Kissing Books

by Cat Johnson

  “Oh, wait. You have to jiggle the handle after you flush. And then wait there for a minute to see if it’s running or not.”

  My chin fell to my chest. When I finally lifted my gaze to hers, I asked, “That’s what you’ve been doing for a week?”

  “Yes. It’s what Shalene told me to do.”

  My cousin should know better than that. She lived here all summer jiggling a handle and waiting to see if it worked when she could have just called me to repair it?

  I’d have to wait and deal with her later when she was home. But I could do something about the problem here now.

  “Or, I could figure out what’s wrong and fix it,” I suggested.

  She lifted her brows. “You think you can? I didn’t want to call a plumber without talking to Agnes. They’re so expensive.”

  “You don’t need a plumber.” Grumbling and annoyed with Shalene and Harper for not having faith in my abilities I stalked across the kitchen.

  “It’s just to the right,” Harper called after me.

  “I know where it is.” I’d been visiting Agnes here for as long as I could remember.

  Five minutes later, maybe less, I was back in the kitchen. We’d eaten there at the little table for two instead of in the big formal dining room at the table that seated twelve. I approved of Harper’s decision in that, even if she’d lost some points with the toilet handle jiggling.

  “It’s fixed,” I announced with not a small amount of pride.

  “What? How? You didn’t even have tools or parts or anything.”

  “I had my hands.” I held them up. The same hands I’d be using tonight to relieve this frustration building in me thanks to Harper.

  “But how?” she asked again.

  She was a question asker. Where another person might say thank you and move on, she wanted to know facts and details.

  I drew in a breath, and launched into an explanation that I hoped would satisfy her and wouldn’t end in us hunched over the toilet tank gazing into the water.

  “The flapper wasn’t making good contact so the water in the tank was leaking out and making it run. All I had to do was bend the arm that lifts the flapper slightly and now it doesn’t leak.”

  “Wow. I could have done that.”

  What to say to that? She could have. She should have. More importantly, Shalene grew up on a farm and was more self sufficient than most and she really should have been able to figure it out too.

  I kept all that to myself and lifted a shoulder. “It was no problem. It’s done now. Don’t worry about it.”

  She scowled. “I like to be able to do things on my own.”

  I let out a laugh as I remembered her library creation. “Yes, I noticed that. But it’s okay to ask for help too. That’s what we do around here in Mudville. Help each other.”

  “As long as it doesn’t involve kissing books and the town library,” she added, with a smirk.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I spied her cell on the table next to her. Face down so I couldn’t be insulted she was checking it while I was here, but within reach. I extended my hand toward her. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in there for you so if anything else goes wrong around here, you can text me. If I’m not busy, I’ll come right over and fix it for you.”

  She frowned. “I don’t want you to have to bother.”

  “It’s no bother. Besides, it’ll be nice for Agnes to come home to a house that’s in good working order. Won’t it?”

  My excuse worked. Finally she nodded.

  “Okay.” She unlocked her phone and handed it to me. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Just save it in my contacts as Steak Police, if you don’t mind,” she said.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle at her persistence, but I did as she’d said. Well, almost. I typed in Stone Steak Master as my contact name.

  Still smiling I handed it back to her.

  She rolled her eyes when she saw what I’d done. “I’m gonna change that, you know.”

  “Go right ahead. I’ll still know the truth.”

  Harper smiled and as usual, it lit her face.

  She liked bickering with me as much as I did with her. I’d like doing something else even more . . .

  And with that thought, I figured it was time to go. The dinner dishes were in the dishwasher. The pie was eaten. There was no more reason to hang around. My thank you dinner was complete.

  “I guess I should be going.” I stood and she jumped up from her seat too.

  “Oh. Okay. Well thank you for coming. And thank you for fixing that toilet.”

  “Sure thing. Thank you for having me for dinner. Everything was great.” Christ. Maybe this was why I always dove right in for a tongue-tangling kiss at the end of the night with a woman. My small talk game sucked balls.

  “Well, you grew the corn and raised the cow for the steak on your farm so a lot of the thanks goes to you.”

  I sniffed. “Okay. If you insist, we’ll share the credit.”

  We’d reached the front door. I turned. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Yup.” She nodded.

  “Thanks again,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  This wasn’t a handshake kind of situation. But it felt weird to just turn around and walk out the door too. With one hand gripping her arm, I leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  At the same time, she leaned in too. But when I angled my face one direction to aim for her cheek, she turned her head the same direction.

  Our mouths collided in an off center, awkward kiss that had my lips hitting the corner of her mouth.

  Damn. You’d think I was thirteen and going in for my first kiss ever.

  I dropped my hold on her arm and stepped back. “Okay. Thanks. Bye.”

  I would have been out the door except the frigging locks took two hands and a locksmith to get open.

  “Here. Let me help you. The locks here are ridiculous. I couldn’t get the front door open at all the first couple of days I was here. I’ve actually been practicing.” She babbled, probably just as appalled at that awkward near miss kiss as I was while we were trapped together in the three-foot wide vestibule between Agnes’s two sets of double front doors.

