by Beth Andrews
His eye caught on a thin crescent of a white shirt at the very edge of the photo; the reason the portrait sat off center in the frame. He’d cut away his father’s swarthy image, but kept the rest.
Just as he’d done in life.
After dinner, Nick strolled the three blocks downtown to the Knights of Pythias building. He greeted a few people clustered around the coffeepot on his way to the podium.
“Let’s get started, people. You want to take your seats?”
The clusters broke up. He waited for the scrape of chairs to settle, and murmur of voices to trail off.
“Hi.” He bent, putting his mouth closer to the mic. “I’m Nick. And I’m an alcoholic.”
* * *
DEMOLISHING THE CEILING hurt too much. Sam decided to save that for the students. Instead, she worked late on something she could do: sanding the window trim in what was becoming the great room with a small hand sander. The solid white oak she unearthed from years of water damage, paint and abuse made her throbbing collarbone worth it.
She stood in the middle of the room and rolled her shoulders. Her collarbone protested, but at least her ribs seemed to be healed; her morning walk hadn’t elicited even a twinge.
“Maybe Arnie at Coast Lumber can tell me where I can get some used oak to replace a couple of pieces.”
Bugs, comfortably ensconced on his pink sherpa throw blanket, lifted his huge head and yawned.
“Well, that’s easy for you to say, bub. You want to take a turn at sanding?”
When she’d seen the almost hairless dog shivering outside on his clothesline run, she’d brought him in. Only until the weather warmed up. During the day, he followed her as she worked. After noticing his naked and painfully red elbows, Sam bought the softest blanket she could find in town, which he now dragged with him, from room to room.
She walked over, slid down the wall beside him and rubbed her shoulder. “I sure wish you had opposable thumbs. I could use a back rub.”
Nick’s strong capable hands popped into her mind.
Bugs looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“I know. I should have turned him down.” Her voice echoed in the empty room. “Better to scare him off now. I don’t have time for a guy. Don’t want one. Besides, I’ve put a moratorium on picking up any more strays.”
Bugs dropped his head onto his paws and farted.
“Well, how do you really feel?” The delicate scent of eucalyptus from the open window dissolved in a miasma of bulldog flatulence. “Jesus, Bugs!” She slapped a hand over her nose and scooted away. “We have got to work on your diet!”
Expressive eyebrows shifted guiltily, but his head stayed on his paws.
“You’ve overstated your point, but I get it.” She tested the air before uncovering her nose and scooted back beside the dog.
At the thought of Nick, tiny bubbles of excitement had risen in her core. Tightening her stomach muscles, she squashed the little buggers. That lunch a week ago had been too easy. She, too, felt a connection—as though they clicked on some fundamental level. That, coupled with the low-voltage jolt when their eyes connected...
You don’t have to be an electrician to know voltage is dangerous.
For her, closeness with a man just wasn’t possible. She’d tried committed relationships in the past. She was a dismal failure at the physical part, but worse, her secrets always kept her separate. Even if the guy didn’t notice that she wasn’t really present for sex, eventually he couldn’t help but notice her emotional distance, and the holes in her past. The price of feeling normal for a while, dating, was a piercing, depressing reminder of her failure. So when she dated, she made sure to keep it light, strings-free and short-term.
But for some reason, Nick’s smile seemed to flow through unchinked cracks in her walls she hadn’t even known were there, trying to snuggle next to her heart.
The little girl whispered in her ear. It’s no good, wanting what you can’t have.
Living on the periphery was safe. It was enough.
Bugs let out a loud snore.
Oh, well, thanks to the student work crew, the house would be complete by Christmas. That was only eight months away. Then she’d hop on her bike and ride south. Or, if her bike wasn’t ready, she’d take the Jeep on the Northern route, up to Washington, then east. It didn’t really matter where—there were houses in need of remodeling all across the country. After Nick finished the motorcycle, he could ship it to her.
