Kissing Cousins

by Diana Tobin

  “Come down to the basement with me to see if what I’m thinking of will work for you,” Web invited.

  She agreed and followed him to a small area off the kitchen where the door to the basement was located. Web went down the stairs quickly while Augusta followed more slowly.

  “I figured there was a basement from the windows I saw outside,” she said, “but I had no idea it was this large.”

  A large wood-burning furnace sat at the foot of the stairs. To the right of the furnace and stairs sat a washer and dryer, along with a set of cabinets and a counter that could be used for folding laundry.

  “Those stairs,” Web pointed beyond the laundry center, “go up to the backyard if you want to hang the wash outside.”

  “Doesn’t the dryer work?” she questioned.

  “Works just fine, but there’s nothing like sun dried sheets.” He grinned at her. “You didn’t notice how fresh your sheets smelled?”

  “I guess I was so tired it didn’t register.”

  A set of shelves had been built under the stairs and held various jars. “What is all this?” Augusta pointed.

  “Emma’s canning. Mostly fruits and jams.” Web cleared his throat. “This was the first summer she wasn’t able…” He shrugged as his words trailed off. “Anyway, use anything you want. The bookshelf is over here.” He moved to the other side of the stairs.

  Augusta ran her hand over the oak shelves. “This is lovely. Are the shelves adjustable?”

  “Yeah,” he stepped next to her to show her how they could be moved. “Will this work for you?”

  “Definitely,” she said. “Do you think we can get it up there?”

  “Let’s take out all the shelves and the two of us should be able to handle it.” He started stacking the planks of oak on a nearby table. “I think it will be easier to use the stairs going out to the yard and take it in through the front door.”

  “Okay.” She turned to add her shelves to the growing pile. “Don’t tell me Emma was into weightlifting.”

  Web chuckled. “Hardly. Those are mine.”

  She looked from the weights to Web, her gaze running over his arms and shoulders. “Maybe you can just carry the bookcase by yourself.”

  He laughed as he tested her bicep. “Definitely could use some work, but I think you can help. That wasn’t an insult,” he added as she opened her mouth. “Just teasing. Although, you are a tad skinny.”

  “That’s better than what I was usually told,” she grumbled.

  “You’re welcome to use the equipment if you want, once I show you the proper way.”

  “Um…all right,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Web just nodded as he went across the basement to open the double doors leading outside. When he came back to where Augusta waited, he tipped the bookcase on one side. “Give it a try. If it’s too heavy for you, just let me know and I’ll get someone to come help me.”

  Together, they got the bookcase set up in the former shop. Augusta was dusting the piece of furniture before placing her items on the shelves when Web asked her, “Could you use a desk?”

  “Sure, but I didn’t see one in the basement.”

  “It’s upstairs in the extra bedroom. Let’s see what else you might need.” Web placed a hand on her back to urge her up the stairs. “We never completed your tour.”

  The front foyer was barely a six foot square, with the staircase leading straight up between walls of the shop and living room. Each tread was wood, and slightly worn in the middle.

  Augusta stopped when she reached the landing at the top with open doors leading to three rooms.

  “My room is straight ahead,” Web told her as he guided her to the door.

  The walls and slanted ceiling were covered in knotty pine. A double bed was just inside the door with a small table holding a lamp and clock tucked between the bed and doorway. The bed faced a row of windows looking out on the lake. Behind the open door was a small closet, and a dresser stood beside that.

  “You were right about the view,” she told him, moving to the windows. “Hope would’ve loved this,” she murmured. Her hair brushed the ceiling. “How do you stand up in here?”

  “Carefully,” he said with a grin as he sat on the side of the bed. “But, as you can see, the view is worth it.” Web was quiet for a moment. “So your daughter would’ve wanted my room?”

  Augusta’s eyes held a wealth of sadness but the corners of her mouth curved a bit. “She would have loved how cozy and warm it is, and the angles of the ceiling. Is that a cupboard?” She pointed to a handle low on the far wall.

  “Yes. He made use of every bit of space when he built this place.”

  “He?”

  “Henry Biddle,” Web said.

  “Hope would’ve viewed it as a sort of treasure hunt.”

  Augusta turned and stepped back out to the landing. Web came up behind her, directing her to her right, and the master bedroom.

  This room, with its pale blue walls, had a great deal more head room, the only slant being over a window seat facing the lake. A low dresser with a mirror attached sat between the door and window seat. Two more windows were on the north wall, and the double bed sat in the middle of the room.

  “The bathroom is through that door,” Web said, pointing on the near side of the bed.

  “Why aren’t you using this room?”

  Web shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I thought you might like it. And, the other room has always been mine.”

  Augusta gave him a puzzled look. “I’m happy with the room downstairs, especially with it being next to…well, my studio. You should move in here. At least, for the sake of your head.”

  Web leaned against the jamb. “I might just do that. If I do, I’ll get a bigger bed. There’s space for it, and it would be nice to sleep without my feet hanging over the edge.”

  She didn’t want to think about him in a bed. “Good idea,” she agreed as she stepped to the door and Web. She looked at him, waiting for him to move so she could see the last room.

