A Second Chance House

by Stacey Wilk

  Did her neighbor know the Templetons? How long had Nancy been gone? How long had the Disaster House been sitting empty? If she could find Nancy Templeton, she might be able to figure out who bought the house, because a paper trail followed the sale of any home. She hated the idea of going next door. She convinced herself it was for informational purposes only. She wasn’t interested in seeing him again. She hadn’t forgotten what Jenn told her about the affair with the blonde bimbo.

  The doorbell rang and startled her out of her thoughts. She ran to the door. Dixie held a casserole dish covered in plastic wrap. She had her pink lipstick on, and her floral-print suit struggled to stay closed. You weren’t going to miss her coming.

  “Howdy, Grace. I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced.” She handed over the casserole. The dish was still warm. “I thought you might like some food on your first night in town. I know the oven here isn’t much, but it works. I checked it myself. Just plop that in for a few minutes to heat it up.”

  “Thank you, but I wasn’t planning on eating in this kitchen at all. It’s so, so…” Any word she thought of sounded snotty.

  “Gross, dear. It’s gross. You’re right, but the inside’s clean. Heat kills everything.” Dixie waved her hand.

  Grace shook her head and crinkled her nose at the idea of sticking food in that oven. She tried to see past Dixie to Blaise’s, but Dixie blocked the view. Was he home?

  “No bother.” Dixie waved her hand in the air again. “You can eat it cold right out of the dish too. It’s a cheeseless lasagna. It’s good either hot or cold.” She handed over a bag Grace didn’t realize she was holding. “Plastic forks and knives and some paper plates.”

  “It’s very kind of you. I was about to run out, but would you like to come by later and join me?” The idea of eating alone didn’t appeal to her, and she hadn’t realized it until that moment.

  “Thank you, but I can’t. Book club night. Though that’s part of the reason I’m here. Beau is going to bring by a kitchen table with some chairs tonight. You can use them until this place is fixed up and your new stuff gets here.” She stuck her head inside the door and looked around. “You can’t make do with just that card table.”

  “I’m not planning on furnishing the house. I’m just going to fix it and sell it.”

  Dixie waved her hand again and sent the smell of gardenia’s in Grace’s direction. “Don’t be silly. You need a place to put your backside while you’re here, and houses always sell better when they’re furnished. Gives people the idea of what it will look like when they live there. Most don’t have any imagination.” She leaned in for that last part, as if telling a secret. Then she righted herself. “I’ll help you shop for some bargains.”

  “I’m not sure the allowance I’ve been given covers furniture.” She’d have to ask Hoke.

  “There’s a separate fund for furniture and curtains and things like that. It’s smaller than the renovation budget, but we can stretch the dollars. I checked with Hoke myself.”

  Or Dixie could check with Hoke instead. Grace wanted to laugh. She liked Dixie.

  “Did you know John and Nancy Templeton?” she blurted. She should wait to ask, but she had to know.

  Dixie shoved the bag at Grace. “That poor man died such a long time ago. He had the “C” word. Pity. Nancy, well, I don’t know what happened to Nancy.”

  “Do you know who bought the house for me?”

  “Not me, darling. As far as I know, the only one with any information is Hoke, and his lips are tighter than a witch’s tit in the cold.”

  “Dixie.” Grace couldn’t believe what she heard.

  “But you didn’t hear that from me.” Dixie laughed and headed down the steps. “You can return my dish when you’re done.”

  Grace put the dish in the kitchen and waited until Dixie’s car was out of sight. Before she could talk herself out of it, she crossed the lawn to Blaise’s house.

  The house was built like hers, with a matching porch. Only Blaise’s didn’t sag. Two black rockers invited you to sit for a while and relax. He’d perched on the end of one that night she watched him play guitar. A swing with yellow and blue pillows hung where the porch turned right. An empty table sat beside the swing ready to hold a drink and a book. The decorations were simple, but inviting.

