Honeysuckle Hollow

by Jennifer Moorman

  Tessa’s mouth fell open, and her chin dipped down. She flitted her eyes toward Paul before shaking her head. “This is about Honeysuckle Hollow. I don’t care about that dinner, but since you brought it up, the wine was twenty dollars, Ralph. I hardly think that’s excessive. This is about you not caring about the people in this neighborhood and not caring about preserving the history of Mystic Water.”

  “Now, that’s not fair. Mrs. Steele said she had no interest in the house, and it’s not even worth the time it would take to fix it up.” He gestured toward the house. “Look at it, Tess—”

  “Don’t call me Tess.”

  He groaned. “Would you look at it? It’s a disaster. Anyway, she asked me to search for interested investors, and I did that. I only learned this morning about the investor’s plans to build a Fat Betty’s here. He hasn’t put down the money for the land yet. He said Mrs. Steele had to demolish the house first, and that’s not happening today.” Ralph pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call the investor and let him know we’ve been pushed back a day. He might want to go ahead and fork up the money too. Mrs. Steele seems impatient to get this off her hands.”

  Ralph tried to dial the number, but he couldn’t get a signal. He walked around the yard, holding his phone to the sky like a lightning rod, but it wouldn’t work. Tessa pulled her cell phone from her purse and shrugged.

  “I’ve got signal,” she said.

  Paul checked his cell. “Me too.”

  “What is going on?” Ralph whined. He pressed a few buttons and his lip curled. “It died. My phone just died. It was fully charged this morning.” He groaned. “Good to see you, Tessa,” he said. “Sorry about the house. But you don’t have to worry about it after eight a.m. tomorrow. Everything has an expiration date.” He walked toward his car.

  “You mean like that hairstyle?” Paul asked.

  Tessa snorted. “Bit shiny.”

  “I think greasy is the correct term.”

  Ralph revved the engine on his convertible BMW and drove away, leaving Tessa and Paul standing on the sidewalk. Tessa clenched her fist and the keys to Honeysuckle Hollow dug into her palm. She glanced down and opened her hand.

  “I forgot to hand these over or toss them on the porch like Mrs. Steele said.”

  “What do they need them for if they’re going to tear it down? Since we’re here, want to show me around?” Paul asked.

  Tessa nodded. “I need to call the cleaners and the exterminators. They were supposed to be here this afternoon, but obviously they’re not needed now.”

  Tessa finished the phone calls, and they walked toward the front porch.

  Paul said, “The wildness has taken over this place.”

  “It’s been empty for a little more than two years. It’s not as bad as it could be. At least if the bats are still here, you’ll be a second option to attack.”

  “I’ll be the distraction while you escape, is that it?” he asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “Queen Anne Victorian, yeah?” Paul said. “Slate roof looks good. If cared for properly, they can last more than one hundred years, unless they used soft slate. Any idea if this roof is original to the house? I’m guessing this house was built in the 1880s? This roof would still be good if the slate came from Virginia and isn’t ribbon slate from Pennsylvania. Would you look at those sash windows, wavy glass and all.” He stomped through the weeds toward the front porch.

  Tessa’s mouth fell open. Then she stumbled through the brush after him. Paul hopped over the broken porch board and walked around the side of the house, following the wraparound porch, brushing his fingers against the windowpanes.

  “All original,” he said. A breeze kicked up dirt from the boards, creating miniature tornadoes that danced around his boots. “This is a gem, Ms. Tessa. I can understand your unwillingness to see it taken apart.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. Two butterflies danced through the thistles. “How is it you know so much about Victorian homes?”

  He pressed his fingertips to one of the windows. “Received an MA in History of Architecture in Boston.”

  “But…but you’re a travel writer,” she stuttered.

  Paul’s expression darkened for a few seconds. Then he walked toward her, grabbed the keys from her hand, and headed for the front door. “You’re a quick one,” he said.

  She followed behind him. “But why?”

  “Why am I a travel writer, or why did I receive an MA?”

