Tiny House on the Hill

by Celia Bonaduce

  “We’re fine,” Summer tried not to sound breathless. “Shortie doesn’t know his limitations.”

  “He’s a wise dog,” Keefe said. “I’m not a fan of acknowledging my limitations either.”

  Keefe strode into the room. Summer willed herself to remain calm. Besides the nice furniture, there was a lot of history in this room.

  “I haven’t been in this room since…” Keefe’s voice trailed off.

  Summer was quiet. She was not sure what message she would like to convey. There were the lies: Nonchalance. World-weariness. Boredom. Sophistication. And the truth: Embarrassment. Hurt. Betrayal. Vengeance. She settled on: “Yeah.”

  Keefe wandered over to a corner of the room, which held a built-in reading nook. He ran his hand smoothly over the books. Summer remembered his hands running smoothly over her skin. He turned to look at her.

  “The room is exactly the same,” he said. “But you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not,” Summer felt a flush of anger. “How pathetic would that be, Keefe? If I were still that starry-eyed little teenager?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Keefe said with a half-smile. “You weren’t so bad.”

  Andre suddenly stood on the bed, towering above them. He yawned. Obviously the drama playing out in front of him was leaving him cold. He turned toward the door just as Queenie’s voice came wafting up the stairs.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Queenie called. “You got the dog?”

  “Dogs, Queenie,” Summer said. “There are two dogs here.”

  “We’re on our way,” Keefe said.

  Summer tried to be annoyed that Keefe used the plural we, but decided that since it included the dogs, she really couldn’t read too much into the statement.

  “How big did you say your house was?” Keefe asked.

  “I didn’t,” Summer said. “But since you asked, it’s 220 square feet.”

  “Hmm,” Keefe said as he darted a look into the empty closet at the far end of the room. “Your closet is bigger than that.”

  “And your point is?” she asked.

  “You come back here with a house you could stash in your closet and still have room for more clothes than most people own. And you’re seriously asking me what my point is?” Keefe said. “I think the question here is: What’s your point?”

  He stormed out of the room, Andre following closely at his heels. Shortie stood at the edge of the bed, making a show of attempting to jump off, but Summer seemed frozen in place.

  “If Andre was on the bed, straighten the quilt,” Queenie commanded.

  Chapter 12

  When Summer first decided to live in the caboose, it never even occurred to her that people—family, friends, and strangers—would have such outsized reactions to her tiny house. Most seemed to think it was whimsical; they’d chat about the house with small, lopsided smiles pasted on their faces as if humoring a small child. Others stared at the house longingly. They’d eye the caboose and say: “You know, I think I could live like that, one day.” But Keefe’s reaction was truly unnerving. He seemed downright hostile. What right did he have to be hostile about her life choices? If it hadn’t been for his refusal ten years ago to see a future for the two of them, she might never have left, let alone returned with a tiny house.

  Summer took a few deep breathes before scooping Shortie off the bed and following Keefe down to dinner. His outburst had come as a surprise. Was it possible the lack of closure about their breakup affected more than just her? It occurred to her for the first time that there was a distinct possibly it affected Grandpa Zach, too. But of course, she’d never know.

  Summer could remember seeing the two men talking together as if it were yesterday. She was in her room, hiding behind the curtain, curled up in the window seat. Grandpa Zach and Keefe were standing in Queenie’s rose garden below her window. She put down her book to listen. It was a favorite game of hers…listening in on the two men, who usually only chatted about flowers, the farm, or the bakery. But once in a while, she’d catch a piece of conversation that was a little more telling: A snippet about Grandpa’s past or Keefe’s thoughts about his future. She was especially keen on eavesdropping when the conversation turned to Keefe.

  On that particular day, Summer was in the window seat reading when she was surprised to hear the men below her. It was extremely hot and they usually put off working in the rose garden until late in the afternoon. She peeked out and saw they weren’t working. They were just standing there. It was clear by their body language something was very wrong between them. Summer’s heart pounded. If Keefe and Grandpa were arguing, would Grandpa fire him?