With a sigh, she lifted her hand from the long patch of intact fur on the dog’s haunch and got back to work.
CHAPTER NINE
SOMETHING CLAWED AT the back of her brain. She shut off the belt sander and pushed the safety glasses to the top of her head, listening, sensing the fat hollowness of an empty house.
There’s something wrong.
The afternoon light slanted through uncovered windows, dust motes swirling. She stood, her knees popping like pistol shots in the hush. Brushing the sawdust from her jeans, she walked from the large country kitchen to the entrance hall of the log home. She tested the front door. Locked, just the way she’d left it.
There is no one here. Is there?
The silent house gave no clue, but danger crackled like static in the air. She stepped to the sidelight window of the front door, her fingers twitching at the lacy curtain, as she peered across the covered porch. The dense tangle of evergreens seemed to loom closer than earlier, a result of the advancing dusk.
Nothing.
Nothing physical, anyway.
Now where had that thought come from? She’d like to think she was merely spooked at being alone in the old house. But it was more than that. Much more.
Unseen eyes crawled over the back of her neck, like something forgotten at the edge of her memory.
Something she’d remember soon. Something...
Not good.
“Now you’re really out there, Crozier.” Her own voice, high-pitched and shaky, scared her even more.
Awareness crashed in her brain.
It’s in the basement.
Her terrified thoughts scurried like cockroaches, looking for a way out. She froze midstep. “There’s something in the basement that...could drive me mad if I see it.”
She didn’t know how she knew it. But she did. Her soul had whispered to her before. And it was never wrong.
Her gaze fell on the cellar door. Two needs plucked at her—an undeniable need to put her hand on the knob, and incredulity that she’d consider something so foolish. But beneath that, a thrill-seeking pull of attraction stood stronger than the terror. She wanted to open that door.
* * *
SAM WOKE WITH a start, then lay staring at the ceiling until her body accepted that it was just another dream, and unlocked her muscles. When a shower didn’t wash off the dream’s hangover, she decided to take Bugs for a walk. The dog spotted the leash in her hand and ran, nails clattering in the hall, to jump against her legs.
She shrugged into a fleece-lined denim jacket. “Patience, mutt.” She clipped the leash on his collar and they stepped out onto the porch. Damp brushed her cheeks and eyelids. Beyond her front porch, a fog-shrouded yard waited. They walked into the clinging, silent world, revealed only a few grudging feet at a time. Not wanting to get lost in the gray sameness, she stuck to the road. Bugs dragged her from one side to the other, probably scenting rabbits.
Her unoccupied mind circled back to her dream. How could she possibly want to open that door? She wanted to deny the crazy urge, but it drove her as hard as the incredible feeling of terror at what lay behind it. Where the heck did that dream come from? Well, she probably knew the answer to that. But would she be haunted by it for the rest of her life? If so, it would be a short life—even if her mind could handle it without breaking, on
e day her heart would give out. Could a person actually die of fear?
Sam came to herself, standing in the middle of the empty road. While she’d wandered her nightmare, the sun had burned through the fog and the fields flanking the road appeared out of the mist. Where’s the leash? Screw that—where’s the dog?
“Man, I am losing it.” She scanned the fields for the mutt, or any landmark that would help her get her bearings. The pavement rose ahead. She trotted to the summit. Her neighbor’s cottage lay ahead, her own house behind. One problem solved. She ran down the hill, scanning the brush for movement. She heard a noise ahead, like someone throwing dirt against a barn door.
She sprinted to the cottage.
Bugs joyfully dug in the rich soil of the cottage garden. Nose snuffling, he flung dirt through his short legs. The sound she’d heard was the mud, splattering the pristine white picket fence.
“Stop!” The dog happily ignored her, as engrossed in his excavation as Sam had been in her thoughts.
