“Painting again?”
She nodded and sipped her coffee. “One of the other outbuildings. It’s a guest cottage. It’s not properly set up yet, but I want to use it as a studio for working on jewelry. Maybe I could even work on my theater parts out there, too.”
“Miranda’s been doing all her rehearsing in her bedroom,” Sophie put in. “And most of her jewelry-making in the kitchen. I keep finding pretty little beads in the corners of my cabinets.”
“You’re very tolerant, Grandma,” Miranda said with a smile. The problem wasn’t so much losing beads, as it was taking out all her supplies and tools each time and putting them away again. She wanted one permanent work space, where everything was handy.
“Most of the work on the studio is done,” she explained. “We just need to paint the walls and trim.”
“That doesn’t sound too difficult.”
“It won’t be as hard as the shed. But we’ll have to tape the room first.”
“Tape it?” Adam sounded puzzled. “You mean like, Scotch tape?”
“Masking tape. On the edges of the moldings and ceiling, and things you don’t want painted.” She couldn’t help grinning at him. “Something tells me you never earned your living as a housepainter.”
“Probably not,” he agreed cheerfully. “At least that eliminates one possibility. I can cross house painting off the list.”
Sophie brought a platter of scrambled eggs and a pile of toast to the table, then sat down in her place. “Adam might be more comfortable out in the cottage than sleeping here in the parlor,” she said thoughtfully. “He can move over there tonight, if it’s aired out enough. He’ll have more room and some privacy.” She looked over at Adam. “It’s a nice space with a half bath. We just put some heat in there, too. Used to have it all set up for summer guests, but we let it get run down.” She turned to Miranda. “Didn’t we have a cot or a daybed in there?”
“Yes, it’s in the alcove at the back.”
Miranda wasn’t sure she liked the suggestion. She had planned to have access to the studio anytime she wanted, not fit her work schedule around Adam. But considering their encounter last night, maybe it was a good idea to give him some space. She had already decided they needed to avoid any more intimate situations. Besides, she had been working on her jewelry in the kitchen up until now; a few more days wouldn’t hurt.
Adam was watching her. She almost felt as if he were reading her mind, sifting out all the pros and cons. “If you wouldn’t mind me being there, Miranda. I don’t want to be in your way.”
“It will work out,” she said quickly. “Don’t worry.”
Sophie met her eye and nodded with approval. Had her grandmother been awake last night and aware of what was going on downstairs? It did seem an odd coincidence that she was now suggesting Adam move outside. Miranda had a funny feeling but couldn’t be sure, and it wasn’t a conversation that she was ready to get into.
Miranda and Adam headed for the studio right after breakfast, lugging cans of paint, drop cloths, a stepladder, and other necessary paraphernalia.
Adam walked slowly, gazing around the property. It was still early and a frosty mist covered the orchard, clinging to the rows of bare trees. Above the mist, a swath of thick, blue-gray clouds hung heavy and low.
“It’s so peaceful out here in the morning,” Adam said. “Any time of day, really.” He glanced at her, his cheeks ruddy from the brisk cold air. “I like the country. But I don’t feel as if I ever lived in a rural place, like Cape Light.”
“The dream you had last night sounded as if you were in a city. Did you remember anything more about it?”
“After you went upstairs, I decided to write down what I could remember. I found some paper in the living room, in that secretary by the fireplace, and I started writing.”
“How much did you write?” she asked, curious.
He shrugged. “About ten pages.”
“Ten pages? Wow, that’s a lot.”
“Once I started, it was hard to stop. It wasn’t just about the dream,” he added. “It helped me feel better to write things down and try to sort things out. I wrote about going into town, talking to the police and that reporter. Waking up in the orchard.” He paused for a moment. “I wrote a lot about you, of course.”
Miranda felt herself blush, thinking he had just complimented her. Her common sense kicked in at once. Don’t get carried away, she scolded herself. He’s just trying to get a handle on who he is, so he’s writing down everything he can remember. It doesn’t mean anything special that he included you.
“Sounds like you started a journal,” she said, hoping she sounded encouraging.
“I think I did. I’m going to keep at it. It might help.”
They had reached the studio and she opened the door and led him inside. “I did some free-association writing in a poetry class once,” she said. “We didn’t try to order our thoughts or even write in sentences. We just put down anything that came to mind. The most amazing things would pop into my brain. Images and memories I hadn’t thought about for years. Out of the clear blue.”
“I’m hoping something like that will happen. I might not even recognize a good clue right now, but maybe in a day or two, if I read over the pages, something will jump out at me.”
He sounded hopeful, almost optimistic, and Miranda found herself hoping he was right.
They worked together without speaking, spreading out the drop cloths and setting up the ladder and paints. She liked working with Adam. He was easy company. He didn’t complain or criticize. He didn’t need to talk and seemed perfectly comfortable with silence.
She thought about his dream again and its possible significance. She wondered if Adam should tell the police about it. There was nothing substantial to tell them, she reasoned, unless he remembered a street sign or something specific. But he hadn’t mentioned anything like that; maybe it was best to just let it go for now.
“Okay, here’s what you do with the tape. You run it along all the edges of the wall, like this.” Miranda crouched down and stretched out a length of tape, then pressed it to the top of the wood molding near the floor. “That way, we won’t get paint on the moldings, which are going to be another color.”
“Right, I get it. I think I can handle it,” he said very seriously, but she saw a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“This is a nice space for an art studio,” he added as Miranda took another roll of tape and started on the other side of the room. “Is that your worktable over there?”
She nodded. “It will be. There’s still so much dust in here from the renovation, I keep it covered with a tarp.” She lifted the canvas and showed him her equipment and supplies. “This is what I use to make some of the earrings and necklaces, silver wire and beads. Those are seed pearls,” she pointed out. “I cast silver, too, but all that equipment is put away for now.”