  Paul slipped the key into the lock. A zipping sound like a jolt of electricity crackling down a live wire whizzed past Tessa’s ears and blew her hair forward into her face.

  Paul jerked his hand away from the door. “Ow.”

  “What happened?” she asked, shoving her hair behind her ears.

  Paul shook his hand a few times. “It shocked me.” He hesitated before reaching for the key again. This time the key turned in the lock without incident, and Paul pushed open the door. “About travel writing and my MA, those are complicated questions,” he said. “Best answered over dinner. First, let’s take a look inside.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “After you, Ms. Tessa.”

  Dinner? Tessa wanted to scold herself for allowing that one word to cause her emotions to quiver, but she couldn’t. Instead, she imagined them dining out while Paul told her stories of his exotic travels and she smiled at him over polished silver and starched, white napkins.

  Paul pulled the keys out of the lock and returned them to Tessa’s outstretched hand. His boots thudded against the floor as he left Tessa in the foyer. Once he stood in the living room, he jumped up and down a few times. “Floors feel solid.” He bent down and rubbed his hands across the wood. “There’s a bit of buckling near the back corner,” he said and motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, “but with sanding and polishing, I think these will be beautiful again.” The crystal chandelier in the foyer tinkled as though blown by a wind.

  “You saw the bulldozer, right? It’ll be back tomorrow, and it won’t matter if these floors are Makassar ebony. They’ll just be part of a heap before noon.”

  Paul stood and walked toward the cast iron mantle adorning the pass-through fireplace. Tessa rushed forward, waving her hands in front of her in an attempt to warn Paul.

  “No, no,” she said, unable to form more eloquent words.

  Paul stopped walking and turned to look at her. “I feel as though you should have added bad dog to the end of that scolding.”

  Tessa blushed. “No, it’s just, well, there are bats in the chimney. They attacked me yesterday.”

  “Ah, the attack bats,” he said. He continued toward the fireplace and squatted in front of it. He pointed to the grate. “Guano. Definitely bats. Did you know the word guano originally comes from the Quichua language of the Incan civilization? It means ‘the droppings of sea birds.’ The Incan empire assigned abundant value to guano, and it was punishable by death if anyone disturbed the birds. Picked up that bit of knowledge in Peru. But, I digress,” he said. Then he tilted his head over and stuck it into the hearth.

  Tessa gasped. “Don’t!”

  “Hellooooo,” he called up the chimney. Then he stood and waited. Nothing happened. After a long moment, he chuckled. “It appears as though your bats have vacated.”

  Tessa’s shoulders lowered from her ears. She exhaled, pressed a hand to her chest, and said, “Do you think they’re gone for good?”

  “Doubtful,” he said. “But you’re safe for now.” He reached out and smoothed his fingers over the cast iron mantel and tile work surrounding the hearth, rubbing away years of soot, blackening his fingers. “I haven’t seen a mantel like this since I was in Cardiff doing a piece on the Llandaff Cathedral. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was shipped from the United Kingdom.” He tapped one finger against a spot on the mantel. “Something is missing here. There’s dust everywhere but in this spot.”

  “Well, Sherlock Holmes, I found a book there. Evidently, the previous
owner of Honeysuckle Hollow—a local doctor—kept this place up and allowed people to stay here who were down on their luck or passing through town and were stuck here. He offered it to them for free for as long as they needed it. The book is full of their stories and their thank yous. There are more volumes of guest books in the family room.”

  Paul nodded. “So that’s what you meant about this place being a haven.” He wiped his fingers on his jeans. “What else do you know about this place?”

  While they walked through the house, Tessa filled Paul in on what she knew about the history of Honeysuckle Hollow. She hadn’t done as much research into the historical records as she would have liked, but growing up in Mystic Water had given her some background information passed down through the years.

  Paul leaned against the island in the kitchen. “This is an unfortunate addition to the home.” He rapped the island with his knuckles. “But I wouldn’t think it was cause for demolition. Don’t you want to find out what the investor has offered for the land?”

  “Why would it matter?”

