by V. K. Powell
“You want to be out of town?”
“Might not be bad for a while, until this blows over. It’s only forty-five minutes away. You’ve got the option of your parents’ place in Asheville.”
“Thought about it, but I’m staying put. Fukum. Why are you looking at apartments instead of another house?” She paused, and the space between her eyes looked like railroad tracks. “Is it money?”
“No. I’ve got enough from the sale of my house to buy a nice place.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure what I want.” The statement was more telling than she intended. It pretty much summed up every aspect of her life right now. She read the ad for the Belews Lake apartment and thought it was worth a look. “Want to ride out there with me?”
“Wish I could, but I’m babysitting my nephew so my brother and sister-in-law can have a free day. What the hell is that anyway? If they wanted free days, they shouldn’t have had a kid.”
“You love the little guy.”
“True, I enjoy getting him juiced on sugar and caffeine and turning him loose on his parents. A return policy is a great thing.”
“Spoken like a sensitive CFS employee. Does your new girlfriend know how you feel about kids?”
“I love kids as long as I can leave them. And yes, fortunately, we agree.”
“Gayle and I never had a conversation about kids, and we were together three years. Aren’t lovers supposed to talk about hopes and fears about the future? Isn’t it a natural part of getting to know each other? Feels like we skipped a few steps.”
“I got the impression Gayle dodged anything emotional. She was just a tough nut to crack, and I can talk to anybody.”
“Yeah, intimacy wasn’t her strong point.” Leigh finished her coffee and stood. “Guess I better get to it then. Thanks for dragging me out of bed and for the coffee. I need to shower, take a bottle of aspirin for this headache, and hit the road if I’m going house hunting. Help yourself to whatever you can find.”
“You mean like empty moving boxes, a sink full of dirty dishes, or a truckload of laundry?”
“Love you too.”
After her shower, Leigh felt almost normal except for a slight pounding in her tequila-soaked brain and a nagging feeling that she should be working. She headed for the door but stopped when she heard a humming sound from the kitchen. “Pam, you still here?”
The room was empty and so was the sink. Pam had stacked the dishwasher and turned the machine on. She glanced toward the laundry area. The subtle wobbling of the washer confirmed her friend had also loaded her dirty clothes and started the cycle. She stood and let the feeling of love and gratitude bolster her sagging emotions. So her life was a little off-kilter, but with friends like Pam she’d make it.
Words for the day: If you don’t step forward, you’ll always be in the same place. This was her stepping forward. She dialed the number listed in the rental ad and waited as it rang and rang and rang. She was about to hang up when someone answered.
“Yes?” The woman’s voice sounded distant and annoyed.
Not a very welcoming greeting for a potential renter, Leigh thought, as she considered what to say. She’d bought her home fresh out of the academy and never rented. How was it done? Did she introduce herself or ask about the place first? How much information should she provide before asking for further details? Before she could decide, the line went dead. She stared at her cell phone in disbelief and redialed.
“Yes.” Same woman, same irritated tone.
“I’m sorry to bother you, again. That was me just now. Couldn’t figure out what to say. My name is Leigh Monroe, and I’m calling about the apartment.”
“Fine.”
“The description in the paper was vague but intriguing. Could you tell me about it?”
“Need to see it.”
Did this woman really want to rent her place? “How much are you asking?”
“Not sure.”
“What can you tell me about the apartment?”
“You need to see it.” Finally a complete sentence, though a little terse. “It’s unique and won’t suit everyone. If you like it, we’ll negotiate price.” As she spoke, Leigh caught the hint of articulation born of education and practice. Something in her tone sounded almost forlorn, as if talking at all was a struggle.
“Can I come out today?”
“I don’t know, can you? You certainly may. My schedule is open.”
She added retired English professor to her list of possible descriptors. “Thank you. What’s the address?” After she obtained directions to Egret Lane at Belews Lake and negotiated an appointment time, Leigh pulled her sporty Mazda out of the garage and headed north.
