Home Sweet Home

by Sarah Title

  “Grace—”

  “I’m glad this is funny to you, Jake. Let’s see how many crappy situations we can get the Professor in before she blows a gasket! Well, that’s it, Jake. You win. You’re better than me at everything. I won’t call you again.”

  She started to slam the door, but his foot was in the way. “Grace—” he started again, and there was real hurt in his eyes. But she had seen those hurt-looking eyes before. Those eyes were liars.

  “You win, Jake,” and she shoved him back and slammed the door in his face.

  The house was beginning to think it had lost its knack. But after one hundred years of happy couples, that could not possibly be the case. They were so close. Standing in the yard in each other’s arms, Grace and Jake gave off electricity in waves. So the house thought they had worked hard enough, that now was the time for them to really get together.

  Wrong again.

  The house let go of its tight hold on the upstairs window. What was the point?

  Chapter 11

  Grace hadn’t been sleeping well. She wanted to chalk it up to first-week-of-school stress, but that wasn’t it. She’d had three days of classes, and they’d gone fine. Her Intro to British Literature class was full of eager freshman, and Grace felt enthusiastic after her office hours with each of her seminar students. Pembroke was a tough school, and the kids were taking their studies seriously. She knew that wouldn’t last, not for all of them, but she felt optimistic all the same.

  Henry had stopped by her office twice already, talking to her about her house. She finally relented and invited him to stop over on Sunday. She hoped “stop over” meant just come in and hang out and drink whatever she had in the fridge, because she really didn’t feel like cooking for him. And Henry had an eager look about him—she didn’t want to lead him on. God, even in her own head that sounded egotistical. But she hoped he was only interested in her for her house.

  She shouldn’t mind Henry stopping over. He was nice, if a bit uptight, and apparently bow ties were a thing for him. Still, on paper, he was perfect for her. He had an interesting career in a field related to her own, and he was certainly handsome. He looked nice in a bow tie. That wasn’t really a prerequisite for a relationship with her, but it was nice to know. He didn’t make her act like an idiot and blurt out stupid things like “muscles,” so that was good.

  If she wanted a relationship—which she didn’t—Henry would be a good candidate. He was solid, smart, and decent. A girl could do worse, if she wanted to do anything at all.

  But Henry Beckham hardly inspired her to break her no-relationship rule.

  The problem was, quite simply, Jake. She hadn’t seen him since he’d pulled her from the roof, not even to apologize. But she couldn’t seem to muster up any real anger toward him. Her house was finicky; she knew that. Her front door stuck all the time. She would think she had the trick mastered, then it would stick again in another strange way. So even though Jake was obviously stronger than she (muscles, she thought), it was possible that he was telling the truth, that he hadn’t played a trick on her to get her to climb off the roof even though it was terrifying and embarrassing.

  She couldn’t get him out of her head. Right before she left for her first-ever class at Pembroke on Wednesday, her Jane Austen portrait fell in the foyer, shattering glass everywhere. The picture hook just fell right out of the wall—there was a hole in the plaster and everything. If random stuff like that hadn’t been happening all week, she’d think it was a sign. But the floorboard was still sticking up and now the window in her office wouldn’t close at all. Her kitchen curtains kept going wonky and she was pretty sure something was happening with the throw pillows on her couch, although that was probably Mr. Bingley.

  And every time something fell or broke or detached, her first thought was of Jake. Jake would know how to fix this. She should call Jake, he’d come right over. And he might have, if she’d called him. But Jake was too much for her. He made her feel . . . uncertain. One minute he’d be friendly and kind, the next he’d be storming out the door because he thought she called him stupid. And even though he probably wasn’t screwing with her up on the roof, just the fact that he could have made her want to keep her distance. She was relying far too much on Jake. And what was she getting out of it? One hot kiss and a bruised ego.

  She would not think of Jake any more.

  It didn’t help that everyone seemed to think she and Jake were a thing now. She’d run into her neighbor, Mrs. Wallace, yesterday afternoon when she was walking her wiener beagle, Lucy.

