by Gun Brooke
“Sorry,” I murmur and place my fork and spoon on the side of the almost-empty plate.
“Hey. No need. I’m glad you’re enjoying the food,” Tierney says. “We asked if you want to join the choir. It would be as a junior choir leader. Part-time. With a salary, of course.”
I stare at her and then look around the table at the other six. “Wh-what?”
“I know it’s sudden, but you may have heard back at the office area that Carrie, the girls’ regular leader, had to cancel?” Tierney leans forward on her elbows. “Carrie’s great, but she’s dealing with…stuff. We need someone to fill in for her and assist her when need be.”
“But I haven’t been in a choir in years.” I blink hard. This must be a mistake. There’s no way I can do this, and that fact hurts so much, I dig my nails into my thighs to keep from screaming. A paying job, just within my reach, and I can’t accept it.
“Your musicality is obvious, and you’ll learn the ropes from Carrie.” Manon folds her napkin after delicately dabbing at her lips. “As Tierney said, it’s not a full-time position, but approximately eighteen hours a week, which could amount to more when the choir starts entering competitions and so on.” She smiles at Stephanie and Lisa, who both wriggle happily on their chairs.
“Please, Romi. You’d fit in perfectly. How old are you, by the way?” Lisa beams at me.
“Twenty-two,” I say absentmindedly and think I see surprise in the women’s eyes.
“Even better. I figured you as a senior in high school or a college freshman perhaps.” Manon nodded approvingly. “Why don’t you come to my home office in East Quay tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll talk more? In the meantime, think of this as a TA position in college.”
I have no knowledge of college life, let alone what a TA does and if they’re paid. How can I refuse? Perhaps I can tell this woman, when it’s only us, face-to-face, some of the truth, and she’ll realize why I’m not such a good fit. It stings when I see Lisa’s and Stephanie’s hopeful faces, but I can’t change the facts about myself, about my situation. “Just give me the address and I’ll be there.” I force a smile, and for a moment, Manon’s eyes show nothing but compassion in an oddly knowing way. Perhaps she really is clairvoyant or something.
After we’ve managed to have some gelato for dessert, the girls are moaning about not being able to ever move again.
“I hear you. Let me get the Jeep. We’ll drop Romi off at her house on the way back to East Quay.” Tierney jumps up as if she hasn’t had a three-course meal and a large cappuccino. “You okay?” she asks Giselle, who merely nods.
Manon walks out with her, and I assume she’s getting her car as well.
I’m torn. Again. I’ve dreaded walking in the dark as it’s now nine p.m., but how can I let them give me a lift without raising suspicion? Then I think of that gravel road about three hundred yards south of Gail’s property. It leads into some dense woods and shrubbery, where I can hope they don’t know that only an old abandoned cottage stands.
Tierney calls Giselle’s cell and lets us know she and Manon have pulled up. As we leave the restaurant, Eryn places a gentle hand on my back. I flinch but try to mask my reaction by coughing, a trick I’ve had to resort to many times.
“It was lovely to meet you, Romi,” Eryn says. “I won’t be at the house tomorrow, but do give Manon’s offer some serious thought. She’s a true problem solver, and no matter what may come up, she’ll find a way to work around it. Trust me.”
Oddly, I’m inclined to trust her for a few seconds, but my life experience has showed me how futile that is. Yet this time, I really, really want to believe these women, these girls. They’ve accepted me, at least for tonight, and been nothing but kind and generous. “Thank you, Eryn. I appreciate the offer more than I can say, but…” I shrug, helpless about how to explain. “And thank you for the meal. You have no idea how wonderful it was for me.” Now, that’s enough. I can’t share more than that. Danger, danger.
I get into the back seat of the spacious Jeep next to Lisa and Stephanie. The girls are giggling about something I’m not really listening to. The two women in the front talk in quieter voices, but even if I don’t hear the words, I can feel the affection, the love, between them. I know better than to indulge in a fantasy of belonging with someone, a person, a family, but I come damn close in that Jeep, heading for a gravel road that leads to nowhere.