  “You’re sure you don’t want this room?” he asked again.

  “Why do you keep asking?”

  “Because it was your grandmother’s room. I know she didn’t use it the last few months, but it was her room for nearly thirty years.” He waved a hand, searching for the right words. “I thought you might like the connection.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished talking. “No. I didn’t know her, never knew she existed. I keep waiting for Mr. Gates to say it’s all a mistake. As for a connection, I would think that would be another reason for you to want this room.” She stepped back from him. “May I see the last room now?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Web studied her for another moment before stepping aside and letting her cross the landing to the last bedroom.

  This room, painted white, was the smallest, with a twin bed tucked under the slanting eaves. The window overlooked the driveway and had a small desk beneath it. A six-drawer dresser was against the wall next to Web’s room.

  “There’s no closet in this room. That door,” he nodded to the far corner, “leads to attic storage. At one time, this was the nursery.”

  Augusta opened her mouth, then closed it. She shook her head slightly and drew in a breath. “Does anyone use this room?”

  “Not for a long time. I know the desk is small, but it will hold a laptop and maybe some of your papers.” Web moved aside so she could examine the desk, and decided he should shut up. He was trying to make her feel comfortable and at home, but she needed to do that on her own. The longer he was around her, the more he felt an urge to take care of her. Protect her from life’s hardships.

  He was thinking he was wrong about her using drugs. Once they’d eaten she hadn’t been as moody, except when the subject of her daughter came up. Totally understandable. Maybe her mood swings simply stemmed from a long drive, little food, and grief.

  She ran her fingers lightly over the top of the des
k and looked into drawers before facing him. “This will work nicely. Will you help me take it downstairs?”

  “Of course I will. This will be a lot easier than that bookcase.”

  Web could have taken the desk down the stairs alone, but with Augusta helping, it not only made the job easier, it gave her ownership. Two windows in the shop faced the front of the house, and they placed the desk under the first one. Augusta pulled the easy chair from the other side of the room, placing it in front of the other window so it was between the desk and bookcase.

  “It looks good,” Web told her. “You should get plenty of light from the window while you sit here and knit.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll have to find a lamp.”

  “Be right back,” he said as he hurried from the room. In less than a minute, he returned, carrying a brass floor lamp with a white glass shade painted with flowers in shades of beige and brown. “How about this?” He set it in the corner behind the chair and plugged it in.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “From the living room,” Web pointed across the foyer. “The room needs updating, don’t you think?”

  “I haven’t looked in there yet.”

  “C’mon.” Web grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him.

  The room was a slim rectangle. A couch sat in front of windows looking out to the drive with a recliner at one end and an old fashioned wooden rocker at the other. A large screen TV was attached to the wall opposite the couch and below it sat a credenza that held a collection of DVDs. A coffee table in front of the couch held magazines and remotes. Other tables and lamps were scattered around the small room. An assortment of bowls on the tables were filled with red candies.

  Other than the TV, the room looked to have been furnished twenty to thirty years earlier.

  “Where was the floor lamp?”

  “In the corner by the entry,” Web said. “Emma could never decide where to put it, but liked it too much to get rid of it.”

  “I’m glad to have use of it.” Augusta took another look around the room before saying, “I better get unpacked.”

  “Want some iced tea?” he offered.

  “That sounds great, thanks. No sugar.” She headed back to her studio.

  Web came in a few minutes later with two frosty glasses of tea.

  Augusta took a long drink from hers before placing two squares on the desk, setting her glass on one.

  “What are those?”

  “Crocheted coasters. Please use one so you don’t leave water marks on my new desk.” She smiled at him to let him know she was only half-teasing.

  “You made these?” He picked one up looking at the bright pink diagonal stripes across one corner of the lighter pink square.

  “Mm-hm. Just left-over yarn.” She was placing albums on the bottom shelves.

  “Are those your photo albums?”

  “Scrapbooks.” At the puzzled look on his face, she added. “Sort of like photo albums, but more.”

  Web placed his glass on the coaster before plopping down on the floor and grabbing the first book. “Lemme see.”

  He sucked in a breath as he stared at the first page. It was Augusta in a white gown and bridal veil holding a trailing bouquet as she stood next to a man as tall as she. This was obviously her wedding day, but she didn’t have the radiant look he would have expected from a young bride, while her husband looked bored.

  Had Augusta realized she’d made a mistake on her wedding day?

  Web continued flipping pages, admiring the decorations on each page as much as the photos themselves. She was right about it being more than a simple photo album with the designs, embellishments, and journaling.

  There was not one picture of the groom looking at his bride, while there was many of Augusta looking at her new husband.

  “Here’s your mother,” he said.

  “How do you know that’s her?” Then she realized her grandmother must have shown Web pictures of her mother before she left home. “Emma.”

  “Right. Granted, Julia is older in these pictures, but still beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” Augusta said softly. “Steve never appreciated my parents.”

  “Your husband was Steve?”

  She nodded her head. “Steve Payne.”

