“You two have a bonding ritual?” March came around the corner eating a grape popsicle. “That’s creepy.” He shook his head. “I didn’t need to know that.”
“I know you didn’t just drip grape popsicle all over the floor I just swept.” Bru measured something else and marked it. “How far did you have to chase the ice cream man before he stopped for you?”
Her new house was on an ice cream truck route? Baby Jenkowski was going to love it here.
“Only two blocks.” March spun around in a circle, taking it all in. “It looks like a bomb went off in here. But you’re right, everyone’s going to notice my grape popsicle droplets.”
“Outside.” Bru pointed to the open front door. “Eat your popsicle outside like a good four-year-old and then help your sister unload all the stuff she’s moving into my construction site.”
“Some people are so bossy.” March leaned against the doorframe. “I’m not going outside until you tell her.”
January glanced at Bru, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on drawing tiny lines on a board.
“What now? What is it that you’ve done that you know I’m going to hate so much that you’re afraid to tell me?” January crossed her arms. “The longer you make me wait, the madder I’m going to be.”
“It was Bru’s idea.” March pointed with his popsicle. “He made me do it.”
“You really are four years old.” Bru sighed like he was babysitting but he wasn’t getting paid. “March is going to manage the bar until you have the baby.”
January went very still. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say that March is going to manage my bar. The bar I own. The bar I started with my own money.”
“The bar isn’t good for the baby. All of that cigarette smoke.” Bru made that sound like a logical argument.
“What cigarette smoke? It’s illegal to smoke inside or within fifteen feet of any building in Austin. The city banned it in 2005. No one smokes in my bar or any bar.”
“Bru found a study about fourth-hand smoke—”
“Yeah, that’s not even a thing.” Was this some sort of joke?
“Nobody thought thirdhand smoke was a thing until someone from Harvard Medical School found that some cancer-causing compounds stay in a house for weeks and sometimes months, even after the walls have been painted and the floors replaced.” Bru continued to mark on the piece of wood in front of him. What was he doing that could possibly need all of those marks?
“Bru found this study out of Bulgaria that references a study out of Russia that uses data gathered in Antarctica that says that thirdhand smoke is just the beginning and that fourth-hand smoke is actually worse because no one expects it.” March sounded like he didn’t believe it either. “Apparently, smoke gets into the wood frame of the building and settles in the bricks and mortar. Even after the building is torn down, the cancer-causing agents are still found in the bricks. What’s really bad is people are big into recycling old brick and guess what? Most of those bricks have been marinating in cigarette smoke for decades.” He held up a finger. “And all of those decades of people standing outside buildings and throwing the cigarette butts on the ground have caused nicotine to leach into the soil. Roots of plants pick up that nicotine and produce cigarette trees.”
“So you’re saying that the bricks in my bar are held together by carcinogens and ash.” January didn’t even waste an eye roll on this logic because it was too stupid. “You realize that when my building was built in 1902 it was a bakery. It stayed a family-owned bakery for fifty-two years and then it was a department store for thirty years, and then it was abandoned until I opened my bar in 2010. Which, in case you can’t do the math, is five years after Austin banned smoking in 2005. How exactly am I breathing in carcinogens at work?” January had heard some stupid things in her life, but this might be the dumbest. For a moment she had the thought that she couldn’t wait to share it with Giles, but then she remembered—there was no Giles in her life to share it with.
“She’s got you there.” March ate the last bit of his popsicle and tossed the stick in the huge trash can in the corner.
“Fine, then start working part-time, at least until you’re through your first trimester.” Bru put another mark on the piece of wood. “Just think of all of the customers March can charm and confuse into buying more drinks. Your profits should skyrocket.”
He had a point.
“Did you really think I would buy the fourth-hand smoke story?” She loved her brothers, but sometimes they made it super hard.
“It was worth a shot.” March picked up January’s box and headed toward the front bedroom. “Sit down. I’ll unload your car. Personally, I think you should stay somewhere else. It looks like a war zone in here.”