She vaulted the gate, too late seeing the plastic sheeting covering the dirt. When she landed, her feet flew from under her. She just had time to think, Oh, this is going to hurt, before slamming onto her back, staring through tree branches at the sky. She sat up, collarbone hollering, holding her ribs, dazed.
A new batch of mud flew out from the rear of the frantically digging dog. It smacked her face and open mouth.
The screen door of the cottage banged open. Sam turned, almost afraid to look. Her neighbor stepped onto the porch, brandishing a broom like a baseball bat.
Sam spit mud. “Oh, crap. We’re in for it now.” Bugs ducked his head and scrambled behind her.
“Coward.” She peered through muddy hair at the advancing woman. Mrs. Strauss’s look shifted from thunderous to something else. Halfway down the sidewalk, she dropped the broom, covered her mouth and giggled.
Sam couldn’t have been more surprised if her neighbor had flown off the porch on the broom. The woman laughed until tears rolled down her face, then retreated to the porch steps to catch her breath. Sam scrambled to her feet, brushed dirt from the seat of her jeans and grabbed the delinquent’s collar. She dragged him behind her to the porch.
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Strauss. He slipped the leash, and when I found him...”
The woman waved her hand, clearly trying to get herself under control. “Oh, my, I have never seen anything the like! Your feet went completely over your head—like something from a Three Stooges show.” She paused to take a breath. “Then the mud. You looked so shocked. Oh, my.” She fanned her face with the edge of the apron tied around her ample waist.
Sam glared at Bugs, who looked everywhere but at her. “I am so sorry. I’ll pay for any damages he made to your beautiful garden.”
“Keep your money. It is what dogs do.” She put her hand to her chest. “It was worth the mess to laugh like that.” Ana squinted down at Bugs. “I do believe that is the ugliest dog I have ever seen.”
She lifted herself from the porch step. “You smeared mud all over your face. I will get you a rag.” The stern look had returned, but Sam thought she heard a snort of laughter. The screen door slapped shut.
“Well, dog, we’ve made a great impression. First, I scare her half to death, then you practically give her a stroke, laughing. Let’s try to be on our best behavior from now on, shall we?” She frowned at the pink, white and mud-colored bulldog. “It’s a bath for you today, bud. That’s the price you pay for giving in to baser instincts.”
Mrs. Strauss returned, handing Sam a warm wet rag.
“Thank you,” she said, scrubbing her face. “Again, I am sorry for the trouble. We’ll be getting out of your hair now.” She handed the rag back.
Mrs. Strauss stared at them for a long moment, her mouth pulled to a stern line. “Do you want coffee?” The old woman’s eyes shifted to the road, the yard, the garden. “If you don’t, be on your way and do not bother me.”
Sam stuttered, “Oh, no, please, I would love a cup.”
In minutes, Sam found herself sitting on the porch steps, a cup of coffee in hand, Bugs tied securely to the porch rail, the silence lying thick on the porch.
“Your house is beautiful. How long have you lived here?”
“Many years.”
Sam waited to see if Ana would explain. She didn’t. “Where did you learn to garden?”
“I’ve always known.”
The birds chirped.
“I’m focused on the house right now, but before I put it up for sale, I’m going to have to do something with the yard.”
The roses nodded in the faint breeze.
“Um. Well. Do you think you’d be willing to give me some tips when I get to that point? I’d love to plant a grape arbor, next to my carriage house.”
“It is not hard. You can get a book.”
“Yes, but I’ll bet you have secrets. I’ve never seen roses with dozens of blooms on every bush.” It seemed as if the old woman was out of practice with conversation. Didn’t she get any human contact? But Sam kept trying.
After a bumpy ten minutes of Sam’s questions, the old woman seemed a bit more at ease, explaining the finer points of rose care. Sam admired the splashy flowers. “Have you ever entered your roses in the county fair? They’d win for sure.”
“I would never do that.”
“But why not?”
“Why do you push your nose where it is not wanted?” She snapped like a drill sergeant. “The arrogance of young people.” She glared, stood and stalked into the house, the slam of the wooden door a clear rebuke.
