Chapter 9
Dear July,
I found the U.S. Embassy. Told them what happened, but they said my own parents couldn’t have kidnapped me if I’m a minor in their care.
Joe
Tired as I was, I still only get a crap night’s sleep, in and out of dreams. Nightmares. In one, my dad is burying something in an unfamiliar backyard. Shoeboxes. One with my letters to July, one dripping with blood from the heart he’s ripped out of me. I yell and run across the yard to stop him. He turns and looks up, grinning…and he’s July.
The nightmare that hauled me out of bed for another dawn run, though, started out good. I answer a knock at my door and July’s there, her smile soft and secret. Sweet and just for me. She steps in and looks around and says, “I like what you’ve done with the place,” and everywhere her eyes touch, something beautiful blooms. Bright colors, comfortable furniture, flowers in pots. She reaches for my arm, slides her hand down to entwine her fingers with mine, and leans in. Warm, so warm, smelling like shampoo and powdery soap. Her breath tickles my ear as she whispers, “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” I go willingly, and when we’re up there, she turns me to face her and smiles and says, “Where shall we start?” and my heart skips and I say, “Start?” and she laughs that warm, bubbly, sharing-something-just-with-you laugh I remember deep in my bones. And then she says, “Yeah, silly, with the packing. I brought boxes. Let’s get you on the road so I can get back to my life.” And I jerk awake gasping. Roll off the squeaky mattress and fumble in the dark for my running gear.
There’s a cold mist over the lake this morning. No sign of the kid or his sleeping bag. I cross the clearing to the big rock and watch the sun creep up over the trees.
I need a plan. I could leave today, head over to find an apartment in Cullowhee, but I should probably wait to talk to Angus. Maybe hire him to do just enough to get the building resold. But I could start patching up the walls. Packing. It’s not like I’ve got much, and most of it’s still in boxes. The shitty little stove conked out the first time I tried it, so even my kitchen stuff’s not put away.
I think about calling Gabe, but my phone’s got no bars up here. Just as well. It’s way too early, and he’s probably got something fun going on with his husband this weekend anyway. Their bright Hawaii home seems like another world.
When the sun finally breaks through the mist to touch the water, I slide off the rock and head back. Clean up in that goddamn clawfoot tub and pull on yesterday’s jeans. I’m just shrugging on a soft flannel over a fresh T-shirt, wondering where besides July’s I could get a good breakfast, when somebody pounds on the front door.
Please don’t let this be my July nightmare coming true.
It’s not. It’s Rose Barnes, waving a notebook as she balances a drink tray and paper bag in her other arm.
Her brown eyes skate over me from my damp hair to my bare feet. “Oh, good, I’m glad you’re up. I know it’s early.” She shoves the bag at me—heavenly smells rise from it, bacon, eggs, croissants—and steps in.
I follow her gaze around the empty storefront room. “Sorry. Still no furniture.”
She shrugs, settles the drink carrier on the floor, and plops her round, little body down cross-legged beside it. “No biggie. I can help with that if you want.”
She’s brought three drinks, two cold and one hot. She unwraps a straw, pokes it into one of the cold ones, and takes a sip, then notices me watching. “I didn’t know what you like. I brought you iced tea and black coffee. There’s sugar and cream in the bag if you want it.”
The coffee scent winds its way into my brain. I settle near her on the floor and take the cup into my hands, inhaling it, letting it warm me.
She opens the bag I’ve abandoned and pulls out two foil-wrapped packets. “I hope you like breakfast sandwiches. These are the best. Tina’s homemade croissants plus July’s crispy bacon? It doesn’t get any better than that.”
My stomach rumbles in response to the fragrance, and I try to remember the last time I ate. It almost doesn’t bother me that the food came from July’s—I didn’t have to see her.
Rose pulls out a packet of strawberry preserves, opens her sandwich, and carefully squeezes the preserves onto it.
I watch in horrified fascination.
She glances up and sees my expression. “It’s delicious. Here, try it.” She holds out her sandwich. When I don’t reach for it, she says, “If you don’t like it, I’ll eat that one. If you like it, keep it and I’ll fix the other one for myself.”
Not knowing how to politely refuse, I take a tiny bite and, fuck, it’s delicious. “Damn. I did not expect that. I’m keeping this one.”
She laughs and doctors the second sandwich. Takes a bite and chews, a slight smile on her lips as she surveys the empty room.
I’m halfway through my sandwich, wishing there were three or four more in that bag, before I manage to speak. “I appreciate this. Good morning. What’s the occasion?”
She nudges the bag toward me with her foot. “There’s another one in there for you, but you have to jelly it up yourself.”
Hallelujah.
