Fearsome (11 page)

There’s a silence on the line, neither of us know what to say, yet we don’t want to end the call.

“What are you going to do while you’re there? What about your job?”

“My job is fine. Nathan is letting me work from here for a while. I’m figuring some things out on my own this time. Archie Bixby and Ginnie’s friends are helping me with the house. I’ll let you know what my future plans are, but for now, I’m staying here to think it out. I’ve never really had a vacation, so I’m using part of the summer here to take a break from the city. That’s all.”

“All right,” my mother says. Her voice trembles so I know she’s still crying. I don’t have memories of her crying, so I’m not sure if she’s crying about losing her aunt or if she thinks she’s losing me.

I hear my father in the background. “Michelle, stop crying, you’re making it worse.

“Mom,” I say. “You should cry. This is a terrible and sad thing.”

“Take good care of yourself, Jess. And I am sorry. You need to know that. I wish we had handled it differently and you’d had some years to spend with your aunt before she died.”

“I’m sorry we weren’t with her during her illness and at the end of her life. I think that makes us horrible people, a horrible family,” I retort.

“Robert and I are responsible for that, not you. Sometimes, family loyalty is misplaced and we can’t undo the hurt we’ve caused. I never thought I’d be that kind of mother. I’m sorry.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“That didn’t sound good,” Imogene says. She and Lauren are peeking in the kitchen, waiting for a safe time to enter.

“It’s kind of typical with my mother and me.”

“That sucks,” Imogene says. “I can’t imagine not being close to my parents and my grandmother.”

Lauren nods. “My parents drive me crazy, but we’re close.”

“You were probably raised on Harry Potter books and funny sitcoms. My parents entertained me with quantum physics and ‘60 Minutes’. We were never the fun family.”

“This is depressing. We need food,” Lauren says as they scrounge through the fridge.

I hang up the plastic receiver of the rotary wall phone and it accidentally falls and conks me on the foot. I make another attempt and, this time, when I latch the phone on the chrome cradle I notice a phone number scrawled in pencil on the side of the phone. It’s my apartment number in New York. Underneath it is another phone number with a line through it, which is my old phone listing for my college dorm. Aunt Ginnie must have thought of calling me several times over the last few years, but couldn’t bring herself to break the archaic, destructive promise she made with my parents.

Imogene makes us delicious bacon and cheese omelets and we polish off the cranberry juice and orange juice, without the vodka this time. Our heads all ache a little, but we want to enjoy the nice evening out on the porch. I like their company and feel more connected to the town and the house because of them. We laugh hardily like longtime friends and then I suggest they both spend the night. I can’t tell if we’re still tipsy or entering the hung-over stage.

While they head off to their self-appointed bedrooms, I put fresh water in Bert’s bowl and then head upstairs to the studio to paint some more. I end up painting until after midnight. My back is sore from sitting on the tall stool and leaning forward to drizzle vibrant colors down the watercolor paper. It’s hypnotizing watching where the paint will puddle and if it swirls into other colors. I love this part of my process, the beginning. There’s no messy middle to deal with yet. Like the beginning of a relationship or a work project before the computer code becomes riddled with bugs and the clients become demanding. Beginnings are exciting and offer so much hope.

I finally turn in for the night as Bert snuggles next to me in the bed. This time I make sure to set the alarm on my cell phone for eight in the morning, hoping this will be before any dangerously handsome workmen can find me half-dressed in bed.

I roll on my side and hug Bert who eagerly licks my face and grunts.

“God, is this what it’s come to, Bert? Me hugging a slobbering dog? A farting dog, no less? And, geez, can I just say the obvious?”

Bert looks at me and waits for my answer.

“You stink. You have the worst breath. I’ve never had a dog; is this what they mean by dog breath? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is what I’d call a WMD, buddy.”

He perks his head at me.

“Weapon of mass destruction. That’s what you got going on and you’ll never get the ladies with that breath.” I scratch roughly behind his ears the way he likes and then can’t resist hugging him again.

“I’m so lucky I have you,” I whisper to him.

