Chapter 2
Following a pleasant ride, Salem dropped me off on my doorstep. Instead of sitting behind the wheel and waiting for me to get out, he shut off the engine and gathered my groceries from the back seat.
When he walked up to the house, he stopped and surveyed the property with a skeptical appraisal.
The grey asphalt shingles all around the house showed its age, and I was surprised they’d lasted this long.
The landlord certainly didn’t bother sprucing up the place and had explicitly said that any additions I requested would come out of my pocket.
I was welcome to do whatever I wanted, but my money was spent in better places than a house that wasn’t even mine.
I grabbed Salem’s hand and tugged him up the concrete steps. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Come inside. I never get any visitors. Sorry about the mess!”
After I opened the screen door, I unlocked the front door and walked in.
It smelled like a mixture of paint and potpourri.
The living room only had one window, which overlooked the front yard, so I pulled the curtain back to let in the light.
My creations covered the walls, each piece hanging from a hook to keep it protected until it found a new home.
The heavy-duty workbench on the left held my cutting tools, and I used the floor when drawing larger designs.
“You made these?” He admired a cardinal sitting in holly leaves.
“Every last one. If you see anything that catches your eye, let me know.”
I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks, and padded through the entryway to the kitchen straight ahead. I had enough room in there for a small table and a washer. My clothes hung on a line outside to dry.
“What’s your poison?” I called out.
“Water’s fine.”
I wasn’t about to serve this man tap water. Leaning in the fridge, I assessed the drink situation. “Let’s see… there’s pineapple juice, tea, and almond milk.” I straightened up and turned as he set the thermal bag on the round table. “Oh, and there’s orange juice in the bag. What’ll it be?”
He unzipped the square bag. “Pineapple sounds good.”
“Coming right up!” Because the cans were small, I poured it into a juice glass and added an ice cube before handing it to him. “You should stay for dinner. It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude.”
Why am I so eager to keep him around?
Then I realized it was loneliness. The long hours working at home, the lack of friends, the quiet isolation of living in a rural town.
Granted, it was a relatively short walk to Juniper Road, but I hadn’t realized how much I craved friendship until Salem was standing in my kitchen, unloading my groceries on the table.
I made friendly conversation in public spaces, but people around here always had their guard up.
“Did you design that window?” he asked.
I glanced at the sink window, which had a green border and orange flowers. The nine panes in the center were clear so it wouldn’t obstruct the view. “You like it?”
“It’s… incredible.”
Flattery will get him everywhere.
I took the juice glass since he’d gulped it down in one swallow.
“Are you hungry? I cook a mean spaghetti. I’m sure you’re probably a busy guy,” I tacked on, realizing he probably didn’t want to hang around longer than necessary.
So I grabbed an armload of food and began putting it away in the cupboards.
“If you don’t want to stay, I’m not going to nail you to the floor. ”
Oh God, that sounded even worse.
“Actually, dinner would be nice. I think Bear has fish soup on the menu tonight.”
“Not a fan?”
He chuckled. “No. He leaves the heads floating in the pot.”
“Yuck! He’s the big guy who works at the Rabbit Lounge, right? The one with the bushy beard and apron?”
“That’s him.”
I put the bread in the freezer. “I don’t know about his fish soup, but he makes delicious hamburgers. Oh! And barbecue. Whenever he fires up that smoker at the bar, I can smell it all the way over here. He’s like the pied piper when he’s cooking meat.”
The pied piper? This guy must really think I’m extra.
Salem swung a bag of potatoes and then set them in the fridge when I opened the door and gestured to the bottom drawer.
“How long have you been a healer?” I asked.
“As long as I’ve been working.” Salem removed his sweater, and I stole a glance at him while he straightened his beige Henley shirt. The top buttons were undone. “It’s warm in here.”
“It doesn’t take much to heat up this little house. All nine hundred square feet of it. Obviously your body heat is enough.”
What is wrong with me! That’s not what I meant. Don’t explain. Just pretend like I never said it.
“Be right back.” I turned on my heel and opened the side kitchen door. After I stepped down the concrete steps, the screen door clapped shut against the house like a sarcastic round of applause.
The garage sat back from the house and had a dirt driveway leading up to it.
There were traces of gravel from days of yore, but over the years, they must have blown away or been buried by mud from the rain.