She puts down her own sandwich, wipes her fingers on a paper napkin, and flips open her notebook. “Here’s Angus’s estimate.” She tosses a stapled itemized list in front of me. “He’s working this morning, or he would’ve come with me. Says he’ll email you a copy too, and you can email back any questions.”
The estimate looks reasonable to me. Cheap, compared to Colorado prices for work I had done there. “Thanks.” I poke in the bag for the other sandwich. “You sure you don’t want this? Split?” When she shakes her head, I apply strawberry magic to it.
She looks at me sideways, her eyes bright, a dimple forming in one cheek. “Now for the fun stuff.”
“Mm?” No idea what she’s talking about, and my mouth is too full to ask.
She pulls out several rough drawings and lays them in a row in front of me. Simple lines, just the barest suggestion of rooms, but I get the idea. “Upstairs living area,” she says, her fingertip on a sketch of open bookshelves on an exposed brick wall. “I’m thinking a bright sofa here with armchairs flanking it.” She points to the next sketch. “Dining area.” A clean-lined table that would easily seat six in front of another brick wall. “Maybe some quirky artwork here.” Next sketch. “A restauranteur needs a real kitchen, right? So I’ve made yours into an L , with room for full-sized appliances. You could hang pots and pans from a rack over this island. For these front rooms I’m seeing greens, ranging from yellowish to a deeper blue-green. Bright but not too bright. Soothing but still interesting. A few plants here and there, comfortable window seats…”
“Now here.” Her finger lands on the second to last drawing. “I’m thinking mostly cosmetic changes. Fresh paint, refinished floors.” She’s sketched in a rough bed, nightstand, and dresser. “Maybe dark walls with white trim? Nice mood lighting and another green plant. A reading chair. But if you want more natural light than that alley window gives you, you could maybe put in a couple of transom windows here, high in the wall the bedroom shares with the living area. Pull in light from the big front windows but still keep it a private, separate room.”
She slides the last drawing in front of me. The bathroom, with my clawfoot nemesis gone and a clean glass-walled shower in its place. “Another alley window. We could make this room white, to reflect as much light as possible. I can see a driftwood-colored slatted bench with shelves above it for towels, another green plant in front of a long, framed mirror opposite the window. White tile everywhere.”
“Jesus.” I pictured it all right along with her and I would not have recognized the space as mine. “That sounds perfect, Rose.” I could live in a place like that.
But not in Galway, right down the street from the source of my best and worst memories.
As I’m trying to figure out how to tell her how much I appreciate her effort but no thanks, my phone buzzes.
Group message from Tom. We’re down three players for today’s game. Flu. Need everybody else to show up on time. Y’all in?
Fuck. The softball team. I can’t not show up.
“Everything okay?” Rose’s voice has an edge of concern.
I glance up from my phone. “Yeah…just something I’d forgotten.” My teammates’ responses flood in, and I find myself typing, I’m in with them.
Then I stuff the phone into my back pocket and look down at Rose’s sketches. I can’t justify leaving the team. And it’s not like anybody in Cullowhee needs me—classes don’t start for months yet. If Angus can make this dump look like Rose’s plans, I can maybe stand to stay for a little while. I’ll just…avoid the restaurant. Focus on my other teammates at the games and practices.
I can bury myself in painting and repairing downstairs and working my way through the reading lists the professors gave me. Maybe figure out some way to help the kid at the lake if I run into him again.
Just need to make sure I stay away from July as much as possible. Wouldn’t want to mess up her nice life.
I can probably do this. It’ll probably be fine. I’ve been through worse.
I suck in a big lungful of air and sigh it out. Face Rose. “When can Angus start?”
***
July
I’m elbows deep in a clogged dish sink when Rose texts me that she thinks Joe isn’t going to leave town right away.
I call her as soon as I unstop the sink. “How do you know?”
Her voice has an extra level of barely suppressed Rose energy. “He hired Angus to do some work. Says he’ll do the downstairs himself. I asked if he wants me to help him shop for furniture, and he said maybe, he’d let me know.”
I squeeze the phone between my chin and my shoulder as I scrub my hands and arms. “Good. This is good, right? Maybe I can, I don’t know, find some way to make things better for him. Without bothering him. Maybe I can connect him to more people. Give him a community.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll try too.”
“And Angus?”
“He’ll help.”
“Without letting Joe know.”
“Goes without saying. Don’t want to wound his Man Pride.” She hangs up laughing.
Ouch. She’s not wrong, but it’s me—not his pride—that’s the source of his most recent wound.
I work up until the last possible second before heading to the ballpark. Not sure whether he’ll be there, but I don’t expect it to be easy either way. He’ll show and we’ll have to face each other, or he won’t show and I’ll know that’s one more thing I robbed him of.
