Chapter 19
A few days later, Scoot and Sailor dropped by Ingrid’s house to measure all the windows.
Scoot was astounded to see that Ingrid did, in fact, own a Tiffany lily lamp identical to the one in her office.
Her only comment was to advise Ingrid not to sell it, because it was sure to double in value in the next decade.
“Maybe if she’d sold it a couple of months ago, we wouldn’t have turned into some charity case,” groused Miles, who was lurking around, eating Quaker Oat Squares out of a coffee mug and watching the women step around the men regrouting tiles on the fireplace.
Ingrid sent him a mild warning look. His jealousy was flaring more and more with the constant stream of workers in and out of the house. Also, whenever she mentioned Sailor.
“Miles.” Sailor planted her hands on her hips.
“I get that this has been a really disruptive process, but this is not charity. Ingrid did something for me that was so meaningful, I can’t imagine I’ll ever be able to adequately repay her.
” She took a step closer to him. “I hope you and I can be friends, too, Miles. I’d really like that. ”
At the windows, Scoot sniffed quietly.
Miles nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. If you really want to be friends, come on my ghost tour.”
“Your—” Sailor looked confused.
“My ghost tour,” Miles repeated. “You’ve never even been on one?”
“Miles,” Ingrid said.
Sailor straightened. “No. I can’t say that I have.”
“And you’ve lived here all your life?” Miles looked scornful.
“Miles!” Now Ingrid was mad.
Sailor waved a hand in her direction. “He’s not wrong.
I have lived here all my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever fully seen this town.
” She glanced at Ingrid. “The beauty of my home. The strength of the people who are the heart of it.” She looked back at Miles, her chin high.
“The people who make this place what it is.”
Miles sent Ingrid a triumphant look. “It’s a date.”
That weekend, Sailor and Ingrid went on Miles’s tour. When it was over, the three walked over to a bar called Artillery where Sailor bought them drinks. Over her vodka cranberry, Ingrid furtively watched Sailor drill Miles about whether he really believed any of the stories he told on the tour.
Miles had finally warmed up to Sailor, chatting companionably with her and cracking jokes about how much better his tour was than Boney’s.
And, Ingrid saw, it was all because Sailor had made the effort to reach out to him.
She was a good person. She really cared, not only about Ingrid, but about the people in Ingrid’s life.
Ingrid felt a catch in her throat and had to look away. She didn’t want to cry in front of them.
“Wait a second, I have an idea,” Miles suddenly said. “Ingrid, you should just move in with Sailor. It’s so loud at the house with all the sawing and banging and drilling … you said it’s been tough to do your readings.”
“Miles, stop. You’re drunk.” Ingrid turned to Sailor. “He’s drunk.”
“Oh my God, Ingrid. Yes,” agreed Sailor. “He’s right. You totally should.”
“No,” Ingrid said. “I couldn’t.”
“He’s absolutely right.” Sailor nodded at the bartender for another round. “With all the repairs going on, how can you possibly be doing business—”
“I could keep an eye on everything,” interrupted Miles. “And you can work out of Sailor’s house—”
Ingrid looked alarmed.
“—or do house calls with all the peace and quiet you need for accessing the”—he fluttered his fingers—“woo-woo.”
Sailor’s eyes were bright. “And you’d be around to keep me from absolutely losing my mind over my mom.”
“And to do readings for you,” Miles added.
“To access the woo-woo!” Sailor squealed.
She and Miles high-fived over the table. Ingrid sighed. She’d love to stay at the Loeffler mansion—who wouldn’t—but what would Scoot say?
Sailor reached out a soft hand to rest on Ingrid’s. “It would be so nice to just have a friend around. I could really use a friend right now, Ingrid. Say yes. Say you’ll move in with me.”
Ingrid glanced at Miles doubtfully. “And you’re really okay with this?”
“Look, I know I’ve been an asshole.” He glanced at Sailor. “And I apologize. I’m just an idiot sometimes. A bit too protective of the people I love.”
Now Ingrid’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. She nodded at Sailor. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Woo!” Sailor cheered.
“My work here is done,” Miles said, and stood.
“No. Your drink just came,” Sailor protested.
“Miles, really, you don’t have to go,” Ingrid said in a halfhearted way. She couldn’t deny she was itching to get Sailor alone and discuss their plans.
“I’m supposed to help Boney on this job in the morning. Some deck we’re building for this house over on West Gaston.” He bent to kiss Sailor’s cheek. “It was fun. I hope you come around more. Seriously.” He waved and was gone.
Ingrid smiled at Sailor. “Should we, like, go ahead and schedule your readings for the next couple of months? I can also walk you through lots of energy rituals and healing meditations, which might be good before the wedding.”
