The next morning at ten, the FedEx truck arrived, and rather than stopping in front of the Vandermeides’ for their near-daily Amazon shipment, it rolled up to our door.
Celia paused from her work at the sink, dried her hands on the nearest dish towel, and peered out the window as the deliveryman hauled a large, flat rectangular box from the truck.
“Did you order something?” Celia asked from the window.
I shook my head, choosing not to leave my perch in the makeshift living room’s one chair, where I’d been perusing a plant catalog.
A knock soon sounded at the door, and Celia persuaded the deliveryman to set the awkwardly shaped package just inside.
“What is it?” I asked, finally succumbing to curiosity. Catalog set aside, I rose to inspect the delivery label.
“It’s…it’s from Teddy,” Celia said, her face pale.
Margot’s face appeared over the loft railing. “Teddy? Teddy sent something?” She raced down the stairs, arms flailing. “What is it?”
“I have no idea,” I called back, “But it’s in a very large, very ungainly box.” I tested the weight of the box. “And for the cost of shipping, he might as well have flown out himself, first-class.”
Celia didn’t reply, only reached for the box cutter and began to slice through the packing tape that held the ends together. Within minutes, she’d dismantled the box and cut carefully around the layers of foam and bubble wrap.
We stared at the contents in a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Our windows. The windows I thought of when I couldn’t sleep, the ones that had once been in our tea shop in San Francisco. I ran my finger over the familiar wood casing, tears coming to my eyes. I felt like I’d just been unexpectedly reunited with an old friend.
The white of an envelope caught my eye. I plucked it from its perch, taped to one of the window panes. “ ‘Dear Celia, Jane, and Margot,’ ” I read, my gaze flickering up to Celia and back down to the handwritten text. “ ‘Phoebe is elbow deep in modernizations of the row house you rented from Atticus. These windows were removed last week to make way for energy-efficient ones. As they were about to be discarded, I thought the three of you might want them for your own purposes. If not, feel free to discard them yourselves.’ ” I looked up at Celia in disbelief. “Discard these windows, with that glass? As if! I suppose no one told Phoebe they’d probably be worth something, else she would have sold them to the highest bidder.”
Celia’s mouth gave a grim twist. “No doubt.”
I returned to the letter. “ ‘While I’m sure you’ll have windows of your own in your new tea salon, I thought these might serve a decorative purpose.’ ” I leveled a gaze at my sister. “Just how much HGTV did the two of you watch together?”
“Enough editorializing.” Celia plucked the letter from my hands.
I crossed my arms. “I’m glad he sent the windows, but I shudder to think what else Phoebe is throwing away. If she gets rid of that molding, so help me…”
“ ‘I suspect,’ ” Celia read, “ ‘that given the opportunity, Jane would happily take ownership of every discarded scrap.’ ”
Margot snorted. “He’s right, you know.”
I shrugged, unable to argue. I would have made a mobile from the doorknobs, given the materials and opportunity.
“ ‘Rest assured,’ ” Celia read on, “ ‘the molding and flooring have stayed and have been restored to a pleasant sheen.’ ”
“That’s something, at least,” I said, irked that Teddy should know me so well. “Well? What else? Did he say anything to you?”
“The letter is addressed to the three of us,” Celia replied. “The rest is a note about how he hopes the glass survived the trip and he hopes we’re all well.”
I ran a fingertip down one wavy pane. “We could hang them, you know. Use them as space-dividers? We’d have to have the right mounting, so they wouldn’t fall, but it might be interesting.”
I tried to picture them inside the first location we’d visited that morning. They took the edge off, a bit, though that flooring…
One step at a time.
I rested a hand at the top of the wooden frame. “It was very nice of him to send them.”
“Yes,” Celia agreed. “It was.”
“I wish he’d brought them himself,” Margot said. “I’ve gotten better at poker. I could probably beat him at least once.”
I turned to Margot. “Where did you learn poker?”
“Nina taught me. I can do Texas Hold’em too.”