Sam was getting used to the woman’s lightning mood shifts. She set down her empty mug and glared at the ugly dog lying asleep on her feet. “Well, time to get home, mutt. You have a date with a washtub.” Bugs woke when she grabbed the leash. His toenails clicked down the path to the gate. Opening it, Sam turned to look toward the cottage. The curtains on the front window twitched.
The woman’s wariness poked Sam’s heart. She understood fear.
* * *
AFTER WASHING AND medicating the dog, Sam made a huge pot of chili, and put it on the back burner to simmer. Her recipe wouldn’t win a chili cook-off, but at least there was a lot of it. She knew teenagers could put away food.
The students showed up shortly after two o’clock. She got them sodas and sat them in the backyard. They sprawled on the grass petting Bugs.
“I told you this in your interviews, I will tolerate no horseplay. If I see any, or if you’re not following my instructions, you’ll be fired immediately. Is that understood?” Sober nods all around.
“Then let’s get started.” She pointed to the stocky football player. “Pete, I want you to mow the front and back yards. Don’t you roll your eyes, you said you wanted a physical job. You’ll thank me for helping you build up those shoulders.” She turned to the other two. “Sunny and Beau, come with me. I need help hauling stuff.”
That afternoon, three extra sets of hands and youthful backs filled a construction-size Dumpster. The house looked gutted, but it no longer resembled ground zero.
At five, she called for a break and led them to the kitchen. They each grabbed a plate with a sourdough bread bowl and filled it from the pot of chili on the stove, then carried it to the front porch to eat—it was either that or sit on the floor in the kitchen, since she only had a card table in there, covered in blueprints.
“Hey, good chili, Ms. Crozier,” Pete mumbled, mouth full.
Sunny stared at Pete’s progress through a second helping with a cross between fascination and disgust. “How would you know? You eat like my dog. Wolfing it so fast, there’s no way you could taste it.”
“Call me Sam, and I’m glad you like it.” She kind of enjoyed the sight of the kids sprawled on her porch.
“Hey, Sam.” Beau
cleaned the sauce on his plate with his last piece of bread. “When are we going to get to do some real construction, not just the grunt work?”
“Yeah, I want to learn some new stuff,” Sunny said.
“We’ll get to that, but you’ve got to realize that a lot of construction is grunt work. No job is just the fun stuff. That’s why I pay you to do it.”
Beau put down his dish and leaned against the porch railing. “My old man does nothing but bitch about his job, and I can’t see why. He just works from home on the computer. What’s to hate?”
“What does your dad do?” Sam asked.
“Something with stocks and stuff. He made a ton of money in the dot-com thing.”
Pete spoke between shoveling bites. “I don’t see what’s so tough about that. My mom works at the Walmart. She’s beat when she gets home.”
“What about your dad?” Sunny asked him. The kids knew each other from shop class, but apparently ran in different circles.
“Don’t have a dad. He bailed before I was born. It’s just me and my mom.” His look dared them to judge.
“Hell, it would be okay with me if my old man disappeared. Especially if he took my mom with him. You don’t know how lucky you are.” Beau didn’t sound like he was joking.
Sam broke in. “Okay, I’m going to play Simon Legree. Back to work.”
“Who’s that?” Pete set aside the empty bowl.
“Another reason to stay in school. You haven’t had to read Uncle Tom’s Cabin yet? Now they had a tough job.”
The kids looked at her with blank faces.
How can I sound old at twenty-eight? Supervising high school kids was going to be a humbling experience.
The crew took out their angst by demolishing the remaining walls on the left side of the house. They had just gotten that mess hauled out by the time darkness fell. Sam called it a day. The kids dragged themselves to their cars, barely mumbling goodbye.
Sam called out, “More of the same tomorrow.”
The chorus of groans made her chuckle all the way to the shower.