When I moved into the house, I first thought the garage would make a great studio for my work, but it was too hot during the summer to be outside, and the insulation was nonexistent.
Even the giant swing door didn’t keep out scorpions and geckos, but it was an ideal spot for an extra refrigerator.
I opened the fridge and pulled out a chilled watermelon. It must have weighed thirty pounds.
“Don’t drop it, don’t drop it,” I chanted while precariously stepping across the uneven yard. When I made it to the cement steps, I looked at Salem through the screen door. “I carried a watermelon.”
“What?”
“Haven’t you ever seen Dirty Dancing? Come help me before I drop it!”
He shot out of the chair and flung the door open. “I could’ve gotten that for you.”
“But then you couldn’t come to my rescue,” I quipped, amused by his serious expression.
He cradled the fruit like a newborn baby and carried it inside.
I shut the door behind me. “I washed it this morning, so it’s ready to cut.”
“It won’t be good this late in the year.”
“I’ve had a few good melons in winter. I bought it from that guy who’s always peddling fruit on Juniper Road. He came by the other day and delivered it to my garage. I forgot his name, but he swears it’s tasty.”
Salem set it on the table with a thunk. “Do you live out here alone?” he asked, holding the melon in place with his hand.
“It’s just me, myself, and I.” I pulled a large knife from the drawer.
“Do you have Milly’s number?”
Milly was the town Relic.
“What for?” I asked, twirling the knife.
Salem gingerly took the blade from my hand. “Because if you drop a knife on your foot out here, no one will know.”
“I’ll know.”
He expertly sliced through the center of the green melon until it split in half, revealing the bright-red flesh dotted with black seeds. “Do you have a container? I’ll cut it in squares.”
“Wait.” I retrieved a spoon from the drawer and then used it to scoop out a piece. “Before going through all that trouble, let’s have a taste test.” I held the spoon to his mouth. “You first.”
“It’s not poisoned, is it?”
I burst out laughing. He had a dry sense of humor, which was my favorite kind. “Give me your professional assessment.”
He arched an eyebrow before eating it.
I watched his mouth, waiting for a reaction, but Salem’s poker face was next level.
“This is your melon,” he finally said. “You decide.”
“I trust you.”
Salem took the spoon and scooped up a piece for me.
Him feeding me was a new fantasy unlocked.
The juicy melon practically disintegrated on my tongue as the rancid flavor filled my mouth. “Holy moly, that’s awful!” I walked to the trash can and spit it out. “You swallowed?”
“Spitting is rude.”
I laughed harder than I should’ve, wondering if he was making an innuendo or if it had gone right over his head. I heaved a sigh and stared at the fruit. “C’est la vie.”
Salem snatched a grocery bag and chucked half of the melon in there before tying it up. “I’ll take it home.”
“What in the world for? Inspiration for your obituary?”
“The chickens might like it.”
“They might not.”
This time, we both laughed.
Salem and I had a pleasant dinner, and the kitchen was homier with his company.
Though I insisted on cooking the entire meal myself, Salem monitored the meat sauce and stirred while I grated parmesan and set the table.
The lighting in the kitchen was harsh, so when darkness blanketed the sky, I switched off the overhead light and put three wide candles on the table.
Although Salem was a quiet soul, when it came to his job he did for the community, he spoke about it in detail.
Our conversation mostly centered on the townspeople and our work.
We didn’t get personal, which was nice, but I gleaned from our interaction that he was a reticent man who didn’t reveal his emotions, let alone become influenced by them.
I supposed personality contributed to his success as a healer. The mystery of Salem fascinated me.
He set down his glass. “If you don’t mind, can I ask a personal question?”
I leaned back in the vinyl chair. “Hmm. That could be a trick question.”
When he scratched his head, it freed a slender lock of hair. “You don’t have to answer.”
I nervously tucked my hair behind my ears. “Okay. Ask.”
“Why did you move to Storybook?”
At least he didn’t ask about my eyes.
I rested my arms on the table and stared at a flickering candle. “All of us are in Storybook for the same reason.”
“And what’s that?”
“We’re trying to start over. I think everyone has a different story, but that’s the only thing I can assume. This isn’t exactly a thriving community. Granted, it’s a lot more than it was a couple of years ago, but still. We’re out in the sticks.”
“You’ve gone years without a car?”
I turned the glass candleholder in a circle. “You seem awfully concerned about my car situation.”