Chapter 12
The next morning, while waiting for Beau to finish his business, I picked up my phone and found a text message from Mr. Mystery.
God, please keep the taste of unhealthy out of Junie’s mouth today. Please show her she is strong enough. Please also help her to always remember her nice neighbor when she has leftovers.
This felt like I had someone else in my corner who wasn’t being paid or obligated in any way to be there. I’d just have to make sure to keep Henry and his kindness in the right perspective. Friend. Maybe we could make that work.
I read it twice before putting the phone away and fishing a poop bag from my pack. “Beau, I think I have a new friend.”
The stout dog peeped up at me from underneath the brim of his hat as if to say, you talking about me, right?
I finished dog walking duties and decided to set up shop on the back patio to work on some pieces for tomorrow’s farmer’s market.
Using the handheld torch to add singed details along the edges of the hats made me a bit nervous, and I certainly didn’t want to burn Olla’s house down, so outside seemed safer.
An hour or so in, Henry huffed from next door.
I looked over and saw him circle his patio table. He stopped, rubbed the back of his neck, and glared at his laptop. It was as if he were suspicious of it for some reason.
“Are you having a lover’s quarrel with your laptop?”
Henry’s head turned my way. The poor guy seemed a bit out of sorts, his dark curls sticking on end, glasses lopsided as per usual, T-shirt and board shorts looking like he had slept in them before taking a whirl through a wind tunnel.
“I painted my hero into a corner.” He scratched his temple.
“Can’t figure out how to get him out of it. ”
“Have you asked him?” At my question, his eyes shot up and met mine. “What?” I said.
Instead of responding, Henry paced back to his laptop, scooped it up along with his water bottle, and started my way.
I clicked off the mini torch and put the hat down. “What are you doing?”
“I need to see if this deck is holding the answer to my dilemma.” Across from me, he stacked spools of jute and leather and moved them to the side to make room on my table for his laptop.
He pulled the chair out and jumped when a boisterous bark came from underneath the table.
He crouched down and came nose-to-nose with my company.
“Do you realize there’s a dog under here? ”
“Yep.” Tilting to the side, I reached to run my fingers over the soft hair on the dog’s back. “This is Winston. I’m dog sitting while his people are out of town for the day.”
Henry let Winston sniff the back of his hand, then he scratched behind his ears. “Good-looking dog.”
“He’s the sweetest and goofiest dog ever. I thought about kidnapping him, but I’m over it now.” I righted myself in the chair.
Henry took a seat. “Why’s that?”
“The stinker destroyed one of my sandals, the TV remote, and tore my favorite bra slap-up. All within an hour.” I wagged a finger at Winston and he managed to grin at me between panting, his big ole pink tongue lolled out the side of his mouth.
I slid his iced water bowl closer to him with my bare foot.
He started playing in it as if the bowl was a splash pad.
Rolling my eyes, I scooted out of the way of his mess.
“Yeah. I’d give him back too.” Henry situated his laptop and squinted at the screen.
I opened my mouth to make small talk or offer Henry a pack of crackers because that was all I had to offer—you know, Southern hospitality—but his fingers were already flying over his keyboard at a brutal speed.
Clearly, he’d figured out how to get the hero out of the painted corner, so I picked up the unfinished hat and went back to torching the edges and along the top of the crown.
Wildly, working together in silence seemed as natural as breathing, and in no time a few hours had slid by.
I finished a second hat and thought about starting another, but car doors slammed out front.
“It sounds like Winston’s people are here for him. I’ll be right back.” I stood and patted my leg and the dog followed me inside. I handed him off to Alden and returned outside.
“What’s that on the very top of the house?” Henry pointed toward the crow’s nest.
“Oh, that’s one of my favorite hiding places. Want to go check it out?”
A slow smile spread along his lips as he rose to his feet. “Sure.”
I led us upstairs and through my workroom that led to the small staircase to the crow’s nest.
“Oh wow.”
I stopped by the door to the stairs and turned to see what had caught his attention.
Henry gestured toward the colorful wall. “Did you grow this garden?”
I tried to hold back a smile but liked how he said that, so it slipped out. “Yes. This is my workroom.”
