by A. J. Banner
“What is it, sweetie?” I said.
Mia repeated the word, louder this time. “Mommy.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You could adopt Mia,” Natalie said on the phone as I drove back to the cottage. “Get the wheels turning before Grandma kicks the bucket.”
“Natalie! Harriet loves Mia. She’s her only living relative. They need each other.”
“How old is that lady? Ninety-five?”
“Closer to eighty, I think.”
“The average life expectancy for a woman in America topped out at eighty-six last year.”
“You’re a bottomless well of important facts.” I turned onto Cedar Drive, which led to Shadow Bluff Lane. “We can’t adopt Mia, Nat. We’re homeless. I still have headaches. And I’m jumpy. Not my usual self.”
“Your reactions are understandable. Just because you had some bad luck doesn’t mean you would be a bad mother.”
“When Mia realized I wasn’t her mom, she started bawling.” I’d rocked her, humming “Bright Morning Stars,” the song my own mother had sung to me long ago. Where are our dear mothers? They’ve gone to Heaven shouting . . . Mia had quieted a little, but she could not be easily consoled.
“What are you going to do?”
“Harriet has to go into the hospital for some tests on Friday. She wants me to watch Mia for a few hours.”
“Tests for what?”
“She mentioned ‘remission’ and feeling like whatever it is has returned.”
“She has the big C? What did I tell you?”
“Natalie.”
“There is no right answer. Follow your heart.”
I hung up feeling oddly unmoored. Natalie had always been spontaneous, following her heart, while I weighed the pros and cons of every decision. She and Dan had fallen in love on their first date, while I’d been cautious with Johnny. I collected coupons, while she threw them into the recycling bin. She cooked elaborate meals, making huge messes, while I prepared simple dishes, cleaning up as I went along. If I wasn’t writing late into the night.
At least, before the fire.
When I arrived at the cottage, a blue truck sat in the driveway, a Toyota Tundra, the logo on the side printed in bold yellow letters: Severson Home Repair and Remodeling. A tall, wiry man stood on the porch in a tool belt, work boots, a crisp white T-shirt, and a baseball cap.
“Can I help you?” I said, walking up to him.
“Todd Severson. I’m here to fix the flush and the living room window latch.” His eyes looked slightly bloodshot, dark rings beneath them, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“The latch is broken?”
“Yeah. Ms. Coghlan sent me.”
Could that be true? Would Eris have sent a man who looked so strung out? But he was suitably dressed, and he carried the proper tools. “She didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I apologize for the intrusion, ma’am,” he said, stepping back. He looped his left thumb over the top of his belt, like a cowboy. “I’ll come back another time.” He turned to leave.
“No, wait. I’ll call her to make sure.”
He nodded, tipping his baseball cap. I recognized him now, recognized the truck. I’d seen him around town, here and there, then again in Eris’s driveway, when Johnny and I had moved into the cottage.
Eris answered after the first ring, and when I said “handyman,” she gushed with apologies. “I should’ve called you first. I’ll be over in a bit.”
“You don’t have to come,” I said. “I just needed to be sure—”
“Not another word. And yes, I did hire him.”
“Okay, good.” I hung up and ushered him inside. “Sorry.”
“No problem, ma’am.” Mr. Severson stepped past me into the house. He emitted a faint whiff of some unusual herb, maybe sage. He gave me a penetrating, almost worried look, frown marks creasing the center of his forehead. Then he smiled, revealing slightly yellowed teeth, one chipped incisor, a dimple in his right cheek. He reached out a grimy hand to shake mine, then withdrew his hand quickly, seeming to notice for the first time that it was dirty. “Just came from another job.” He wiped both hands down the thighs of his jeans.
“That’s all right,” I said, resisting the urge to wipe my hands, too.
“You’re the new renter, then.”
“My husband and I are,” I said, hyperaware that I was alone in the house with a strange man.
Mr. Severson nodded again, his gaze traveling down across my body. Since the fire, none of my new clothes fit exactly right. “Wanna show me the faulty window?” he said. He had close-set eyes of indeterminate color, perhaps dark gray or brown.
“I didn’t know there was a faulty window,” I said.
“She said it was back here.” He strode through the living room, jiggled the back window, then opened and shut it. “Latch doesn’t work. See?”
I followed him. “I didn’t realize. She didn’t say.”
“Dangerous in these times.” He opened his toolbox and began to work on the latch with a wrench.
“It’s pretty safe here, isn’t it?” But then, I’d thought Sitka Lane was safe, too.
“We get break-ins now and then.”
“On this street?”
“Don’t know about this street. I got motion sensor lights out at my house. Did it for my wife, when she was living there.”
“She’s not there now?”
“She moved out a year ago. She was there when I went to work, gone when I got home. Just like that. Packed a bag and left me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“We were married nine years. Coming on our anniversary. She took up with some carpenter in Bellingham. She broke my heart. My heart would still be broke, if I’d let it. But I moved on. You gotta move on, right?”
“Yes, you do,” I said, not knowing what else to say. Although I had seen this man around town, the truth was, I didn’t know him at all. Shadow Cove was big enough to allow anonymity, but small enough for the post office and grocery store clerks to recognize familiar faces, to allow the same people to cross paths more than once.