  She marched up the steps, raised her hand to knock, but turned on her heel and made it down two steps before she stopped. “You are being ridiculous. He doesn’t bite.” Or maybe he did. Her cheeks flamed at the thought. Plus, how many women had he bitten to begin with? “Stay focused.”

  She opted instead to ring the bell she hadn’t noticed.

  A tall young man came to the door. His bleached crop of hair on the top of shaved sides was a little startling. He had five piercings in each of his ears, one ear plugged with an earbud, the other earbud dangling over the top of his ear, and one piercing defiantly in his nose like Chloe had. She would never understand why young people pierced their noses. How did you blow it? The black eyeliner was thick, but his eyes were bright. His lips were full, and when he raised them to smile, his teeth were white and perfectly straight. He had a dimple in his chin. He looked the way Blaise must’ve at that age. He held a soda can in one hand and his phone in the other.

  “Can I help you?” His voice was rich and deep and absent of any southern accent.

  “Hi. I’m Grace Starr. I live next door. I was wondering if Blaise was home.”

  The young man looked in the direction of her house, as if he could see it through the walls. “You live over there? The house that needs all the work? I didn’t think anyone lived there ever.”

  So Nancy Templeton hadn’t lived next door in some time. “I just moved in. Could you get Blaise? If he’s home, that is.”

  “Sorry, my dad’s not here right now. Can I give him a message or something? Or I could text him if it’s important.”

  “No.” Her hands flew up. “I mean, no, but thank you. It isn’t that important that you have to bother him. I’ll come back another time. Thanks.”

  She scurried off the porch with heat in her cheeks to match the heat of the day.

  ****

  Grace drove into town for dinner because there was no way she was heating up Dixie’s casserole in that stove. She’d spent two hours cleaning the refrigerator properly just to put the dish in there. She’d buy a small microwave tomorrow.

  Heritage River had the kind of Main Street expected in a small town, with quaint shops flanking each side of the road and angled parking along the way. It was different from her hometown. Silverside lacked a Main Street with cute little stores. But she liked having the convenience of box stores that allowed for one-stop shopping. She didn’t have the time to go from place to place. The idea was lovely, but not practical. Maybe if she were someone else, living a different life. She paused. Wasn’t that what she wanted since the divorce? To be someone else.

  She passed Maybelline’s Bakery, a hardware store, and a café with Eat at Jake’s lit up in the window. She found a spot and parked, but decided to walk a little first.

  Reds and purples filled the evening sky. A slight breeze lifted her hair and pushed around clouds, keeping the air cool. She pulled her sweater closer.

  Across the street was an ice cream place, Cream and Sugar, where a long line of families, older couples holding hands, and young couples maybe on dates waited to place their orders at the window facing the street. Another window had happy people greedily grab for their sugar cones and oversized cups.

  The town was probably a nice place to raise children, but what were the schools like? Busy highways intersected Silverside, preventing anyone from gathering at the ice cream store. The store back home faced a four-lane road. When Chloe was young, Grace was always afraid she’d dart out into traffic.

  Main Street met School Street in a four-way stop. Grace found a small library that looked more like an old-style train station.

  A banner hanging in front advertised an up
coming event:

  Library Fundraiser, July 17, 7 p.m.

  And across the street on the other corner sat a Baptist church with a marquee that read

  Come to Ch _ _ ch

  What’s missing?

  UR!

  The rest of the street past the library looked more spaced out and residential, so she turned around and went back. From the window, Eat at Jake’s looked quiet. She felt for her book in her bag and yanked the door open.

  The place was small and smelled like fried food and vinegar. Pocked and scarred wooden tables set for four crowded the area right inside the door. A table of three men sat huddled around their food. One wore a sheriff’s uniform. The glass case filled with meats and cheeses also doubled as the place to order. A large chalkboard hung on the wall. Someone with a flowery hand had written the entire menu across it. She couldn’t find any physical ones and had to get closer to the wall to make out the selections. Drinks were self-serve, but an older woman with red hair piled on top of her head in an old style fifties do brought out the food.