He stepped closer to the wall, studying the image like a serious art dealer. “I get why you’d want to work outside with the coastal views but this room is inspiring all on its own.”
“Thank you.” I fidgeted from foot to foot while he took his time checking out the mural. No one had studied anything of mine like this since Arlo.
“You’re very talented, Junie.” He looked over and held my gaze.
“I only know how to draw flowers and plants and that’s from years of tracing them.” I knew my drawing talent had pretty substantial limitations.
“Don’t downplay this. I paid you a compliment. Just say thank you.”
Face warming, I mumbled, “Thanks,” and darted up the stairs to the roof. I crossed to the railing and spotted two dolphins frolicking in the surf. Several moments passed before Henry joined me.
He let out a pensive sigh. “I thought this would be impressive, but it’s not.”
Face scrunched, I looked over at him. “Not impressive?” I waved a hand toward the ocean. “Seriously? We have a bird’s-eye view.”
Henry shrugged. “Still doesn’t beat that garden I just walked through.”
“I have something even better to show you.” I shoved off the railing. “Come on. You’ll like this.” I made my way to the first floor and stopped in front of the gilded six-foot-tall mirror on the wall under the staircase. “Only three people know about this and only two are still alive to tell it.”
Henry shook his head. “I’m not sure I need that kind of pressure in my life.”
“It’ll be worth it. Promise.”
He straightened his glasses. “If you say so.”
I skimmed my fingers along the right edge of the frame until finding the small groove.
With a swift pull, the mirror swung open like a door and revealed a hidden room underneath the staircase.
“Welcome to the book nook. Watch your head.” I stepped inside and flipped on the light, illuminating built-in bookcases lining all four walls.
“It’s deeper than the stair width,” Henry commented as he craned his neck to take it all in.
“Olla opened the wall to a storage closet on the other side to make it larger.”
Henry bent forward and gasped. “These are first editions.”
“Yes. My grandmother was a collector, but she wasn’t too precious about them.
She let me and Cy read them.” I moved to the left wall and selected a first American edition of Mary Poppins.
“I almost got my privileges revoked for this though.” I opened the book to the very back and showed him the crayon scribbles.
Shaking his head, he tsked. “I don’t believe I can be your friend anymore. Give me that.” He reverently took the book from me and put it back on the shelf, then perused the shelves until picking one.
“This makes us even,” I said.
He glanced up from the book in his hands. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re a famous author and you know about my hidden book nook. We both have secrets to keep now.”
Henry gave me a funny look as his face flushed.
“What’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, then started again. “What if I have another secret to—”
“No.” I shook my head and waved a hand. “Nope. I don’t want any more of your secrets, buddy, so save it.”
“That might not be a good idea.” He closed the book and put it away, then stepped closer.
I crossed my arms and raised my chin. “Don’t care. I don’t like keeping secrets, so don’t burden me with more of yours,” I joked, but Henry remained serious.
“You’re not what I expected.” He stepped closer and brushed my hair off my shoulder.
“Why would you expect me at all?” I whispered.
Henry straightened his glasses and studied me like no one had ever done before.
“Your eyes are mesmerizing. They remind me of emerald starbursts.” His intense stare and words made me shiver as the small space grew warm.
I’d not felt anything like this since Arlo, and it made me mad to be feeling it now.
“You can’t kiss me,” I whispered, breaking the spell.
Henry slowly blinked, then his eyes dropped to my lips. “I know . . . but I can almost taste it.” He backed out of the room but I stayed rooted in place until I heard the back door closing.
I dropped onto one of the floor cushions, drew my knees up and rested my head on them. I had no business even thinking about kissing a man.
“Good grief, I hardly know him!”
When the room didn’t respond, I lifted my head and forced myself to focus on something more important than that man’s pouty lips.
I scanned the bookshelves until finding a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
I plucked it from the shelf and flipped through it.
This would be a good book to read to Fern when she came to live with me.
Thinking about my daughter did the trick, placing my thoughts squarely where they belonged, but that only made me lonely.
Leaving the book nook and thoughts of that almost kiss, I turned on some music and busied myself with sweeping and mopping the kitchen.