“Nope,” Sailor said. She pushed Miles’s drink, a gin and tonic, over to Ingrid. “No business talk tonight. I want to show you my Pinterest board for the Marcella dress.”
“Oh, okay.” Ingrid sipped her drink and accepted Sailor’s phone.
She scrolled down the board filled with gorgeous and expensive-looking gowns.
Ingrid marveled at Sailor’s unflagging interest in what she wore.
Even with a closet full of designer clothing, the woman never seemed to tire of buying more.
“So Finley’s texted a couple times,” Sailor said, out of nowhere. “I’ve just ignored her.”
Ingrid looked up from the phone. “I’m sorry. That must be hard.”
“Losing a friend, yeah.” Sailor looked suddenly distracted. Then she brightened, smiling again at Ingrid. “But I have gained one in the process. Which room do you want to take in the house?”
“Whatever is easiest for you. And your parents, of course.” She handed Sailor’s phone back. That was what she really wanted to ask. What would Scoot and Rill think about Ingrid moving in? What would Cas think? “I really don’t want to put anyone out,” she added.
“Oh please, there are nine bedrooms in that house. And my parents will love having you there. They may be annoying as hell, but they really do want whatever makes me happy.”
Unless it was stepping into the role of CEO of Savannah Sauce, the role she’d wanted since she was a girl. Ingrid wondered if Sailor was aware of Rill’s final position on the subject yet. Or if Rill really did want Ingrid to break the news to his daughter for him.
“So I’m thinking”—Sailor slurped her whiskey sour thoughtfully—“the red-and-pink room. It’s like feminine and traditional but also sort of … spicy.” She sent Ingrid a playful little shoulder wiggle. “Like you.”
“Me? You think I’m spicy?”
“Girl, you are so spicy.” Sailor leaned in, conspiratorially. “I think my brother has a crush on you.”
“No.” Ingrid felt herself going bright red.
“I know. He was kind of rude to you at my party—”
Ingrid let out a noncommittal puff, but she hoped Sailor would say more.
“—but he’s gotten into this weird church thing lately, so he thinks witches are like—”
Ingrid braced herself.
“—anti-God or something—”
“I’m not anti-God.”
“Oh, I know that, but you have to understand Cas. He really gets into stuff. Like, into. When he was a kid, he was bullied at school.”
Ingrid tilted her head to one side.
“We went to this really la-di-da private school, and Cas’s grade was full of all these little pricks.
Cas was always quiet. He liked to draw and read.
He wasn’t athletic. Anyway, around that time, he found this YouTube channel of a guy, some kind of MMA wrestler who taught all his moves.
Cas started wearing this getup to school and calling himself Casimir the Killer. ”
“Oh no.”
“He beat the shit out of these kids. Like, for real.” Sailor gulped her drink. “My brother’s kind of a weirdo but when he gets a new hobby, let me tell you, the guy does not play.”
“I was bullied, too, actually,” Ingrid said.
“What?”
“In school. The girls in my class put me in a chair and told me to renounce Satan.”
Sailor’s eyes got shiny. “Oh, Ingrid.”
Ingrid shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. “I’m just saying that kind of thing can make a person … seem … I don’t know, weird.”
Sailor looked chastened. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.
I just meant that Cas seems to think he had to do penance for being rich.
It’s just another way of rebelling against Mom and Dad, renouncing his worldly goods and worshipping God instead of P&L sheets.
But I guess it’s better than what he was up to before. ”
Ingrid went still. “What was he up to before?”
But Sailor had gotten distracted by her phone. “Oh my gosh. It’s …” She trailed off.
“What?”
“It’s my dress. For the dancing. Apparently, my coordinator went through our attic at the house, and she found my grandmother’s wedding dress from, like, 1960-something, and she’s found this incredible seamstress to remake it. Look at the drawing she did.” She flashed her phone at Ingrid.
“Sailor, that’s amazing.”
Sailor sniffed, misty. “It is, actually. She was my dad’s mom. Louise. I was very close to her, but she died.”
“When you were sixteen.”
Sailor looked started.
“You told me in our first reading.”
“That’s right. You remembered. That’s so sweet.”
Ingrid couldn’t resist a smile. “Of course I did.”
Sailor gazed back down at the image on her phone. “I can’t even believe I thought Marcella was such a big deal. Louise’s dress is so much better. I mean, look at it. It’s so retro, but really kind of modern, too. It’s perfect.”
Sailor glanced up, and when she saw Ingrid’s grin, stretched wide across her face now, her mouth dropped open.
“What?” she said. “Stop it! Did you do this? You did this, didn’t you?”
Ingrid had only started to nod when Sailor was on top of her, jostling her drink, hugging her so hard Ingrid could barely breathe.
“You’re the best! The absolute, fucking best! I love you so much, Ingrid!”