I shook my head and turned back to Celia. “How did he know where to have them shipped?”
“We’ve exchanged a few texts. E-mails.”
“You’ve exchanged texts,” I repeated dumbly. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Shouldn’t have been. But considering she’d never mentioned such a thing, it wasn’t a response I’d been prepared for.
“Well,” I said, after clearing my throat, “it was very thoughtful of him to have them shipped to us.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “We probably don’t want to leave them here. Why don’t I go to the main house and see if Callum might help us move them to the back?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Good idea.”
Clearly, the subject of Teddy had come to a close.
Callum arrived a few minutes later, his back straight and his gait purposeful; I could tell by his stride that he appreciated being called upon to help.
Within minutes, we’d moved each heavy window panel out of the entryway. Rather than stack them in the back as planned, Celia decided to leave two in the living room and placed two upstairs, leaning against the walls. The glass reflected extra light; the shine lifted my spirit as well as Celia’s, while the chance to labor for a cause visibly brightened Callum’s stoic demeanor.
I offered him a cup of iced tea once we’d finished moving furniture.
“I’m having a barbecue at my dad’s—at my place,” he said, while I poured the tea into a tall glass. “I’m inviting everyone I know here in Austin to come. The Vandermeides, you and Celia—Sean too, if he’d like to come.”
“That’s the house you inherited, right?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’ve been with Ian because it needed repairs.”
“And Ian insisted,” I guessed.
A soft chuckle. “That too. At any rate, the house is ready and I’ll be moving.”
“Oh.” The news settled uncomfortably in my head. “Really?”
“It’s sitting empty. I can’t stay at Ian’s forever.”
“Of course,” I said. “Where is it?”
“It’s in Hyde Park.”
“Oh…” My eyes widened. “Is it older, then?”
“It is. But it’s been renovated a couple times.”
“And it’s nice?”
Callum smiled. “It’s spacious. Big kitchen, big yard, big sunroom—big pool.”
At the mention of a pool, my shoulders unknotted. He’d have a pool. He’d be able to swim. “That’s good.” I nodded. “The kitchen. The pool.”
“And if my therapist has her way, I’ll have a dog.”
“Really?”
He gave a wry shrug. “I guess.”
I laughed at his response. “How do you feel about dogs?’
“I guess I’ll find out.” He took a long drink of the tea. “This is good. So that’s two kinds of teas you’ve given me that I’ve liked. How many does it take until I can call myself a tea drinker?”
I couldn’t hold back a smile. “That’s entirely up to you. I can bring some to your barbecue, if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said, his face easing into a smile.
He had a good smile, the kind that transformed a face.
“My pleasure,” I said, and I meant it.
20
I didn’t drive eleven hours across the state of Texas to watch my cholesterol.
—ROBB WALSH
Callum
On Tuesday,
I agreed to meet Dash, the Great Dane. The three-legged Great Dane, to be precise.
His foster caretakers arranged to meet me at Ramsey Park, at the picnic tables near Burnet Road. I’d come prepared with treats, having stopped at the Tomlinson’s off Lamar on my way from Ian’s. The employees had advised me on my purchase, a bag of dried lamb lung pieces. I thought it sounded ghoulish, but both employees assured me that lamb lungs were a totally normal, highly desirable dog snack.
I handed them my credit card, then continued north on Lamar. It was only a meeting, I rationalized as I drove. Maybe I wouldn’t like the dog; maybe the dog wouldn’t like me. After all, I hadn’t had a dog since I was a kid. It was a mutt that idolized my brother Cameron, despite the fact that Cameron could seldom be bothered to give it the time of day.
Maybe I didn’t have good dog energy, and dogs could sense it.
Despite the time it had taken to select the treats, I arrived early. I parallel parked along Burnet, climbed from my car, and waited.
Waited long enough to feel conspicuous, a lone man sitting at a park picnic table with a bag of dog treats. The weather had spiked to seventy-four degrees, and I’d found that as a civilian I liked the freedom of shorts and webbed sandals whenever the weather permitted. Here in Austin, that had translated into most of the time. As a side effect, though, my titanium prosthesis remained visible.