*
Macy hung up from Leigh Monroe and paced in her small living space, becoming more anxious with each pass. What had possessed her to think she could handle a renter on the property? She’d have to interact with her at some point: collect money, fix things, or make conversation. She reached for the phone to cancel the appointment but didn’t have a number. The income would be helpful, especially if she hoped to pursue her passion. And the woman sounded friendly enough, maybe too much so. She grimaced at the sound of tires on gravel. Too late.
She crept to the window as if the woman could hear her footsteps and peered out. Leigh Monroe unfolded herself from a red compact vehicle and stretched languidly against the side. She looked like a rusty nail, tall and lean with a shock of curly copper hair falling across her forehead. She pulled the tail of a white polo shirt toward the waistband of low-rider blue jeans, shrugged into a leather jacket that reflected her hair color, and strode toward the house with the confidence of an athlete and a swagger Macy associated with cockiness. Flashes of vivid red and rich purple conveyed power and sexuality. The closer the woman got, the more nervous Macy became. If she could trust her first impression, this might get complicated.
Opening the door before the woman could knock, Macy waved her off. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a mistake.” She folded her arms over her chest, determined to stand her ground.
“Something I said?”
Up close, Leigh Monroe would never be mistaken for a rusty nail. Barely perceptible lashes fluttered like a thin veil, revealing and concealing eyes an unusually brilliant shade of green. Her alabaster skin offered a perfect palette for a light dusting of freckles. A close-cut hairstyle did little to tame her natural waves. The angles of her jaw and chin were strong but softened by a quick, genuine smile. She looked as hopeful as a Girl Scout selling cookies when she extended her hand and her perfectly shaped lips moved. Macy realized she was speaking. “Sorry?”
“I’m Leigh Monroe.” Macy was torn between the mental decision she’d already made and the benign woman standing in front of her. “And you are…?”
“Macy. Sheridan.” She glanced at Leigh’s outstretched hand and shook her head.
Leigh looked down and laughed, the kind of laugh that permeated a room and begged you to join in. “Don’t blame you.” She wiped her fingers up and down the sides of her jeans, leaving orange streaks. “Cheetos. Breakfast of champions.”
This was definitely not going to work. Macy liked things neat and tidy. This woman couldn’t even keep her hands clean. “I’ve decided not to rent the place.” When the words hit their mark, something softer replaced the playfulness in Leigh’s eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have I upset you already? Usually takes at least an hour.”
“Not at all.” Was she upset? Was that the right word for the tingling sensation pelting her skin like tiny raindrops? No, she just wasn’t ready to be in close proximity to another person, any person. And she certainly didn’t want to interact with a tenant daily.
“If I have, I’m sorry. I’d love to see the apartment. The setting’s absolutely beautiful. It’s on the water, lots of trees for privacy. You must have at least two lots.”
“Four, actually. My parents are classic overachievers.”
>
Leigh looked toward the lake, and when she spoke again she sounded distant, almost mesmerized. “I can imagine this as a family home. Kids charging off the end of the pier into the lake. Dad grilling hot dogs and hamburgers. Mom setting the picnic table with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth. Must’ve been great growing up here. As the old saying goes, ‘As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.’ This would be the perfect place for me right now.”
Macy hadn’t exercised her one-on-one skills much lately, but she was a student of life and art. She was accustomed to the nuances of body language and verbal tone, the degrees of shadow and light, and the powerful unspoken word. She recognized the telltale signs of pain.
When Leigh turned toward her again, she offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry I bothered you. Have a good day.”
As she walked away, Macy heard herself say, “Maybe you should at least see the place. You drove all the way out here.” The Girl Scout was back, her grin broad and infectious, body seeming to vibrate with excitement. This one would never be able to hide her feelings, which probably caused her a lot of pain. She was like a walking billboard of emotions: reassuring in a world saturated with subterfuge and misdirection, but threatening to Macy’s comfortably stoic existence.