  “I don’t see what would be so bad about Summer staying up here once she graduates. I think this farm is great. And the bakery is great, too,” Keefe said. “I wouldn’t mind staying here forever myself.”

  “Well, you’ve seen a bit of the world,” Grandpa said. “You made the choice.”

  “I know she’s still young…” Keefe asked.

  “Don’t forget what I told you,” Grandpa Zach said. “She always says getting stuck on a farm can destroy a girl’s dreams. You want that on your head if it turns out to be true?”

  “I’m surprised she feels that way, honestly,” Keefe said. “She never said anything like that.”

  “She obviously wouldn’t say it to you,” Grandpa Zach said.

  Summer was shocked. Grandpa Zach was lying! Keefe was right, she’d never said anything like that! She’d never even thought it!

  “Just don’t encourage Summer,” Grandpa Zach said. “That’s all I ask.”

  Summer found it hard to breathe. Most of her friends had already had acceptance letters to colleges around the country, but Summer, who secretly thought she’d be making a life with Keefe, had put off applying until her parents forced the issue. And then, she only applied to Baylor University, sure she’d never make the cut.

  But the gods of fate were feeling frisky that year. Her parents received the hefty envelope in San Francisco and mailed it up to Flat Top Farm without any announcement. Summer came in after a hot day in the bakery to find it sitting on the kitchen table. She was filled with dread when she opened it. She was accepted.

  She didn’t know it at the time, but the countdown to her broken heart had started.

  The rain pelting against the windows brought her back to the present. She wondered: Did Queenie know anything about Grandpa Zach’s involvement in her unceremonious dumping by Keefe? Would she ever feel close enough to Queenie to ask? It terrified her to think she might get close enough to Keefe again to actually ask him.

  Summer put Shortie on the floor right in front of the staircase.

  “Go on,” she said. “You can do it.”

  Shortie took a step with one front paw. Then the other.

  “Good boy,” Summer said. “Keep going.”

  Trying to get Shortie to navigate the circular staircase in the caboose was not going well. Every night on the road, Summer lay flat in the loft, clapping her hands and begging Shortie to climb the stairs. Shortie would sit on the ground floor, tail wagging furiously but never moving an inch. Summer would finally give in, climb down the stairs, prop Shortie under her arm like a football and clamber up again.

  “Come on, Shortie,” Summer said, sitting on the step beside him.

  He was never going to get the hang of this, she predicted.

  Andre came into the hallway and looked up at them as if to say “Dinner is waiting. What’s taking you so long?”

  Summer was startled to see that competition lit a fire under Shortie’s butt. She looked on in astonishment as the little dog took another step and then another, finally landing on the first floor hallway rug. Without a backwards glance, he and Andre walked together toward the kitchen.

  “Are you coming down for dinner or what?’ Queenie’s voice floated up to the second-story l
anding, where Summer was still frozen to the top step.

  As she headed toward the kitchen, Summer decided to give up predicting how this trip was going to play itself out.

  Keefe was pulling a bottle of beer out the refrigerator.

  “You want a beer?” he asked when he saw Summer. Whatever had him steamed upstairs seemed to have passed.

  “No thanks,” Summer said. “I’m not much of a beer drinker.”

  Keefe shrugged.

  “Queenie?” he asked.

  She’d almost forgotten that Queenie, not Grandpa Zach, was the big beer aficionado at the farm. Even when serving something as authentically Italian as calamari casserole, Queenie would drink a beer instead of a glass of wine. Of course, it was always served in a cut glass stein.

  “The usual,” she said, as she spooned mounds of steaming calamari casserole onto each plate.

  Summer took a seat and was startled to see Keefe pull a bottle of hard cider out of the fridge and put it next to a frosted glass by Queenie’s plate.