“Knock knock.” Nina knocked on the open doorframe. “I brought enchiladas. Mi abuela thinks everyone is too thin, especially January.” She set the huge pan down on a sawhorse and put her hand on January’s belly. “Mi abuela says that you’re having a girl and her name should Candeleria de los Ángeles.”
“How did she come to this conclusion?” January sniffed the air like she could smell the pan of food. “Are those her famous chicken enchiladas verdes?”
“Yes, she made them just for you.” Nina’s hand slid from her belly. “I’m not sure how she knows. I know she lit a couple of candles and she might have sacrificed a chicken, but I can’t be sure.” She looped her arm through January’s. “Tomorrow morning is going to be brutal. Did you see the schedule for our work—”
January elbowed her in the ribs. “Yes, I’ve read the discussion schedule for tomorrow’s book club meeting.”
“You have weirdly sharp elbows.” Nina rubbed her side. “Anyway, I didn’t know if the … um … discussion would be too much for you.”
Bru turned his sharp brown eyes on January. “Why would a book club meeting be too tough for you?”
January opened her mouth, hoping a perfectly good lie would pop out, but she had nothing.
“The subject matter might upset her.” Nina shrugged her shoulders. “It’s about little orphan kids during the Depression.”
Bru scowled at her. “I thought y’all only read books about tough women.”
“We do. The book is about the woman who took in the children,” Nina said.
“Why would it upset January? It sounds like an uplifting story.” Bru wasn’t going to let this go.
“Well, on the surface it is, but Geraldine Dinklemeyer had a dark side. They called her Scary Geri.” Nina was on a roll.
“Why?” Now March was enthralled with the story.
“Because she … um,” her eyes went to the enchilada pan, “ate the children.” Even Nina looked stunned at what had just come out of her mouth.
March’s face pinched up. “This is a fiction book, right?”
“It was the Depression … she was hungry.” Nina made a big show of checking her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for … something, but I’ll be back in half an hour or so.” She practically ran to her Corvette.
“Why would anyone read a book about a Depression era cannibal?” March shook his head. “I need to get some fresh air.”
He took off out the door and slammed it behind him.
“Are you going to tell me what you and your Tough Ladies really do?” Bru went on measuring.
“We get up early so we can earn extra cash hooking on the East Side. Don’t worry, we only turn tricks in buildings inhabited by generations of chain-smokers. After sex we make sure to roll around in the carcinogenic soil and eat the bark of cigarette trees.” She grabbed the pan of enchiladas and headed to the kitchen … only there was no kitchen. “Where in the hell is my kitchen?”
* * *
Chapter 8
* * *
January might not have liked the Futro kitchen, but at least it had been a kitchen. She turned around, taking it all in—or, well, taking in the nothingness that used to be her kitchen. It was all exterior walls,
with exposed pipe and a couple of sad windows. Her kitchen was naked.
The only good thing about the room was that it had a floor. Stupidly, she stared down at the pan of enchiladas in her hands. Where was she supposed to refrigerate these and how was she supposed to warm them up?
She should have stayed with Susie—braying donkey and rooster that crowed every hour on the hour be damned.
“Before you go ballistic, I have a plan.” Bru was all fatherly calm and reasonable. Over the years she’d noticed that he only took this tone with March and her, and only when they were at their loudest. Anyone else who raised their voice to him got a punch to the solar plexus.
“Is this where you pull out a laptop and show me a 3-D picture of what the house will look like after it’s finished?” She just stood there holding the enchiladas and waiting for the walls of her kitchen to be magically covered in drywall.
“This isn’t a fixer-upper. I flip houses. This is the only privately owned house I ever plan on remodeling. Dealing with nitpicky homeowners is a pain in the ass.” He stomped out of the kitchen and a minute later stomped back in. He shoved a yellow legal pad at her. “Here. Look on page three.”