He’s there, warming up with Dirk and Hiromi. I find a parking space and change into my cleats. Andi pulls up and I go to meet her.
“Hey. Favor.”
She’s not even out of her car yet, but she nods. “Sure. What you need?”
“Rose is pretty sure Joe’s not going to leave right away. Would you consider helping him bond with the team? I’d do it, but I think he needs a break from me.”
She reaches into her back seat for her bat bag and slings it over one shoulder. Glances over at our team, then back at me. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Thanks.”
We join the others, pull on our gloves, and warm up our arms. Joe doesn’t not look at me, exactly, but his eyes flick across me fast and his “hey” seems carefully neutral. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but it’s a whole new, unexpected kind of hard. I’ve known the pain of Joe’s absence, but I’ve never felt the pain of his presence before.
I keep several people between us so he doesn’t have to talk to me. We finish warming up, Tom confirms the lineup, and then it’s our turn for the field. I take my bag into the dugout, all the way to the far wall, leaving Joe a clear escape route and a broad choice of where to sit.
He’s a machine on the field today. Total focus, brilliant play, no errors. When it’s our turn at bat, he drills line drives in the holes and turns on the speed for extra bases.
I realize I’m staring, drinking him in, when Hiromi mutters beside me, “That man is something, isn’t he?” Her eyes, like mine, follow him from first to third.
“Yep, he’s good.” Like I don’t know what she means.
We win, of course, and then I’ve got a dilemma. Join the team at Lindon’s and risk scaring Joe off, or say I can’t go and risk the group deciding not to go either?
“Just a quick one for me,” I say finally, just loud enough to be sure Joe hears. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
And at the bar, I make sure to sit so there are three people between us, and after one beer, I head out, leaving Joe to make friends. He was really good at that when we were young. I go back to the restaurant, shoving down a wish that I was sitting beside him, sharing a pitcher and stories and laughter, leaning into him enough to feel his warmth and his breath in my hair.
I’ve thrown away any chance I had at that. I need to remember that and suck it up.
Donna and Maisie are in the kitchen, with Donna showing the girl how to garnish today’s catfish special. “Put the greens like this and then top them with a spoonful of this…” To me she says, “Thought you’d go to Lindon’s after the game.”
I shrug and look at the order slips on the board. “I did for a minute. Wanted to come see if y’all needed help.”
“Nah, we’re good.” Donna turns her attention back to Maisie.
I head into my office. Got some planning to do for when we open the outside patio seating in a few days. But first I call my brother, who happens to be stroller shopping with Jen.
“Hey, July.” Brendan sounds exasperated. “Tell your sister to step away from these cheap-ass things that aren’t safe enough for our future niece or nephew. Tell her I can afford to get her a decent stroller.”
I laugh. “I am not getting roped into this discussion. Hey, would y’all stop by here on your way home?”
“Sure. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just got an interesting story to tell you.”
An hour later we’re settled in the booth nearest the kitchen, splitting a piece of Tina’s incredible Italian cream cake. I’ve just finished telling them about Joe being back in town and what his parents did.
Brendan stops eating halfway through. “Shiiiiit. That sucks.”
“Poor Joe!” Jen’s eyes are wide with sympathy. “You know, I always hated hating him after he left. I hated having to think he was a jerk.”
You and me both, Sis. “Yeah. I could kill his parents. But they’re both dead already. Joe’s going to start classes at Western Carolina for social work.” I fiddle with the saltshaker. This next bit’s tricky. “I’d like to help him meet people. But…we had a…falling out. So I don’t think he wants to spend time with me. I was thinking, you know, if you happen to run into him, maybe you could let him know you’re happy to see him? Happy he’s back?”
Jen studies me, her eyes narrowed, her big brain working. “What do you mean?”
Brendan glances from her face to mine and stays quiet. He can tell something’s up too.
I’m no good at this shit.
I lower my voice to just above a whisper and lean in. “I hurt him, and I don’t want him to go off all alone. I think he could be happy here if he gets to know more people. I’d just…like you to help if you can. Without letting him know.”
“You hoping to start over with him?” Brendan’s words come out slow, careful.
“No.” I shake my head firmly. Gotta nip that in the bud so there’ll be no matchmaking attempts to make both Joe and me miserable. “Not going to happen. But I hurt him, and I don’t want to be the cause of him leaving again.”
“How’d you hurt him, July?” Jen’s voice is soft. She’s got a big enough heart to feel sorry for both of us if I let her.
“I don’t want to talk about that. But it was bad. Will you help if you see him? He’s living just down the street.”
They look at each other, carrying on one of their wordless conversations that always used to drive me nuts.
“Yeah, we’ll help.” They say it together.
My freakish, wonderful little brother and sister.
They’d loved Joe once too.