by Mari Labbee
Matt loaded his pickup with several saws, a toolbox filled with an assortment of wrenches, pliers, hammers, nails, and bonding epoxy; then he stopped by his storage unit for the chainsaw—everything he would need to handle what he might find at Jackal’s Head Point. He had seen enough of the house to anticipate what he might need. Actually, the house was in good shape, considering how old it was. And it was 150 years old, that he knew. He was ready to get to it, glad to be back. Iowa had been left…undone, with a vague promise to come back at some point but no time frame. He had to think, and work was good for that.
He flung his tool belt on the passenger seat of the truck, set his coffee mug on the wooden console that he had designed because the one that came with the truck was useless, and tuned the radio to his favorite station where the DJs were going on about the heat wave. A little over an hour later, he turned onto the gravel road that led into Jackal’s Head Point. As he approached the house, he saw the front door wide open and noticed the flat tire on the passenger side of Bri’s car. He brought the truck to a quick stop, leaped out of it without stopping to unload anything, and ran into the house.
“Bri!” he called out.
“In here!”
She was in the great room, and he quickly headed over there, wondering if she was all right. He found her there, on the stepladder, wearing rubber gloves, hard at work soaking down a corner of the pink-and-green wallpaper. But it wasn’t the wallpaper that made him stop abruptly and stare; it was the cut-off shorts over firm legs and a fitted tank top that did that.
“Hi!” She smiled.
“Hi,” he said quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed his reaction.
She jumped off the ladder, took the gloves off, and laid them on the rim of the bucket filled with sudsy water.
“You have got to see this,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “I see you’ve started on it.” He gestured to the wall.
She nodded. “Actually I started yesterday and got nowhere trying to scrape it off. Then I thought I’ll paint over it, but that wouldn’t have worked; I’d always know that hideous thing was there. So today I started soaking it down to soften it, and sure enough, it’s working.”
She motioned for him to follow her to the opposite end of the wall where a good portion of the paper had already been peeled back. Beneath it, he saw a swirl of colors: red, orange, and turquoise blue. Bri watched him.
“There’s something under this?”
She nodded. “Apparently, and that’s a theme around here.” She told him about the red-silk walls in the other room but didn’t mention the dream that made her spill dinner all over the floor, because it didn’t seem important anymore. It was just a dream, a rather unusual one, but that sort of thing happens all the time when someone is in new surroundings. What would she say, anyway?
She continued. “I think this is a painting.”
Matt asked the obvious.
“Why would someone want to cover it up?”
Bri shrugged. He looked at the wall.
“You know, I have a small pump sprayer in the truck. We can fill that up; it’ll be faster and easier than using the bucket.”
She smiled, agreeing.
He could see how excited she was. Then he realized that he had barged in, yet again, and felt compelled to apologize.
“I’m sorry I barged in again. I saw your door open and the flat tire and—”
She waved a hand at him. “No, no, I left it open for you; I knew you were coming.”
“You did?”
“Well, I hoped. You said a week; it’s been over that, so I figured you’d be back any day, and I don’t always get my calls or texts. And anyway…”
She went on to tell him about chasing the appliance truck down the driveway.
He imagined her as she described it: “With my hair out to here, barefoot…” She was laughing, and he knew her intent was to convey that she looked awful, having just woken up, but she wasn’t capable of looking awful as far he was concerned. She had discovered the tire when she went outside preparing to drive into Pegottie for groceries, now that she had a refrigerator to put them in.
“Anyway,” she continued, “if you could hook up a doorbell as soon as possible, I can’t tell you how much I’ll appreciate it.”
“Sure.” He smiled. “And I’ll change the tire later.”
She was about to say no to the tire but thought better of it. What made her think she could change a tire? It would take hours, and that was with a manual.
“Thanks,” she said, genuinely grateful.
“I figured I’d start on the roof today,” he said.
“Sure, you go ahead with…whatever…you’ve got free reign.”
Charlie shuffled in at that moment and gave Matt a little nod and a grunt. His toupee was askew, looking a bit like a hat.
“Hey, Charlie, how’s everything coming along?” Matt asked, slapping him lightly on the shoulder while deftly righting the little hair hat. He gave Bri a wink as he turned to go.
It was easier now with open windows—the ocean air blew in, rushing through the house like a mischievous child. She had asked Charlie what it would take to update the house with central air, and he tried to explain, but she got lost quickly; she would have to ask Matt about it at some point. The house had been built when air-conditioning was science fiction—fiction, really—the science being non-existent. The house was designed to stay cool, but no height of ceiling or dozens of windows could calm this heat. Bri wondered if this was something to look forward to every summer.
Matt had been clomping about above her for several days now. Occasionally something would be flung off the roof to land in a pile by the front of the house near the kitchen; he had warned her to avoid that spot, lest she be hit by flying debris.