  “Cider?” Summer asked. “I had one of those a few nights ago for the first time! Since when is cider your usual?”

  “Since more than a few nights ago,” Queenie said, as if she were discussing a fine champagne.

  “Fine,” Summer said. “It’s not a contest.”

  “Would you like some wine?’ Keefe offered.

  She remembered that Keefe always had a way of defusing the tension between her and Queenie.

  “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She sat at the table, uncomfortably aware that she was being treated like a guest. As she watched Keefe pull a bottle of red from a wine rack, she realized she couldn’t act like family even if she wanted to.

  Acting being the operative word.

  As Keefe expertly poured her a glass, filling her in about the local prize-winning wine, she snuck a peek at Shortie, who was mercifully being well-behaved. Summer hadn’t exactly been keeping up with Shortie’s manners while they’d been on the road. But he seemed to understand that her reputation was somehow at stake and he appeared to be content to just hang with Andre by the back door.

  “You have a very good dog,” Queenie announced, following Summer’s gaze. “Ugly, but good.”

  “He is not ugly,” Summer said, shocked. “He just has interesting proportions.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Queenie said, returning to her dinner.

  She could see Keefe duck his head. He was clearly going to steer clear of this. Summer thought about her phone conversation with Bale. She was sure he would come to the defense of her dog. She decided she was not going to let Queenie bait her. After all, Queenie had made calamari casserole. Summer looked forward to her first bite.

  “This looks wonderful,” Summer said, waving a sauce covered tentacle in the air before popping it in her mouth.

  Queenie smiled, a rare occurrence. Aptly named, her smile felt like a royal benediction.

  Summer tried not to feel self-conscious as she became aware of Queenie watching her. Really watching her. At the same time, Summer became conscious that the casserole didn’t have exactly the same taste as she remembered. She chewed thoughtfully. No, the taste was the same, but the texture was different. She looked at Keefe, but he was fully engrossed in his food.

  “Is there something wrong?” Queenie asked.

  “No!” Summer said, a little urgently. “It’s just…”

  “Yes, dear?” Queenie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Summer said.

  It occurred to her what was different.

  She continued, “You’re using a different noodle. You used to always use elbow macaroni. This is…I don’t know…penne?”

  “That’s rich, coming from Miss Thomas the Tank Engine.” Queenie said.

  “What does that mean?” Summer asked.

  “Nothing,” Queenie sniffed. “I just find it interesting that you of all people should criticize me for trying something new.”

  “I’m not criticizing you,” Summer stammered. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  “And I wasn’t expecting you to show up in a steam engine when you’ve got a perfectly good house right here!”

  “First of all,” Summer said, wondering how the conversation had derailed so quickly. “It’s a caboose and it doesn’t run on steam. Secondly, I was planning on living in it before you called. It isn’t personal, Queenie.”

  Both women turned to Keefe, who ignored them. Grandpa Zach used to do that. Summer wondered if there was any end to Grandpa’s tutorials that Keefe didn’t take to heart.

  A deafening thunderclap startled them all and put an end to the conversation.

  Summer hoped she and Shortie could escape to her room, but Queenie wasn’t done with her yet.

  “So where exactly are you planning on putting this caboose of yours?”

  “I was thinking about taking it up to Flat Top.”

  “Flat Top Hill?” Queenie’s fork clattering to her plate was worthy of an Academy Award for Best Performance by Cutlery.

  Even Keefe looked up at this news.

  “Yes,” Summer said. “It has the best view. It’s out of the way. Grandpa isn’t using it.”

  “I might have plans for Flat Top myself,” Queenie said.

  “Do you?” Summer asked.

  “No,” Queenie said. “But I might have. I’m just saying, you might have asked me.”

  Summer caught Keefe’s look. It may have been a decade since they’d looked into each other’s eyes, but she could still detect the smallest hints of emotion. She could see he wanted her to let this go. There were certainly layers of mystery to unfold. She’d start in the morning, but right now, she just wanted to defuse whatever this was that was going on.