  “I hear you’re seeing that Jake Burdette,” Mrs. Wallace had said as Lucy sniffed the fence.

  “Really?” Grace had been bemused—where would Mrs. Wallace have gotten that from?

  “Gail Plimpton said she saw you two embracing in the yard.”

  “Oh, well . . .”

  “Now, I know how you young people are. It’s none of my business. But I will warn you . . .” She leaned over the fence to Grace. “I’ve known Jake for a long time and he’s nothing but trouble. Oh, you should have seen what he got into when he was in high school! Quite a rascal. And quite a heartbreaker. You seem like a nice young lady, and you’re smart, too. Take my advice and stay away from Jake Burdette.”

  Then Lucy turned and peed on Mrs. Wallace’s shoes.

  When Grace went out to lunch with Helen on Thursday (a work meeting, to discuss bibliographic instruction for Grace’s freshmen), Helen grilled Grace on Jake. But Grace couldn’t answer any of her questions, even if she wanted to. (Well, she could answer the question about his chest hair—yes, he had it and yes, it was perfect—but she didn’t. A lady doesn’t ogle and tell.) Unlike Mrs. Wallace, Helen encouraged Grace to go for it.

  “Oh, I know he’s trouble,” Helen said, mid-cheesecake. “I’m just saying that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  But now Grace was tired and grumpy. She was grumpy at herself for thinking so much about Jake, and she was grumpy at the entire population of Willow Springs, who had put her in a relationship with a man she didn’t even like. But it was Saturday, and she had nothing pressing to do. She could continue to laze about, maybe work on her garden, read a little more, and not think about Jake.

  Ugh, even not thinking about him was a form of thinking about him. She needed to get out of the house.

  She was just swinging her legs out of bed when her phone rang. She checked the caller ID—just to make sure it wasn’t Jake because she didn’t want to talk to him unless he was willing to apologize. And now I am lying to myself, she thought. But it wasn’t Jake, so she answered.

  “Hey, Mary Beth.”

  “Hi, Grace!” She sounded very chipper. “What are you doing today? Nothing? Good! We’re going to the swimming hole!”

  Grace tried to catch up to Mary Beth’s monologue, which was tough on half a cup of coffee. “I have no fixed plans, but I was going to—a swimming hole?” That sounded weird. Like a lake, but terrible.

  “Oh, good, I was hoping you’d never been to one! They’re so much fun. This one is next to a biker church, but they only use it for baptisms on Sunday, and they don’t mind if we use it on Saturdays as long as we clean up after ourselves. And no drinking; they’re Baptist. You have a swimsuit, right? Otherwise you can borrow one of mine. I’m so excited!”

  “I can tell.”

  “We barely got to the swimming hole all summer. Either Todd was on duty or I had a showing or it was raining or, you know, a million excuses. This is our last chance. It gets cold early in the mountains and, trust me, a swimming hole is no fun when your lips are turning blue.”

  Grace thought about it. She loved swimming, and she would love the chance to redeem herself among Mary Beth’s friends. She’d run into Missy a few times, and Grace felt comfortable with her now, but she knew she had a long way to go before the rest of them stopped seeing her as a stuck-up professor.

  Including Jake. Then Grace thought about swimsuits and wet bodies and that just seemed li
ke a terrible idea if she was trying to forget about Jake.

  “I don’t know—” she told Mary Beth, stalling until she could come up with a good excuse.

  “Please? You have to come. Jake’s already backed out, and I want as many people as possible there. The last swimming hole trip of the summer! Do you hear me?”

  “Yes! Yes, I hear you. What do you mean, Jake backed out?”

  “He says he has work.”

  “And it’s about time, the bum!” Grace heard Todd shout in the background. He must have been sitting right next to her.

  “But it’s the last swimming-hole trip—” Mary Beth whined to Todd.

  “Babe, I don’t think Jake really cares. Do you care, Jake?”