Chapter Five
Gail
The late fall air is crisp. It almost hurts to inhale it where I sit on the stairs of my back porch with a blanket around my shoulders. I have closed the door behind me to not let the light from the living room pollute the darkness that is lit only by stars and a receding moon. I’m still cross with myself for my moment of weakness earlier. I hate tears, mainly my own, as they make me feel so damn vulnerable. I cannot allow that, not even now when I’ve lost…well, pretty much everything. It serves me right to sit out here in the chilly night, looking at a desolate fragment of a moon surrounded by stars so far away from it, they’re not truly part of the same sky.
Talking to Neill, and I know I should call him back, was not what I needed today. I can’t handle sympathy and certainly not all the practical suggestions he gave me. They grate on my nerves, and if I were at all like my violin, I would scrape off the hairs on the bow. I’m all thorns, and it’s no big surprise that my peers, and those I used to call friends, are recoiling. I don’t like being around me either, but I have little choice.
At a distance, I see a car pass, and as it lights up the outlines of the bushes in the garden, I, again, question what the hell I’m doing out here in the sticks. What was I thinking when I opted for this well-kept, but horribly decorated, house in between a field and a forest? I knew so little of this part of Rhode Island before I came. I thought it consisted of mainly quaint fishing villages and posh houses belonging to summer guests. I wasn’t aware it had so many farms, fields, and forests. Of course, I had to buy the sorriest-looking house. Perhaps I need to list it again and buy something in the Caribbean? I snort. Hardly. I’d go mad in such a climate. There’s no way an East Coast native like me would ever feel at ease among palm trees, lagoons, flashy hotels, and whatnot. No, I might as well sulk here in the cold.
A faint sound from the garden makes me go rigid. An animal? I’ve seen plenty of deer, wild turkeys, and a god-awful lot of squirrels and chipmunks around here. This sounds bigger though. I spot a faint light and press back against the step behind me. Who the hell is trespassing, and what do they think they’ll find if they intend to break in?
A diminutive figure, not terribly imposing, enters slowly between the bushes. It stops, then moves out from the shadows, and the moon lights up a face that thankfully is familiar.
“Can you explain why you’re trespassing through my yard at this time in the evening?” I know I startle the girl. What was her name? Romi. Yes. Serves her right for scaring me.
“Oh, God.” Romi squeaks and stops.
“Yes? I’m waiting for an explanation.” I stand up. “You on your way home?” I try to remember in which direction she lives but have to confess I don’t recall.
“Yes.” Romi steps closer. “I’m sorry. I was taking a shortcut as it’s so cold.”
I can see she’s shivering. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. If you can help me with something, you can come in for some hot tea.” Hey. Where did that come from? Perhaps I’m channeling the chill inside me, but it’s true that I need to move a box my cleaners forgot that blocks the entrance to the family-size bathroom on the second floor. I can’t do it with one hand.
“Sure.” Romi steps closer yet, and I can clearly see the expression in her hazel eyes. She has a wild, apprehensive look, and she’s keeping her lower lip firmly in place between her teeth.
“Come on then. Take your shoes off.” I step back through the porch door, holding it open for Romi. She stops just inside and kicks off sneakers that have seen better days. Now that I watch her in lamplight, I can tell she’s still shaking.
“Am I that frightening?” I ask casually and point in the direction of the kitchen. “Tea first. Box of books later.”
“I really don’t want to disturb you this late,” Romi says quietly. “I can come back tomorrow morning and help you with whatever you need.”
“Now there’s a thought. If you manage to shove the box away from my bathroom door, then you can perhaps help me put the books up in the bedroom bookshelf tomorrow.” I walk over and set the electric kettle to boil some water. “I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Oh, there’s no need—”
“Nonsense. I don’t know about what you’re used to, but I don’t pull young ladies off the lawn and make them work for free.” I frown at her, but to my surprise, she smiles faintly. Huh.
“Somehow I think people are easily persuaded to do your bidding, should you need them to.” Romi accepts the mug I give her. The tea-bag string dangles on the side, and she looks at the mug with the strangest expression.