The wallpaper was coming—slowly—partly due to impatience. She wasn’t letting the water soak long enough before pulling on it, and the paper resisted. Was it supposed to be stuck on so tight? She wanted to preserve whatever lay beneath, so she would do other things and check in on the paper regularly to pull and soak some more. Soaking and pulling, repeating the action over and over.
The glare of the sun hurt her eyes. She put her forearm up to her forehead and scanned the roofline for Matt; he was nowhere. She turned and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand glad to be outside. The air smelled of dry grass and salt, and the bit of breeze felt wonderful. She had brought out a pitcher of iced tea and sandwiches. There hadn’t been much time for them to socialize, both furiously at work through long days, and she thought it was about time to get to know Matt better. After all, he would be spending a lot of time here.
She arranged everything on the overturned buckets and set the plastic chairs across from each other. Then she turned back around to look for Matt again.
“Oh…” she said, exhaling sharply, as she caught sight of him, shirtless, on one knee, preparing to hammer at something on he roof. He looked up, his sixth sense in working order, and they locked eyes for just a moment before he smiled. She waved weakly.
“Ready for a break?” she yelled up at him.
By the time he walked over, he’d already pulled on his shirt, but it was too late—she’d already seen and wouldn’t soon forget.
“Roof is in pretty good shape. Some loose shingles but otherwise OK,” he said, smiling that almost-perfect smile.
“I thought you might want to take a break. Iced tea—with ice,” she emphasized, “and sandwiches; nothing much, just ham and Swiss,” she said.
“That’s great,” he said. “But you didn’t have to.”
“I know,” she said, the dimples reappearing.
He never expected a client to provide lunch and always brought his own, but he’d make the exception for her.
“I told you I wouldn’t apologize again,” she said, sitting down.
He laughed, remembering the snack of peanut butter on crackers and room-temperature iced tea his first day back, before her trip to the
grocery store. She had apologized profusely and continuously.
He took a bite. “Good.” He nodded and then leaned back in his chair. He slowed his chewing and looked down at the sandwich in his hand.
Bri noticed. “It’s a lemon-garlic aioli that I mixed up earlier; light on the garlic. Is it too much?”
He nodded. “No. Actually, it’s great. Adds a little kick.”
“I used to cook and bake a lot, but with work and the fact that in New York you can get great food on every street corner, I got out of the habit.”
He took another bite, nodding affirmatively.
“So. How do you like it out here so far?”
Bri thought a moment.
“It’s nice. Different.”
“Yeah, small town. I know. I’ll bet it’s a big change from New York.”
“Well, I didn’t grow up in the city. I’m from upstate, small town, but not quite as remote as this.”
“Nothing is as remote as this,” he added.
She nodded, taking a bite.
“No wonder,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Forget I said that.” He reached for the glass of iced tea closest to him.
She smiled a knowing smile. “You were expecting the neurotic New Yorker. All high-strung and demanding, right?”
He shrugged.
“Some of my best friends are neurotic New Yorkers.” The moment she said it, she wanted to bite her tongue, wishing she hadn’t said anything about friends. “Well, anyway,” she went on, “glad to disappoint you on that note. Anything else you weren’t expecting?”
He laughed. Bri noticed he blushed, which just made it all the better. She watched him as he talked. He looked young, maybe even younger than Ryan. His gaze was direct but not overbearing. He was entirely comfortable with lapses in conversation, never rushing in to fill up the silence, which she’d have to get used to. He had his back to the wind, and along with salt and ocean, she smelled soap and something citrusy.
He took another gulp of iced tea and then looked over at the house—to where the woods pushed against the walls of the kitchen.
“It looks like that might be where they used to keep firewood. Makes sense, it’s pretty sheltered. I can add a lean-to there. You won’t be able to see it from the front, and the trees add extra protection.” He set the glass back down.
Bri stared. Winter, my God, I haven’t thought about winter at all.
“Is there a service that comes out this far?” she asked.
“Service?”
“That delivers firewood.”
“Uh…not sure,” Matt said slowly. “But I’d guess that most of your firewood is going to come from in there,” he said gesturing to the woods.
Bri’s jaw slowly opened, and she quickly shut it. Chop firewood? Just one more thing to add to the list of things she hadn’t thought of.
“I’m pretty sure, though, that if you can’t find a service, you’ll find someone who can come out and keep you stocked up.” He paused to take another gulp of tea. She smiled half-heartedly.
The vision of her petite frame wielding an ax almost made him laugh out loud, but he stopped short of offering himself; he didn’t know about that-yet.
The afternoon was in danger of slipping away. She was glad she’d brought out lunch and liked being in Matt’s company. He had a way about him. Easy, funny (unintentionally at times), he looked down often, something he didn’t seem aware of. It made him appear shy, but he wasn’t, as far as she could tell. Introductions, such as this conversation was, were always a little awkward and started slowly, but he made her feel comfortable almost immediately, and she was feeling relaxed. Suddenly, though, he asked the most basic of questions and left her flailing.
“Do you have family here? Friends? I mean is that what brought you out here?” he asked.
