The Belle and the Beard

by Kate Canterbary

  "Lin, maybe we should—"

  I held up a hand to silence my brother. "The water heater kicked the bucket at some point and flooded the basement. Everything down there is trashed and you don't have hot water. There's a small but steady roof leak in the main bedroom." I folded my arms over my chest. "Maybe if you hadn't waited two years, the place wouldn't be in shambles."

  Jasper looked me up and down, her gaze severe and her lips pressed tight into a smile that offered no warmth. Any minute now, she'd open up the ground and get rid of me for good. Part of me couldn't wait to see it happen. "Where I have or have not been over the past two years is not subject to your concern."

  "What my brother is trying to say"—Ash gripped my shoulder and forced me back a step—"is this house doesn't seem safe or comfortable for you."

  "That's not for him to determine."

  Ash tightened his grip on my shoulder, saying, "I would suggest it wasn't as much his decision as the collective decree of the water heater, the bats, and the roof."

  Jasper shifted to face the house, her hands propped on her waist. She stared for a long moment before a sigh rippled through her body, rustling her wavy, whiskey-hued hair. Turning, she said, "I've worked with worse. Thank y'all for your consideration, though I'll manage just fine."

  "What?" Ash shook his head. "No. That's not—"

  "Please don't give it a second thought," she interrupted.

  Funny thing, she said all these nice words and she made them sound sweet as hell but she was actually slapping you back into your place. If I wasn't totally fucking annoyed about everything right now, I'd admire it.

  "It's a little more rustic than it used to be but it's nothing I can't handle," she continued, giving the house another glance. "After the drive I had, the last thing I want to do is hop in the car and start another journey."

  "You can stay with Linden."

  I pivoted to face my brother. "She can fucking what?"

  "Oh, come on," he replied. "You have the space."

  "Care to tell me where?"

  "You have a foldout sofa in your den," he said, scowling at me like I was the troublemaker here. "It would be fine until Jasper can get a plumber in and any other stray animals out."

  I stared at him, my mouth open but words failing me. Of all people, Ash knew how closely I guarded the peace and quiet that came from living in a one-bedroom cottage on the edge of a forest.

  "While that offer is extremely kind," Jasper started, "I really will be fine on my own. I might not look like someone who makes a practice of roughing it"—she gave a self-deprecating laugh—"but I'm well acquainted with such things. This isn't nearly as bad as you might think it is."

  She couldn't stay at Midge's house. Even if she was capable of crushing bones and opening chasms, she couldn't stay there. And this had nothing to do with any degree of chivalry, seeing as I possessed none of that. I wouldn't stay in there and I'd stayed in many questionable locations over the years.

  "I can't imagine you boys have all day to see to my troubles," Jasper said. "I feel terrible for keeping you."

  "Great," I said, taking a giant step backward. "I have appointments this afternoon. My schedule is jammed. Completely jammed. I don't have a single free minute the rest of the day. But the bat guy will be here soon. He'll be able to give you a referral for a plumber. Probably a roofer too. And that should take care of everything."

  She couldn't stay there. She couldn't. That was all there was to say about the situation.

  "I'll just let y'all let me go," she said, that warmth flooding her words again.

  "Yeah, and I have to get back to the city," Ash said. "Please consider the offer to stay next door, Jasper. He's all bark and no bite. You're welcome to the den if you want it. He keeps the back door open if you change your mind."

  She couldn't do that either. Not an option. To start with, I didn't have the space. My den was a glorified pantry. This woman and all of her…well, whatever she had with her wasn't going to fit in there. But more importantly, I didn't want anyone in my space. It was my space, for me, and I loathed the idea of strangers hanging out in my home. I could put up with Ash—in small doses—and my mother came and went like this was an extension of my childhood house, and all of that was tolerable. I could tolerate it.

  Inviting this maybe-burglar, probable-problem into my space was not tolerable.

