The House that Love Built

by Beth Wiseman

  “But I don’t feel complete anymore. It’s like my heart is just closed—forever.” She glanced his way to see him nodding. “And I don’t hang out with the women that I used to because they all have husbands. They’ve reached out to me plenty of times, but I always find an excuse not to do things with them. I’m the third wheel, and being with them just reminds me of Travis. That he’s not here.”

  She turned to face him. “So, despite my actions this evening, I have no desire to be in another relationship. Sounds nuts, I’m sure.”

  Owen shook his head. “Nope. Not at all. So what’s the deal with your parents?”

  Brooke told him about her father’s infidelity and his leaving them when she was twelve. About growing up without him . . . and then finding him at her mother’s apartment the other night.

  “Wow. That had to be a shock.”

  Brooke put a hand to her forehead, then rubbed tired eyes. “I want my mother to be happy. I really do. But this is some kind of false happiness—I’m sure of it. She hasn’t been around my dad in twenty years. I just don’t believe that they had the kind of love she says they had. If they did, he would have never cheated on her, then stayed gone for that long.”

  They were quiet for a while, then Owen said, “Maybe you need to talk to him.”

  Brooke tensed. “I can’t. I’ve spent part of my childhood and my entire adult life hating him. I can’t just turn off those feelings.”

  “I didn’t say to turn them off. I thrive on hating Virginia.” He gave a humorless laugh. “But in your case, it sounds like he’s going to be a part of your mother’s life whether you like it or not. Maybe there’s a way to work through it. Or maybe not. But it seems like a chapter waiting to be written.”

  Brooke forced a smile. “The book ended a long time ago for me.”

  “Can I tell you something?” Owen put his elbow on the back of her couch and propped his head up, facing her. “I’m glad you threw yourself at me and we had a chance to talk like this.”

  Brooke slapped him on the arm. “If you ever bring this up again, we are not going to be friends.”

  Owen smiled, then stood up. “Brooke, I’m going to be your friend for as long as you’ll have me. But eventually someone is going to come along and have more to offer you than just friendship, and that’s as it should be. You’ll open your heart one day. Your situation is different from mine. Travis left, yes, but he never betrayed you. And betrayal is a tough thing to get past.”

  She playfully held out her hand. “Friends, then.”

  Owen grabbed her hand, but pulled her to him and held her tight. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. “I think this is all I really wanted from the very beginning. A hug.”

  He kissed her on the top of the head. “From now on, when one of us needs a hug, we’re going to just ask for it.”

  “Deal.”

  As she walked him to the door, she felt different. Partly about Owen, but also just in general. Calmer. Maybe her fit had been building up for a while.

  She walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, glanced to her left, and made sure she’d marked through the day.

  Only twenty-nine days to go.

  Brooke was glad when Spencer and Meghan came running into the house early on Saturday morning. She already had the pancake mix ready and the bacon cooked.

  “There are my munchkins.” She gave Meghan a big hug and winked at Spencer as they came into the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Judy is here too.” Meghan reached for a piece of bacon on the table.

  “Oh.” Brooke turned around to see Judy walking into the kitchen.

  “Hope it’s okay. I just followed the kids in. I think they all had a great time.” Judy had gotten a haircut since Brooke had seen her last. Her shoulder-length dark hair had been cropped into a stylish short style that barely covered her ears.

  “Your hair looks great.” Brooke twisted her ponytail for a moment, wondering if she could be so brave.

  “Thanks. I just needed a change.” Judy bit her bottom lip. “Anyway, I just wanted to come in and say hi.”

  Brooke recalled all the times she and Judy had spent together, with their husbands and without. Brooke knew she was the one at fault for shying away from the relationship. “I’m glad you did. Do you want to stay for pancakes?”

  Judy put a hand on her stomach. “No, I better not. I’m on this new diet, and I’m afraid pancakes aren’t on it.” She grinned. “But I’m glad to see you guys are still doing pancake Saturday.”

  Brooke poured batter onto the hot griddle. “Yeah. We try not to miss it.”

