobs. Taking a break.
“Coming,” she called. “Hold on just one second!” Then the door flew open, and?—
“You must be Brad?”
My first impression of Lana’s apartment was… light. Light from behind her, spilling in from outside, turning her reddish hair to a cascade of fire. Her eyes were light brown, warm as honey, a scatter of freckles across her snub nose. She had what I thought of as strawberry lips, full and bright pink without any makeup. A natural beauty.
“Uh… Brad?”
I was staring.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just really bright.”
She glanced behind her. “Yeah, it’s that window. You want to come in? Oh— I’m Lana. Did I say on the phone?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you did. Shoes on or off?”
“Either is fine.”
She still had hers on, so I left mine on too. I followed her down the bright hall, trying not to stare. She had my idea of the perfect figure — not too slim, curvy. Tall with long legs. I looked away to distract myself, at the ranks of framed photos lining the walls.
“You must’ve lived here a while,” I said.
She spun around. “What?”
“A lifetime of memories.” I gestured at the pictures. “Oh. Did I say something? Am I making you nervous?”
Lana’s pretty face had fallen. She shook her head. I noticed she seemed winded, breathing hard. “I left my assistant in charge of the shop. We’re busy and she’s new, so I guess I’m distracted.”
“Oh. Would you rather I came back later?”
Lana’s phone chirped. She looked and half-smiled, then put it away. “No, it’s okay. I’ll show you the room.” She hurried down the hallway, nearly skipping in her haste. “It’s actually the biggest room. Bigger than mine. It’s not enormous, but as you see, it’s furnished. Bed, dresser, bookcase, and here’s the closet.”
I peered into the room and tried to hide my surprise. It was bare, almost spartan compared to the hall. No decorations, no pictures on the walls. Not even a doily or a book on the shelf.
“If the closet’s too small, there’s a chest I can get you. You can keep your sheets in there, or your winter clothes.”
The closet was cramped, but I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. I packed pretty light.”
“Okay, then next stop—” She flitted out past me. “The bathroom’s in here. I cleared you a shelf. I need to warn you, the water’s slow to heat up. You need to start the shower then go have your breakfast, then when you’re done with that, it’s ready to go. I thought we could time our showers so we don’t bottleneck. I’m a morning shower person. How about you?”
“Uh, night-time’s fine with me. I like a shower before bed.”
“Perfect, then, uh…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh! Kitchen. Kitchen!” And, she was off.
“It’s pretty straightforward — fridge, toaster, oven. No coffee maker, but we have coffee downstairs. What else, what else? Do you have any questions?”
I surveyed the kitchen. As she said, pretty standard. I opened a cabinet and closed it again, not to see what was in it, but just on instinct. It took me a second to realize what I was doing — another of Dad’s old tricks, his advice for living. Always kick the tires a bit. Look under the hood. Do it even if you’re ready to buy. That gets them nervous, so they’ll come down on the price. Always look like you’re ready to walk away.
“I’ll take it,” I said. “Unless, I should ask, do you have questions for me?”
Lana looked startled. She laughed, high and nervous. Her laughter was musical and somehow contagious: it made me want to laugh along with her.
“Am I supposed to do a credit check? Or check on your background? I hadn’t thought, uh, how would I do that?”
I could’ve told her that, but I couldn’t let her do it. If she did, she’d find out I didn’t exist. But I’d thought of that too, and I had a plan.
“I have references,” I said, with my best winning smile. “My last landlord and my roommate from college. You could call them up, make sure I’m not gross.”
“References, perfect!” She ran to the fridge and grabbed a pad of paper, the kind with a magnet, for shopping lists. “Just write them down here. I’ll call them tonight.”
I wrote down the numbers, relieved she’d gone for it. If she did call my “landlord,” she’d get my best friend. He’d back me up, though he thought I was crazy. My roommate from college was just who I said, and he owed me big-time. He’d make me look good.
“I can pay first and last,” I said. “And a security deposit.”
“Security deposit,” she echoed, as though the idea was new on her. It occurred to me, maybe it was. Maybe she’d lived in this place her whole life, never had to fill out a rental agreement. She was twirling her hair around one long finger, a nervous gesture I found quite endearing. “I’ll call your references and get back to you as soon as?—”
Something crashed down below and I heard a loud shriek. Lana spun on her heel and sprinted away. Then she screeched to a halt and turned back, sheepish.
“I’m sorry. Did you need to, like, see anything else?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got the idea.”
“It’s just, all that banging came from downstairs. I ought to get down and check?—”
“No, I get it.” I let her hustle me out and back down the steps. She broke off at the bottom and rushed away, only to pause at the end of the wall. She turned back to me and smiled like a sunrise, so sweet, so bright I could only stand dazzled.
“It was really great meeting you. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I opened my mouth to tell her the pleasure was mine, but a crash cut me off. A volley of barking. Lana yelped something that sounded like wiener , and then she was gone. I stood dazed and grinning. What a whirlwind she was, scattered, chaotic. But pleasant as well. Kind. Genuine. Fully herself in a way I wasn’t used to. Everyone in my circle was playing some role. Wearing whichever mask fit their agenda. Actual feelings—who let those show through? I tried to picture Dad admitting he was out of his depth, and the very idea made me snort like a horse.
I’d overshot my B&B by the time I noticed. Strayed three blocks past it, almost to the beach. It hit me I’d daydreamed my way back through town, caught up in visions of my pretty new roommate.
Careful , I told myself.
Then I smiled like a fool.