She pulled a key from her coat pocket and walked toward the lake. “The apartment is over the boathouse.” Why hadn’t she just kept quiet? Leigh would be gone. She didn’t want a tenant, but she kept putting one foot in front of the other in that direction.
“On the water?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Sweet. I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“It’s amazing what a little ingenuity, family political clout, and cash can do.” She couldn’t seem to keep from offering tidbits of useless information about her parents, none of which Leigh Monroe needed to know. Maybe she had been alone too long.
When they reached the dock, Macy pulled the stairs down and locked them into place on the floater. “This serves as steps when down and a door when closed, just like in an attic.”
“Jeez, this is huge. It’s a house on stilts.”
“It’s just an A-frame, really—one large room, like a loft. The only light comes through the front windows and sliding door.”
Macy glanced at Leigh as she moved toward the steps, uncomfortable with her closeness. She started to ask her to back up, but Leigh’s look of unfiltered awe as she gazed at the lake stopped her. She’d never seen an adult so captivated by a simple view. Her emerald eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed. Macy stared, drinking in the wonder she didn’t know still existed in the world. How long had it been since she’d looked at anything with that kind of enjoyment and expectation? Not even her art carried that thrill anymore.
She turned back toward the stairs, her legs unsteady as she climbed the first few steps. She was halfway up when a motorboat whipped through the cove pulling a skier in a wetsuit. Waves rocked the floater and it bobbed up and down. Losing her footing, she grabbed for the railing to regain her balance but failed. She seemed to tumble in slow motion until landing unceremoniously in Leigh Monroe’s powerful embrace.
Macy thought for a moment she’d lost consciousness because she wasn’t breathing and was entirely rigid. Then she realized she was lying on the dock on top of Leigh, whose arms were still tightly clasped around her. She struggled but couldn’t break the hold. “Let go. Take your hands off.”
“Okay, okay. Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Leigh released her and sprang to her feet, as if the whole incident hadn’t fazed her.
“I’m fine.” Not exactly true. She was still wobbly, and her skin was too warm for the cool spring temperature. Leigh’s embrace had felt confining but also non-threatening. She didn’t like being touched, especially by strangers. Her body seemed to be saying otherwise.
“That’s what I call sweeping a girl off her feet. Well played.” Her shock must’ve been evident because Leigh said, “I was kidding.”
She backed as far away from Leigh as possible and pointed to the steps. “Look if you want, but hurry. I’m busy.” She wasn’t going to rent the apartment. Decision made, again. She couldn’t even spend ten minutes in a social situation without freaking out. Leigh probably thought she was an emotional basket case.
When Leigh came back down the steps, she kept a careful distance between them, but her eyes flashed like beacons atop her flushed cheeks. “It’s gorgeous. The pale-yellow paint is perfect with your antiques and the bright sofa and side chairs. Could use a few paintings on the walls, but otherwise, it’s real homey. Traditional is my favorite style. The kitchen is small enough that I won’t feel pressured to cook. And the view…well, you know what that’s like. I’d love to rent it…if you’re still willing.”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s not a good idea.” Leigh’s smile vanished, making Macy feel like she’d robbed the day of a bit of sunshine. “I can’t.”
“I feel like I’ve offended you in some way, and if so, I apologize, again.”
“It’s not you. It’s me.” She’d never spoken truer words. Leigh Monroe seemed like a genuinely nice, considerate person who would probably make a relatively unobtrusive tenant. She was the problem.
“Sounds like my last girlfriend, but she wasn’t being totally honest,” Leigh said.
“I just don’t think I can be a landlord right now. I have…issues.”
“I’m a sucker for sappy sayings, and one of my favorites is, if you think you can or you can’t, you’re right.”
“Exactly.”
