Noah wished...
No, he mustn’t.
Chapter 8
A week after that meeting at Symon’s cottage followed by lunch at Aunt B’s, Megan got the phone call. Noah said he wanted to catch her before she went to work. The contemporary furniture had been removed and period furniture delivered.
“I don’t think my pushing the furniture against the walls will do anything for the decor.”
She’d made up her mind that when or if he called she would go to his house. She would not consider this a job but would give her opinion of where to set the pieces. Her main reason, though, was to come right out and ask him if Michael had gone back to his wife.
That’s about the only thing that made any sense. “Yes, I can come in the morning. Nine o’clock?”
“Yes. Sure. That’s...that’s great.”
His stammering meant he hadn’t thought she’d do it. But it was settled. “See you in the morning.” She hung up with a nod of finality at her phone, then went about her daily living, which included conducting a tour that afternoon.
On the trolley, she began the explanation as usual with the emphasis on the important role women had played in the preservation of Savannah’s history. Moving on, she glanced at the college student learning to become her assistant and remembered that Michael had charmed her bosses into letting him be her assistant. Then he’d charmed the tourists, and she’d loved it.
Such thoughts were not allowed, and a renewed sense of determination swept over her as they neared the heart of the historic district and the birthplace and childhood home of Juliette Gordon Low. “She was the founder of the Girl Scouts in the USA,” Megan said, being reminded of what one woman could accomplish. And Megan liked to throw in a question now and then. “Anyone know her nickname? What she was called by her family and friends?”
Only once had a tourist answered that correctly.
Today, no one knew.
“Daisy.” When Megan gave the answer they smiled at that personal bit of information.
“The house is Regency architecture, built somewhere between 1818 to 1821,” Megan stated with a sense of pride. “It’s now owned by the National Girl Scout Organization. It contains many of the original furnishings of the Gordon family.”
Just the mention each night of the important role women played in the history of Savannah and the preservation of it boosted her spirits. She also knew that Mrs. Low had sketched, and had became a noted painter. If women could do things like that, Megan Conley could certainly survive the abandonment of Michael Nansen.
* * *
Late that evening she passed the house Noah now lived in and saw that light seemed to stream from every window. She had noticed large vans parked there when she’d passed by on a few mornings.
Had Michael still lived there, she would stop and ask, “What in the world are you doing?” Or she would stop to see how he was feeling.
Now, she continued on and parked at the back of her house, exited the car and deliberately turned her thoughts to the fragrant scent of flowers and evergreens in the full bloom of summer. The breeze cooled the humid air, which would make for a good night’s sleep with her upstairs windows open.
Walking up the steps onto the deck, she prided herself on how well she was doing at pushing Michael out of her mind. After all, if a guy didn’t want her, she certainly didn’t want him. That’s all the thought she needed to give that. She was getting on with her life. Doing well.
And she didn’t have to worry about his having become more ill. Likely, he had returned to his wife. Megan could live with that.
She opened the screen, pushed the key into the lock, turned the knob and walked inside. Upon closing the door behind her, she faced the silent, dark house. Awash with memories, she stepped to the kitchen doorway. The late-evening light lay against the windows, unable to invade the darkness. The air was stale and warm. There was no aroma of freshly baked cookies. No offer of hot chocolate when the weather turned cold. No tinkle of ice splashed into a glass of sweet tea on a summer night. No precious words of greeting from a woman trying to regain control of her speech after a stroke.
No Grandmother.
But that was all right, too. Her grandmother had never completely recovered, and after having that second stroke she did not like having to stay in the nursing facility. But she’d handled it with great faith and endurance and now she was in her heavenly home, well and happy.
Megan reached inside the doorway and flipped the switch, flooding the room with light and forcing herself to smile at the memories. There were so many good ones. That’s what Grandmother would want her to focus on. Grandmother would say, “You’re young. You have your life ahead of you. Make the best of it.” That’s what Aunt B would say, too. And her friends.
Yes, she thought, turning into the hallway. Stepping into the dark patch juxtaposed against the light on the hardwood floor of the hallway she thought of Annabelle, who had lived here with her and Lizzie during three years of college and the year and several months after their graduation. She missed her friend’s beautiful face and smile. She thought of Annabelle’s heart, even lovelier than her outer appearance.
Glancing at the closed door of the room that had been Annabelle’s, she felt the urge to open it. How nice it would be to hear the delightful sound of, “Hey, you’re home. Get your jammies on and let’s talk.” And during the past few months that had been primarily about Symon.
Megan thought it wonderful that Annabelle had fallen in love with Symon. She’d been absolutely transformed from contentment to pure joy. And Megan understood Annabelle’s moving in with Aunt B so they could plan the wedding and she could be nearer to Symon to plan their future together.
Lizzie’s door was open, but she was working at the Pirate’s Cave until around ten and then she had a date. The nights when she was home, she’d do something like stick her head of red hair out the door, then duck behind it, hold out an empty bottle and say, “Hey, I used the last of your shampoo for you. Say thank you.” Or something equally profound.
