Angel Song

by Sheila Walsh

  He stood there wearing a ripped T-shirt, old jeans that had paint flecks all over them, and a baseball cap that might have once been blue, but now was a faded gray. He was glancing back toward his truck, looking as though he might turn and run at any second. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Why don’t you ever warn us when you’re coming back to town?”

  Ann folded her arms across her chest. “And what exactly would you have done if you had known I was coming? Redecorated the entire house?”

  The smile melted off his face. “Well, no, decorating’s your bit. I’m just trying to get my part finished up for you.”

  The hurt expression on his face and the undeniable sincerity of his words brought an anger-cooling guilt to Ann. She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that I didn’t expect that you would move those walls. I know we kind of talked about it, but we never decided for sure, and those sidelights have got to be expensive.”

  “Actually, they’re not—that’s why I decided I’d surprise you with them. They were scrap from another job I’m doing downtown, and they were just too nice to let go to waste. I started wondering about what I could do with them, and then I remembered us talking about moving that wall, and . . . well, it just seemed like the perfect fit. And it is. I mean, at least, I think so. If you don’t—”

  “If you didn’t know I was back in town, then what are you doing here?”

  “I came over to do some caulking in the bathroom. The tile’s in pretty good shape, but we need to seal up a few edges a little better. I was already on the front porch when I noticed the lights on and realized you were here, so I guess I’ll do that some other time, but it just didn’t seem right to leave without even saying hello, so I rang the doorbell and—”

  “I heard that you’ve been coming over here nights, after you get off work.”

  His cheeks turned almost pink. “Not every night.” He put his hand on the door frame and ran his finger against the length of it. “I like coming here.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at her and tilted his head slightly to the left. “Well, I . . .” He looked into the house and said, “Did you like any of the paint-color cards I picked up? The walls need painting, and even I know that yellowish color is kind of out of style right now. I had no idea what you like, so I picked up a little of everything I’ve noticed people using around here lately. That green color has been really big for the last year or so, but I didn’t know if you would consider it too trendy, so I brought some of the more neutral colors too. Like I said, I don’t really know what you like, so I was just kind of trying to think of everything.”

  He’d changed the subject without answering the question, but since that was a specialty Ann also possessed, she decided not to call him on it. “I haven’t really looked at them yet. Why don’t you come in?”

  He followed her inside, looking down at his T-shirt. “Guess I look a little rough. Like I said, I didn’t expect to see anyone here tonight.”

  “I like the rugged craftsman look.” She was laughing as she said it, but at this moment there was more than a little truth to the words. She picked up the card with the sage green shades. “You know, I’ve always decorated in black and white. I’m not sure that color on the walls works for me.”

  “Surely you wouldn’t use those colors in this house?”

  Ann wouldn’t, because she understood the market enough to know that the people who liked modern furnishings also liked modern houses—not craftsman bungalows. Still, she wasn’t going to admit defeat quite that easily. “I haven’t ruled out the possibility.” She stared him straight in the eye, practically daring him to argue.

  He looked back, and it seemed as though he was trying to see inside her mind. Finally, he looked away and rubbed his palms together. “Well, I guess that doesn’t surprise me.”

  Ann wasn’t sure why, but somehow his statement offended her. “And just why is that?”

  “Well, it sort of fits your personality. If there’s something going on that you don’t like or can’t handle, you cover it up with something else, hoping no one will notice. You can pretend this house isn’t the traditional building that it is by changing the trappings, but it’s still a traditional house.” He picked up a paint sample card with various shades of beige, held it at arm’s length, and cocked his head to the side. “You can pretend like you’ve got everything under control and don’t need anyone, but that doesn’t change the fact that your heart’s broken and you’re scared to death of letting anyone get close to you. The outer appearance doesn’t change anything about what’s inside.” He let the card fall to the ground.

  “You don’t know a thing about me.”

  He put one hand on each of her shoulders and lowered his face directly in front of hers. “Don’t I?” He didn’t move, just continued to look at her.

  Half of her wanted to shove him away, to tell him to get himself and his analyzing nonsense out of her house. The other half wanted to throw herself into his arms, cry on his shoulder, and beg him to help her not to be afraid anymore. Instead, she pulled away and changed the subject. “I’ll be here for four days this time. How about tomorrow I take a look at a couple of the places that you think need a little staging help. If I do some painting around here and change out the window treatments, I’ll be way ahead of my schedule. I guess I won’t be sanding floors like I planned. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked as though he was uncertain about how thankful she was. “And I won’t hold you to that staging help thing. I know you’ve got a lot of things going on right now.”

  “Of course I’m going to carry my part of our bargain.”

  He shook his head slightly and fiddled with the bill of his baseball cap. “I’m not sure that’s—”

  “Knock it off. A deal’s a deal. I want to get started tomorrow.”

  “If that’s what you want.” He pulled his cap off his head, rubbed his other hand through his hair, then replaced the cap. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. How about I pick you up tomorrow afternoon around three? I’ll take you over to see one of the places that’s been on the market for a while.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

  She walked him to the door. Long after he’d driven away, she thought about what he’d said about not needing her help. Then she thought about the amount of work he’d accomplished while she was away. Then the realization slowly crept in. He was trying to avoid her.