  Finally, Harper got the outer doors open and I saw my imminent escape.

  “Great. Thanks. See you.”

  Yeah, I ran down the front stairs. No, I didn’t look back. Yes, I was going to remember that horrible kiss for the rest of the night. Maybe for the rest of my life.

  Crap.

  From the Journal of Rose Van de Berg

  MUDVILLE INQUISITOR

  1942

  Residents participated in the first blackout drill the night of Jan. 22. Lights went out for fifteen minutes following a warning sound by numerous whistles from the railroad yard and the fire siren.

  FIFTEEN

  Harper

  As if things weren’t weird enough between us already as we navigated this no man’s land between being friends and casual acquaintances, now this.

  I closed the door and turned away as my cheeks burned.

  What had that been anyway? Was he going in for a full-blown kiss on my lips and I messed it up? Or was he going for my cheek? In which case I really messed that up.

  At thirty years old I’d kissed plenty of men. Not a lot but enough. Enough I shouldn’t have somehow managed to embarrass myself during what was either going to be a peck on the cheek or a kiss to remember.

  My shame followed me as I finished cleaning up the kitchen. And as I locked and checked all the many doors. And as I got ready for bed.

  Reading couldn’t hold my attention. Nothing on Agnes’s cable channels looked worth watching. Finally I turned off the TV and the light and decided to try and go to sleep.

  I was still reliving my humiliation, over and over and over, when a screech from the back yard had me sitting bolt upright in bed.

  The one screech was followed by more and I realiz
ed what it was. The chickens!

  Holy shit, I’d forgotten to close up the coop for the night. Judging by the horrific sounds coming from the backyard, some kind of animal had gotten in.

  They were probably being murdered right at this very moment. I jumped out of bed and ran, barefoot in my pajama bottoms and tank top, down the staircase.

  I was already out the kitchen door when I realized how dark it was outside. Thankfully, I’d remembered to grab my cell from the nightstand. I turned on the flashlight app and let the beam guide me toward the coop.

  Holding my breath I swept the light around the coop’s yard. No chickens. I ran to the side and held the light up to the window, pressing my face against the wire to peek into the coop.

  No birds on the roost and none in the nesting boxes.

  “Oh, my God.” I looked around.

  No one and nothing was there to help me or the chickens.

  “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.”

  Panic set in. I’d killed Agnes’s chickens. Worse, I’d really gotten attached to those darn birds. They’d been my work companions ever since I’d bought the wicker lounge and started working outside a few hours a day.

  Tears pricked at the back of my eyes as the full weight of this hit me.

  The cell was still in my hand. Stone’s number was right there where he’d entered it under S for Steak Master.

  Fighting tears I hit to call and waited through the ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “I killed the chickens.”

  “Excuse me?” He sounded confused.

  Of course he was. I had his number. He didn’t have mine.

  “It’s Harper. Agnes’s chickens are dead and it’s all my fault.”

  “Give me five minutes. I’ll be right there.” He disconnected before I had a chance to say anything.

  Not that I knew what to say. No, don’t come was an option. But I wanted him here. I didn’t want to be alone right now with my guilt.

  I could have called Red, but she didn’t have chickens. She wouldn’t understand the full weight of what I was going through knowing some animal came and feasted on all six of the girls I’d come to know and love.

  Stone might. Besides, maybe he could identify what kind of animal had done it so I could fully direct my hatred somewhere other than at myself.

  He was there in what felt like under five minutes, pulling his truck around back and leaving the lights on to shine on the coop and me, standing there barefooted and in my PJs.

  Still shocked. Still sad. More than sad. Devastated.

  And the more I thought about those poor birds being torn apart and eaten alive, the sicker I felt about it.

  He stalked toward me, a flashlight in his hand which he shone inside the coop, just like I had with my cell phone. He needn’t have bothered.

  Nothing had changed since I’d looked. It was still empty. Though maybe he’d see some clue I’d missed.

  He came back to me, concern etched in his features lit by the truck lights. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was in bed and I heard them screaming.”

  “Who?”

  “The chickens.” Fighting tears, I admitted, “I forgot to close the coop door for the night.”

  “And that’s it?”

  Wasn’t that enough? “By the time I got out here everything was silent and they were gone.” My voice broke on the last word.

  He moved back toward the coop, shining his flashlight in a larger area around us.

  “They’re all dead, aren’t they? Eaten by . . . whatever.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Stone shook his head. “There was definitely something in here. The food trough is overturned. The shavings are pulled out of the nesting boxes. But if they were dead we’d see evidence of it. More feathers than just these few.”

  I’d moved closer, shining my own little cell phone light around as he talked.

  “So you don’t think they’re dead?” I asked, feeling hope for the first time since stepping outside and finding the coop abandoned. “They could be alive?”

  “Yeah, definitely. It was probably something small, scavenging for feed or eggs. Nothing short of a pack of animals could take all six birds on one go. And even if this thing managed to get one of the chickens, we’d see evidence of it.”