  “It’ll cost the owner money to tear down the house. Perhaps a higher bid could be placed. A bid that would be more than the investor’s offer and wouldn’t cause the owner to have to part with any money for demolition.”

  “You think someone would want to fix up this place?”

  Paul nodded. “I have a feeling about this house,” he said as he tapped his fist against his stomach. “My intuition rarely steers me wrong. Fixing this house is going to take a lot of work, but it’ll be worth it. A rehabbed house like this one would be worth a king’s ransom, regardless of what Drake thinks.”

  Tessa scrunched her nose at him and asked, “Who’s Drake?”

  “Le artiste,” he answered, pointing at the red and yellow, illicitly sprayed graffiti marring the kitchen wall.

  Tessa’s cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller’s name on the display screen. “Hey, Mr. Fleming,” she said, greeting the president of the HOA of her condo building.

  “Hey, Tessa, I have news. I know you’ve been hesitant about selling your condo, but it’s pretty much a unanimous vote by the other owners that the building is sold to the buyer. He’ll be here Thursday to begin the arrangements,” Mr. Fleming said.

  “That’s tomorrow.”

  “It’s a fair offer.”

  “I understand. Thanks for calling.”

  Tessa ended the call and exhaled as she dropped the phone into her purse.

  “That’s a big sigh,” Paul said.

  “I’ve been having a lot of those lately,” she said. When she realized Paul wanted an explanation for the sigh, she continued, “That was the president of my HOA. Some crazy out-of-towner wants to buy the whole ruined building, for a good price, too, and everyone has agreed to sell.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  Tessa shrugged. “I suppose agreeing to sell the place feels like accepting that I don’t have a home anymore, but everyone thinks I should sell.”

  “Sounds like you can live in denial until tomorrow morning.” Paul pushed off the island and walked across broken glass before stepping through the mangled French doors and into the backyard.

  He stood on the brick porch, looking as though he wasn’t sure it was safe to enter the chaos. Tessa walked past him and stopped in front of the river. She looked for the koi, and before long, it pushed through the murk and popped its mouth above the water. “There you are. I wish I could turn on the electricity and get your filter and pump running again,” Tessa said as she leaned over and pressed her hands against her thighs. The wind kicked up, tangling weeds around her ankles, and brought the sweet scent of blooming honeysuckle vines, reminding her of the jam her grandma used to make and slather on biscuits. She heard Paul’s slow, deep inhale behind her.

  “This is a mess of a different sort,” he said, walking toward the hydrangeas and batting away tall stalks of grass that brushed against his hips. “Mom would love this, or would love to put order back into this garden. She’ll have loads of advice on what to do with it, if you ask her.” He turned and studied the rear of the house. He returned to the porch and crouched in front of one of the columns supporting the second-floor balcony. Then he stood and banged the heel of his boot against the concrete footing at the bottom of the post. A hollow echo sounded. “The concrete supporting this column is crumbling. That balcony isn’t safe. New concrete footings will need to be poured. Not to mention the floor is rotting.”

  Paul’s knowledge surprised Tessa. She had expected him to be the nonconventional sort, a bohemian nomad who traveled light and never stopped anywhere for long—the sort who kept his mama up at nights worrying about his lack of stability and family. If she’d had questions about Timbuktu, she might have asked him, but she certainly wouldn’t have thought he knew anything about crumbling concrete footings. Her curiosity flared brighter. How did an architecture student become a travel writer? Tessa pulled a notepad from her purse and made a note about the balcony.

  “You realize that you’re talking about this house as though it’s going to be saved.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked. “Let’s start with saving Huck Finn.”

  “Huck Finn?”

  Paul pointed to the river and unwrapped the plastic from beneath his arm. “The koi. He’s traveled the river. We’ll take him home for now.”

  Paul created a watertight pocket of plastic for Huck Finn and caught the koi so easily that Tessa wondered if Paul hadn’t been stranded in the Alaskan bush for months and been forced to hunt his own salmon. She imagined the disaster of her trying not only to catch the fish, but also to contain it without draining all the water from the thin plastic.