She glanced away quickly, too quickly perhaps, and picked up her glass of iced tea, as thoughts raced through her mind.
My fiancé was having an affair with my maid of honor, who was also my closest friend. I caught them together when I went to show him our wedding invitations. I needed a new life. I can’t have children. I wanted to hide.
A benign question in disguise.
He immediately sensed that his question hit some kind of nerve. It crossed into territory she didn’t want to be in. He pretended not to notice her reaction and thought of how to change the subject when she spoke.
“No, no family. My mom died when I was little. I don’t really remember her. My dad died when I was eighteen, and that’s actually when I moved to the city. No brothers or sisters.” She paused, her shoulders rising a bit, and smiled. “I guess I came here looking for a change of pace.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Oh, I know.”
A change of pace? Interesting, taking on this house way out here was a lot more than a change of pace. He wanted to lighten the suddenly somber mood.
“Dana mentioned you were thinking of turning it into an inn?”
She gave a little laugh. “Well, yes. I’ve thought about it, and I’d like to. But that depends on my not running out of money…and you, I suppose. I doubled what I budgeted, but I should have tripled. And I never saw the interior until I moved in, so there were a few surprises.”
“You bought the house without seeing the inside?” he asked, surprised. It seemed…impulsive.
“I don’t know why, but it seemed like the right thing to do,” she said, looking into the distance, distracted in thought. “It just felt…right. And I couldn’t see myself not living here once I found it. Do you know what I mean?” She continued on quickly. “Of course, you wouldn’t. It sounds crazy now, even to me.” She laughed.
But he understood and thought of the Audrey Natalia.
She left out the nightly awakenings. They didn’t seem worth adding. And she frowned a little as she thought, yet again, about how impulsive all of this was.
She fanned herself with her hand. “Does it always get this hot here during summer? I was wondering if it’s a good idea to add central air to the house. I know that would be a huge expense, but it might be worth it in this heat.”
He got the feeling she was holding back, deliberately keeping the conversation light. And he was OK with this; there was plenty he wasn’t willing to talk about, either. Nothing wrong with polite conversation about the weather, which, for the time being, was a big topic around here.
“I’d wait on that. It’s never been like this, at least not since I’ve been here. And from what I hear, it rarely gets over eighty-five. And you’re right, it will be expensive.”
“How long has that been? I mean since you’ve been here?” she asked.
It felt like forever. In his mind, though, he had been here a long time, even before he arrived.
“Just going on six years now.”
“And you like it?”
He nodded. Without elaborating too much, he told her where he was from.
“Iowa, really? A country boy? I never would have guessed,” she said, surprised.
“Why not?”
“Well…you just seem to belong here. I would swear you grew up here, except for the accent. That’s the only thing that gives you away.”
“Ayuh.” He responded in a perfect Maine accent.
She laughed and he told her a little bit about the Audrey Natalia.
“She sounds beautiful,” Bri said.
“Well, you’ll have to come out with me one of these days.”
He knew exactly what he had just done. He had crossed over the line that he’d drawn himself. Maybe this was something worth starting.
“I’d like that,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Matt! Come in here!”
He had just pried a rotted plank from one of the kitchen windows and tossed it on the growing pile by the house when he heard her calling. Pulling his gloves off, he went inside.
Bri stood several feet away from the great room wa
ll, surrounded by mounds of crumpled paper, transfixed. What had been hidden under that paper for so long was at last revealed: an explosion of color. It took both of them a few minutes to take it all in. They stood shoulder to shoulder, staring.
It was a painting of a narrow arc of beach with sand as white as sugar and dotted with coconut palms. Behind the little beach rose a shadowy jungle which grew into a mountain. At the far end of the beach, a small dock extended out into the water. Sagging miserably in places, the dock looked as if it were about to fall in and be lost forever.
The most striking element of the painting, however, were the slashes of dark crimson in the sky that slowly faded to a muted coral as it reached down to the horizon before dropping into a turquoise sea.
“Wow,” said Matt.
Bri didn’t respond; she frowned. Something was bothering her. On some deep level, she found it disturbing but didn’t know why. There was something odd about this painting with its forceful jagged edges and uneven lines. There was no softness in there. She didn’t like it at all.
“Well, you’ve got your mural. I think it looks better than the wallpaper, don’t you?” Matt asked.
She didn’t answer. An odd red sky.
She knew it was supposed to be a sunset, but this was like no sunset she’d ever seen. It was a sky on fire. It made no sense to her, and it bothered her.
Matt tapped her shoulder.
She jumped. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Better than the paper, huh?”
“Oh. Yeah…better.” Her response was barely audible.
Matt turned around and began picking up the discarded paper.
Still looking at it, she asked, “It’s strange looking, don’t you think?”
He let out a little laugh. “Yeah. But at least it’s not this,” he said, picking up a crumple. “And it’s…uncommon. One of a kind.”
“Why paint it at all? And why on this huge wall where you can’t possibly avoid seeing it?”