  “I don’t care,” Grace heard, even more muffled. She flushed suddenly, as if Jake being in the same room as Mary Beth on the other end of the line meant he could read all of the dirty things she was trying not to think about him.

  Mary Beth sighed into the phone. “Fine. So it’s just me and Todd. And probably Kyle and Missy and maybe my cousins and a bunch of other people. But no Jake. Will you come?”

  Grace hesitated. She loved swimming. And no Jake. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go.”

  “I take it from your happy squeal that Grace is coming with us?” Todd asked his wife across the breakfast table.

  “Yes. Unlike some people—” she waved her fork at Jake, “she’s not a party pooper.”

  “Babe, he’s got a lead on a house. That’s not party-pooping.”

  “But I wouldn’t go anyway,” said Jake. “I would still poop on that party.”

  “You’re gross. Why? You love the swimming hole.”

  “I just don’t want to go, okay?”

  “Because of Grace?” asked Todd.

  Jake rolled his eyes. “No, not because of Grace.” Even though it was completely because of Grace. “I wouldn’t let one snotty professor ruin my weekend.”

  “You really are determined not to like this girl,” Mary Beth said, wrinkling her nose at him. “I don’t get it. Do you have some kind of vendetta against her profession? Was your heart broken by an academic? Did a professor somehow wrong our family and I missed it?”

  “No, don’t be stupid,” Jake said.

  “Don’t call my wife stupid,” Todd said back to him.

  “Well, she’s being . . . less than smart. And naïve, if you think someone like Grace could really be interested in friendship with someone like you,” Jake said to Mary Beth, who crossed her arms at him.

  “Right,” Mary Beth said. “Because successful women have nothing in common.”

  “That’s not what I mean . . .”

  “Grace is nice, Jake. I know, I know—” Mary Beth held up a hand to stop Jake’s comments. “I know she was weird at the barbecue. But she gets nervous around new people.”

  “She wasn’t nervous at the professor party.”

  “And you were watching her from the kitchen like a weirdo, which, I hope, is not typical behavior for you either.”

  “That’s a convenient explanation, MB, but I’m not buying it. Pembroke people just don’t belong with Willow Springs people.”

  “You make it sound like we’re the Jets and the Sharks,” said Mary Beth, throwing up her hands.

  “If you were from Pembroke, you would have said the Montagues and Capulets,” teased Todd. “Jake, you’re wrong about ‘Pembroke people.’ Sure, there are some weirdos, and, yes, there are some snobs, but there’s no reason to universally dismiss them.”

  “Like they don’t universally dismiss us?”

  “You like Helen well enough,” said Todd, getting up to refill his coffee. He brought the pot over and filled Mary Beth’s. Then the pot was empty, so he just shrugged at Jake.

  “Helen is a librarian. She’s not a professor.”

  “Ha,” said Mary Beth. “Don’t say that to her face. She is a professor, she has tenure and everything.”

  “Fine, then Helen is the exception.”

  “Why can’t Grace be an exception, too?”

  “Why are you so up my butt about Grace?” Jake stood up from the table and slammed his dishes into the sink. “What possible effect could it have on you whether I like her or not?”

  “Because she’s my friend, Jake, and I don’t want you turning all scowly every time I mention her name. And because I don’t want you missing out on things you love just so you can avoid her.”

  He turned to face his sister. “I’m not. I swear. It’s a good time for me to start a new project, so I’m going to check out this house. But if that were not the case, I would go to the swimming hole, even if there were ten thousand Graces there.”

  Mary Beth eyed him skeptically for a minute, then nodded. “Fine. I believe you. And I’ll remember that comment and bring it up many times in the future if I have to.”

  “You have my permission. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go see a man about a house.”

  “That boy’s got it bad,” he heard Todd say as he turned out of the kitchen. Then he heard Mary Beth shush him. Jake went out the door and didn’t hear anything else about Grace.

  Chapter 12

  “Let’s go, Professor!” Kyle stood on the beach, if one could call the stones and dirt that led into the swimming hole a beach, and yelled up at Grace.

