Chapter 12
Thora arrived in the kitchen as Cody stomped back in. He grabbed the keys to her Jeep off the wall.
“I’ll leave the keys on the front seat,” he said to Thora before leaving again.
She listened to the rest of Cody’s visit from the kitchen table. The door to the Wagoneer opened and closed. She heard him
get into whatever vehicle he borrowed or rented for this errand, and then tires crunched back down the long driveway, away
from Juniper. Off to Mongolia.
“I couldn’t lie to him,” Lee said.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He got up and began preparing coffee. Whatever happened after this, at least they would be caffeinated.
Lee needed to leave, too, probably. The lapse in judgment that led to inviting him into her bed should not alter everyone’s lives irrevocably.
And she knew she held the power. Cody’s lingering feelings surprised her, considering hers were fully six feet under.
What felt so right in that heightened moment seemed callous in the light of day.
Yes, she was desperate for some affection, but she could find anyone other than Lee to provide it. She only barely didn’t hate him.
Christ, she could do better than that. She should have a little more dignity than that.
Then he brought her coffee to her, prepared precisely to her taste, and she started to think maybe dignity was overrated.
She traced the little boomerang shapes on the Formica tabletop, until Lee interrupted, picking up her hand.
His touch felt amazing. His touch, specifically. She couldn’t deny it. He brought her hands to his lips, extra warm from the
coffee mug, and kissed her knuckles one by one. Then he uncurled her hand to get a look at her palm. She was keen to see his
reaction.
He kissed the center of her palm, where it was scarred, shiny and pink.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“This scar matches the knob on the basement door,” she said.
He looked at it more closely. “Is that a face?” he asked, incredulous.
“Indeed yes. That is the face of the Green Man, who is on that doorknob. Still recognizable, isn’t he? I’ve seen tattoos that
have held up worse. When I was a middle schooler, nothing was more embarrassing than this scar. I never waved with this hand
or held it up to get a teacher’s attention. I made elaborate plans to always stand or sit to the right of any boy whom I thought
might want to hold my hand, so that he would hold the unscarred one.”
“And here you are sitting to the left of me.”
“Nowadays I don’t give a shit.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“To be honest, I rarely think about it at all. But I progressed in stages, you know? When I was young, I was afraid of people
being grossed out by it. And me. Then I was determined that someone who loved me would love me despite the scar. Eventually,
I hoped maybe someone could even embrace it. Finally, I realized people who make anything of it are the ones with the problem,
not me. I’m just living my life. It’s become rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”
As she said this, her feelings about her burn scar and her feelings about being fat came into lockstep. When she’d met Cody,
she was hoping he could love her despite her weight, despite her scar. Instead of making progress on her feelings of self-worth, she clung to him, uncertain she would ever find love
again. Cody, catch of the century, deigned to acknowledge her. While she could have been exploring the reality that her weight
wasn’t as much of an impediment to dating as her insecurity, she foolishly chose to go all in. Her compassion for this past
version of herself sat alongside her anger that no adult took responsibility for bolstering her self-image as a child.
Lee ran his thumb over her palm. “How did you get it? That couldn’t have been insignificant.”
It only now occurred to her that Cody never once asked about the scar. He had this old-fashioned, WASPy sense of politeness
forbidding him from inquiring into unpleasant things. He never looked at her hand long enough to notice the scar depicted
a face.
When she first met him, she was thankful for that politesse. It felt good to that version of her.
It felt better that Lee asked.
Maybe she was moving into a new phase. Where the scar didn’t feel insignificant, because it was a part of her as much as any other part of her body. It affected the way she moved through the world, and the story behind it was as indelible as the scar itself.
“When all the Williamsons were kids, we whipped ourselves into a terrified state over Juniper’s basement. It has, unfortunately,
stuck with me. Luckily, none of the mechanicals for the house are down there, so I don’t have to worry about it until I’m
ready to clear out all the junk.”
“I can start clearing out junk if you want. I’ve been down there; there’s some cool junk.”
“I have no idea how to get the Model T out of there, but I’m sure you could find a way. Anyway, Mikey, Mack’s little brother,
played a prank on me. With all the candles and candlesticks around here, we were always playing with fire. Mikey heated up
the doorknob with a candle when I wasn’t paying attention, and then he triple-dog-dared me to go down into the basement and
bring something back.”