  Chapter 29

  Ann moved directly toward the selections of whites. Antique white, dogwood white, alabaster. She pictured each on the walls of the house, and then pictured a black leather sofa sitting there . . . The thought broke off, and suddenly she was still seeing the recovered burgundy-and-tan-striped sofa, feeling the warmth of the palette, its rightness—in that house at least. Not in New York, and surely not somewhere that she would ever live. But yes, perhaps a warmer shade for the walls. It would probably make the house sell faster, and as Ethan had said, it’s what went with the house. Let’s see, there was canvas tan, pewter tankard—which had kind of a nice gray cast that she liked—and a pewter green, which also was nice.

  She went up to the man at the counter. “Can I buy just a quart of canvas tan and pewter tankard? I want to go try them and see which one I like better.”

  “Sure. I’ll mix ’em up.” While he squirted the appropriate cocktail of color into the base paint, Ann walked around the store, picking up brushes, rollers, and some drop cloths. This would be a nice place for a home stager to shop for supplies. With the wide selection they had here, it would be easy to help a client put her best foot forward. It lacked the frenetic pace of the places she used in New York, and it was so close to downtown Charleston, just over the Ashley River, close to Nana’s house. She hoped the Charleston designers appreciated what they had here, although somehow she doubted they recognized this treasure for what it was.

  When she got back to the house, she couldn’t wait to get her paint op
ened. She painted two pieces of Gatorfoam with each color, then leaned them against opposite walls. The canvas tan was too dark for such small rooms; it felt dark and drab. The pewter tankard, however, was just the right amount of light and warmth. Besides, it had enough gray in it that she wasn’t totally giving up all her principles. Yes, she could live in a house painted that color.

  There it was. That thought again. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Keep your guard up, Ann. Stay in control. You’re not going to live in this house, no matter what color it’s painted.

  Time to get to work. She returned to the paint store and bought several gallons of pewter tankard, trying to keep her mind on the business ahead. She wasn’t planning to live here; she was just making it nice for whoever bought the place.

  She spent the morning getting the walls prepped for painting—sanding, puttying, taping. She rolled the first of the pewter tankard up the walls of Nana’s room. With each stroke of the roller, she liked the color choice a little more. A nice shade. Perfect, really. With Harry Connick Jr. music playing on her iPod, and the walls taking shape so nicely, she found herself relaxed and almost . . . happy. Bringing the iPod with her on this trip had been a brilliant idea. By listening to her own choice of music, she could shut out memories of other melodies she preferred not to think about. Why hadn’t she thought about it sooner? There were obviously no supernatural beings in this house, and good music would be a way to remember that. Yep, nothing supernatural around her at all, no hallucinations, just a stress-induced dream. That’s what she kept telling herself—until something grabbed her by the shoulder.

  Ann jerked around, paint roller in hand, ready to face whatever force was doing this to her. By the time she realized what was happening, she’d already clocked Ethan on the head with a roller full of pewter tankard. She jerked her hand back, looking at the line of damage she’d caused to his Atlanta Braves baseball cap, and yanked the earbuds out of her ears. “Oh no! I am so sorry.” The hysteria of relief washed over her. She burst out laughing. “I didn’t hear you come in and you startled me. Oh, Ethan, I really am so sorry.” As mortified as she was, she couldn’t quite stop laughing.

  Ethan simply stood and watched, then pulled off his cap and turned it around so he could assess the damage. “I hear what you’re saying, about being sorry and all. It’s just that I’m not exactly sure I believe it all that much. Call me crazy, but you don’t seem overly remorseful to me. In fact, I’d say you’re almost giddy about it.”

  Ann lost it completely. At least she had the peace of mind to drop the paint roller into the tray, but she doubled over onto the floor laughing. Her eyes brimmed with tears and her stomach ached before she finally gained some semblance of control.

  Ethan had squatted down in front of her, just watching the scene unfold, a half smile on his face. Ann wiped her eyes and said, “Truly, I am sorry. I really would never have done that on purpose. For some reason, it just strikes me especially funny. I don’t know why.”

  He was still holding the cap in his hand, his eyes squinted in concentration. “Hmm. Really?” He leaned forward and put it on her head, then cocked his head to the side and nodded. “Yeah, it is funnier when it’s on someone else.” His voice was serious, but his eyes were dancing. “I’m thinking you owe me a new cap, Miss Fletcher.”

  “At the very least.” Ann pushed herself back up to standing. “I really am sorry.”

  “Sure you are.”

  Then it occurred to Ann why he was here. “Is it three already? I’m so sorry. I meant to be ready when you got here. I just got busy and forgot the time.”

  “You didn’t forget that much time. It’s only a little after one. I was running a couple of errands during lunch and I thought I’d stop by and check on your progress.” He looked around the room. “I found this by the kitchen door on my way in.” He held out a folded piece of paper.