Leigh started to offer a handshake but pulled back. “Okay, I won’t push. If you change your mind, please call me. I don’t need managing, wouldn’t be intrusive, and I’m also pretty handy—do my own repairs and such. A quiet, private place would be great for a while. I have issues too.” Leigh pulled a small notepad from her inside jacket pocket, scribbled her phone number, and extended it to Macy between two fingers. “Please?”
Leigh’s eye color reminded Macy of the first vivid leaves of spring and the promise of new beginnings. She could create an entire ensemble of pieces from that single shade of green. She knew having a renter was unreasonable and destined to fail, but something inside her softened. Scribbling the rent amount on the note, she handed it back to Leigh. “I don’t have wireless, just an unreliable cable connection, and the cell service is spotty, especially on the dock. I don’t allow kids, pets, or loud parties. Can you live with that?”
Leigh’s smile hijacked her entire face. Her eyes filled with excitement, the corners of her mouth stretched wide, and the freckle bridge across her nose deepened to a golden tan. “Absolutely. I’m not tethered to my electronic devices. And if you want, I can rent month-to-month, in case it doesn’t work out. I want you to be comfortable.”
“Good idea. I assume you’re employed?” Leigh hesitated, and Macy’s antenna vibrated. If she wasn’t, she couldn’t pay the rent and would be home all the time, with more chance they’d have to interact. Not a good combination. Before she could withdraw her wavering offer yet again, Leigh answered.
“I am, and I promise I can pay.”
Leigh pinned her with those eyes and she acquiesced. “Security deposit and first month’s rent.” When had she become a sucker for Little Orphan Annie look-alikes, or any looks for that matter? She based decisions on facts and logic, not an attractive package or a charming line.
Leigh pulled out a roll of bills. “Thank you so much. You won’t regret it. I promise. When can I move in?”
“Whenever you’re ready, but one more thing.”
“You sure do have a lot of rules…but I can adapt. Fire away.”
“I don’t really socialize. I prefer to be left alone.” Leigh’s look of surprise stopped her momentarily. Was it so unusual that she didn’t want to be surrounded by people and their problems? Or had her unsolicited comments about her family indicated she’d be open to more interaction? “You have the number here. It’s an unlisted landl
ine. Share it with your emergency contact, but I won’t be your personal secretary. Sometimes you can get a cell signal at the top of the driveway.”
Leigh gave her a quick salute, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, ma’am. No problem. I know I can be chatty, but I’ll keep my distance. Thank you again. Really.”
A few minutes later Leigh Monroe’s car pulled out of the driveway and Macy stared at a handful of cash, wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter Three
Leigh threw the last pair of jeans from her closet into a packing box and looked around the bedroom for the final time. Gayle hadn’t been surprised when she told her about the move, and she hadn’t offered to help her pack. They weren’t likely to remain friends, if they ever were, and that stung. She’d spent three years trying to be what Gayle wanted. Note to self, You can’t be happy with anyone else unless you’re happy with yourself. She hated to sound like a self-help slogan, but her dad used to say the truth was welcome in heaven.
She carried the box into the living room and stacked it with the others near the door. As long as she kept busy, the roiling emotions that came and went without reason or announcement weren’t so bad. “I will not let this woman control my life one second longer.”
“That’s the spirit.” Her younger sister, Hedy, grabbed another box from the doorway and handed it off to Pam, who shuffled it to Bo, who was packing the truck. “Too many fish.”
“You know, I could’ve gotten these boxes into my trunk and backseat, and you guys wouldn’t have wasted half a day.”
“But we love you and want to help. Besides, we’re gagging to see the new place.”
She loved her baby sister and sometimes even sought her advice on matters of the heart. Hedy had married Bo, a bald, bearded, long-distance truck driver, the polar opposite of her trendy, petite self, fresh out of high school. Fourteen years later they were still together and seemed happy. Where had she gotten that gene? Leigh certainly hadn’t inherited it.
“Speaking of fishes in the sea,” Pam plopped down on the steps and took a gulp from her water bottle, “what about the one you’re renting from? Deets.”