  “Did you know that the fish we think of as koi are actually called nishikigoi in Japan? It means ‘brocaded carp.’ Koi are symbols for love and friendship in Japan. They’re hardy little swimmers, which is why this guy has probably lasted so long. He’s a fighter.”

  Tessa cut her eyes over at Paul.

  Paul shrugged and grinned. “Two years ago I spent a week in Japan and wrote a story on Mt. Fuji and the cherry blossoms.”

  As they walked through the house with Paul cradling Huck Finn and talking to the fish in broken Japanese phrases, Tessa tried to call Lily’s cell phone, but she didn’t answer. She left a message. “Lily, call me, please. I need a place to stay for a little bit. Call me,” she said again before disconnecting.

  “Sharing the apartment is still an offer on the table until you find a new place,” Paul said as he stood in the foyer. “I hear the couch is comfortable.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Tempting, but no. My mama doesn’t approve of me staying with strange men.”

  “I’m not that strange,” he said. “Besides, what she doesn’t know won’t kill her.” When Tessa’s mouth fell open, he laughed and added, “I’m kidding, Ms. Tessa. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”

  Tessa opened the front door. “I appreciate that.” She turned to look at him. “Coming?”

  He nodded. “I almost hate to leave this place.” Then he smiled. “But we’ll be back. I have a feeling.”

  Tessa snorted. “Maybe it’s gas.”

  Paul laughed, and Tessa treaded down the porch stairs with care. They walked to the car, and Tessa unlocked the doors.

  As she started the engine, she said, “Speaking of mothers, we should probably get you back to yours.”

  Paul waved his hand in the air and rolled down his window. “They’re fine. They’ll be working all day. I’ll just be in the way.”

  Tessa rolled down her window. “I think that’s the point,” she said. “They’d probably be happy if you were in the way all the time.” She glanced over at him, and he gazed out the window at the wind rustling through the dogwoods lining the street.

  “And you’re an expert on what my parents want?” Paul asked.

  Tessa felt the edginess coating Paul’s words. It rippled over her skin like summer heat on black asphalt. His mirt
h rushed out the window on a gust of wind that filled the car with the scent of dying roses.

  “Not an expert, no,” Tessa said cautiously. “I just think they’re fond of you, even though I can’t imagine why.” She smiled at him, hoping to lighten the dark mood that seemed to drape across his shoulders and pull his mouth into a frown.

  His cheek dimpled. “I think it’s my dashing good looks and rapier wit.”

  “And no doubt your humility,” Tessa said.

  Paul laughed, jostling Huck Finn in his arms, as she pulled away from the curb. Tessa was tempted to roll up both windows and trap his laughter inside the car. Then she imagined herself coming outside later and sliding into the car just so she could hear the sound of it and feel the way it shivered across her skin.

  10

  Spicy Scrambled Eggs

  Tessa parked behind the diner and turned off the Great Pumpkin’s ignition. She heaved a sigh before unbuckling her seat belt. She kept imagining the bulldozer driving across Honeysuckle Hollow’s front yard. Paul opened his door and looked at her over his shoulder.

  “You’ll let me know what you decide?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “The slumber party,” he said with a smile.

  “Sure.” She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car. “Enjoy your parents. I’m going right now to secure my room and board for the night, which will not be at the apartment.”

  He held up Huck Finn and then poked two of his fingers into the corners of his mouth and pulled down his lips. “This is our sad face,” he said.

  Tessa snorted. “You’re not normal,” she said.

  “I hope not.”

  Tessa pointed to the fish in its temporary plastic home. “What’re you gonna do with him?”

  Paul held the fish up to his face and blinked at it. Huck Finn seemed to blink back at him. “I’m not sure, but I bet I can sneak a large Tupperware box from Mom and give him a larger space until I come up with a better solution.”

  “No koi patties being sold at the diner.”

  “What am I, a heartless brute?” He pointed at her. “No smart aleck remarks from you. Huck Finn is part of the family now.” He waved goodbye and walked toward the diner.