When the caretakers arrived, we recognized each other immediately; after all, how many people would be bringing a three-legged Great Dane to an amputee at the park on Tuesday afternoon?
Dash ambled next to them. Ambling was the best word to describe his stride, which was smoother than I’d expected. There was a bit of a hop in the back—he was missing his right hind leg, but it was followed by steps so relaxed that it simply became a gait that wasn’t awkward as much as idiosyncratic.
I shook hands with the humans and bent down to greet Dash—though not far, because his head came to the base of my rib cage.
We all sat down at the picnic tables while the caretakers explained Dash’s routine, diet, and habits.
Dash waited patiently, but after a few minutes he rose, positioned himself to my left, and sat down again. And after yet another moment, he rested his chin on my knee.
His caretakers watched, mouths agape.
“He spends so much time on duty,” one said, “he doesn’t usually approach people. He’s not wearing his vest. He knows he’s off duty, but still…”
I looked down and then reached with a cautious hand to stroke his neck.
Dash gave a great, contented sigh.
I patted his neck. “I suppose that’s it then.”
The day of the barbecue, I woke up feeling…happy? Was it happiness? The feeling seemed too manic around the edges for true happiness, but then, I reasoned, I hadn’t felt happiness for so long that it was likely I might not recognize it when it happened.
I rolled over and spied Dash on the floor, sprawled across the gargantuan dog bed his previous handler had sent with him. It looked like an overstuffed twin mattress, and I wondered—not for the first time—if such a thing existed for humans.
Dash heard my movements and tipped his head to look up at me.
I smiled at him; he yawned and clambered to his feet, only to give a great stretch that started at his front toes and ended at the tip of his tail.
Stretch completed, he blinked at me, waiting for his first request. His caretakers explained to me that while he was retired as a service dog, he’d spent his life thriving on being useful. Without tasks, they said, he’d grow listless and anxious.
They shared ideas of things I could ask him to do for me. I’d protested, saying that I didn’t need those things, but they waved their hands. It wasn’t about what I needed; it was about what Dash needed. He thrived on service, and the accident hadn’t taken that out of him.
“Okay, buddy. Pants,” I said.
Dash’s ears perked, and he trotted to the shelf inside the walk-in closet, where a folded pair of sweatpants waited.
His jaws spread wide, but he took the pants with the gentlest of bites, carrying them to me with his tail held high. I held out my hands, and he placed the fleecy pants onto them before dropping into a sit.
Waiting. There was no help for it.
“Slippers,” I said with a sigh.
Dash bounced over to where I’d left my slippers. He brought them to me one by one, and sat contentedly while I slid my right foot into one. He sat, fascinated, while I attached my prosthesis. To make him happy, I fitted the slipper over my prosthetic foot.
I rubbed his neck. “Good boy. Let’s find some breakfast.”
We walked downstairs together, his toes clicking on the hardwood floors. I made a mental note to look for some rugs, something that would give Dash some traction.
I measured out the kibble for Dash and placed it into his food stand; among other things, I’d learned that Great Danes often needed to have their food and water elevated. Once Dash was taken care of, I used my dad’s coffeemaker to make a very large pot of coffee.
A little after midnight, I’d started the brisket. While I’d spent more time away from the smoker than Roy would have preferred—taking a few hours at a time to sleep—I’d watched the fire and temperature carefully. In another few hours, it would be done in time for the barbecue.
I prepped the coleslaw, giving it a chance to chill. For dessert, I had fresh peaches that could go onto the grill and be served with ice cream.
Roy and Betsy arrived first, each carrying bags of food: corn bread, baked beans, and cheese fritters.
“That is a big dog you got there,” Roy said, eying a seated Dash. Even seated, Dash was undeniably tall.
In the kitchen, Roy examined the brisket. He poked at it with his index finger before tearing off a corner. He chewed, swallowed, and nodded. “Not bad.”