  Judy walked closer. “After you get done with the pancakes, can I talk to you? By ourselves.”

  “Sure. It’ll just be a few minutes. Is everything okay? Did something happen with the kids?”

  Judy waved a hand in the air. “No, no, everything is fine.” She pointed to the coffeepot. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just have some coffee and wait.”

  Brooke got each of the kids started on pancakes, then set the griddle aside and motioned for Judy to follow her into the living room. “What is it?”

  Judy barely got out of earshot from the kids when she said, “Spencer was telling us all about your new friend, Mr. Saunders.”

  Brooke pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen from her ponytail. “Yeah, the kids seem to like him. He bought the Hadley place.”

  “So I heard.” Judy grinned. “I also heard he’s gorgeous.”

  Brooke briefly recalled her ridiculous behavior the night before. “He’s nice looking.”

  “So do you think—you know—anything more than friends, maybe?” Judy raised one shoulder and lowered it.

  “No. I’m not ready, Judy. Friends only.”

  Judy frowned. “Are you sure? Positive?”

  “I’m sure.” Clearly I’m as messed up as he is.

  “I didn’t think you were. But I wanted to double check, especially since Spencer told us you’ve all been hanging out together.” Judy bit her bottom lip for a second. “The thing is, Tallie met him the other day at the dry cleaners, and I think—well, I think she gave him her phone number. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t something already going on between you two.”

  Brooke swallowed hard. Tallie Goodry had been divorced for about six months, but Brooke knew she still ran around with Judy, Rick, and the rest of the group. Tallie’s ex-husband, Brian, had moved to Houston. Rumor was that Tallie had wanted the divorce, but Brooke didn’t know for sure.

  “He’s fair game. There’s nothing going on between us.” The minute she said it, though, her stomach flipped.

  “Although . . .” Brooke didn’t want to spread gossip, but something about Tallie and Owen together disturbed her. “He is coming out of a bad marriage, and he made it pretty clear that he isn’t looking to date anyone.”

  Judy rubbed one of Brooke’s arms. “Aw, honey. You’ll find someone.”

  It took Brooke a few moments to catch what Judy was insinuating—that Owen just wasn’t interested in Brooke.

  But maybe that was exactly the case.

  Thirteen

  Owen was on the porch Monday morning when Hunter Lewis walked up wearing blue-jean overalls and carrying a black lunch box.

  “Right on time.” Owen took a sip of his coffee. “I always have coffee made in the mornings. You a coffee drinker?”

  Hunter shook his head, his stringy red hair blowing in the wind.

  “You ever been inside this house?”

  The kid shook his head again. “No, sir.”

  Owen swiped at coffee he’d dribbled on his overalls. “I think you can just call me Owen. No need for the ‘sir.’ Makes me feel old, just like calling me Mr. Saunders.” He moved toward the door and opened it, then pointed past the entryway. “Right through there to the kitchen. You can put your lunch in the fridge.”

  Hunter shuffled in, and Owen followed him to the kitchen. “I want to finish the closet in my bedroom and t
he trim work in the other rooms, then we’ll start in here. It’s going to be a big overhaul.” He looked around the spacious kitchen. Three cabinet doors were missing, and the rest had been painted a peach color at one time, but now just chips of color remained on the bare wood. The gas range worked, so Owen figured he could wait to upgrade it until after the other work was done. He didn’t really cook much anyway. An old white sink was stained a dreary red-brown, despite all the scrubbing he’d done when he first moved in, and the faucet leaked.

  “You can tell that someone redid this kitchen at one time.” Owen pulled on a strip of peach-and-white-striped wallpaper that peeled loose from one of the walls. “I’m guessing it must have been in the sixties or seventies.” He pointed up. “And it must have leaked in here at some point because you can tell where someone patched the ceiling. The leaks upstairs are a much bigger problem, though. Pretty sure I need a new roof, but I’m hoping to wait a little longer on that.”

  Hunter looked up but didn’t say anything. Owen hoped he was going to talk at least a little.

