The Jewelry Case

by Catherine McGreevy

  Paisley thawed slightly. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

  As she crossed the street, Shirley called in a bellow that caused several passers-by to turn and stare. "And be sure to drop by next time you're in town. I'd like to pick your brains about that house of yours. I'm a member of the historical society, and the Perleman place is one of our older homes. If we compare notes, maybe we can learn something, huh? I've heard some interesting stories about that place."

  Paisley waved and hurried away. It was one thing to have people stare when one was onstage, in character, she thought; quite another in the middle of a small town like this one, with amused residents looking on. She was beginning to realize that her plan to spend the next few weeks wallowing in self-pity and hiding from the world was becoming more and more remote. She wondered if that was one of the reasons Esther had gone to such lengths to bring her to River Bend.

  The bag of groceries grew heavier with each step as she walked home. When a car swooshed at full speed down the hill by the bend in the river, Paisley hopped to the side of the road to avoid being hit. Pain stabbed her weak leg, and she wished she had accepted Shirley’s offer of a ride.

  Limping onward, she eyed a "Do not trespass" sign nailed prominently to a post. A shortcut across the pasture would save several minutes of walking, and besides, she rationalized, such signs were a mere formality. After all, it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t be harming anything, and the cow she had seen earlier was grazing peacefully in the far corner.

  She slipped through the barbed wire and had nearly reached the other side when she noticed the cow ambling in her direction. The animal was bigger than she had realized. So were its horns. And it was picking up its pace.

  As the animal began to trot toward her with surprising speed, she gave up any attempt at dignity and broke into a sprint, forgetting her weak leg. She made it only a few feet, however, before she tripped, the grocery bag flying out of her grasp, scattering a loaf of whole wheat bread, bagged lettuce, apples, a chocolate bar in the grass. It was too late to flee: the animal was on top of her, its flanks solid as the sides of a warship. Curling up in a ball, she waited for the sharp horns to carve into her side.

  "Miss Lizzie! Get out of there! Shoo!"

  A dirt clod bounced off the cow's massive flank, and the beast bellowed in protest. "Hey, lady, are you all right?" The voice was panting, as if its owner had been running.

  Paisley opened a cautious eye. The cow was gone. A not-too-clean hand was reaching down to offer help. Gratefully she clasped it and allowed its possessor to haul her to her unsteady feet. A boy about seventeen years old looked down at her from a face crowned by a spiky thatch of midnight-black hair. He wore jeans and checkered Vans sneakers and had a pair of a tiny silver hoops through his lower lip. Although she had never seen him before, something struck her as vaguely familiar, and without realizing it, she found herself staring at him.

  His coffee-brown eyes narrowed under thick straight eyebrows. "You okay? Don't worry. Miss Lizzie's not going to hurt you."

  She looked behind her. The cow was plodding away. At a distance, it paused to crop the grass again.

  She looked down at where her left leg emerged from her shorts, hospital-pale, still bearing the long red scar from the implanted titanium rod. A few beads of blood welled out of a faint network of new scratches, and suddenly everything seemed very far away. Blood all over the dashboard. Broken glass everywhere. And next to her, Jonathan's limp body, slumped over the steering wheel....

  "Hey! You'd better lean on me. You don't look so good." The teenager grabbed her arm, and she gratefully clung to him. "Come on, we've got some Band-aids in the house."

  When he was satisfied she could stand on her own, the boy released her and bent to scoop the scattered groceries back into the bag. "You weren't scared of Miss Lizzie, were you?" he asked as they started toward the house, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. There was a hint of humor in his voice.

  "Miss Lizz—oh, the cow? Of course not. I was just—"

  "—Worried about trespassing?"

  The boy's tone was carefully bland, but she felt herself blush. "Sorry. I should have known better."

  "It's okay. I don't know why my step-dad put the sign up anyway. You can cross any time you want, as long as you don't mind confronting Miss Lizzie again." Although his face was deadpan, humor glinted in the dark-brown eyes. "You want to watch out for the pasture next door, though," he added, as a line appeared between his brows. "There's a bull over there. That one could be dangerous."