“No?”
“Could be more tender. Did you watch it all night?”
“Dash was tired. Had to get him inside, and he gets lonely.”
Roy’s eye glinted. “I see.” He clapped me on the back. “Not bad. You’ll have to lose more sleep if you want it to be better, but I don’t imagine this crowd will complain too much.”
Betsy swatted her husband’s shoulder. “Roy. Be nice.”
“Perfection requires more than nice,” Roy said.
“I know, dear. You’ve said so many times.”
“Thanks for bringing the sides,” I told them both. “Everything looks great.”
He waved a hand. “The corn bread’s mine, but the baked beans and cheese fritters were all Betsy. She wanted to make sure there was enough food.”
“Roy!” Betsy swatted him again, rolling her eyes. “I can’t take him anywhere; he’s telling all my secrets.”
“I’ll order out if we run low,” I said with a chuckle. “But I’m not worried.”
Ian arrived at noon with Mariah, Nina, and the kids in tow. The kids ran straight to Dash, who sat and waited patiently while they reached up for his ears and stroked his back.
“My!” exclaimed Nina as she took in the house. “This is lovely! And such a nice day out—are we eating alfresco?”
“We are,” I said. “There are tables, chairs, and loungers on the back porch.”
Celia arrived with Margot and Lyndsay; ten minutes later, Sean’s white truck pulled up and Jane jumped out of the passenger side. She opened the cab door; Sean arrived just in time to open it the rest of the way, reach in, and retrieve the jugs of tea she’d brought along. Jane looked mildly annoyed that he’d intervened but didn’t stay peeved long. Instead, she reached into the truck again and pulled out a small box.
Sean nodded as he approached. “Hey, man,” he said, and I had to bite back a sarcastic response. “Nice place you got here.”
“Thanks,” I said, following his gaze and taking in the house. In a neighborhood that looked like rows of dollhouses, the house I’d inherited from my dad dominated the block. He’d had ostentatious tas
te, and I’d inherited the results. But it wasn’t bad looking—I had to hand him that. With its double-decker wraparound porch, the upper one screened in, it was a good-looking place. And with the ceiling fans throughout, also functional.
I smiled at Jane as she came near, though I could feel my smile fade when I got a closer look.
Her lips were fuller than usual, her cheeks rosy.
She looked like she’d been thoroughly kissed. The realization hit hard. My thoughts raced toward the idea that she could look like that if I kissed her, that her eyes might shine at me the way they shone at him.
But. But she wasn’t mine. She wouldn’t be. I blinked and pasted a polite smile on my face. “Thanks for coming,” I told her. “And thanks for bringing the tea.”
“You’re welcome,” she answered, and her face flushed lightly. “I brought a Texas sheet cake too. Texas sheet cake squares.”
“Worried I’d run out of food?”
She laughed. “No. I just made them as an experiment. Trying to fit in with the natives…you know.”
I looked down at it. “Jane?”
“Yes?”
“Did you put tea in it?”
She tucked her lower lip beneath her teeth. “Would you believe me if I told you there isn’t?”
“Nope.”
A pause, and then a confession. “I put black tea into the cake. Like I said, it was an experiment. It’s okay if you don’t like it. I just made it and, I mean, even Margot has a limit about how much cake she can eat. So it’s okay. I just brought it in case someone else might eat it.”
I raised a teasing eyebrow. “You’re not an altruistic food sharer?”
“No.” The laugh continued. “I’m really, really not. It’s one of my larger character flaws. I bake for myself. Feeding people isn’t even secondary.”
“Third-ary?”
Her smile turned impish. “Maybe fourth-ary. I don’t have much of an altruistic streak, sad to say.”
“I’m not sure about that.” I’d seen how fiercely protective she was of Celia, the way she watched out for Margot, how she slipped food to Ian’s kids. His dogs followed her around, knowing she was a soft touch. But I also knew her well enough to know that she’d argue if I tried to pursue the point.
Jane of Austin Page 16