Secrets Told

by Allie Everhart

  "Not really. We have some bars downtown. And there's a state park close to here if you like to hike. That's about it."

  "Drinking and hiking?" He smiles. "That's all there is to do?"

  "Pretty much."

  "I passed a bowling alley on my way into town. And I think I saw a golf course."

  I shrug. "Well, there you go. There's all kinds of things to do. So why are you moving here?"

  "I'm not moving here, at least not for good. I'm just here for a few months. I'm fixing up the house next door. It might get kind of noisy at times with the equipment, but I'll do my best to keep it down."

  "And you're going to live in it while you work on it?"

  "That's the plan," he says, leaning back on the couch.

  I can't imagine anyone living in that thing. It's a dilapidated house with peeling paint and missing shingles. Why would anyone try to fix it up? It should be condemned.

  "What are you doing to it?" I ask.

  "Renovating it," he says confidently. "Top to bottom. The inside, outside. It's going to look great when it's done."

  He's delusional. There's no way that house can be salvaged. It's really old, and Mr. Freeson lived there forever and never did any maintenance on it. The support beams are probably rotted out or eaten by termites. I'm surprised the house hasn't collapsed by now.

  My house is just as old, but my stepdad was diligent about maintenance. He was always fixing stuff. Since the accident, I've done my best to take care of everything, but it's hard when it's just me. It's a small house on a small lot but it's still a lot to keep up, especially when you're only 21 years old and know almost nothing about home maintenance.

  "I can't wait to get started." Nash nods toward the house. "As you can tell it needs a lot of work."

  "Did someone hire you to do it?"

  "No. I own it."

  My brows rise. "You actually paid money for that?"

  He laughs. A deep, easy laugh. "Come on. It's not that bad."

  "It looks like it's falling apart."

  "The structure's fine. It's just been neglected. I'll get it back to how it used to be."

  "I think you're crazy." I blurt it out, then cover my mouth. "I'm sorry. That was rude."

  He smiles. "Don't worry about it. Most people would agree with you. The house does look pretty bad. But I have a way of seeing things that other people can't. To me, it's not a crumbling old house. It's a house waiting to be saved. Waiting for someone to step in and take care of it. Breathe some life into it again." He reaches in his back pocket and takes out his wallet. He pulls out a business card and hands it to me. "That's what I do. Home renovation and construction, although we're starting to expand beyond just residential properties."

  The card reads, Wheeler Construction and Renovation. Your Best Choice for Building and Remodeling.

  "You own a company?"

  "Sort of. My dad owns it and my brothers and I work for him, but when he retires, we'll take it over. Oh, and to answer your earlier question, I didn't buy the house. I inherited it."

  "You're related to Mr. Freeson?"

  "I'm his grandson."

  "I didn't know he had any family. He never had any visitors."

  "I didn't know he was my grandfather until after he died. He was my mom's father but I never knew him because I never knew my mom. She took off right after I was born and I haven't heard from her since. Anyway, one day I got a call from a lawyer telling me I owned this house. My grandfather also left behind some money so I'm using that to pay for the renovations."

  "He only left it to you and not your brothers?"

  "My brothers aren't related to him. They're half brothers. After my mom took off, my dad got married and had three more boys."

  "So how long will you be here?"

  "Just long enough to fix up the house. I'm hoping to finish up by September."

  "And then what?"

  "I'll put it on the market. Try to sell it." He pauses. "Well, I should let you get back to whatever you were doing. You gonna be okay?"

  He smiles again. That same wide smile he gave me earlier that causes creases to form around his eyes. He has beautiful eyes. I wish I had blue eyes like that. Instead I got boring brown to match my boring brown hair.

  "Callie?" I hear his voice and realize I'm staring at him, not saying anything.

  "Yeah." I pretend to swat a fly away, hoping maybe he'll think I was staring at a fly and not him. "I'm fine."

  "You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you?" He holds my chin as his eyes dart all around my face, looking for signs of injury. I must've really seemed out of it just now if he thinks I have a head injury.

  I back away. "I didn't hit my head. I'm fine. I just felt a little dizzy for a moment. It's hot and I didn't drink enough water this morning."

  "I'll get you some."

  Before I can tell him no, he takes off for my kitchen. I hear glasses clinking, then the sink running. I just met this guy and he walks around like he owns the place. And yet, it feels kind of nice to have someone here. To not be alone. I'm always alone in this house. I hate being alone.

  "Here." He hands me the glass and sits next to me. "I'll stay a few minutes. Make sure you're okay."

  "Just go. You don't have to stay."

  "Maybe I want to." He looks around. "It's a hell of a lot better than my place."

  "I guess that's true." I take a sip of water.

  "How's the knee feel?"

  "Better. I'll keep it elevated until I leave for work. It'll be fine."

  "Where do you work?"

  "At the bakery downtown. It's also a coffee shop."

  "What's it called?"

  "Lou's."

  "That's it? Just Lou's?"

  "Yeah. He's not very creative with names but he's a good baker. People even come from other towns just to buy his stuff."

  "Are you a waitress there?"

  "No. I work in the kitchen."

  "Sounds like a decent summer job."

  It's not a summer job. It's a year round job that I've had for the past ten months. Lou knew my family and felt bad when they died so offered me a job. He wanted a full-time person but since I wasn't doing so well when he hired me, he only made me work five hours a day, which includes my half-hour lunch break. And I still work those same hours. Just five hours a day, five days a week.

  "I'll have to stop by sometime. I have a weakness for pastries, especially donuts. And I like those flaky things with the fruit center. I don't know what they're called."

  "Danishes. We make all kinds. Blueberry, raspberry, lemon. They usually sell out by ten."

  "Then I'll have to get there early. What time do they open?"

  "Six. And we close at two. It's a breakfast and lunch place."

  "It's already nine. So when do you work?"

  "Ten to three. From two to three I help him close and clean up."

  Why am I telling him all this? Probably because I'm so desperate to talk to someone. I'm always here by myself, and when I'm at work I stay in the kitchen, so don't talk much there either.

  His cell phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket and answers it. "Yeah?...Okay...Can I call you back in a minute?" He hangs up.

  "You should go," I say.

  "Yeah, I've gotta see what kind of mess I've got going on over there."

  "You've never been in the house?"

  "Just once, right after I found out it was mine. But I didn't stay long so I didn't get a good look at it." He smiles. "It was nice meeting you. Sorry again for the truck. I'd like to say it won't happen again but unfortunately it will."

  "At least I'll know what that sound is now."

  He walks to the door. "If you need anything, my number's on that card I gave you. Call me anytime."

  "Okay. Bye," I say, but he's already gone.

  Nash. That's a weird name. He's kind of a weird guy. Inviting himself into my house. Walking around like he owns the place. Fixing my knee after just meeting me. That's weird.

&nbs
p; What am I saying? I'm the weird one. Crazy is more like it. Sometimes I can barely get through the day without falling apart. It's been this way for three hundred and eighty-five days and I'm starting to think it'll never get better. That I'll be this way forever.

  ***

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