  “You ready to get started?” Owen set his coffee cup in the sink. “I thought you could paint the trim in the living room and then in the dining room. I’m going to work on the closet.” He paused, thinking about all the work he’d put into the painting he’d already done, realizing that Hunter might not be as meticulous about it as he was. “Or I can start you hammering the sides on the closet?”

  “Painting will be okay.” Hunter stuck his hands into his overall pockets and tossed his red hair out of his eyes. The kid needed a haircut badly.

  Owen took a deep breath, and Hunter followed him to the living room, where the paint supplies were laid out on a tarp. “Okay. Let’s get going then.”

  Hunter opened a can of creamy enamel, stirred it carefully, and dipped the paintbrush. Owen lingered and watched him for a minute. The boy leaned close and made slow, straight strokes along the baseboards, some of which Owen had replaced. “Those new ones will probably need an extra coat.”

  Hunter nodded but kept his eyes on the paintbrush and his hand steady. After another minute or so, Owen headed to the bedroom to work on the closet.

  Hunter painted for three hours before he put the paintbrush down. He walked into the bedroom where Owen was hammering and waited until Owen finished pounding a nail in. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  Owen pulled two nails from his mouth. “There’s one right outside this room, plus a little half bath right next to the entryway. Also one upstairs, but it’s kind of a work in progress.” He laid the hammer on the bed. “Let’s take a break. I’ll get us some iced tea. Meet me on the front porch.”

  Hunter nodded, then proceeded down the hall. He couldn’t imagine living in a big, fancy house like this. Even though it needed lots of work—and some furniture—Hunter could tell it was gonna be real pretty someday, the kind of place you’d have a bunch of kids. He thought about Jenny, the girl he’d been talking to online for the past few weeks. She lived in a real small town called Flatonia that wasn’t too far away, and she had a car. They’d been talking about meeting in person soon.

  He walked onto the porch, and Owen handed him a glass of tea. “I checked out your work in there. You’re doing a great job.”

  “Thanks.” Hunter sat down on the porch step and took several gulps of the cold, sweet tea. “You the only one who lives here?”

  Owen sat on the porch swing. He kicked his foot until it started to move. “Yep. Just me.”

  Hunter rolled up the pants of his overalls. They were dragging the ground. “Why’d ya buy such a big house just for you?”

  Owen shrugged. “Long story.”

  Everybody’s got a story.

  Hunter finished his tea, stood up, and was going to go put the glass in the kitchen. He could remember his momma knocking him silly for not putting dirty dishes in the sink. He’d never really understood that, since those same dishes usually stayed in the sink for a long time.

  Owen reached his hand out. “Here, I’ll take it.”

  Hunter handed him the glass, then went back into the cool living room. He could get used to working in air-conditioning.

  “We’ll break for lunch at noon.” Owen waved his hand, then disappeared down the hallway.

  Hunter’s hands were occupied, and his mind was filled with thoughts of Jenny. She didn’t know everything about him the way folks around here did. And last night he’d been proud to tell her online that he’d gotten himself a real good job. Jenny worked at a clothes store for ladies in Houston. The picture of her online was beautiful—long blond hair and big blue eyes. He’d talk to her more, but he had to get Internet from the Johnsons next door, and their signal wasn’t always too good. Hunter was using an old laptop he’d found in his parents’ room. It hadn’t worked when he first found it, but once he’d got it running, he’d realized he could pick up the Johnsons’ signal sometimes.

  It was almost noon when Hunter felt something press up against him. He jumped. Luckily, he didn’t have his brush on the wall when it happened. He looked around to see a big old black cat pressing its head against him. “Where’d you come from?” Hunter reached his hand out, and the cat tipped his head and rubbed against Hunter’s hand. He scratched his ears for a few minutes.

  “Well, I can’t believe it.” Owen walked into the living room and crossed his arms across his chest. Hunter figured he was about to get fired.

  “Sorry.” He pulled his hand away from the cat and hurried to dip his brush in the paint.