Eleven

The pounding begins when I’m still in a wonderful, dreamy position with the cool sheets wrapped around me and the down pillows are scrunched below me in all the right places. I jolt up and realize someone is repeatedly slamming the doorknocker as if they’re trying to raise the dead.

“Jesus Effing Barnacles!” I scream. Bert bolts off the bed and runs down the stairs to happily greet whoever has come to ruin my morning.

“Traitor!” I shout after him.

I push my knotted hair back and put on a mint-green silk robe that belonged to Aunt Ginnie. I don’t bother looking in the mirror and fixing myself up, I figure whoever thinks calling on me at seven in the morning is okay deserves a good scare.

When I reach the first landing, the front door is open and I see Carson letting in two of the 5 Alpha tech guys, Matthew and Ken. Carson is saying something to them I can’t hear before he notices me coming down the stairs.

“You are definitely not a morning person,” he declares. “And you’ve got an impressive temper.”

I sigh and thump down the stairs, ignoring his remark.

“Hey, Jess,” Ken greets.

“Hi guys,” I reply. “I’m surprised Nathan made you leave so early. I didn’t even know you were coming today.”

“We wanted to beat the traffic. We brought everything,” Matthew voices. “We’ll have it all set up and be out of your way in an hour or so. Tell us where you want it.”

“Oh, but I want it in the library, and Carson still has to put it together and clean it up today.”

“It’s done,” Carson addresses me with a slight smile.

“What? I thought you just got here. How could it be done already?”

I turn around and begin jogging back up to the second floor with all three men following me. I am shocked when I walk into the library. The bookcases are complete; stained, polished and shining. The pine floor is glistening clean. The furniture is unwrapped and Aunt Ginnie’s entire hardcover book collection has been arranged on the shelves. Two new chairs have been added that blend well with the rustic leather couch. These pieces have high backs and smooth, contoured seats. A new, huge, square coffee table has been placed in front of the couch. The wood is a bit more weathered and unfinished, which adds to the rustic look and makes it more eclectic than a traditional library. They must have come from Carson’s shop. The room looks pristine and incredible, like a page out of an interior design magazine.

“You can set up her monitor here. I turned the desk around so she can face the view outside,” Carson explains and then Matthew and Ken leave my side. They follow Carson and listen to everything he says since he seems to be the authority on this room. They talk amongst themselves and then leave to retrieve boxes from the SUV they have out front.

“What is going on?” Imogene asks. She is still wearing her bikini with a T-shirt over it and, with her smudged raccoon eyes and disheveled hair, she could pass as a crack addict. Lauren, who also woke up from all the shouting, doesn’t fare much better in her Hello Kitty T-shirt. They both look like they’re in agony from their heavy drinking in the hot sun.

I ignore them both and turn back to the one guy who seems to think he’s still my babysitter.

“When did you do all this?” I ask Carson, who is adjusting the desk position and what looks to be a new table lamp.

“This morning while you were sleeping.”

“What time did you get here?” I know I sound very rude.

“Four-thirty.”

“Who does that? Seriously, Carson, you can’t let yourself into my house while I’m sleeping and work at these ungodly hours.”

“Carson, that’s insane,” Lauren agrees.

“You don’t like the room?” Carson asks me.

“Of course I like it. You know I do and you also know that I call the shots in this house, not you.”

Carson smiles a little bit at that. He’s not a grinner like Dylan, but Carson seems to have moments when he wants to smile yet tries very hard not to.

“I knew these guys were coming early, so I thought I’d have the room ready.”

I must look as deranged as I feel. “Whoa. How did you know they were coming this morning?
I
didn’t even know.”

“When we were here yesterday I heard the call come in on the answering machine. I assumed you listened to your messages last night.”

I want to scream at him. I want the information that he’s only willing to deliver in cryptic sound bites. “What answering machine?” I raise my voice. “There was nothing on my cell phone.”

“Settle down, Babycakes.” He puts his hands up to block my bad vibes. “Gin’s machine is on the kitchen counter. That ancient black box? You can’t miss it. Your boss, Nathan, must have had trouble reaching you on your cell phone and got the number to the house from information. I don’t know. Oh, and by the way, he also sent flowers. I put them on the dining room table.”