She handed him the enchiladas, took the pad, and flipped to the third page. It was a hand drawing of a kitchen. It looked professionally done. It was every bit as impressive as the computer-generated ones on HGTV.
The drawing showed a huge farmhouse-style kitchen with one wall of floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The other three walls held base cabinets, countertops crowned with upper storage, and a set of French doors that led to the backyard. There was an island with room for four barstools. The appliances included a huge range, a farm sink, and a refrigerator and dishwasher. In front of the wall of cabinets, there was even room for a small round table.
He pointed to a small area in the back corner of the empty room. “I thought you might like a little bar. I was thinking about putting a wine fridge there.” He held up a hand. “I know you don’t like wine, but you can use it for beer or water bottles.” He ran his finger along the wall of the bar on the drawing. “I thought about taking down this wall—”
The lights flickered and a chill swept through the room.
January pressed her lips together to keep from gasping. Clearly the spirit that still lived here didn’t like that idea, and neither did January.
“That’s weird.” Bru glanced around. “All of the wiring worked earlier. I’ll double-check it later. Anyway, I scratched that idea because I thought if I took down that wall, you’d lose some of the house’s charm. I know open concept is the style now, but sometimes it just doesn’t work, especially in older houses.”
“I agree. I fell in love with this house because of its character. I’d hate to lose that.” She flipped to the next page. It was the master bath. There was a double vanity, a clawfoot tub, and a huge stand-alone shower. She flipped to the next page. She couldn’t make it out. “What’s this?”
“That’s your master closet. Right now, it’s a small bedroom off the master. I’m going to move the door from that wall to this wall.” He pointed on the drawing to a door that opened off the hall to the master and then pointed to a dotted line on the wall catty-corner to the hallway. “You’ll be able to access your closet through your master bath.
She waited a few beats to get the spirit’s opinion on moving the door. Nothing happened, so she guessed the spirit was cool with it. She really needed to research the house and find out who might still be here.
“I love it.” She’d known Bru was good at construction, but she’d never realized just how good he was. He could look at a house not as it was now, but as it could be.
He reached across the pan of enchiladas and flipped another page. “Here’s the baby’s room. I have two versions, one for a boy and one for a girl. This is the boy’s room.” He pointed to the bed. “It’s a motorcycle sidecar bed with an adjustable height so you don’t have to bend over. Over the closet, which is along this wall, is a secret hideout loft.” He pointed to a drawing of a ladder. “The ladder is retractable and folds up in there so you can keep it hidden until the baby is old enough to climb up and not get hurt.” He flipped the page. “If it’s a girl, the physical layout is the same, only the theme is fairy princess. Digger’s going to weld a huge bed that looks like a glass slipper. She still gets the hideout with the retractable ladder, but there’s a huge crystal chandelier over the bed and one whole wall is a built-in dollhouse. Big Mike’s itching to make tiny doll furniture. The boys are hoping it’s a girl.”
Tears stung her eyes. It was better than anything she could have ever imagined. “It’s so sweet. Thank you.” She hugged him around the pan of enchiladas.
They weren’t a hug-y family, and Bru went board still. Pregnancy made her prone to hugging, so he was going to have to get used to it.
She dropped her arms and stepped back. “Baby J’s going to love his or her room.” She glanced down at the enchiladas. “Where are we going to put those?”
“I put a small fridge and microwave in your room.” The nodded toward the open doorway. “I’ll show you.”
She followed him down the hall to her temporary bedroom, where he put the pan of enchiladas on top of a tiny fridge. Baby J tap-danced on her bladder. “Is there a working bathroom?” Now that she thought about it, when she’d checked with him earlier, she’d only asked if she would have somewhere to use the bathroom—she hadn’t actually asked if there would be indoor plumbing.
“Yes and no.” Bru wouldn’t make eye contact.
“That better be more yes than no.” January put a hand over her belly in an effort to calm Baby J. It didn’t work. “I need a bathroom … now.”