  “What can I get ya, hon?” A thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a white T-shirt covered in what looked like grease, ketchup, and sweat leaned over the counter. He pulled a pen from behind his ear. Maybe this was Jake.

  She took a quick look around. If his shirt looked like that, was this place even clean? And if it wasn’t, where was she going to go? She didn’t want to search her GPS for a chain restaurant probably thirty minutes away. Jake’s would do. And she’d be fine. She hoped.

  “I’d like the Sophie salad, please. And could I substitute the bleu cheese for another cheese?”

  “I don’t have anything else. Well, I’ve got some mozzarella—he pronounced it motts-a-rel-la—I could cut up. The misses makes me keep some in stock. Says I need culture.”

  “No, thank you. The salad without the cheese is fine, and could I have the dressing on the side, please?”

  “Would you like a roll?”

  “No, thank you. Just the salad.” Grace grabbed a diet soda from the refrigerated case and found a seat. She pulled out her book.

  The waitress slid the salad onto the table. “Thank you,” Grace said.

  “You’re not from around here are you?” Her name tag read Donna.

  “How did you know?”

  “That accent and all your food requests. Locals order as is, or Jake makes a new version and names the dish after them. That’s why there’s no menus. Just the board.” She pointed over her shoulder. “So where you from?”

  “I’m from Jersey. I’m here for the summer.”

  “I said those same words some twenty years ago. This town got its claws in me, and I never left.”

  “I’m really only here on business.” She pulled her salad closer and placed her napkin on her lap.

  “I said that too. Enjoy your salad.” Donna walked away.

  Grace tried to ignore what Donna said about the town’s claws and focus on her book, but the sci-fi romance wasn’t capturing her attention at the moment. The Disaster House kept interrupting her.

  “Are you having lettuce for dinner?”

  Grace’s head snapped up, and she bit her tongue.

  Before she could respond, Blaise slid into the seat opposite her and grabbed her book. “Reading something good?”

  She tried to snatch it back, but he held it up high. “Looks a little steamy. You sure you should be reading this?”

  “Give that back to me.” She lunged for it again, but his long arms kept the book away by a foot.

  She plopped back down in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Keep it.”

  He closed the book and placed it on the table. “Nah, it’s a lady’s book. I only read Drummer magazine anyway.”

  Of course he did. She was surprised he could read at all. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I think it’s you who would like me for something.” He smirked at her, his gray eyes twinkling.

  “I beg your pardon?” Heat filled her cheeks. Was he propositioning her?

  The man wearing the sheriff’s uniform walked up to their table. “Evening, Blaise.” He offered Blaise a thin smile.

  “Evening, Sheriff Jones.” Blaise nodded.

  “Heard your boy is in town for the summer.”

  “That’s right.”

  “He having some trouble back home? Heard that’s what brought him to you.”

  “My son is fine, thank you for asking. Now if you’ll excuse us.” Blaise raised his chin toward Grace.

  It didn’t take a detective to see the sheriff didn’t like Blaise’s son. What did the man know about the boy, or was his dislike rooted in the young man’s strange style? How often had she made a judgment on someone’s look? Wasn’t the reason she hated Chloe’s blue hair that she didn’t want others to judge her daughter’s appearance? The sheriff turned on his heel without so much as a word for Grace.

  “Cash said you stopped by earlier today looking for me.” The smile was back on Blaise’s face.

  Cash. That must be his son. She took in a deep breath and repositioned her napkin in her lap. He wasn’t propositioning her. Was she disappointed? Impossible.

  “I did,” she said. Now that he was sitting opposite her and his smell of clean soap clogged her brain, the reason for racing to his door seemed stupid. “It was nothing.” She could find out about Nancy Templeton another way.

  “Can I get you something, Blaise?” Donna had returned.

  “He isn’t staying,” she blurted out. She wanted to eat her salad in peace and not share a meal with a man who treated women like objects. At least that’s what she assumed a man in his line of work would do.