“Life. Gets you one way or another.” He tried the window again. This time, the latch worked. “Good as new, if nobody don’t throw a rock.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problemo.” He looked out toward the woods, but he wasn’t looking at the trees. He was looking past them, at something invisible. Then his eyes cleared and he looked at me. “Flush?”
“Down the hall. Hang on, let me make sure it’s decent in there.”
“I don’t care about decent.”
“But I do.” I felt silly rushing ahead of him, but I managed to hide a bra beneath a towel before ushering him inside.
I stood in the doorway while he removed the lid from the toilet tank, stuck his hands in the water, and played with the flush contraption.
“Needs a new intake valve,” he said.
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Lucky for you, I do. Might have an extra one in the truck.” He left and came back with a package and set to work on the toilet. “You should get motion sensor lights, too. On account of the break-ins.”
“Well, we don’t have anything to steal,” I said. “Our house burned down. This is all we have.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He straightened and looked at me again, a spark of recognition in his eyes. “You the one . . . ?”
“I’m Sarah. Sarah Phoenix.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath. His mouth dropped open, and he tottered a little, almost as if the utterance of my name had pushed him backward. He recovered quickly. “Sarah Phoenix, huh? The writer?”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“You and your husband, the skin doctor.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I was there.” As he spoke, a cloud crossed over the sun, plunging the room into shadow. Todd Severson’s face darkened, the hollows and angles becoming more prono
unced.
“What do you mean, you were there?” Ripples of apprehension traveled up my spine.
“I mean, I’m a volunteer firefighter for the seventh station.”
“Oh.” I exhaled. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He closed the toilet tank and we stepped out into the hall. He looked at me in a different way now, with sadness in his eyes. “Ms. Coghlan didn’t tell me it was you. That you were renting this place, I mean. She just mentioned renters. Damn.”
“You were on Sitka Lane that night. Which means you saw what happened, after I went to the . . . hospital.”
He looked at the floor, then up at me again. “My unit was called out last. Volunteer station. We’re close to Sitka Lane but we’re not staffed twenty-four seven. Budget cuts and all. The central station was staffed. They went out first, but they’re a ways off.”
“But you did get there eventually,” I said.
“Yeah, eventually,” he said with deep regret. “But your neighbors . . . Damn.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I tried to picture Todd Severson in a firefighter’s uniform.
“Nobody should’ve died,” he said, shaking his head.
A black SUV rumbled up the road and parked at the curb. We both looked out the window, then Mr. Severson reached out to rest a hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything . . . If you have anything that you want help with . . .”
“We’re okay. Thanks.”
His eyes searched mine. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly.
“You need to be careful. That night . . .”
His cell phone rang in his back pocket. His mouth worked, as if he tasted something sour. “I got another job. Good to meet you, Sarah Phoenix.” He strode to the front door before I could stop him and ask what he had been about to say. He stepped outside as Eris emerged from her SUV in an elegant, beige silk pantsuit and matching pumps. She hurried up the driveway. “Todd! Sarah!”
“Ma’am,” Todd said, walking to his truck.
I stepped out as Eris strutted up the walkway in heels. “Todd! Is the flush fixed?”
“Right as rain,” he said, opening the driver’s side door.
“Bravo. The window?”
“Fixed.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said.
“I’ll bill you.” He tipped his hat at me. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded and climbed into the truck. Eris and I watched as he backed out of the driveway and drove away.
Eris strode up to me, her heels clicking on the concrete. “How are you today? Did you go back to Sitka Lane?”
“I did. It was . . . difficult. I thought I would be able to salvage more of our belongings, but . . .”
“I’m so sorry,” Eris said, her eyes full of sympathy.
“It’s weird to know our home is open to the world. There’s no front door. If there’s anything left in that rubble, a thief could pick it up.”
“That reminds me, I’ll have Todd change the locks as well. He shouldn’t have his own key to the cottage, but he’s reliable, and the place was empty for so long—”
“I understand. I don’t want to put you out.”
“This is entirely my fault. We’re still on for dinner? No need to bring anything.”
“We both go to bed early—”
“I’m not surprised. I saw your husband out jogging at the crack of dawn when I was out for my hike. I didn’t know he and Theresa knew each other. They were deep in conversation.”
“Maybe he does,” I said. I looked through the trees toward the A-frame house. I began to wonder exactly how Johnny knew Theresa. But why should I wonder? He knew so many people in Shadow Cove.
Eris followed my gaze. “You’ll enjoy meeting her husband. Kadin is quite a handsome man.”
“I’m sure he is. But, I’ve already got a handsome man of my own.”
“Of course you do. Nobody could hold a candle to your husband, right?” She winked at me.
“Nobody in my universe,” I said.
“But that Kadin . . . Ah well, he’s taken, and I’m in a relationship.” Eris sighed, glanced at her gold watch, then grinned at me. “Gotta run. Monthly meeting of the County Realtors Association. Dinner at my place at seven?”