  “He was an idiot,” Web stated bluntly, never breaking eye contact with her.

  She grinned at him. “I’ve often thought so.”

  “Smart woman,” he said as he turned his attention back to the book in his lap.

  Suddenly, Web sucked in a breath and murmured, “Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful.” Here was the radiant look that had been missing on Augusta’s wedding day. She was holding newborn Hope, her caramel-colored hair draped over her shoulders, and smiling from ear to ear. “How old was she here?” He looked up at Augusta as he held out the book.

  A soft, dreamy smile came to her face. “Less than an hour old. It was the happiest day of my life.”

  He looked back down at the picture. “A true Madonna and child.”

  After several more pages, he said, “Steve must have taken all the pictures. He’s not in any of these.”

  Augusta didn’t comment, just continued stacking skeins of yarn on the upper shelves.

  “He was there, wasn’t he, Augusta?”

  Her fingers stilled for a moment, then she put crochet hooks into a decorated can and placed it on another shelf. “No, he didn’t make it in time.” Next to the can with hooks, she put a round plastic tube with knitting needles, the flat ends showing. “He didn’t meet Hope until after we arrived home.”

  “Why wasn’t he at the hospital with you?” he ground out.

  “He—uh…didn’t answer his cell phone. I went into labor.” She stopped when she realized she was making excuses for her ex-husband, again. Still. Stupid! Stupid! She had stopped defending Steve’s actions years ago, and now was not the time to start again.

  Augusta took a deep breath and turned to face Web. “Steve was not happy when we discovered I was pregnant. I’d always wanted a large family.” Her voice was flat but she shrugged her shoulders. “Only child syndrome, I suppose. He never told me he didn’t want children until we had one on the way. No way did he want to be my birthing coach. In his words, that was plain gross. My friend, Marie, went to birthing classes with me. You can imagine the explanations expected from me by the other expectant parents.”

  She looked past Web, her hands fisting at her sides. “Thank God I was with Marie when I went into labor. She took me to the hospital, called my parents, and took all those pictures in my scrapbook.” She glanced quickly at Web to see he was watching her. “My parents drove all night from Washington and took us home the next day. They stayed with us for nearly two weeks.

  “When Steve got home, he announced he’d been getting a vasectomy while I was giving birth to Hope. He wanted to be sure I didn’t make another mistake.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I…need some air.”

  She all but ran out the door.

  Web stared down at the pictures in the book in his hands and wished he had five minutes with Steve Payne. He’d like to show the other man what a true mistake felt like.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Gusta. Wake up.” Web lightly shook her shoulder.

  He’d left her alone after she’d run out of her studio, but he’d kept an eye on her. She’d walked up Lakefront Drive only to return to pace around the yard. After examining most of the plants in the garden, she settled on the grassy shore of the lake. Web thought about taking her a glass of iced tea or getting her to come in for a meal or snack. In the end, he left her to her solitude.

  He still didn’t know if she was telling the truth about having no knowledge of her grandparents, but he was beginning to think his first impression of her was wrong. Or, more precisely, his first impression was correct; Augusta needed someone to take care of her and protect her from life’s hardships and idiots.

  When she’d finally headed for the house, W
eb had gone upstairs. He heard her enter the house, walk through the rooms downstairs, then all was quiet. After twenty minutes, he went down to check on her and found her curled up asleep on top of her bed. Figuring she needed the rest, he let her be, but now he had something to show her.

  “Come on, honey. Open your eyes.”

  She stretched her legs, rolled to her back, and squinted up at him. “Wha’timzit?”

  He brushed his hand over her hair, finding it softer than expected. “It’s dark.” Taking her shoulders in his hands he brought her to a sitting position. “I want to show you something.” Web tugged on her hand, pulling her from the bed.

  “Where we goin’?” she murmured sleepily.

  “My room.” He urged her up the stairs ahead of him.

  “Been there. You don’ have any etchings unless you keep ’em in the cupboard.”

  “What are you–Ah.” Web chuckled. “Honey, if I wanted to get you into bed, we’d’ve stayed downstairs in yours. Over to the window,” he added before she could say a word. “Look, Gusta.”

  “What did you call me? Oh,” she said on a sigh. “What are they?”

  “Fireflies. Lightning bugs.” He knelt on the floor so he didn’t have to bend his neck, tugging Gusta down to kneel next to him. “When I was a kid, Emma would give me a jar to catch them.”

  “Really?” she said softly.

  “A regular childhood tradition.” Web lightly rubbed circles between her shoulder blades as he saw tears trailing down her face. “Bet Hope would’ve liked dancing barefoot in the grass after the fireflies.”

  Gusta nodded her head in agreement, but didn’t bother to wipe away the tears.

  “Thought you’d like seeing them,” he said next to her ear. “We could’ve gone out on the porch, but the view’s better from up here.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to him, their faces close. “I promised Hope I’d experience Maine for both of us, so thank you.”

  It would be so easy to erase the scant space between them, bringing his lips to hers to offer comfort in a physical way, but he wouldn’t take advantage of her and her grief. Instead, he kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger a second longer than he should have.