  "Your offer is very gracious," she said, her gaze fixed on Ash like she was making a point. "Though I swear I am quite content with Midge's version of shabby chic over here. Heavy pour on the shabby, garnish with the chic."

  Because I just couldn't help myself, I asked, "Where do the bats figure into that?"

  "Chic for sure," she replied easily, like she'd anticipated that question from the start. "Spooky is always chic. It's why we love vampires."

  Ash saved me from digging into that comment when he said, "Okay, I'm actually late now and—"

  "—and that makes you itchy," I said.

  He rolled his eyes. "Don't you have appointments? Isn't your totally jammed day the reason we had to meet before noon? Where are you even going today?"

  "It is very jammed," I said. "I'm supposed to be down in Hyannis for a consultation, then Milton for a tree warden visit, and then a swing through Plymouth to check on two golf courses."

  "By all means," Ash said, gesturing toward the street. "On your way. No one is stopping you."

  "I will just as soon as"—I glanced over to resolve this issue of inviting Jasper to wander through my back door whenever she pleased—"where'd she go?"

  "Inside, probably. Come on, I need to grab my bag from your kitchen."

  I stared at Midge's house for a long moment while Ash crossed the yard and went in through my front door. I wasn't sure what I expected to see here or why everything that'd occurred left me feeling terminally unsettled, but it required Ash beckoning me toward his car to finally get my feet moving off Jasper's driveway.

  "Hey," he called over the roof of his vintage Porsche. "I'll call you later to discuss the partnership proposal Magnolia has developed. Before you go off about your compulsive need for independence, I'll remind you the primary changes you'll see from this merger are efficiencies in operating costs and the benefit of support staff for scheduling and billing and the like."

  "You do my billing."

  "Yeah and it's a pain in my ass. You think translating your illegible notes into invoices is an effective use of my time?"

  I shrugged. "I have a feeling you're going to tell me it's not."

  He glared at me. "We're going to have a talk about this. I see a lot of opportunity in it for you."

  "You mean a lot of money."

  "Money won't kill you, Lin."

  "Bullshit. You're billing me for this hour."

  "I'll back out a tenth," he replied with a laugh. He jabbed a finger toward Midge's house. "Here's some free advice about that."

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Your advice is never free."

  "Listen. Take it from me. Give the strange girl a place to stay."

  My brother had a bizarre story about meeting his fiancée on an airplane, immediately hiring her to work in his office, and then taking her home with him the same day. So bizarre. "I'd say that advice applies once in a blue moon."

  "All I'm saying is, be a good neighbor. Let her crash in your den for a night or two while she gets her place sorted out. Don't be an ass about it. You never know what might happen."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  He eyed Midge's house for a second, his brows lowered. "Nothing. Just don't be an ass. Seems like she has enough to deal with right now."

  "I'm not being an ass. I'm being extremely reasonable. It's ridiculous to invite a random woman to stay in my den just because you did something somewhat similar and it didn't go down in flames."

  "You assumed she was a burglar," he called as he dropped into the driver's seat.

  "So did you," I cried.

  He pointed to his ear
as the engine roared to life. Either he couldn't or didn't want to hear me. My money was on the latter. "Don't be an ass," he repeated.

  "Not wanting random people in my space doesn't make me an ass," I said as he backed out of the driveway. "I don't even like having you around."

  He only waved in response and drove up the street, leaving me here with all the trouble he'd chased into my life.

  After scowling at the empty street, I glanced back at Midge's house only to catch sight of Jasper climbing the porch stairs, a toaster oven tucked under one arm and two grocery totes hanging from the crook of her other elbow.

  The bags were crammed and cumbersome, swinging and twisting around her arm with each step. She had to hold her arm out to prevent the bags from careening into her leg but that unbalanced position made her wobble a bit.

  She'd said she had this under control. That she knew what she was doing. If I sprinted across the yard to take those bags off her, she'd tell me the last thing she needed was me rushing in and telling her how to carry her stuff.

