Chapter 7 #3
She hadn’t planned to stay. She’d intended to return the letter, thank him again and leave. Instead, she settled her bare feet on the step below and looked out at the yard.
The bougainvillea Jake had been trimming earlier was finished now. The cut branches were gone. His gloves and canvas bucket had been put away. Jake had watered the key lime tree, leaving a dark circle in the soil around its trunk.
She was still having trouble separating the cottage from her grandmother. In her memory, Gloria was responsible for everything here. The flowers bloomed because Gloria watered them. The porch was swept because Gloria swept it. The trim was white because Gloria decided it should be.
But Gloria had been gone for years.
Arthur certainly hadn’t been doing any of it.
Emma looked around the yard again.
Jake had.
She wondered how much of the cottage she’d recognized when she first pulled up had survived because of him.
The screen door opened.
Jake came out carrying another beer and an opener. He opened the bottle and handed it to her before sitting a few feet away.
Emma took a drink.
The beer was cold, the porch was quiet, and for the first time all day there was nothing she could do about anything until tomorrow.
That was an unfamiliar feeling. At home, she would have filled the time. She would have answered email, made a list or called someone who could move something forward.
There was nothing to move forward here.
Not tonight.
She looked toward the screen door.
This had been her grandmother’s porch once. Gloria had sat out here with iced tea and library books. Emma had played cards at a little table that used to stand near the railing. Her father had grilled fish in the backyard while Gloria told him he was burning it.
Those memories had always belonged to another part of her life.
Now Jake’s books sat on the table. His paintings leaned against the wall. His shoes were by the door.
It should have felt wrong. It didn’t. Emma wasn’t sure what to make of that.
They drank for a while without talking.
The silence between them felt different from yesterday. She no longer felt as though either of them was waiting for the other to say the wrong thing.
“You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on eventually,” Jake said.
Emma looked at him.
“I know.”
“When?”
“Soon. I should know more tomorrow.”
Jake nodded.
He didn’t push and Emma appreciated that more than she expected.
She noticed the paperbacks on the table again.
“You read two at a time?”
Jake followed her eyes.
“Four.”
“Four?”
“Those are the two that are winning.”
Emma laughed.
“What happens to the other two?”
“They go back on the shelf and think about what they’ve done.”
She laughed and was glad to see he had a sense of humor even if his expression was completely serious. At least he was pretending it was.
Emma wondered what else made him laugh. It was an odd thing to wonder about a man she’d known for barely two days.
Her phone buzzed inside her bag.
She pulled it out and saw that the text was from Maeve.
Bishop came through. Attorney’s name is Rachel Alden. Firm is Alden & Petit, Whitehead Street. She’s expecting your call tomorrow at nine. She’s good. I’ve read the letter twice. Start with it.
Emma read the message twice herself.
“Good news?” Jake asked.
“I have a lawyer at nine tomorrow morning.”
“A lawyer sounds serious.”
“It might be.”
Emma didn’t want to reassure him with something she didn’t know was true. He’d trusted her today. The least she could do was not lie to make him feel better.
“That’s why I don’t want to tell you half the story,” she said. “I need to understand it first.”
Jake looked out toward the street and for a few moments, neither of them spoke.
Emma turned the beer bottle slowly between her hands.
She’d spent most of the last two days thinking about who owned this house. There were wills and property records and signatures that might or might not hold up in court. Sitting beside Jake, another question occurred to her. Ownership was one thing, belonging somewhere was something else.
Jake looked as though he belonged here.
Emma wasn’t sure yet whether she did.
“You’ll be done with the lawyer by lunch?” he asked.
“I should be.”
“Come back after.”
Emma turned toward him.
He was still looking toward the yard.
It wasn’t exactly a question.
“I will.”
The answer came before she’d had time to think about it.
She told herself Jake deserved to know what was happening with the cottage. That was true, but it wasn’t the only reason she wanted to come back.
Emma finished her beer and slipped her flats on.
“I should go.”
Jake stayed on the step.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Emma walked down the crushed-shell path.
At the gate, she turned.
Jake was still sitting on the porch. He raised a hand and Emma waved back.
She walked toward her car thinking about the lawyer she would meet in the morning, the letter Maeve had already read twice, and everything she still didn’t know about Arthur and the cottage.
But when she pulled away from the curb, it was Jake’s answer that stayed with her. I needed the quiet.