Gently, he took her elbow and guided her to the front door.
She looked around for the bathroom, but all she saw were bare walls.
He opened the door.
She tugged her arm out of his grasp. “Wait a minute, is the bathroom outside?”
Oh God, it was an outhouse. What was this, Little House on the Prairie? This was not okay. Peeing outdoors was for men and people who liked to camp. Not that she didn’t like nature, but if God wanted her to pee outside, he wouldn’t have invented toilets.
“Yes and no.” Bru didn’t elaborate.
“What is with this yes and no crap? Will I be peeing alfresco?” Yep, she really should have gotten more info before insisting she move in.
“Depends on what you call alfresco. The toilet is inside a structure.” When he was purposely vague, it meant that he really didn’t want to tell her the truth.
This was going to be unpleasant.
Maybe if she bought some earplugs she could move back in with Susie. Or she could move in with Laney. No, she couldn’t live with Laney because she’d sold her condo and moved in with her fiancé and his mother. Charisma lived in a studio apartment, so that was out. Maybe Nina? She lived with her grandmother. That might work—well, apart from her grandmother’s occasional chanting and obsessive candle lighting. If there was some form of Latina voodoo, Nina’s grandmother was a high priestess.
“Here you go.” Bru pulled back the drooping branches of a huge willow tree in the back corner of her yard. Under the willow, he’d built an open-air bathroom. Stepping stones were laid between two chin-high wood walls that looked like they’d been made of recycled fence boards. The stepping stones led to a toilet, a sink, and a clawfoot tub with a shower.
“There’s a gate so it completely closes off … except for the fact that it’s open at the top.” Bru showed her that the opening she’d walked through was a gate. “It’s the best I could do. We haven’t had the new sewer lines inspected by the city yet, so the house doesn’t have water.”
“If there’s no sewer lines, then how is there a bathroom?” It didn’t make sense.
“I might have run a pipe to your neighbor’s sewer pipe. It was a little messy, but it worked.” Bru grinned. He loved skirting the system.
“Thanks.” The bathroom was wo
nderful, and Baby J was using her bladder as a soccer ball. She pointed to the gate. “I need to pee.”
A minute later, she made her way back to the house. Her hands were dripping because there hadn’t been a towel to wipe them on, but she could fix that. She’d probably have to buy new ones, because there was no telling which box in her storage pod held towels.
She wiped her hands on her jeans, which made them slip below her hips. She tugged on her pants for the nine millionth time today. Wearing ultra-low-rise jeans because she couldn’t face maternity clothes wasn’t working for her. She needed maternity clothes and towels.
It was time to take stock of her life.
What was Giles doing now? Did he miss her?
Probably not. Now that she looked back on their time together, she realized he hadn’t been as interested in her as she had been in him. Why was one-sided love the only love she ever found?
She’d love to blame all of her past failed relationships on the men who’d dumped her, but the only thing those relationships had in common was her. It was time to face facts; she was going to be a single mother, and the single part was permanent.
She tried to will her eyes to suck back the tears, but they spilled down her cheeks anyway.
“Oh, hun, what’s wrong?” Nina pulled her into a hug. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
Clearly, Nina thought enough time had passed that she wouldn’t have to answer any more questions about their fake cannibal book club.
“It’s everything.” January allowed herself the comfort of crying on her friend’s shoulder. It certainly wasn’t her finest moment, but it certainly wasn’t her darkest hour either.
Nina patted her back and just stood there holding her. “Everything’s going to be fine. Is this about the house? I’m sure your brothers will fix it.”
“It’s not just the house. I’m never going to be in a relationship again. I’m never going to find someone to love and who loves me back. My child is fatherless, my house is wall-less, and my life is loveless. I’m going to die alone and be eaten by vultures who break in through the back window. And I have to buy maternity clothes.” January knew she sounded like a lunatic, but it wasn’t like she could stop it.
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