  She didn't need any help from me and, like she'd said, she didn't want it either.

  And I preferred it that way.

  4

  Jasper

  One of my worst habits was my tendency to ignore things I didn't want to deal with. At this point, it was probably more of a personality trait than a habit. If I could navigate around something, even if it demanded more time and energy from me, I'd do it in a damn heartbeat.

  I avoided my banking app when I knew I was running low on cash. If I didn't look, I wouldn't panic over money.

  I pulled back from relationships that didn't work anymore. If I didn't participate, I wouldn't have to acknowledge the problems.

  I unfollowed my nutty, conspiracy-theory-addled cousins on social media. If I didn't see their posts, I wouldn't have to engage with them on batshit crazy ideas.

  And speaking of batshit…

  I'd shoved all evidence of Midge's death in a drawer. The funeral, the estate, everything. If I didn't slip on an understated black dress and if I didn't eat ham salad sandwiches in a church basement— If I ignored calls from her attorney— If I tucked the paperwork in the back of my closet and pretended it wasn't there— If I did all of this, it didn't have to be real.

  Unfortunately for me, there was nothing more real than rubber-gloving up to the elbows and scrubbing Midge's walls with diluted bleach for six hours.

  Because of the batshit, both literal and figurative.

  On the other side of my compulsive avoidance of unpleasant topics sat my compulsive drive to get it done. Though I was completely unemployable at the moment, one of my most attractive professional qualities was my ability to plow through any problem.

  I didn't need to ask questions. Didn't need to call any meetings or set any agendas. I'd be well on my way to fixing it before everyone else finished debating and defining the problem.

  I'd always been this way. No time to dally around when you can shake open a trash bag, snap on the gloves, and get down in the dirt. For the past decade, my style of problem-solving and my record of getting it done every damn time meant my job security was never in question. I was the irreplaceable right-hand woman.

  Until five days ago.

  So, I forced open another door, scrubbed another wall, filled another trash bag. I hadn't slept more than a handful of hours all week but I was good at this. If I kept going, I'd find the way through. I'd figure it out. If I kept my eyes ahead, I'd nail this situation the way I nailed everything.

  It had always been this way. Always problems, issues, tragedies, disasters, dramas. One lined up behind the other. It had been this way when I was a small child spending summers with Midge while my mother worked her ass off to keep the wheels turning. There was no time to examine these things, no time to deliberate over them or file them into any context other than the problem to solve today.

  I didn't have to look back. It wasn't as though it would change anything. What was the point? I couldn't go back in time, couldn't erase the mortifying things I'd said on a hot mic, couldn't stop the dual train wreck of my humiliation—and termination—on live cable news, couldn't prevent so-called friends from turning their backs or colleagues from blacklisting me. Couldn't prevent others from blowing up my phone with messages of support and thinly veiled requests for more gossip. Couldn't even shut up the cable news bookers determined to get me on-air again so I could dump out the whole teapot on what it was really like inside a pointless bid for the presidency.

  The only way out was through.

  Pay the bat guy, call a plumber, scrub the ceilings. I was going to figure this out the way I figured everything out, and I had some money saved. I could get by for a bit before things grew hairy.

  I could stay here at Midge's cottage and clean up two years' worth of avoidance while the news cycle beat my gaffe-turned-scandal to a pulp. It would take a few months and a good, humble comeback story—or someone else stepping in something far worse than a few unsavory complaints about my former boss, the senator from the great state of Georgia and hopeless presidential hopeful, Tyson Timbrooks. In this sense, it was nothing more than a waiting game.

  Scrub the floors. Empty rotten food from the cupboards. Plug in my toaster oven.

  All I had to do was get through.

  Falling asleep should've been easy. I should've been comatose the minute my head hit the pillow but I was too tired to sleep. I hated trading in these extremes but it seemed to be my way. So hungry I lost my appetite. So stressed I was calm. So angry I came off happy.