“I know. Garish color choices, right?” I cradle my own version of the brightly colored mug. “They hold the temperature for a long time though.”
“Yes.” Romi plays with the string. “I apologize.”
“For trespassing? Don’t worry. As long as it’s you and not some gang set on a home invasion, I don’t mind. It’s not like I have priceless rosebushes to tend to.”
“No, for saying that about people eager to do your bidding. That was rude.” Romi pulls out the tea bag and wraps it around a spoon. Without prompting she unwinds it and gets up and throws it into the trash. Sitting down, she sips the tea carefully.
“It was rather funny. And I admit, it used to be true.” I must be desperate for companionship as it seems so damn easy to talk to this girl.
“Used to be?” Romi tilts her head and pushes her surplus-looking jacket off. She’s dressed all in black, and now she somehow seems a little older.
“Before this.” I raise my arm in its orthosis.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Romi frowns. “Why would injuring your arm change things so much…I mean, in how people see you?”
“Oh, trust me. It did. Sometimes because of other people, sometimes because of me.” I hadn’t accepted that truth before. I shrug with the shoulder belonging to my good arm. “Worst of all was the pity from my peers because my career as a musician was over.”
“You were a musician? What instrument?” Romi’s expression is kind, but not pitying at all. That’s the only reason I don’t bite her head off.
“Violinist.” I raise my chin, challenging her to say something trite.
“I’m sorry you were hurt, either way.” Romi holds her hands protectively around the ugly mug.
“Thank you.” A bit taken aback at the lack of the usual gushing attempts to comfort me for losing everything that mattered in my life, I lean back in the kitchen chair. “What about you? I haven’t seen you in a few days. I sometimes see you pass out on the road, but you disappear just as quickly.”
Romi’s cheeks go pink. “I’ve, um, been looking for work. I walk into Westport and use the computer in the library.” She traces the pattern of a flower-filled barrel on her mug.
“What kind of work?” I ask, curious now. This conversation has certainly stopped my day from being mundane. And lonely.
“Anything really. Nothing too elaborate though. Busgirl. Cleaner. That sort of thing.”
I get the feeling this girl has more potential than that, but clearly, she doesn’t think so. “Or lifting boxes,” I say softly, and she winces.
“Nothing wrong with that.” She has steel in her voice now.
“Certainly not, if that makes you content.” I could never imagine that cleaning or moving other people’s possessions would bring anyone true fulfillment, but I’m not stupid. I know that for many people, finding any sort of honest work is a struggle.
“Content?” Romi seems to taste the word, as if it’s alien to her. “Yes, maybe.”
“If you truly are looking for work, I can offer you some. I have a basement that needs sorting and clearing out.”
Romi pales and lets go of her mug so fast, she spills a few drops. “Your basement?”
“Yes. The previous owner left the house as it is now, full of furniture, decorations, and all her belongings. Even old photo albums.”
Romi stands. “I see. Well, thank you. I accept. Can I move the box now, before it gets too late?” Looking vulnerable, she shows tension in her big hazel eyes.
“Certainly.” I motion for her to ascend the stairs at the far end of the kitchen. She takes the steps in twos, skipping lithely up the staircase. I walk up in a slower pace, as I’m afraid of bumping my arm against the wall next to this narrow staircase.
When I reach the next floor, Romi has already pushed the crate a few yards. She must have figured out which is the master bedroom already. Soon, it sits inside the door where I won’t trip over it.
“Thank you,” I say briskly. “Tomorrow morning, you can put the books up in alphabetical order for me.”
She looks hesitant, and I think she’s going to decline helping after all. “Hmm. That. Or, since you’re going to have them in your bedroom, you could have them color coded.” Romi seems calmer now, cocking her head.
“Color coded?” I frown. “What kind of system is that?”
“It’s feng shui.” Romi gestures toward the empty bookshelves.
“Dear God.” I really don’t have time or the affinity for new-age drivel. “How do you suppose I’ll be able to find anything?”