  “You’re right, Queenie,” Summer said. “I should have told you I was bringing the tiny house and asked your permission to put it up on Flat Top Hill. May I have your permission?”

  Queenie’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears. Summer was horrified. She reached over to touch her grandmother’s arm, but Andre beat her to the punch, poking his gigantic snout against Queenie’s shoulder. Queenie rubbed the dog’s head and reined in her emotions.

  “Of course,” Queenie said. “I swear, I don’t know why I’m so cantankerous these days.”

  “These days?” Keefe asked, eyebrow raised.

  Everyone laughed. The tension broke, even if the storm didn’t.

  After dinner, Queenie excused herself, leaving Keefe and Summer to clean up. Andre opted to stay in the kitchen with his new best friend, Shortie.

  Summer had so many questions, but she didn’t know where to begin. Queenie said the business was in trouble, but Keefe said it wasn’t. Queenie, a fixture in the town as well as the bakery and famous for baking the most delicious confections in the entire Pacific Northwest, now stayed away from Cat’s Paw and couldn’t turn out a decent peanut butter cookie. She’d changed a family recipe that she’d once considered sacred. What was going on?

  “Are you planning on coming down to the bakery tomorrow?” Keefe said.

  Summer looked at him as he rinsed the dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. Queenie obviously hadn’t told him that Summer was coming to Flat Top Farm. Maybe he resented her being here.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it,” Summer said, guardedly.

  “I think you should,” Keefe said. “I mean, there hasn’t been a Murray at the bakery for many months now.”

  “I thought you said the bakery was doing fine.”

  “It is,” Keefe said. “But I think it would be a good idea to let the town know that the family still runs the place. The tradition is part of the charm, you know.”

  It didn’t sound as if he were resentful. But Keefe had surprised her in the past. She started scraping the leftover casserole
into a plastic container.

  “Don’t forget to divide that,” Keefe said.

  “Pardon?”

  “The leftovers,” Keefe said. “One container stays here and one goes with me.”

  “That’s a nice little perk,” Summer said.

  She meant it as a joke, but she saw a cloud pass over Keefe’s features.

  “What?” Summer asked.

  “Nothing,” Keefe said, busying himself.

  “No,” Summer said. “What is it?”

  “Let’s just say it used to be a better perk,” Keefe said. He looked into Summer’s eyes. “She’s lost her touch, Summer. And what’s worse, I think she knows it. She’s always experimenting. The baked goods have been so bad that even Andre turns up his nose.”

  “He ate the peanut butter cookies today!”

  “Are you seriously defending those cookies?” Keefe asked.

  Summer shook her head.

  “She’s revising all the old recipes,” Keefe said. “Nothing is working, but I can’t get her to stop. Sometimes, only the ducks will eat the…experiments.”

  “This sounds really bad.”

  “It is,” Keefe said. “She just won’t leave it alone.”

  “Have you talked to her about it?”

  “I’ve tried. She just says she’s bored and looking to try new things.”

  “But you don’t believe that?”

  “Did you hear what I said? Even a dog won’t eat her cookies. That’s pretty damning testimony.”

  “Okay,” Summer said. “I’ll look into it.”

  “But go easy,” Keefe said. “She’s got a lot of pride.”

  “Are you telling me how to deal with my own grandmother?”

  “Yes, Summer,” Keefe said. “I am. You’ve been gone a long time.”

  The thunder and lightning reached a fever pitch. The lights flickered and went out, pitching the kitchen into total darkness. Summer felt unmoored standing in the middle of the floor. She took a step toward the sink but found herself stumbling. Shortie gave a squeak as he scooted out of her way. Summer was careening backwards. As sudden as she’d lost her balance, she was righted. The lights came back on. Keefe held her tightly in his arms.