She felt herself smile as she switched on the light in her room. At least she still had Lizzie here.
As long as Grandmother had been alive, even in the nursing home, this had still felt like her grandmother’s house.
Now it was Megan’s. The more she thought of it, the more she wanted to turn it into the B and B like her grandmother had talked about doing before she had the stroke. Grandmother had said Megan would marry and move out one of those days. Ironically, it had been both her grandmother and the man Megan had thought about marrying who left.
But no, Megan was not going to think about that. Instead, she thought about the changes that would be made in her own life if she turned this house into a B and B. She and Lizzie could still live here. Or Aunt B had offered to let them both live with her.
Megan wasn’t sure what to do. But at least she was thinking about her future—on her own like an adult. Although she liked conducting the tours, it was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.
She had a full life and began to realize how much time and thought she’d put into worrying about Michael, spending time with him, hoping he’d regain his health and be the wonderful guy she’d told herself he was. She wasn’t sure anymore what was truth and what had been her idealized version of him. But she was making decisions now on how to make progress in her life and not just spin her wheels.
Maybe by the time she showered and got into her pjs, Lizzie would be home. The time she came home depended on how things went on her date.
After drying her hair and getting into her pajamas, Megan opened her windows and decided to settle in bed for her devotional time. Just then, the back door slammed. That said a lot about how her friend’s date had gone.
Sure enough, by the time Megan got to her doorway, Lizzie wailed, “Le
t me wash that guy off my hands, then I’ll tell you all about it.”
Megan went to the kitchen, got a Coke from the refrigerator and poured some for them.
“This one,” Lizzie said on her way into the room, “has won three hamburger eating contests and has the belly to prove it.” She pulled out a stool at the island and plopped onto it. After a sip of her soda, she slumped. “Why do they send me guys like that?”
“Because you ask for it,” Megan said.
“I don’t ask for bellies bulging with burgers. I want a nice Christian fellow looking for a...a...girl like me.” She brushed her hair back from her face with her fingers. “Is that the problem?” Her green eyes widened. “They see my picture and think that’s the kind of guy I want?” Moaning, she added, “None of them suit me.”
Megan could say sincerely, “None can come up to your worth, Lizzie. That’s the problem. They’re single guys looking for a girl.”
Lizzie took on her deflated look. “I guess they’re as desperate as me. Maybe I should settle—”
“Don’t you dare, girl. The right man for you is out there. He just hasn’t come along yet.”
“Okay, you convinced me.” She lifted her glass. “In the meantime, you and I have each other.”
Megan clinked her glass to Lizzie’s. “Exactly,” she said. But there was one difference between them. Lizzie wanted to find Mr. Right. But Megan felt rather trampled on by the last man in her life and as far as she was concerned right now, he could very well be the last one. Her life didn’t depend on whether or not a man was in it.
And to punctuate that, after retiring to her room, she thought only about the way she would handle things in the morning when she went to Michael’s...no...Noah’s house.
During the past two weeks, she’d seen the progress that the construction company was making on the cottage. The additional rooms would be on the side, nearer the trees and closer to the creek. She learned that Noah was not doing the construction work himself, but each morning after his swim with Symon and Paul, and the breakfast at Aunt B’s, he supervised their work. She was told he sometimes picked up a hammer himself.
She got into bed and reached for her devotional book. After the reading, she switched off the lamp, took a deep breath of the cool night air, then settled in for her prayers. She usually fell asleep while praying and wondered if God invented prayer to help people sleep better. Worked for her.
Only for an instant did her mind wander to Noah Fairfax, who seemed to have a penchant for prayer.
And tomorrow morning, like a perfectly capable adult woman, she would see Noah Fairfax, ignore his resemblance to that other man and conduct her business without any problem.
She nodded against the pillow as if raising her glass in a toast, and this time it was she who counseled herself. “Okay, you convinced me.”
Chapter 9
That’s what Megan kept telling herself the next morning while deciding what to wear at her meeting with Noah Fairfax. She was not accustomed to such uncertainty. It seemed she’d become a different person since Michael had left.
Okay, all she needed to do was think clearly.
She wasn’t trying to impress anyone so casual jeans and a knit shirt or silk blouse would do.
On second thought, on looking into the closet of clothes she hadn’t worn in a long time she gave herself that talk again about moving on with her life. And clothes had something to do with it. Annabelle’s working with the modeling studio meant Megan and Lizzie had received first-hand instruction on style. Annabelle, being a public person, felt required to dress accordingly most of the time and her friends couldn’t run around with her looking like a grunge. They’d enjoyed dressing up and going out when Annabelle was with Wesley, Megan with Michael and sometimes Lizzie with one of her dating-service guys.
This was different. A midmorning...what?
Noah Fairfax was a supervisor with a well-known renovation company, and he was asking for her input on interior decorating. Maybe he just felt sorry for her. Or maybe he really was trying to help with Michael’s problem. He said he wanted to help her, too.