“It’ll be very restful for your eyes, and that means you’ll sleep better.” Romi looks down at the rug, and when I follow her glance, she places one foot on top of the other, but I can still see the hole in her threadbare left sock. “And they can still be in alphabetical order within each color category.”
“Where have you learned this?” I don’t find myself surprised often, but this girl, no, young woman, manages to effortlessly astonish me.
“At the library.” Smiling wanly, Romi places her hands on her back.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-two,” she says, and I’m starting to think I can’t read people at all. Sure, she has a quiet maturity, but I thought she was younger.
“And you?” Romi says, raising her chin in a subtle challenge.
“Thirty-six.” I shrug. Age is immaterial.
“So, feng shui, or old school?” Now Romi’s eyes sparkle, and I find myself staring at them as if I haven’t really noticed how unique they are before now. Hazel, yes, but now they glimmer like rose gold in the muted light of the bedside lamps.
“Let me think about that,” I say, though dead certain there will be no color coding.
“I should get home.” Romi inches toward the door, the sparkles in her eyes fading. “It’s getting late.”
“Of course. I’ll write you a check when you come by tomorrow.”
She stops and slowly turns toward me. Where the sparkles enticed me only moments ago, I see now only dark shadows, emphasized by her dark makeup. “A check?” Romi’s shoulders slump forward, and she wipes her hands on her pants. “Any possibility you can pay me in cash?”
This gives me pause. A threadbare young woman asking to be paid in cash. That sends up warning flags, and I’m seconds from saying I’ve changed my mind, when the slightest quiver of her lower lip catches my eye. Sure, she pulls it in quickly between her teeth, something I recognize from earlier, in the backyard. “Why not, if that’s more convenient for you. We do live out in the sticks, and you seem to get around by walking for the most part. Closest bank is in East Quay, I understand, or in Westport, as we’re right on the border.”
“Yes,” Romi murmurs. “That’s right.”
“Well, I’ll get cash ready for you. I’m driving into East Quay tomorrow anyway.” The sane part of me wants to make sure she realizes I don’t keep cash at the house. Better safe and so on.
Her relief is palpable, and I know there’s
a story there. What yet again surprises me is that Romi’s story interests me. At all. For the first time since the accident I’ve raised my eyes off the ground and looked at someone else. Hell, not only since the accident. I’ve been self-absorbed for many years and lived only for my music. This is why I deserve to be secluded in an ugly farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.
I walk Romi to the porch door, watch her don her worn sneakers. “You sure you’re okay walking home alone?” I know I sound annoyed rather than concerned.
“I’ll be fine. It’s, um, not far.” Romi fidgets and walks down the few steps to the yard. “See you tomorrow. Nine? Ten?”
“Nine is fine, if you’re up.”
“I’ll be here.” Romi nods and disappears around the corner and into the dark.
I close the porch door and turn the deadbolt. I wonder where Romi lives and if she’s on her own. Surely if she has a parent, or anyone else looking out for her, they’d make sure she had some decent clothes. Rubbing the back of my neck with my good hand, I walk through the rooms downstairs and turn off the lights. As I switch them off in the living room, I think I see a quick, soft light at the other end of the house, but when I get closer to the windows, it’s only the same moonlit yard I studied before.
I walk upstairs and into the bathroom. A bath might help me relax, even if I must admit that I’m not as tense as I was before Romi showed up. I see no significance in this occurrence, as I regard it as a coincidence, merely thinking that I might sleep more than one hour at a time this night.
There’s always hope.
Chapter Six
Romi
Standing in the basement, boots in hand, having entered through Gail’s house rather than the cellar door, I try to look impressed. “That’s quite the collection of preserves.” I motion toward the vast number of glass jars on the shelves.
“And then some.” Gail rests her hip against the table where I sat so many times when I was little and wrote on the labels for my aunt. “You were so damned fast sorting the books upstairs. If you don’t mind, I want you to go through all the jars—look at the dates and examine the seals. If they’re all right, I’ll donate them to a shelter. Those that are too old or damaged, I’ll have someone come collect them.” She points to a free area on the floor next to the door leading to the yard. “You can put them there.”