  “Evidence?”

  “Blood . . . parts.” His gaze met mine.

  His answer was less comforting than I’d hope but still, that aside, there was no blood. There were no . . . parts.

  I blew out a breath and nodded, my heart pounding. “Okay. So if they’re still alive, where are they? They must have flown away.”

  They could be just as gone as if they were dead. And what could I do? Drive around the neighborhood shaking my bag of cracked corn and mealworms and calling, Here, chickie-chickie?

  “They don’t fly that well. You’ve seen them. They run most places. They can only fly short distances.” He was looking up in the trees as he spoke, sweeping the lower branches with his flashlight. He broke into a smile. “There they are.”

  I followed the beam of his light and let out my breath in a whoosh. “Oh my God. They’re right there.”

  A quick count, that took me twice because I was so upset, finally yielded all six. Meanwhile, seeing them there, lined up on the lower branch of the big old Maple tree nearest the coop, told me one thing. I was the only one traumatized by this experience. The six girls blinked at me as if we were disturbing their rest.

  “Go get some feed or treats. They’ll come down and then we can lock them up, safe for the night.”

  He was right. They’d follow me anywhere for treats.

  “Right.” I spun and ran for the basement door where I kept the treats.

  I realized it was too hard to get into the basement door with all the locks engaged so I pivoted and took the back stairs to the kitchen instead.

  All while still barefoot I crossed the kitchen, undid the two locks on the door between the basement and the kitchen and flipped on the light.

  I hadn’t been in the basement after dark yet. The words embalming room had scarred my brain. But I ran down the stairs now without barely a second thought.

  After wrestling with the lock on the basement door, I grabbed my nearly empty bag of treats and ran out the door into the driveway toward the coop, shaking the bag the whole way.

  Of course they couldn’t get out of the tree fast enough the moment they heard the telltale sound and I saw Stone was right. They flew like shit, their plump bodies hitting the ground heavily even as they beat their wings hard. Then they ran, straight for me, wings out like rudders to make the tight turns.

  I laughed at the sight even while my eyes filled with tears as the adrenaline started to leave me. I realized how close I’d come to losing them. And how grateful I was I hadn’t. It was overwhelming.

  “Here you go.” I dumped a bunch on the ground at my feet. “I’ll order a dozen more bags from Amazon tomorrow. I promise.”

  Stone came closer, watching them swarm the ground at my feet. “So the idea was to get them into the coop. Not feed them in the driveway.”

  “Oh. Right.” I cringed and glanced up at him.

  He smiled. “It’s okay. Come on. Walk with me. They’ll follow you.”

  I nodded, clutching the bag and my remaining treats as I moved toward the coop. He was right, again. Of course.

  They followed me, and a few decided to get in front of me to make sure they didn’t miss anything, I guess.

  It was nearly impossible to put one foot in front of the other with them underfoot but I shuffled my way to the coop, took a handful of the treats and tossed them inside the screened-in yard.

  All six ran in, fighting for who got to get through the doorway first. Stone was there and prepared, closing the door and securing the latch. Then he went and moved around the coop, checking the other door and the hatch to the nesting box. Something I’d never done before but was now realizing I should have.

  “All
nice and tight,” he said.

  By the time he came back to me, I was back to feeling dejected. I had no business taking care of all these animals. I knew nothing about this stuff and apparently I was too distracted or self-centered or both to even make sure they were safe for the night before I went to bed.

  I looked up at him, the tears filling my eyes. “I forgot all about them.”

  “It happens.” He shrugged.

  “I never forgot before but tonight you were here and my usual routine was disrupted.”

  His brows shot high. “So it’s my fault?” he asked.

  I couldn’t tell if he was mad or amused at what I hadn’t meant to sound like an accusation. I wasn’t blaming him even though yes, it was his fault because if he wasn’t here tonight and wasn’t so damn distracting I would have remembered.

  That weird kiss between us had sapped all rational thought right out of my brain.

  I wanted to say, yes. I didn’t.

  “No,” I said. “It’s my fault. I just, I don’t belong here.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re doing great for your first week.”

  “Shalene wouldn’t have forgotten. Agnes wouldn’t have forgotten.” I shook my head and brushed away a tear as it rolled down my cheek.

  “Jesus, don’t cry.” He took a step closer. Flipping off his light, he shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans and then gripped my forearms in each of his big, strong farmer hands. “Harper. Stop. It’s all fine.”

  “It almost wasn’t.” I shook my head, barely seeing him through the blur of the waterworks I couldn’t seem to control.

  “Come here.” He pulled me tight against him.

  It worked. I stopped crying as my brain short-circuited from the sheer number of sensations and thoughts assaulting me all at once.

  I’d done research for a book once. It said our inner chatter could spew between two hundred and a thousand words through our minds in a minute. I swear I heard every one of those words now.

  I noticed how hard his pecs felt beneath my cheek. How soft the cotton of his T-shirt was against my skin. I worried my tears were making his shirt wet, even as I worried that I was standing outside in no bra . . . or shoes.