  Owen took two steps into the room, and that cat ran past him, nails clawing at the wood floor like he was trying to get out of a burning building, his tail puffed and hair standing on end. Owen jumped out of the way, and Hunter hid a smile.

  “I can’t believe that cat came up to you like that.” Owen sat down at one of the assorted chairs grouped around a little table in the living room. “He runs from me, hides upstairs, and won’t even come near me.”

  “Cats know if a person likes ’em.” Hunter eased the brush along the very bottom of the baseboard, extra careful since Owen was watching.

  “Maybe. I don’t really like cats, but that fellow has been hanging around for a while.”

  “What’s his name?” Hunter dipped his brush and kept his eyes on his work.

  “Cat, I guess.” Owen chuckled.

  Hunter wasn’t sure how to act around this guy. He was treating him like a regular person. “You could call him Scooter.” He paused, pulled the paintbrush from the trim, and shrugged. “I had a cat named Scooter once. I named him that ’cause he was fast, scootin’ all over the place.” Hunter squeezed his eyes closed for a few seconds as he recalled the black-and-brown tabby he’d befriended when he was ten. Dad had shot Scooter in the head one night for getting into the trash can outside and spreading garbage on the sidewalk.

  “Scooter it is, then,” Owen said. “And feel free to take him home if you want. He doesn’t seem to like me too much.”

  “Wish I could.” Hunter didn’t think Grandma would like that. Another mouth to feed. He thought about all the money he’d be making if Owen kept him on for a while. Maybe he would take Scooter home then—or even be able to save enough for a cheap car.

  “Well, I say we break for lunch now. I think I can have the closet done by the end of the day, then tomorrow I can paint it while you keep going on the trim in here.” Owen walked out of the room, motioning for Hunter to follow him to the kitchen.

  Tomorrow. So far, so good.

  Tuesday morning Brooke watched as Meghan lifted the black marker and put a big X on the calendar, then scrawled in “25.” Brooke flipped the switch on the coffeepot to Off and gathered up her purse and keys.

  Once she and the kids got to the store, Meghan went to the back office with Juliet, but Spencer stayed with Brooke at the register, fidgeting. He rubbed his fingers together and paced.

  “What’s up, Spence?” Brooke loaded the register with cash.

  “I was just thinking about
Dad’s stuff at the Treasure Chest.”

  Brooke finished counting the bills, then looked up at her son, who was staring across the street. “And what do you think? Did you think of something you want to keep?”

  “Yeah. The plane.”

  Brooke swallowed hard as she wondered what she was going to do with everything else. “Of course you can have the plane. We’ll go over there again and see what else we want to keep, but eventually we’re going to have to sell at least some of it. Dad would want someone to enjoy those things.”

  “I guess.” Spencer sat down on the extra stool beside Brooke. She’d been teaching him to run the cash register. They both looked toward the door when someone knocked on the glass. They didn’t open until nine, but when Spencer saw that it was Owen, he ran to the door and turned the key that was in the lock.

  Brooke hadn’t seen or talked to Owen since the previous Friday, and she was okay with that. She’d analyzed her conduct since then and decided she’d been due for some bizarre behavior, but she still felt a little embarrassed. Her mother had called again, and Brooke was starting to feel guilty for squashing Mom’s happiness, but she didn’t think she’d ever be able to look at her father. She’d never understand how her mother could remarry him after all these years. Patsy Miller must be the most desperate woman on earth.

  Owen walked toward her, Spencer at his side. He looked rather goofy in overalls and a white T-shirt, but the outfit did nothing to take away from his good looks. She wondered if Tallie Goodry had seen the overalls yet.

  “Hello, Mr. Saunders.” She tipped the rim of her baseball cap. “What can we do for you today?”

  Spencer spoke up before he could answer. “Did you find the hidden bunker yet?”

  “Not yet. You’re not there to help me look.” Owen grinned and rubbed the top of Spencer’s head. Her son didn’t pull away the way he did when Brooke got near him.

  “How about Friday night? We could come over Friday night and look some more?”

  “Spencer!” Brooke stood up from her stool. “You don’t just invite yourself to someone’s house like that.”