Chapter 4 #2
Thora remembered this, too. One of her coworkers in the dining hall had invited her to an iftar at the local mosque, and she
was on her way there. She was looking forward to the festive meal after so much dining hall food. But then there was Lee,
pedaling like mad in the pouring rain. She rolled down her window to offer him a ride, not realizing she would have to drive
him three hours into Boston.
Granted, she didn’t have to drive him. But she did anyway.
Thankfully Thora was in the right place at the right time. She kept me distracted for the whole ride, keeping me out of an
anxiety spiral.
Well, that was unintentional. Thora probably yapped away like she always did. Nice to know she used her powers for good every
once in a while.
My grandfather is concerned about his quality of life, but everyone talks over him. I try to be like you and listen before I speak.
She set the letter down without reading further. She felt like she was invading something private because, no shit, she was.
Lee could take the letters with him when he left.
She returned to the kitchen. Lee was staring blankly ahead, eyes puffy. Maybe it was the sweet things he’d written about her
in his letters, but he looked different to her. The wall she’d put up between them was beginning to crumble. She could see
the light peeking through, like Juniper’s original kitchen. A light that spread warmth through her.
“Lee, I know you’re upset, but do you think I need to be concerned about whoever it was on the phone with you? It seems like
they didn’t sound weird or threatening at all.”
“No, it sounded like George. It was George, Thora. I can’t explain it.”
“I know. Neither can I. Juniper is mine now, and the utilities are all in my name. I haven’t activated the phone yet because
I’m trying to unplug for a bit.”
“How did you manage that?”
Thora explained the situation with the back taxes. She did not mention that she was specifically trying to beat Lee in a competition
she’d started in her head. If Lee didn’t know George had died, he wouldn’t have known the property was potentially up for
grabs. Assuming he’d act without telling her was a bit of an uncharitable move, even if he didn’t clear Juniper’s renovations
with her. Not informing him of George’s death was also shitty of her. She could dial the pettiness back a skosh.
“George couldn’t have faked his death, could he?” he asked.
Funny that she’d had the same thought seeing his truck pull up. Thora had a flair for the dramatic, one that had only been honed by helping usher books about high-speed yacht chases and pyromaniac heiresses into the world. Despite that, she favored supernatural explanations over twisted ones.
“If he did, he left a really nasty surprise for Mikey.”
“You’re not afraid of any nasty surprises?”
Being at Juniper both scared Thora and made her a braver version of herself. It helped that none of Juniper’s surprises were
ever truly nasty. Objects might come and go from different rooms with mischievously perfect comic timing, but it wasn’t like
the sinks were running with blood as knives flew across the room.
“If I run away because of one spooky phone call, I’ll never get anything done. Weird stuff happens here. Let’s just say the
house wanted you back and pretended to be George. Here, help me get the fire going.”
Lee sniffled and nodded. His lower lip wobbled. Maybe he was thinking about sitting by a fire with George. Soft-spoken and
a natural listener, George would ask her to tell stories by the fireplace in the Great Room. Usually he was whittling while
she talked, which she now realized might have been an acceptable way to avoid eye contact with people. Lee had been there
for one storytelling session. She couldn’t remember what tale she told back then, probably the plot of a Bryony Brooks novel,
but she remembered a look on Lee’s face of respect, or maybe curiosity. Cody quickly asked if it was his turn next and she
never got to find out what was on Lee’s mind.
“But have you ever spent the night here by yourself?” he pushed.
“No.”
“I did once, during the winter when George was housesitting.”
“And you lived to tell the tale. You can go back to Massachusetts. And I can take care of myself.”
“It’s really different once you’re here all by yourself, I promise. All that . . . energy . . . only has one target. I’m not
going to be able to sleep unless I know you’re okay.”
The feeling was not mutual. She’d sleep much better if Lee wasn’t on her mind at all. Instead, he reminded her that she failed
at marriage to his best friend, and she failed at keeping her beloved uncle safe. Blaming him for that second failure helped
her sleep at all.
“Do you like butter pecan ice cream?”
That was a random question, though she knew why he asked it. It was George’s favorite. “Of course.”
“I brought some for him. And his favorite bourbon. I’ll take the booze back with me, but the ice cream will melt.”
So he had seen reason. Finally, he would see himself out of this house and away from her. He left her sitting at the kitchen
table while he went to his truck. George’s truck. Didn’t Lee have a family of his own? Why did he have to insinuate himself
into this one? Why couldn’t Juniper be her sanctuary, after she’d spent far too much time away from it?
He came back with a couple bags of groceries.
“Can I please leave this stuff with you?”
There was a sense of resignation and exhaustion in his voice. Thora felt herself slightly moved. Moved enough to take some
free food.
“Sure,” she said.
He began unloading the bags, reusable shoppers from the grocery store in Woodhill. A rotisserie chicken, beans and lentils,
winter squash. A bag of Granny Smith apples, another of George’s favorites.
George showed Thora the star in the middle of the apple when she was a girl, demonstrated with a Granny Smith. Her throat began to choke up. She couldn’t handle any more reminders of his wondrous spirit.
She started crying, finally. Softly at first, but she picked up steam. Lee didn’t notice until she let out a mortifying hiccuping
noise, and then he joined her at the table again.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said.
She wanted to say, be more specific. Instead she nodded, and through the bleary tears she saw Lee crying again, too.
She hated to admit it, positively loathed it, but Lee clearly had genuine love for George. More than idolizing his mountain
mystic lifestyle, Lee wanted to know George and be known by him. The letters were evidence of that. This renovated kitchen
was evidence of his desire to keep George safe, even if it was horribly misguided. According to Cody, he had funded it all
himself, too. Lee was generous if nothing else, and she could try replying in kind.
“You shouldn’t drive in your state,” she said at last. “You can stay one night here. Go back to Massachusetts tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Don’t make me rethink it. You can get half of the, what did you call it? Energy.”
Lee sputtered out a laugh. She forgot what his laugh sounded like. It had a funny pitch, the kind of laugh that had to be
unselfconscious. Something that would have invited ridicule in his teen years and taken a true sense of security to finally
embrace.
It slightly endeared him to her. Enough to feel okay about this decision.
“But you’re staying in the Bell Room,” she added.
“Are you in the Blue Room?”
“Bird Room.”
“Please let me have the Blue Room. I can’t take the fucking bells.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She held out a fist and a flattened hand, the gesture inviting him to best her in Rock Paper
Scissors.
“If I win, you take the Bell Room. You win and you can have the Blue Room.”
“You’re in the Bird Room,” he countered. “What difference does it make?”
“My house, my rules,” she said. Ooh, that felt good. Not wanting children of her own, she didn’t know how often she’d ever have the opportunity to say such an iconic phrase.
“Best of three,” he confirmed.
His paper beat her rock.
Her rock beat his scissors.
His rock beat her scissors.
“Blue Room it is,” she said.