But no matter how busy I kept, loneliness hovered close by.
I picked up the phone and scrolled through my contacts.
Not even a full swipe up was needed to display my options.
I debated calling Gilbert to see if he wanted to grab a bite to eat at that BBQ joint we’d talked about.
Then I remembered Wednesday nights were his family night with his son and grandson.
I stared down at Cy’s name but had no desire to go a round or two of belittling with him.
Lana’s name was right underneath his and in a moment of weakness I tapped it.
On the second ring she picked up. “Junie?” The whispered hesitation in her voice told me this was probably a mistake, to hang up and leave her alone, but I decided to give it a go anyway.
“Lana. Hey!” I took a seat at the kitchen island. “How are you doing?”
“Good.”
One-word answers. Just like her husband. And that made it clear this was definitely a mistake. “And the children? Alex? Fernie? I mean Fern?”
“They’re fine. You?”
Lonely. Depressed. Miserable. “Fine.” I shooed a fruit fly hovering over my two bananas. “I’m working on some custom hats and some jewelry.” When she didn’t comment, I rambled a little more. “It’s for an online boutique. I’m calling it Fernie’s Fancifuls.”
“That’s . . . cute.”
I dabbed at my sweaty upper lip. “Could I . . . maybe speak to Fernie?”
“I love you, Junie. I really do, and I’m rooting for you.” She sighed. “But please don’t put me in the middle of this between you and Cy.”
A tense silence ensued. Not ready to give up just yet, I opened my mouth and asked, “Could you at least send me a picture of her?” Tears welled and splashed down my twitching cheeks. “I miss her so much.”
A deep voice in the background announced he’d made it home. “Listen, just keep doing what you’re doing and prove yourself.” She hung up.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared through a blur of tears.
Sniffing, I dropped it on the counter and placed my forehead against the cold marble.
The sensation was a shock against my fevered skin.
Everything hurt and I needed something, anything, to soothe it.
A simple light-blue disc, no bigger than the end of an eraser could erase so much.
Lifting my head, my gaze shifted to the back windows, to the sea swelling just feet away.
How easy it would be to just drift with the outgoing tide while one or two of those pills dissolved the pain and defeat away.
No one would care or notice, so why not?
“No.” I turned my back to the ocean view, blinking, spilling more tears. “Pills are bad. No pills.” But then the whisper shifted again. Why not a crisp glass of wine? It’s legal. Why not?
Shoving my fingers through the tangles of my hair, I pulled, growling in frustration. In pain. “No!”
Needing to focus on anything else but this craving, I stomped upstairs and studied the list on my dresser mirror.
The easy tasks—sell car, get a job—were checked off, but the major ones remained incomplete.
I’d already cleared out the guest room beside mine, but that had been as far as I’d gotten with transforming it into Fern’s room.
I went into the workroom and inventoried the leftover paint.
I carried the red, pink, orange, yellow, and white cans into the garage and mixed them in a clean five-gallon bucket.
I stirred with a broom handle until my arms burned and the paint turned into a pretty shade of coral.
“Perfect.”
Lugging the bucket upstairs, I began painting. My mind spun with new ideas on how to decorate Fern’s room as the roller glided over the white walls, transforming them into a tropical pink. “The quilt will go so well with this, Olla. You wouldn’t mind if I moved your flower lamp in here, right?”
Hours passed with me painting and talking to my dead grandmother. Then I started talking to my dead husband.
“I’m going to draw a peony flower and have it holding a bouquet of baby’s breath over the door. Remember the one I drew you? It’ll be a little token of that day in here for our daughter. Maybe I’ll get the original one framed for her too . . .”
Talking to Arlo set off the tears again. I rolled my stiff shoulders and tried getting my act together. Finishing up the first coat in a blur, I cleaned up and stumbled to the shower.
Exhausted, overheated, and my heart pounding, I shuffled into the bedroom and crashed on the unmade bed. With the fan rotating full blast overhead I sunk into a fitful sleep. One full of disjointed what-ifs and how-comes.
Surely, this wasn’t the satisfaction of living on the straight and narrow, because nothing about it was satisfying.