  And now, some thirty hours since the last time I'd slept, I couldn't keep my eyes shut. I'd filled eighteen trash bags and sanitized the cottage from top to bat-loving bottom. I'd hauled every sheet and towel, every tablecloth and curtain to the laundromat and made lists of everything I had to do while the spin cycle shook the machines.

  I stocked up on food and supplies after getting turned around several times on my way to the grocery store. Then I got turned around on my way back. Say what you would about Washington, D.C. but at least the streets made sense.

  I made Midge's home as habitable as any place with flickering lights and a shortage of hot water could claim to be, and I'd made a comfortable space for myself in the den. Midge's room was still musty from the roof leak, but more than that, I didn't feel right taking her room. The den had always been my room and I wasn't ready to change that.

  After all that work and everything I'd slogged through this week, I should've been dead to the world. But I couldn't push all the way to the far edge of this extreme and let myself rest. I was a few months away from turning thirty-six and I still couldn't make responsible choices for myself. My body didn't know how to do that because I always pushed myself past the point of listening to my needs and now I had to push myself out of this point.

  I called up a sleep story on my favorite relaxation app and I reached over, fumbling blindly for the tote I'd set near the trundle bed. My sleep mask and bottle of melatonin gummies were down at the bottom and I had to empty the whole bag to reach them.

  Even with that attack squad, it took an hour and the creation of three more lists (Things to Review: House Documents; Things to Review: Estate Provisions; Non-Beltway, Non-Consulting Work Possibilities) to chill out enough to feel my eyelids droop. I was almost there when I fully recognized that my so-hot-it's-rude neighbor knew Midge.

  I'd skated right past that detail earlier in the day and I'd filed him away as nosy, mansplainy, and built like a barn. Nowhere in my comprehension of that exchange did I connect the reality of him living next door to knowing Midge.

  That wasn't even the whole of it. He understood she was serious about coming back as a ghost and haunting anyone who'd crossed her. He'd heard about her family—and that she didn't actually have a niece. He'd lived next door long enough to care about her.

  This hit me right in the guilts.

  Midge had asked me to visit every time we'd talked and I'd promised to try, though
it was never a full-bellied promise. It was always the meager I'll see what I can do and I might have a long weekend coming up and we'll be in Boston for two hours for a fundraising dinner but I might be able to get away after.

  My crowning achievement in life was being indispensable, and indispensability didn't come with a great paid-time-off package. There was never a good time to get away. If anything, there were terrible, out of the question, work through the flu times. Politics beat like a heart and the heart wasn't known for pausing.

  I hadn't visited in more than a handful of years. Hadn't even called too often. I'd missed my chance to say goodbye when her health took a sudden turn. I remembered calling from the back of a cab and leaving her a quick voicemail, and knowing I needed to give her another ring. But I let myself get swept up in work and didn't try her again. She passed a few days later.

  And I wasn't terribly polite to her neighbor, the one who regarded her highly enough to confront a suspected burglar.

  Dammit.

  Midge would've baked him a banana bread. She believed in the restorative power of baked goods, particularly those meant to be sliced, warmed, and slathered in butter. A banana bread would smooth things over. That would make this right.

  Sitting up to grab my phone from where it sat on the floor, tethered to the charger, I glanced at the window—and screamed out loud at the figure silhouetted there.

  I ended up falling out of bed, landing flat on my ass, and clutching both hands to my chest as my heart thumped. "Where did you come from?" I asked the cat perched on this side of the windowsill.

  Since I wasn't the only one skimping on polite greetings, the cat let out a disgruntled hiss and batted its paw against the window.

  "I'm terribly sorry but I don't speak feline," I said. "You'll have to state your demands more clearly."

  Unsatisfied with that request, the cat leapt down to the floor and stalked out of the room, glaring at me as it passed.