I’m huffing and puffing like a child, angry that I am so clueless about the house, what’s going on and that I’m sleeping through everything. I hate that Carson must consider me a spoiled princess compared to what he’s gone through. I probably come across as an ungrateful brat.

“Sorry for the Babycakes remark. Next time, I’ll come later,” he says. The tension between us is palpable.

“Next time?” Although my voice is calmer, I’m still angry. “You’re going to do this again?”

“I still have more work that I promised to finish for Gin, but if you want me to send someone else, or we could hire out a different crew, you let me know.”

“The room looks nice.” It’s more of a hiss than a compliment. “I need to go take a shower.” I walk out of the room, stomping up the stairs.
Why did I mention the shower? Now he’s picturing me naked in the shower. You wish. Oh, shut up, you have a date with his brother.

“Maybe if you and your friends weren’t hungover, you could get up at a reasonable hour like the rest of the world,” he shouts up the stairs.

“Argh!” I shout back and slam my bedroom door.

I stay in my room for at least two hours. I take a long, hot shower, shave my legs and deep condition my hair. Then I spend forever drying my hair with product to remove the frizz. Plus, the process of making long, loose curls takes a half hour and ten finger burns on the curling iron. The make-up is easier; I only apply a little eye shadow, some mascara and gloss my lips with a red tint. My appearance is vastly improved since that horrible wake-up call and my monstrous behavior. I have very few clothes with me, but I did bring a flattering pair of Capri jeans that go well with my white sleeveless blouse. As I head back downstairs the smell of coffee and bacon is divine. I make it to my fabulous new library on the second floor and discover Imogene and Lauren, having showered and dressed, lounging on the couch with Bert, along with coffee and a few newspapers.

“I made coffee and bacon,” Imogene tells me as I come into the room. “It’s in the kitchen. Oh, and did you know that Carson brought fresh croissants? I guess he picked them up at the bakery, hot out of the oven, before he came over here and set-up this fantastic room for you.”

“Hmm,” Lauren adds. “Pretty nice of him. I can’t believe how you raked him over the coals. Ouch.”

I pinch my mouth shut. I don’t like where this is going.

“And you have Internet access!” Lauren announces, waving her tablet in the air.

“And those flowers from your boss are gorgeous. Time to come out of your cave, Miss Channing, you’re missing the day,” Imogene says.

“Ech,” I say. I notice all my equipment, including five large computer monitors, are set up on the desk. “Where’s Carson?” Then I hear hammering. “Never mind.”

Bert follows me downstairs and we find Carson holstering his hammer in the living room.

“Thank God, you’re putting that away,” I say as he adjusts his tool belt. He’s stingy with his smiles; however, I get a small one.

“How’s your head?” he asks, gazing at me thoroughly.

“I’m fine—oh, my gosh,” I say, realizing the living room is immaculate. The tarps and the table saw are gone. The furniture has been put back in place. The floor is polished and the paintings on the wall have been uncovered. “You’re like an elf. You come and work in the night and I wake up to these little miracles.”

“It’s a nice room.” He nods. “And, F.Y.I., no guy wants to be referred to as an elf.”

I laugh. “Yeah, well, okay.”

“Still hung-over? There’s breakfast in the kitchen.”

“I’m not hung-over and, don’t worry, I plan on eating the breakfast.”

“By the way, I had no idea you had so many computers. They block your view outside. I assumed they’d be setting up one monitor, so if you want me to move the desk to the side of the room, I can.”

“No, I like where it is. This way, the glare from the sun won’t affect my screens. It will be fine, thanks.”

There’s an awkward pause, since I don’t know what to say to Carson. His tall, hunky, workman handsomeness makes my hormones stupid and I can’t help gawking. Bert leaves us and waddles towards the kitchen so I take that moment to excuse myself from Carson’s lascivious aura. “I’m going to go eat.”

I pass through the dining room and notice Nathan’s ginormous bouquet of yellow roses and wonder what they represent. Roses don’t seem appropriate for condolences. The note is written in Nathan’s messy scrawl. “
You’re the best!
” He’s such a nerd. I don’t even know what he means.