“Could be,” she coldly answers. “But before you call the ambulance, try saying the words, ‘Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah, la-la how their life goes on.’”
“You want me to sing a Beatles song to him now?” What’s wrong with this woman?
“You don’t have to sing it,” she says. “Just say it.”
I’ve never read about this particular brand of first aid, but these are my parents, so I try it. I repeat the lyrics and watch as my dad’s eyes pop open. What kind of strange magic is this?
I demand, “Dad, what are you doing?”
He smiles an upside-down smile because he’s on his head. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m meditating. What are you doing here?”
“I was checking on you. I thought you were dead.” I add, “You were so cold.”
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Ten thirty. Why?”
“I start to go cold after an hour,” he tells me.
“You’ve been on your head for over an hour? I don’t think that’s safe, Dad.”
He gradually bends his knees and rolls onto his back. While lying on the floor, he answers, “Of course it is. I’ve built up to it.”
“I knew you did yoga, but I didn’t know you could stand on your head. Why do you do it for so long?”
He answers, “It’s good for nearly every bodily system, but I do it to recharge and tap into my creativity. Standing on my head for two hours is the equivalent of six hours of sleep for me.”
“Two hours? How do you know to wake up after that amount of time?”
“My internal clock is in pristine working order. How did you wake me up before my two hours was done?” he asks curiously.
I show him my phone, “Mom.” Then I remember Regina is on the phone and put it up to my ear. “Mom, he’s not dead,” I say with great relief.
“Too bad,” she tells me.
I say, “Mother! What kind of thing is that to say?” at the same time my dad reaches his hand out and declares, “Give me the phone.”
I do, but when he says, “Hello, Regina?” she doesn’t answer him. He repeats, “Regina, honey, hello?” Nothing.
He hands the phone back and says, “She hung up on me.”
I have so many questions, I don’t know where to begin. I start with, “What if there was an emergency like the building was burning down? Would you have regained consciousness first?”
He gradually sits up. “Pretty sure.”
“What do you mean by that? Don’t you know?”
“I programmed my mind to only respond to the lyrics from ‘Life Goes On,’ but I’m guessing a siren would probably wake me up.”
My dad is like a child. I demand, “How do you program yourself?”
“I go into a deep meditation and then tell myself what words or sounds to react to. It’s really a matter of self-hypnosis.”
“I don’t want you doing a headstand again until you program the following scenarios: When you hear the word ‘Dad,’ you wake up. Sirens and alarms will wake you up. Excessively loud knocking on your door will wake you up. Do you understand?” I ask.
He nods his head slowly. “Sure, honey. I got it.”
“I’m going to move in with you until I know you’ve done it.”
“Why?” he wants to know.
“Because I don’t want you dying any time soon!” I yell.
“Okay, but I just told you I’d do it. I promise, I will.”
My dad truly believes what he’s telling me right now. But the chances of him actually following through are about fifty-fifty. He doesn’t set out to lie. The problem is that he doesn’t excel at follow through.
“Are you awake now?” I ask.
“You bet. I’m going to make some coffee and see what the lighting looks like now,” he tells me.
“Okay, I’m going to go over to Emmie’s and get my things. Then I’m going to buy another air mattress. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Can you bring me a sandwich?” he asks.
“Yes, Dad, I’ll bring you a sandwich. No mediating until I get back,” I warn again.
He smiles before changing his mind. “I think I might take a little nap. A one-hour headstand only equals three hours of sleep. I need a tiny bit more.”
I leave his apartment, praying that he’ll be all right when I return. I briefly wonder how my mom ever leaves him alone, as I’m pretty sure Bertie might need a keeper.
Chapter 26
I stop in Emmeline’s to tell Emmie what I’m up to.
She asks, “Do you want me to check on your daddy while you’re gone?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I tell her. “But I do think it’s for the best if I stay with him for a while.”
“I’ll miss you. But now that you’re going to live in town, I suppose I can allow it,” she teases.
“You need me to get anything for you while I’m out?” I ask.
“No, ma’am. I’m good to go. I’ll see you in bit,” she says.
As I walk out onto the street, I look around with different eyes. This is no longer only Emmie’s town, it’s mine, too. I feel a sense of hope and excitement and perhaps a tiny dash of nerves. I’ve never done anything this impetuous in my whole life.
Driving over to Emmie’s house to collect my things, I try to play out the worst-case scenario. The most awful thing I can come up with would be that I hate living here, have to sell the house, and no one would want to buy it.
I try to envision that possibility, but I can’t. I love that house so much that even if my B&B idea is a bust, I’d do something else that would allow me to keep it. Of course, my B&B is not going to be a flop because who in the world wouldn’t want to stay there?
After packing up, and buying an air mattress and bedding, I hit the grocery store to get some things that I need. In the deli area, while ordering sandwiches for Dad’s and my lunch, I run into Shelby. She’s with her scary mother.
Shelby smiles genuinely and greets, “Hi, Lexi. How are you doing?”