  "Then I'm glad I chose this field to trespass on. Thanks for rescuing me." She stuck out her hand. "My name's Paisley Perleman. I believe we're neighbors."

  His smile disappeared as if she had suddenly transformed into a monster with three heads and slobbering jowls. After a moment she lowered her hand. What had she said wrong?

  "You're a Perleman? I thought you were just one of the weekend tourists. Sometimes they stop by thinking our winery is open for visits."

  "I’m just related to the family by marriage," she told him. For some reason, her voice sounded apologetic. "Esther Perleman was my late husband's great-aunt."

  "That's the old lady who used to live in the house next door, right?"

  "Yes. And what is your name?"

  “Kevin Johnson.” Without elaborating, he turned and crossed the last few yards to his house without waiting for her. She hesitated, then hurried after him, puzzled at his change of mood from friendly to cool.

  Kevin’s house was another Queen Anne, bigger and in better condition than hers. The gray-painted boards of the wide, inviting porch were spotless, and the windows sparkled like freshly washed wine glasses. Either her neighbor Steve Lopez was a neat freak or he employed one heck of a cleaning woman. Two cars were parked side-by-side in the long driveway: a red pick-up truck and a gleaming low-slung black Audi R8 that looked like something Jonathan would have driven. The sleek sports car seemed out of place in the semi-rural setting, and she eyed it curiously.

  The teenager opened the front door for her, and she preceded him into what had once been a traditional parlor. It had been transformed into an ultra-modern man cave, with a slouchy distressed-leather sofa, a pool table squeezed into a corner, a small wet bar, and an enormous plasma television hanging over the fireplace.

  A pair of brightly colored abstract paintings covered two of the other walls, all slashing streaks of red and orange, while an odd-shaped, long-handled metal object leaned against a corner like an abstract sculpture. A farm tool of some type, she wondered, or an implement for some hobby?

  While she was trying to identify the strange contraption, the boy called, "Hey, Steve! We have a visitor."

  "Who is it?"

  Paisley's head swiveled toward a slim-hipped man strolling into the room dressed all in black: black button-up shirt, tight-fitting black slacks. She raised her eyebrows. Who did he think he was, Johnny Cash? He stopped when he saw her, and she had an impression of high cheekbones, a narrow nose, a down-curving mouth. A lot better looking than Johnny Cash, she decided, but unfortunately he didn't look like the kind of man who smiled much.

  "The lady fell down crossing the pasture." Kevin gestured at the thin line of blood running down Paisley’s calf.

  Trying to salvage her dignity, she stuck out a hand and smiled. "Hello, I'm Paisley Perleman, your new neighbor."

  A hand engulfed hers briefly, and she had the impression of banked strength behind it. "So you're Jonathan's widow,” her neighbor said, inspecting her as closely as his step-son had. “Get the Band-aids, Kevin."

  Kevin disappeared like a gopher darting down a hole, while Steve gestured her to sit on the couch. "Ray told me you might be coming out here to look at the house, but he didn't say you were going to stay."

  "I didn’t expect to. It was … an impulse."

  "Well, welcome to River Bend. I hope you're not going to sue me for getting hurt on my property."

  Paisley glanced at him sharply, unsure
sure if he were joking. His face was impassive, making it difficult to tell. "It's just a scratch," she said. “And I was trespassing, after all.”

  "That was definitely no scratch." His eyes shifted to the three-inch scar down her calf, not far from the freshly brimming scratches.

  She fervently wished she had worn long pants today instead of shorts. Fortunately Kevin reappeared with a box of Band-aids. The boy vanished again and, moments later, she heard loud, discordant rock music blaring down the hall.

  "Sorry about that noise," Steve said, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. There was a look of displeasure in his brown eyes, which were lighter than Kevin's, almost hazel. "I wish he’d play his guitar in the garage."

