Chapter Nine
After sleeping for a few hours, I get up, shower, and pick up paint at the hardware store. It’s the first day I’ve had off in about nine days, and I’ve been wanting to start some projects on the house, beginning with my bedroom.
The space is massive, probably the largest I’ve ever had. My room is at the front of the house and has a beautiful turret, where I envision a chair and table. But the first thing I have to do is get rid of the reddish-brown walls and lighten it up.
I pull on my short overalls and then start taping the room. I open the can of pale yellow paint, which I mostly chose because I liked the name of it: Provincial Garden. I start with the trim near the white baseboard. It goes on smoothly and will brighten up this space so nicely.
The first coat looks beautiful, and I smile at my work. One more coat, and this room will be transformed. Then I’ll be able to accessorize with a rug for the hardwood floors, window coverings, and new bedding.
“What do you think, spirits? Pretty, isn’t it?”
I laugh. I figure if this house is haunted, I want to be friends with these spirits instead of enemies. I look at my arms and legs, and I’m covered in paint. I haven’t painted in so long, and I’m not very neat when doing it. I begin the second coat, determined that when I lay my head on the pillow tonight, this part of the makeover will be done.
There’s a knock at the door, and I jump, startled. I look outside, but the overhang of the front porch prevents me from seeing if someone is parked here. I wipe my hands on my overalls and head downstairs to see who’s here.
“Liam,” I say, as I swing the door open.
He never looks like he fully fits in here. He pulls down his designer sunglasses to look at me.
“Am I interrupting something?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I’m painting my bedroom. I’m almost done, actually,” I say.
He reaches out and grabs my arm. “From the looks of it, yellow.”
“Provincial Garden,” I say, and he laughs. “Do you want to come in?”
Liam looks past me, inside the house. “I can’t believe I’m about to go into the Hurst haunted house. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Enter at your own risk,” I say, holding the door open farther.
Liam smiles and follows me inside.
“What brings you here?” I walk into the kitchen, and Liam follows. I lean against the counter.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from last night,” Liam says, leaning against the counter opposite me.
“I’m sorry I even put that in your mind,” I say. “You don’t need to worry about it. My mom and I will figure it out.”
“Can we sit?” Liam looks around.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Can I grab you a drink?”
“Water, if you have it,” he says.
I pour us both a glass of ice water and bring Liam to the living room, where we sit. He takes a long, slow drink and then sets the glass down on the coffee table.
“My background is in finance.” Liam clears his throat. “That’s what I did in New York. And I’d like to think I was pretty good at it.”
“That’s right. You are.” I bite my bottom lip. “Forty-three minus eighteen is twenty-five.”
Liam rolls his eyes.
“I don’t want to overstep or anything, but would your mom benefit from me taking a look at the books?” Liam says, leaning forward. “I’m not here to insinuate that your mom isn’t knowledgeable in—”
“She’s not,” I interrupt. “At larger nursing homes, they can afford to bring in an accountant. That isn’t possible here. My mom does the best she can, but she’s not an expert.”
Liam smiles. “What do you think?”
“Why would you do that?” I shake my head. “I mean, I’m sure my mom would appreciate the help, but you know she couldn’t pay you.”
Liam folds his hands and rests his head on them. “I care about the health of the nursing home. I’d be lying if I said I always have. But now that my grandparents are there, I can’t imagine if they were forced to go to another city. Their friends and family are all here.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
Liam nods and then leans back. “There’s something you should know first though, Birdie.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t get laid off from my job in New York.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I worked for Feldmans.”
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward. “The Feldmans on Wall Street? The one that’s been in the news for the Ponzi scheme and defrauding their clients? That Feldmans?”
He scrapes his nail against his bottom lip. “Yes.”
This is why Liam is in Wheaton. He didn’t just lose his job; he was fired. The entire company went under.
Liam shoots up from the couch and sits in the chair next to me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And I swear, I wasn’t in on it. I had nothing to do with what happened.”
“You don’t know what I was thinking.” I run a hand down my face.
“Wait.” Liam narrows his eyes. He studies my face. “I mean it. I really wasn’t involved.”
“Liam,” I say. “I believe you.”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” he says. “We are pretty much strangers. My own dad doesn’t believe me.”
I tilt my head to the side. The sun from outside shines on his blond hair and tanned face. That’s why his dad is so disappointed in him.
“I trust people until they give me a reason not to,” I say. “You came over here to say you’d take a look at the nursing home’s finances. For free. If you were looking to steal from someone, I have no doubt it would be from a person or organization that actually had money.”
Liam rolls his eyes but smiles. “Talk to your mom. Get her thoughts. And let me know how I can help.”
He stands, and I follow. The paint on my limbs has dried and is now hard and crusty.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say, walking him to the door. “But maybe I won’t mention that you used to work at Feldmans.”
He chuckles. “That’s only fair. It’s a stain that won’t go away anytime soon.”
We stand at the door, and I wonder how we’ve gotten to be friendly after the start we had. Maybe I judged him too soon.
I stick my hand out to shake his. He narrows his eyes but takes my hand in his.
“My name’s Beatrice. But my friends call me Birdie.”
“Beatrice. I like it.” Liam smiles, his hand enveloping mine. “You said your grandma nicknamed you Birdie, and it stuck. Where’d she get that?”
“I’ll save that story for another day,” I say. “Thanks for stopping over, Liam. I’ll talk to my mom and let you know.”
“Good luck painting,” he says. “And Birdie, don’t feel like you need to tell anyone that I worked at Feldmans.”
“Of course not.” I smile as I lean against the doorway. “You can trust me, too.”
I close the door and watch Liam pull out of the driveway through the kitchen window.