“Good,” I tell her. “I’m picking up lunch for my dad.”
“I really enjoyed meeting him last night. He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”
“Very much so,” I say while grimacing to indicate she doesn’t know the half of it.
Shelby says, “You remember my mama?” Then she introduces us again. Hopefully this time will be more successful than the night at the club. “Mama, this is Lexi Blake from New York. Lexi, this is my mama, Cootie Wilcox.”
Goosebumps rise to the surface of my skin like I’m standing in front of the devil herself. I reach out my hand and force myself to say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Cootie doesn’t take my hand. Instead, she demands, “How long are you stayin’ here for?”
For some reason, I don’t tell her that I’m hoping to become a permanent resident. Instead, I say, “For about a month.”
“Why so long?” she demands.
“I’m between jobs and I miss my friend, so I thought I’d visit for a while.”
Shelby intervenes, “You let me know if you need anything, okay?”
I smile, feeling a genuine like for Shelby. Last night’s dinner went miles toward making her more relatable. “I will,” I tell her. “Bertie wants to have dinner with you again and this time it’s on us.”
Cootie has since glared at me and walked away toward the seafood display. I say, “I don’t think your mom’s happy that I’m here.”
She waves her hand. “Don’t pay her any mind. She’s not happy about anything since I told her about losing the baby. She says I’m an embarrassment.”
“That’s horrible,” I gasp.
“It’s okay. Whenever she says that, I tell her now she knows how I feel.”
I giggle before I can stop myself. “You’re going through a tough time,” I tell her. “You let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Thank you, Lexi. That’s very nice of you.” Her gaze veers off to
watch as her mother yells at the man behind the seafood counter about the size of his king crabs. She’s claiming they aren’t even queen crabs.
Shelby says, “I’d best be going. I’ll see you around, okay?”
For the life of me, I can’t imagine that she was ever anything like her mother. While she’s kind of a tragic character, she also seems pretty grounded and unimpressed by her mom’s behavior. I wish I knew what she and Beau were to each other.
After buying groceries, I drive back to Dad’s loft. He doesn’t answer the door, so I let myself in and discover that he’s still sleeping. I take the opportunity to go online and apply for a mortgage. Luckily, I’m still employed by Silver Spoons and only need a small loan. I should have confirmation within a few days that my financing is in order.
I decide to call my mom back and demand what her problem is. Actually, I know what her problem is, so I suppose it would be more accurate to say what I need to do is find out how long she’s going to be mad at my dad.
She answers, “What?”
“Hi, Mom,” I say in an effort to make this a nicer conversation than our last. “Dad’s fine. Thanks for giving me the secret code to bring him back to life.”
“Why are you calling?” she demands.
“I thought you might want to know that Dad and I are both doing well. Our flights arrived safely, there haven’t been any tornados or visits from the KKK.” I can’t help it; her attitude is giving me attitude.
“When is your father coming home?” she demands.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “He’s already built three huge canvases and he rented that loft I sent him pictures of. I’m guessing he’ll be here for a while.”
“You tell him that if he’s gone too long, he might not be welcomed back.”
“Mother!” I say. “What’s wrong with you? I get that you’re upset that Dad left without notice, but it’s not like you don’t know the man. He’s artistic and impulsive. That’s just who he is. He’s the man you encouraged him to be all those years ago.”
“Yes, well that might not be working for me anymore,” she declares frostily. “I don’t need a partner abandoning me without consulting me first. That’s not who your father and I are.”
“He’s not abandoning you. He’s following his creative flow.” I add, “Dad was in the midst of the longest dry spell I’ve ever known him to have. You should be happy he has his mojo back.”
“Let me get right on that,” she says sarcastically. Then she asks, “Is your father the only reason you called?”
“No,” I tell her. “But you don’t seem to be in a very receptive mood right now. Why don’t you call me when you think you can be a little nicer?”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she snaps before hanging up.
My god, what’s happening here? While not one to embrace ideas that she wasn’t part of conceiving, Regina seems to be taking things to a rather dramatic level. Yes, my dad left without notice. Obviously, that wasn’t the best way to deal with my mom, or anyone really. But for heaven’s sake, she’s known my him for thirty-five years, how big of a surprise could it really be that he’s done something off the wall like this?
Chapter 27
Four hours later, my dad still isn’t awake. I know that sometimes his sleep patterns are off when he’s painting, but he hasn’t even put any color on the canvas yet. I binge-watch home decorating shows on my phone while I wait for him to get up.
I’m surprised when the call comes in from the mortgage company saying that I’ve been approved for more than twice the amount I need. I tell the woman, “That didn’t take long.”
She replies, “You’d already applied for a much larger loan two months ago, and while we couldn’t approve that, this request is well within reason.”
I feel sick at the thought of what would have happened had I gotten the mortgage for the larger amount. I would have bought my apartment in New York; I would have never visited Emmie. In fact, I would have probably used my vacation to find some part-time work to bring in a couple of extra bucks to use for my down payment. Of course, then I’d have to find another job, one that paid enough to support my new endeavor. How depressing.