  "Oh, is that Kevin playing? I thought it was the radio."

  Steve grimaced. "At least he’s improved since he came to live here a few months ago. He’s spent all summer in his room practicing."

  "So Kevin just moved here? Did you and his mother marry recently?" Too late, she realized the comment was overly personal.

  Fortunately, he did not seem offended. "No, Sarah and I married a long time ago, when Kevin was a toddler. We divorced a couple of years later, when he was five." Then, as if sensing more explanation was needed, he added, "Unfortunately, Kevin's mother died of an aneurism last year. His grandmother was too old to care for him. Since I was the closest thing to a father that he had, she asked me to take him in."

  "That was awfully nice of you."

  Steve shrugged off the compliment. "The poor kid’s been through a lot. Losing his mother, and leaving his friends in a big city to live in a small, rural town hasn't been easy. It hasn’t been an easy transition for me, either, for that matter." He gestured at her bandaged leg. "Better?"

  "Yes, thank you." She rose with him. The feel of his hand against her leg had felt odd. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of anyone but Jonathan. Her husband hadn’t liked her to spend time around other men, and she had been flattered by Jonathan’s jealousy until she'd realized that he himself had....

  The emotional pain stabbed through her again, as fresh as the first time. She hadn’t expected marriage to be easy, not with those twelve years that separated her and her husband, but nothing had prepared her for the shock she had felt that day when she had returned early from rehearsal and entered her hotel room to see that blonde coming out of the shower wrapped only in a towel.

  Perhaps she had been naïve. A more experienced woman might have seen the signs earlier. But she was young, hurt, and devastated. She had confronted him later, while driving to his concert, and they had quarreled. Jonathan had been distracted, and hadn’t seen the truck coming, and the course of her life had changed forever.

  Paisley realized Steve was watching her curiously, and she shoved back the painful memories. "I heard you want to buy my property," she said.

  "And I heard you turned down my offer." His mouth tightened fractionally. "Any chance you'll change your mind?"

  "No." That wasn't exactly true. She'd eventually put the place on the market, and Steve was the most likely buyer, but there would be plenty of time to make decisions later. No point raising his hopes now.

  "Why are you holding onto the place, anyway?" he asked, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. "Ray had the impression you only intended to look around and leave."

  She started to snap that Ray had a big mouth, but instead she held back her temper. "I can’t answer that, because I don't know myself. If I like it here, I may decide to stay for the summer."

  "Then I hope you like it here a lot," Steve said, but she had the impression he was just being polite. His eyes still lingered on her face, as if searching for something.

  "Thanks for the first aid," she said, feeling uncomfortable. Whatever he was looking for, she was pretty sure she didn't have it. She picked up her grocery bag. "I promise to be more careful next time."

  "You do that. Cows can be dangerous if they're startled. I don't know why I keep the damned thing. A sentimental nod to the ranch my father ran when I was a kid, I guess, before he started the vineyard."

  When he put his hand on the knob to open the door for her, he startled her with another observation. "By the way, I heard you hired Ian McMurtry to come out and work on the Perlemans' old house."

  She raised her eyebrows. Who could have told him so quickly? Ray again? Bruce Harris's young receptionist?

  "The guy’s competent enough, I guess. It's just…." He broke off, shrugging, causing an interesting ripple of muscles under his tight-fitting black shirt. "None of my business. Forget I brought it up. Would you like a lift home?"

  "No, thanks. It's an easy walk." She suspected the invitation was perfunctory. He seemed impatient for her to leave. In the back of her mind, she mulling over his implied criticism of Ian. What did Steve mean by "competent enough, I guess?"

  "Are you sure?" Steve insisted. "In your condition...."

  At first she thought he was referring to her scratched knee. Belatedly she realized he meant her limp, and her face grew warm again. She was growing tired of being reminded of her infirmity. "No thanks. I'll be fine."

  "All right. But if you need a ride some time, let me know. It's not easy getting around without transportation, and after all, we're neighbors."