  He shot her a look. “Can I get three burgers to go? And some of that potato salad? The one with the red skin.”

  “You got it, sugar.”

  He drummed on the table with his fingers. “Why’d you stop by? You must’ve wanted something. Come on. You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  “And you’re not going to leave until I tell you? Is that it?”

  He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his long legs. “Something like that.”

  “Do you always behave like a twelve-year-old?”

  “Every chance I get.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making room for his braced hand, and laughed. His laugh was rich and full, and the lines on his face deepened around his smile. He was good at laughing.

  She picked at her salad, but thinking about Blaise’s laugh filled her belly. She pushed the plate away. “All right. I was wondering if you knew the people who used to own my house.”

  “The Templetons? Sure. Why?”

  “I want to find out who gave me the house, and I thought if I could locate Nancy Templeton, I might get some answers.” She folded her hands in her lap, then smoothed out her napkin. “Is it chilly in here?” Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on her sweater.

  He leaned over the table, and she leaned back against the chair trying to put some distance between them. “It’s really not that cold in here. Why does it matter who gave you the house? You have it now.”

  “It does matter. A lot. Who does something like that? Yes, it’s generous and all, but it’s crazy too. And I’m crazier for taking it, but that’s another story. I need to know why they did it. Why pick me?”

  “If it were me, I’d say thank you and move on. It’s all legal, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. I would never be involved with something that wasn’t legal.” Her cheeks heated up at the thought.

  “Don’t get angry. I’m just asking. The house is yours. That settles it. Who cares about the rest?”

  “Do you go through your life not wanting to know things? Not wanting to have all the details and information? Do people just randomly give you things and you say no big deal.”

  “Sure. On tour we get stuff all the time. Bras. Panties. I don’t always know who they belong to, but we take them.” He winked.

  She cr
umpled up her napkin and threw it on the table. How many times had he figured out who those panties belonged to? She couldn’t sit there any longer. The room was suddenly stuffy. She needed fresh air.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She tried to push her chair back to leave, but Donna returned and blocked her way.

  “Here’s your burgers.” She handed over a plastic bag.

  He pulled cash from his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll pay for Grace’s lettuce too.”

  “Oh no, you won’t. I can pay for my own dinner.”

  “A guy can’t buy you dinner, but it’s okay somebody bought you a house?” He gave her that laugh again.

  She wanted to be mad, but it was getting harder.

  “When a man wants to buy you dinner, sugar, you should let him. Especially this man.” Donna squeezed Blaise’s arm and took his money.

  Grace rummaged in her bag for her wallet. “Does every woman flirt with you?”

  “Hazards of the job.”

  She shoved her money at him.

  “Keep it. You can get the next one.”

  “Never.”

  Chapter Ten

  Blaise threw the plastic bag onto the floor of the passenger’s seat. His tires screeched as he pulled into traffic. Grace said never to him. She would never buy him dinner or never have dinner with him. What had he done that was so bad?

  He wiped his hand over his face. He didn’t mean to race down Main Street. Not with all the kids around, but that woman had gotten under his skin. Sitting there, she folded and unfolded her napkin, as if it were some shield to protect her from him. And the buttoning up of that sweater, pretending she was cold. What did she think he was going to do? Reach across the table and grab her breast?

  Not that he hadn’t thought about what her skin would feel like under his touch, but he wasn’t some uncontrollable teenager with raging hormones. Though she thought he acted like a kid. Do you always behave like a twelve-year-old?

  He pulled into his driveway, the front of his truck hitting the dip at the end. He let out a loud sigh. No one had ever made him so mad. No one except Colton and he was inside with Cash waiting for dinner. The inside of his house was lit up like a stadium. Those two boneheads had turned on every light. The whole street could see what they were doing. He shook his head. He was thinking like his father. Cash and Colton held guitars. Were they playing together? Was that video Cash sent to Colton of him playing?