After hanging up, I take the elevator down to the second floor to Beau’s office. He’s about as happy to see me as I expected him to be. He doesn’t even stand up when I walk through his door. Instead, he says, “What now?”
I’m not going to let his grumpiness bug me. I smile brightly and say, “I emailed you confirmation that my financing has come through.”
“Already?” he demands.
“Yes.” Then I ask, “Have you submitted my offer?”
“I have.”
“And?” I demand. “Have you heard back from the seller?”
“They accepted it,” he says, none too pleased.
I feel a jolt of excitement burst through me like the business end of a firecracker. “When were you going to tell me?” I demand.
“I was going to call you when I was done printing out the contract.”
“Oh,” I manage. “Sorry, I thought you were still trying to keep me from buying the house.”
Beau stands up and slowly walks over to me. I’m tall at five eight, but he towers over me. My whole body starts sizzling as he approaches, like I’m a strip of bacon and he’s an open flame. He stops in front of his desk and sits on it so we’re looking directly into each other’s eyes. “Why do you want this house so much?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I honestly answer. “I guess that sometimes our desires don’t make any sense.” I continue, “I never thought I’d live anywhere but New York, but then I saw that house and felt like it had to be mine. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever wanted something that much?”
He looks like he’s in physical pain as he answers, “Yes, I have.”
“What have you wanted as much as I want this house?” I ask. It might make him more relatable to know.
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think I’m going tell you that right now.” His answer sends molten hot waves coursing through me. Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about houses anymore.
I change the subject and ask, “How soon can I take ownership?”
“If the property passes inspection and there are no delays, you could be in as early as two weeks. But that’s only because you’ve been pre-approved by your mortgage company.”
“Two weeks?” Temporary insanity hits me, and I celebrate by throwing my arms around Beau and dancing around.
He’s taken completely off guard by my overt display and lets me nearly tackle him. Instead of pulling back, he shifts his hold so that I’m as close to him as his own breath. I feel all warm and gooey like the cheese off a hot pizza.
I briefly realize that we need to stop this. Beau is somehow involved with Shelby. Even though Emmie’s whole family says they aren’t a couple, I’ve never heard that from either of them. Granted, they don’t act like a couple, but I’m not going to insinuate myself in the middle of whatever is going on there. They have to figure that out on their own without outside complications.
I put my hands against Beau’s chest to keep a tiny distance between us and then I rest my forehead against him. After taking a moment to collect myself, I gather all my willpower and gently push away from him. He lets me go like I’m a scorching hot coal fresh out of the fire.
“I’d like to walk through the house again? Can you can give me the keys?” I ask.
Beau clears his throat and inhales slowly like he’s also trying to pull himself together. “You can’t go in by yourself until closing, but I can take you in about ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“That’ll be fine,” I manage. “I’ll be out in reception.” As I leave his office, I once again realize how right it feels to be in Beau’s arms. I’m also sure that nothing can happen between us until I know what’s going on between him and Shelby. But I don’t know how I’m going to have the self-discipline not to throw myself
at him again.
Chapter 28
My new address is 30 Dogwood Lane. I might be stretching things, but my grandmother’s fortuneteller pops into my head, again. I was thirty the year the dog jumped over me. Could this all really be preordained? If my love of Doctor Who has taught me anything, it’s to be open to the possibility that time is circular, not linear. Not that I’m sure I buy that, but it’s certainly something that gives me pause.
Beau is all business when we arrive at the house. He says, “Let’s do a walk-through. The inspector will be very thorough, but I want us to make a list of concerns that we want him to pay special attention to.” What he wants to do is find a problem that’s so big I’ll walk away. If that’s his plan, he’s plain out of luck. I’d want this house even if it were infested with vermin.
I watch as he jumps on each and every step leading up to the front door to insure they're solidly made and there are no loose bricks. He seems almost disappointed when he doesn’t fall through.
Once we walk into the house, I half expect him to pull out a magnifying glass like Sherlock Holmes. He turns every light switch on and off, checks the water lines in all the bathrooms, and even lies down to look under the kitchen sink. “The kitchen is going to cost you a fortune to update.”
“I’m not going to put in some fancy chef’s kitchen,” I tell him. “I’ll probably just strip the cabinets down and then stain them if the wood is in good enough shape. If not, I’ll paint them.” I’m also planning to buy a lot of accessories wholesale from Silver Spoons before they learn I’m not taking their job offer in Atlanta.
While that may seem a little underhanded—and I do feel bad for a split-second—these are the people who wanted me to work through my vacation at half pay before having me relocate to another state at a lower wage than I am currently earning. I don’t feel as loyal as I once might have.
I pull a pad of paper out of my purse and start to catalog the things I want to buy in the next few weeks. As I scribble notes for myself, Beau excitedly says, “Looks like you’re coming up with quite a list for the inspector.”
The Move (The Creek Water Series Book 2) Page 11