  Paisley tried to remember if she had mentioned that she didn't have a car. For the second time that day, she realized she would have to get used to the small town way of life, where everybody knew everyone else's business, no matter how trivial.

  As she turned to start down the steps, he stopped her a final time. "Now that we've met, why don't you come over for dinner some time? It'll give us a chance to know each other a bit better, seeing as we're going to be living next door. I make pretty decent enchiladas. An old Mexican recipe of my grandmother’s." He favored her with a sudden blindingly white smile, and Paisley thought Ray had been right about her neighbor being a lady-killer. For some reason, he had suddenly chosen to turn his charm on her full blast. She wasn’t about to complain.

  She hesitated, however. Being alone with a strange man in his house wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing. Compared to many women her age, she was naïve, but she wasn’t as naïve as that.

  He sensed this and grinned. “Kevin will be here.”

  She felt her face relax into an answering smile. "Okay, then." An hour in the company of a great-looking neighbor? Why not? Perhaps he was a little enigmatic, but then, brooding people were like that. She could almost forgive him for noticing her limp. Almost.

  "Enchiladas it is," he said, still smiling. "You'll be busy settling in the next few days, so how about Saturday? In the meantime, if you need anything, give me a call." He produced a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. The design was bold, graphic, well designed: grape leaves weaving the name of his vineyard. It matched the sign by the road. "A woman living alone in the middle of no-where.… You never know what could happen."

  "Thanks," she said, slipping the card into her purse, although the paternalistic ring of his words jarred her. For the past five years she had foolishly turned over control of her life and her career to her husband, and look where that had got her! She could manage by herself perfectly well, thank you, and from now on she would.

  To prove it, with her free hand, she managed to pull out a slip of paper and awkwardly jotted down her own cell phone number. "Here. Maybe I can help you out sometime as well. You never know."

  Steve gravely accepted the slip of paper, and they shook hands like professionals meeting in an office. His fingers were warm and hard, just like when they had brushed her leg.

  On the way home, she tried to walk steadily, arms wrapped around the battered bag of groceries, bemused by the fact that she had come looking for peaceful isolation and instead, on her first day, she had received two social invitations: one from the bookshop keeper, Shirley, and one from her Heathcliff-like neighbor, Steve Lopez. Maybe it was just as well, she thought. Keeping
busy would keep her from dwelling on uncomfortable questions like how she was going to pay those mounting bills, and—her mind shrank from the thought—whether she would ever sing again.

  The doctor had said to rest her voice. But perhaps soon she would try a few simple vocal exercises. Just to see....

  #

  When Paisley arrived back at the little white house under the towering oak tree, she collapsed into the porch swing, too tired to go another step. After resting, she took out her I-phone phone and used the calculator app to add up her assets and debts. The gentle movement of the swing under her was soothing; the results of her calculations were not.

  She stared at the numbers, then returned the phone to her purse. What on earth was she doing here, planning to investing what little money she had in renovating a house she didn't intend to keep, when she could live rent-free with friends or relatives until her voice came back? If her voice came back. It made no sense.

  Just then her purse began playing the Toreador song from Carmen, and she fished out the cell phone again. The name on the screen brightened her spirits.

  "Nigel!" she squealed into the receiver.

  A refined English accent poured into her ear, smooth as oil. "Hullo, Paisley dearest. How's my favorite former student? I was starting to think you were avoiding me. You haven't returned any of my calls."

  "I'm sorry. I did get your messages, but...."

  "I know, love, I know. You've been laid up in hospital. I've heard the whole, tragic story. Did you get the roses? The entire faculty chipped in, but I picked them out myself. Those dark-red ones are your favorites, aren't they? The scent is absolutely divine."

  Suddenly there was a lump in her throat. "Yes, I got the roses. And yes, they were beautiful."

  Nigel's voice grew serious. "So sorry about Jonathan. Such a shock to all of us."

  She swallowed. "Yes. It's been ... difficult."