Well, she didn’t need any help, she told herself again as she chose her clothes from the closet. She slipped into a denim pencil skirt and topped it off with a stretch cotton wing-collar blouse. She brushed her naturally wavy hair until it fell softly around her shoulders, pulled a few tresses out from her face and lightly sprayed.
After applying melon color to her lips she tucked her feet into red patent-leather three-inch wedge-heeled sandals.
“There,” she said, looking approvingly at her reflection as she fastened gold loop earrings. That should be enough to show she could be on her way to becoming a consultant or interior designer whether or not the Fairfax-Nansen company might need one.
She liked looking the part of a businesswoman. After all, she was owner of this house and had a hefty bank account, thanks to her grandmother. Therefore, she was not just some abandoned girl who wallowed in the failings of her past. She would learn from her history and look forward to the future. She would not even think about Michael’s cousin...but might even consider Noah Fairfax’s company to convert her home into a B and B.
Or not.
She was in control of her life and would act accordingly. No man would dominate her thinking ever again. Looking back, she realized that Michael and his needs had dominated for a long time. But Grandmother’s needs had dominated at one time, and that’s how it should be. Isn’t that what was supposed to happen with family and friends and loved ones?
Hearing the determined click of her heels along the hardwood hallway, she reminded herself anew that she was a woman in charge of her life—under God, of course—and was ready to act accordingly.
“Woo-hoo,” Lizzie said upon her entry into the kitchen. “He’s going to think you’re the cat’s meow.”
Megan huffed. “That’s not my purpose, Lizzie. I’m going there on business, so I’m trying to look the part.”
“You look great, of course, but I haven’t seen you dressed up since—”
Megan scoffed. “Since church yesterday?”
Lizzie lifted her hands and gazed toward the ceiling and back again. “I mean everyday. You’ve been such a grunge until you get into that tour uniform.”
“You’re one to talk. Look at you. Still in your nightclothes. And everybody in Savannah, Georgia thinks you’re a real pirate, the way you dress all the time.”
“Touché,” Lizzie said, then grinned. “But it’s good to see you looking almost human again.” She tried to push her hair back from her face but her fingers got tangled in its wild disarray.
Megan laughed, then thanked her for the cup of coffee she took from the one-cup machine. She hoped she’d never take for granted the friendship she had with Annabelle, Lizzie and Aunt B. They did take for granted to a certain extent that they loved each other and could say anything and mean it for the other person’s good, and when they disagreed they accepted the others’ opinions.
Never before had it entered her mind that friends might have a falling out or one might be deserted by another. Never...until Michael disappeared.
She did not like negative thinking. She refused to do that today.
“This is the first day of the rest of my life,” she said, quoting the adage.
“Really?” Lizzie pondered. “I think it’s my...” She touched her cheek with her index finger. “Maybe my twenty-fifth year. Oh!” She grimaced. “Do you know we’re a quarter of a century old?”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “You’re making my day.”
Lizzie grinned, then sobered. “Want me to go with you?”
Megan glanced at the wall clock. “The meeting’s at nine. I wouldn’t want you to outshine me in those skimpy pjs.” She finished her coffee. “Anyway, this is a one-on-one k
ind of thing.”
“Keep your chin up.” Lizzie grinned. “And remember, when you get back, we’ll go to Aunt B’s for lunch and to discuss wedding plans.”
Megan nodded, then hurriedly went to brush her teeth one more time and apply the melon gloss again. Eyeing herself carefully in the mirror, she decided she made an all-right appearance of a casual-dressy person who didn’t expect a lot and yet was prepared for whatever may come.
She told Lizzie she’d decided to walk the couple blocks and around the corner to Mich...Noah’s house.
“In the meantime, I’ll get dressed,” Lizzie said. “Just call when you’re ready to leave and I’ll pick you up.”
She’d become accustomed to exhaust fumes, trolley noise, the closeness of tourists, thinking about speaking clearly and distinctly, and watching guests for any sense of boredom. Now she was grateful for the freedom that came from breathing the fragrant morning air beneath a clear blue sky, walking along the brick sidewalk, appreciating the pristine boxwoods and evergreens and the Spanish moss-laden live oaks and hickories. The brisk walk was invigorating.
Yes, she had much to be thankful for. This was a new day and she had a lifetime ahead of her. Nearing the house, she told herself she would not go in the back way or have breakfast on the deck as if Noah were picking up where Michael left off.
She rolled her eyes. Michael had never done that. But Megan’s interaction, if there was to be any, was going to be strictly on a business level. She would pretend to trust Noah. Okay, so Michael, according to Noah, wanted a report on how Megan was doing without him. Very well. Noah could report that she was A1, top-notch, just fine, not falling to pieces, or however he wanted to express it.
She refused to hesitate at the bottom of the curved steps. She lifted her red patent-leather-sandaled foot from the brick sidewalk onto the first step. She looked at and appreciated the green plant that grew underneath and along the sides, giving the impression one was walking along a path of white stepping stones in a field of ivy.
Lessons in Love Page 6