  “What is it?”

  “Now how would I know that? I certainly didn’t open it. It wasn’t on my porch, after all. What do you think I am, some kind of snoop?”

  Ann unfolded the white piece of paper to find a crayon drawing. This one showed the dark-haired Ann and an especially large yellow blob. It seemed to close her in on all sides, like it was protecting her, or hugging her. “A drawing from Keith.” She walked out of the room without looking back. “I’ll just go put it on the refrigerator.”

  Ethan followed her into the kitchen. “Yeah, since you showed up, I don’t get nearly as much artwork as I used to. I’m thinking you’re trying to take over my territory.”

  Ann used one of Sarah’s sunflower-shaped magnets to put the picture on the white refrigerator door. Just like Nana used to hang up their prized works of art when they were young. “Does Keith draw angel pictures for you too?”

  “Angels? Nope. Football mostly, and an occasional baseball. I’ve never known him to draw angel pictures for anyone other than himself. Until you came along, that is. I wonder why you get special treatment.”

  Ann didn’t want to wonder. She didn’t want to think about it at all. In fact, as soon as Ethan left, she planned to stick the drawing in a drawer somewhere she couldn’t see it. She turned back toward the living room. “The painting is coming along nicely.”

  “Yeah, I like the color you chose. It suits both you and this place.”

  “Thanks.” The word almost choked her. Why did she feel a flush of pleasure at Ethan’s comment? It reminded her of the way she used to feel when Nana praised a good report card or put a class project on the refrigerator. But that was a long time ago, and Ethan’s approval shouldn’t matter to her. Neither should anyone else’s, for that matter. The only approval she needed was the one that kept her paycheck coming.

  “So I came by to tell you that you really don’t have to do this—help me stage those houses, I mean. Like I said, I enjoyed my work here. Let’s just call it a gift; what do ya say?”

  What was it about this thick-skulled carpenter that made it so hard for him to accept someone’s help? “Have you eaten lunch? Are you hungry? I don’t have much, but I could scare us up some sandwiches.”

  He looked out the window for a moment, his jaw twitching. “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Well, you haven’t answered me.”

  “I always eat my lunch while driving around running errands. Not exactly high class, but it gets a lot more accomplished.”

  “And I’m not taking charity. So I’ll get back to my work so I can be ready when you get here at three.”

  He shook his head slowly, then sighed. “Okay, I’ll see you at three. You are one stubborn woman.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.” He pulled at the bill of the cap so that it almost covered Ann’s eyes. “You know, it is definitely funnier when it’s on you. Cuter at least.” He winked at her as he turned and walked out of the room.

  Long after he’d gone Ann kept finding herself looking toward the door. Almost . . . what? Wishing?

  Chapter 30

  Ethan’s plans had failed. Miserably.

  The past few weeks spent trying to get Ann’s house finished, or his part of it at least, before she returned hadn’t quite panned out. And he should have known she would be too stubborn to accept that he wasn’t going to use her half of the barter deal. How was he supposed to keep his distance now that she was back?

  As he led Ann through the house, he grew more and more nervous about what she might think. “This house has been on the market for almost a year. The kitchen was original and in terrible shape, but it took the real estate agent several months to convince the family they needed to have some work done before they had a prayer of selling it—which is when I came in. I’ve known the couple who owns this place for a long time. They’re in their seventies, and they’ve already moved to Tennessee to be near their daughter. In fact, they’re living with her, her husband, and their five kids right now, and will be until this place sells. I’m hearing enough rumblings from that dir
ection to know that they need to get their own place as soon as possible. The tension’s getting a little thick. Know what I mean?”

  Ann laughed. “Got it.” She walked through the smallish three-bedroom house, touching countertops, sliding open drawers, staring at ceilings. “The bathrooms have obviously been updated within the last decade. They aren’t cutting edge, but they aren’t bad.”

  When she walked into the kitchen, Ethan could feel his heart speed.

  “This kitchen is amazing. Is this maple?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nice choice of granite too.” She ran her hand over the countertops, then began to open and close the cabinets. When she pulled out the built-in spice rack, she said, “Is all this custom?”

  “Yeah.” He pretended to be looking out the window.

  “You’re very talented.”

  He turned to thank her, but she’d already walked into the dining room. “The carpet’s new, right? And the walls look like they’ve been freshly painted.”

  “Yeah, they did all that when they first put the house on the market.”

  “This place would show better if it were a little less cluttered. If they would rent a storage unit for a month, take out about half of this furniture and most of the trinkets, this space would appear much larger and cleaner.”

  It made sense. “If I can talk them into that, and I can’t see why I couldn’t, would you help me pick which pieces should stay and which should go?”

  “Of course.” Ann walked around the dining room and put her hand on one of the old oak chairs. “This table and chairs are not my style, but they suit the place nicely. However”—she pivoted to put her hand on the oversized buffet against the wall—“this piece, and the china cabinet on that side of the room, crowd this space and make it appear smaller than it is. I think the room would show better with nothing but the table and chairs.”