  She gave him a weak thumbs-up and peered over the side of the rock again. It wasn’t so high. Maybe eight feet. Probably ten. Certainly it was no higher than her porch roof.

  Which she was also afraid of.

  How had she allowed herself to be convinced to climb to the top of the rock with the goal of hurling herself off into the deceptively deep waters of a swimming hole?

  It was all Jake’s fault.

  When Todd had pulled off the road, Grace thought it must be some kind of joke. There was no lake; there wasn’t even a river. But he and Mary Beth got out, each grabbed a handle of the cooler, and started walking. Grace had no choice but to swing her beach bag over her shoulder and follow.

  As she climbed up a gravel road and down a grassy bank, Grace was glad she’d listened when MB told her to wear old shoes. Every step deeper into the woods lowered her expectations of what a swimming hole was. By the time they could hear the shouts of the other swimmers, Grace was expecting a knee-deep puddle. But when they finally got to the beach, Grace had to catch her breath—and not just because that grassy bank was a killer.

  The swimming hole was lovely.

  The swimming area itself was maybe thirty feet across, although most of the water butted right against the woods. There was a nominally flat, rocky area where everyone was gathered, and it looked like someone was just getting the fire pit started. Across from the beach was an imposing rock face, flat on one section, almost stepped on either side. A slow stream of water ran down one of the stepped sides and fed into the swimming hole. Right above the dry, stepped side sat a small, white, clapboard building—the biker church, she guessed. There was a path worn in the grass and brush that snaked down from the back of the church to the beach.

  With the sunlight streaming through the trees, the water looked like a jewel, like a rough-cut black diamond surrounded by emeralds.

  She helped Mary Beth lug the cooler down the rocky beach to where the rest of the coolers sat. Kyle, it turned out, had driven his four-wheeler in, and he was busy hanging beach towels between the trees.

  “Kyle, if you think any of us are changing behind those things, you’re crazy,” Missy called out from the front seat of the four-wheeler. She seemed to be wrangling something underneath her shirt, and a few seconds later, her bra came flying out and hit Kyle in the face.

  “Babe, I told you to change before we left,” Kyle said, and put the bra around his neck. “Chief! You made it!”

  “Kyle. I see you’ve assigned a designated driver,” Todd said, nodding to the beer in Kyle’s hand.

  Kyle smiled sheepishly and took the cooler from Grace and Mary Beth. “And your lovely wife, and the Professor.” />
  “Grace,” Grace reminded him.

  “I know who you are, darlin’,” and he brushed past.

  “Hey, Professor!” Missy called as she climbed out of the four-wheeler. She shimmied a little, then threw off her cover-up to reveal a cute bandana-print bikini.

  Grace pulled at the fabric of her bathing suit that clung to her stomach. She suddenly felt Amish. “Grace,” she reminded Missy.

  “I know, but it annoys Kyle and Jake when I call you that.” Then she looked genuinely concerned. “Is that okay?”

  “Uh, sure. Why does it annoy them?”

  “I don’t know. They think it’s their secret nickname for you. Real original, right?”

  They had a secret nickname for her? Did that mean they were making fun of her? She looked over to where Kyle was piling kindling next to the fire pit. What had she ever done to him?

  Missy put a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about it. They don’t mean anything by it. They’re just being stupid.”

  “Okay,” said Grace, not at all okay.

  “Kyle, come over here and apologize!” Missy shouted.

  “No, it’s fine, don’t—” Grace tried to stop her.

  “For what?” Kyle shouted back.

  “For being a jerk!” Missy called.

  “Sorry for being a jerk!” Kyle called back.

  Missy shrugged. “That’s about all you’re going to get, I’m afraid. But, really, it’s nothing personal. Seriously. If you were, like, an insurance salesman, they wouldn’t care.”

  “But because I’m a professor, they hate me?”

  “They don’t hate you, they just think you think you’re smarter than they are. And with Kyle, you probably are.”

  Grace looked up at the treetops. Why was she even here?