“Like the rock from Devil’s Cauldron.”
“We were keen on physical proof of our skill and our bravery back then, I guess.”
“And you couldn’t say no to a triple-dog-dare.”
“I’m no coward. So I grabbed on to that doorknob and burned myself. He knew it would be hot and scare me. Obviously he hadn’t
meant for it to be as hot as it was.”
Whatever physical pain she experienced had long dwindled into unimportance. The lingering sting was the shame of letting her
dipshit cousin get one over on her. A gossipmonger’s origin story: if you’re always on alert for the secret goings on around
you, you won’t get burned.
Lee’s face was serious. “Doesn’t much matter what he meant to do. The fact is he hurt you badly. Permanently.”
Thora pulled her hand from Lee’s to inspect it. No one had taken her seriously at the time, chalking her reaction up to her dramatic nature. So she’d never had medical attention. And maybe she should have. Her right hand lacked a full range of motion even now.
“At least he apologized.”
“And now do you know a lot about the Green Man?”
Thora smiled. “I would never choose to permanently adorn myself with a man’s face. But if it has to be a man, he’s not the
worst. Symbolizing rebirth and renewal, which are concepts I can get behind.”
“Your buying Juniper is a bit of a rebirth and renewal.”
Fuck, he really could see the contours of her. Not just her body, her scar, but her story, better than anyone. A curious aquarium
fish swimming right up to the glass, she craved that attention.
“I sure hope so. What do you know about him?”
“Common motif in architecture. Popular among Gothic Revival and Arts and Crafts architecture especially, which is probably
why he’s on that doorknob. How do you feel about it now? I could change out the doorknob if you don’t want to see it anymore.”
“No, I don’t mind seeing it. But I still can’t make myself touch it.”
“That’s not going to work long term if you live here full-time.”
“I know. It’s not a high priority.”
“What is?”
A few days ago, the idea of letting Lee do anything in this house, as simple as changing a doorknob, would have her boiling with anger.
She’d have launched into a dramatic tirade.
Finally ready to bid farewell to that anger, which had never served her particularly well, she could ask for help.
She could share her vision with him and know it would be safe.
“Honestly, I want the Wood Room to be my sanctuary. Even if I end up staying with Mack over the winter, I want to have that
space for myself. So I can dedicate myself to my writing.”
“That’s fair. What if I take the rest of the day to work on it? I can make good progress. You can go into town or go for a
hike or something?”
He was clearly determined to help her. Something warm unfurled in her belly at the thought of this hyper-independent man earnestly
supporting her. Then again, George would have also wanted the room restored. It could be his farewell gesture to her uncle,
to make sure every plank of wood in that room glowed.
Either way, she could give them both that gift.
“That sounds good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Now Thora felt herself at an unfamiliar crossroads. She’d been kissing those lips next to her, gripping onto those strong
arms. She might have thought the moment passed, until he picked up her hand and asked about the scar. Something about it had
felt natural, like it had already happened a thousand times and would happen a thousand more.
She picked his hand up this time, the one not curled around a coffee mug. It wasn’t rough, but little nicks and scars gave
it a distinctive character. Thora got the screaming heebie-jeebies at the thought of a job that came with a constant risk
of splinters.
She had kissed two of his knuckles before another knock rattled the kitchen door.
“What else could Cody want?” Thora asked as she went to answer. But it wasn’t his face in the door’s window. It was Mack’s.
She came in like a whirlwind, carrying a first aid kit and a handle of bourbon.
“You didn’t send your proof-of-life text,” she snarled.
Thora cringed. The schedule was a bit thrown off this morning, what with the man in her bed.
“And you brought bourbon?”
“I told myself if I was going to encounter your dead body, then I was going to get blackout drunk so I don’t remember it.”
She handed the bottle to Lee. “Consider it a gift.”
“Thanks,” he said.
Mack addressed Lee. “You’re early, Leroy.”
Not only did Mack have her own nickname for Lee, she had some appointment with him that Thora was unaware of.
Lee poured Mack her own cup of coffee and then left the two alone. Thora caught her up with all of the events. About halfway
through, Mack poured a slug of the bourbon into her coffee. Because Lee was possibly within earshot, Thora declined to mention