“Thank you,” I said, watching the A-frame again as Eris hurried back to her SUV and drove away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
At seven o’clock that evening, Johnny stood next to me on Eris Coghlan’s front porch, still in his blue suit. Tucked under his arm: a bottle of expensive Chardonnay. After I’d picked him up from work, he’d taken so long to choose the right vintage at the wine shop, he’d barely had time to straighten his hair in the cottage. He’d glanced at the photo I’d found, but he couldn’t remember who the woman was or where they had been.
I’d jokingly called him a player, unable to keep track of his dozens of past girlfriends. I’m not like your father, he’d said for the millionth time. He’d taken me in his arms, and we’d said no more about it.
Now, as we waited for Eris to answer the door, I could almost believe our lives were normal, that we were on one of our casual social outings. I’d donned dark jeans, a brown knit sweater, and Rockports. Everything new, except the gold necklace I’d found in the rubble, which I wore beneath the sweater, where nobody could see it—a reminder of my past life.
“Wish I’d had time to change,” Johnny said, looking down at his suit.
“You went on an epic quest for the world’s best Chardonnay.” I slipped my hand into his.
“A joint quest with the world’s most beautiful woman.” He gazed down at me with that charming grin.
“You know the right things to say.” I smiled at his words, although I was sure, with the stitches in my forehead, that I resembled a female version of Frankenstein’s monster. At least the scar sat up near the hairline.
The door swung open, revealing Eris in a little black dress and heels. The fabric shone like freshly spun silk. She had the athletic build of a woman who worked out diligently, the muscles delineated on her arms. Suddenly, I felt horribly underdressed, frumpy, and out of shape. But I had nothing fancy to wear.
Eris broke into a warm smile and ushered us inside. The decorative wainscoting, high ceilings, and intricately carved crown moldings nearly made me gasp in admiration. I felt instantly homesick. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Eris said, closing the door after us. The mouthwatering scents of garlic and onion wafted through the air, reminding me that I was famished.
A soft Brandenburg concerto drifted from another room. Eris looked at my shoes. “I’m a fan of Rockports. I’m a big sweater person, too.”
I smiled, feeling a little more comfortable. “I’m slowly rebuilding my wardrobe.”
“You’re ahead of the game.” She turned her smile to Johnny. “Wine! You shouldn’t have.”
He handed her the bottle. “Woodward Canyon, 2009, best Washington State Chardonnay ever.”
“You didn’t need to bring anything, but it’s much appreciated.”
Johnny flashed his disarming smile. “Least we could do.”
“Dinner is a little late,” she went on, as Johnny and I removed our shoes. “The lasagna needs a few more minutes. I got held up showing a spectacular home in Port Blakely, designed by Theo LaRoche.”
Johnny’s brows rose. “LaRoche. Talented guy.”
“You’ve heard of him. I’m impressed.”
I wasn’t familiar with Theo LaRoche. Now I felt frumpy and uninformed, as well.
Eris tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a teardrop pearl earring. “The house is right off Rockaway, stunning views of Blakely Harbor. Modern architecture. Big windows. Pennsylvania blue stone—”
“I love Pennsylvania blue,” Johnny said.
“You do?” I said. This was news to me.
“Always have.” His gaze remained focused on Eris.
All right,
no problem. A wife could always learn something new about her husband, couldn’t she?
“This one’s going to go fast,” Eris said. “I know of many other listings that might interest you.”
“We plan to rebuild our house,” I said.
Eris grinned at me. “Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”
“No harm in looking,” Johnny said. “Is there?” He squeezed my arm.
“All right, maybe a look,” I said. It couldn’t hurt, could it? I had dared to imagine Mia moving in with us. Maybe the little girl would do better away from reminders of her parents. No, that was a crazy thought. Mia belonged with her grandmother.
“Good, then. We’ll make a date.” Eris steered us into a spacious living room in which the Minkowskis already sat—Theresa, her fecund beauty filling the room, and her husband, who resembled a young Harrison Ford. They both stood, wineglasses in hand. Theresa wore a hip-hugging turquoise dress, her husband a pale green button-down shirt and black slacks. I was the only casually dressed person in the room.
“Kadin Minkowski,” the man said, reaching out to shake Johnny’s hand. “You’ve met Theresa.”
Johnny smiled. “She came by the cottage. I’m Johnny McDonald, and this is my wife, Sarah.”
“Pleasure.” Kadin shook my hand next, his grip strong, on the edge of painful. Then he let go and stepped back, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist. “I was supposed to be out of town, but my meeting in LA was canceled at the last minute. Glad I have the chance to meet you instead.”
I nodded and smiled. “So are we.”
“Nice knowing the cottage is occupied,” Theresa said. “We finally have neighbors.”
Eris clapped her hands and said, “Well, now you’re all better acquainted. Sarah and Johnny, raspberry wine?”
We both nodded, and she disappeared down the hall.
Theresa and Kadin sat next to each other on the only couch, more akin to a loveseat. Theresa sat at the edge. Johnny and I chose separate armchairs across from them. The room was furnished with heavy antique tables, bookshelves packed with old hardcovers, a crystal chandelier, Tiffany-style floor lamps.