He seemed interested, picking up an earring she had been working on that combined turquoise, amethyst, and peridot beads. “This is beautiful. No wonder that shop wants more.”
“You’ve got good taste,” she joked, not wanting to let on how much his compliment pleased her.
He set the earring down again, looking impressed. “We have to get this place painted, so you can get started on your big order.” He dropped the tarp down gently and smoothed out the edge. “You’re sure my staying here won’t interrupt your schedule?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I can work in here during the days and then get in some extra hours in the kitchen at night. It’s not a big deal, really. I’m used to it. Besides, you’ll be more comfortable in here. You’ll have more privacy,” she added.
She glanced at him. He didn’t answer, but when he met her gaze she knew he was thinking of last night, and she realized the cottage was not a complete solution. Not for her. It was easy to put some physical space between them, but not quite as simple to put space between them emotionally.
The taping w
ent quickly and Miranda was pleased. She was used to working on her own; it made a difference to have an extra pair of hands on the job. She started Adam on the painting and they worked together until she took a break to call Krista and confirm which parts of the order she would fill. She returned to the studio to find Adam still painting; the room was half done. He’s a hard worker, she thought, as she took up her roller again.
Two hours later Miranda declared that it was time to break for lunch. Adam watched with curiosity as she covered the paint pans and wet rollers with plastic wrap. “Latex paint dries fast,” she explained. “This keeps everything from getting gluey while we’re eating.”
“Ingenious.” He shook his head as he pulled on his jacket. “Hey, look…it snowed. I didn’t even notice.”
Miranda walked over to the window. She had noticed the flakes start to fall but hadn’t thought much about it. It looked as if a good three to four inches had piled up while they were painting. Although it had already snowed once, before Thanksgiving, it melted soon after. It was colder now, and Miranda expected this fall to stick for a while.
She buttoned up her jacket and started off toward the house. Halfway there, she realized that Adam wasn’t keeping up with her. She turned to see why he was walking so slowly and spotted him standing a few steps behind her, sticking out his bare hand to catch the flakes.
“Do you remember snow?”
“Of course I do. I just like it, that’s all.”
He turned and grinned at her. He hadn’t put his hat on and his dark hair already had a soft white coating. It was so tempting to just reach up and brush it off.
Instead she leaned over and scooped up a handful. “This thick wet snow is perfect for making snowballs. My brother taught me.” She packed up a snowball then tossed it at him. It splattered on the shoulder of his parka.
Adam looked down at the spot in surprise then laughed. “I remember how to make snowballs, Miranda. Better than your brother taught you, too, I bet.” He quickly reached down and made his own snowball.
Laughing, she started to run for the house. “No, you don’t…Hey, I’m your boss, remember?”
He threw it anyway, hitting her back.
Of course, she had no choice but to make another snowball, or two, and retaliate. The oversized boots Sophie had found for him should have slowed him down, but Adam was surprisingly fast and nimble, dodging her by ducking behind a tree.
It feels good to run around out in the cold, Miranda thought. They had been through so much the past two days, so much stress and wondering. She felt giddy and silly as she ducked behind another tree, then got Adam right in the stomach as he ran past her.
“Direct hit! I’m winning,” she teased.
“I didn’t know we were keeping score.” He chased after her, panting and laughing. “There’s another thing you need to learn about me: I hate to lose.”
He stooped to gather up more ammunition and Miranda ran from him, leading a chase through the rows of apple trees. The trees were bare and the thin trunks didn’t offer much protection. His first shot hit a tree trunk, but finally, he cornered her, the snowball in his hand, as big as a grapefruit.
“Whoa…you are good. That’s a beauty. Don’t waste it now.…”
Just as he got close enough to toss it, Miranda spun and made a dash for the house.
She hadn’t gotten very far, though, before she felt her feet fly out from under her. She fell with a thud on her back, landing hard on the snow-covered ground.
Adam was beside her in seconds, his expression serious. “Miranda…are you all right?”
“Sure. I’m okay. There’s just some ice on the ground, under the snow.” She sat up and he offered her his hand. But just as she took hold and he began to pull her up, he lost his balance and fell down right next to her, bringing her down again beside him.
Miranda was startled at first as she once again found herself, flat on her back, gazing up at the sky. Then she heard Adam laughing and she started laughing, too. He rolled over and looked down at her. His thick dark hair was wet, smoothed back from his brow. His eyes were bright and his cheeks red from the cold.
He smiled down at her. “You lose points for falling down.”
“Okay,” she said quietly. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. His looks were mesmerizing. He didn’t answer. He leaned forward, and she put her arms around his neck. She drew him toward her and closed her eyes.
Dog barking. Loud and coming closer. Miranda’s eyes flew open. Dixie galloped toward them through the snow, eager to get in on the game.
“Oh, no…get up. Quickly!” she urged Adam. “She’ll jump right on top of us.…”
They scrambled to their feet, just in time. Dixie seemed disappointed and leaped up on Adam, trying to knock him down again. He laughed and petted her. Then he picked up a snow-covered stick and tossed it for her to fetch. “Here you go, Dixie. Go get it.”
The big dog looked beautiful running through the snow, Miranda thought. She happily retrieved her prize and they took turns, tossing it for her as they walked back to the house.
“That dog likes you,” Miranda said. “She doesn’t take to everyone—especially men, for some reason.”
“Well, she rescued me, so you know how it goes. Now she feels…responsible.” Adam smiled at her, a dimple creasing his lean cheek, and Miranda was fairly certain he wasn’t just talking about Dixie.
Miranda saw her grandmother through the kitchen window, and suddenly it all made sense. Sophie had been watching the snowball fight. Letting Dixie out when she did was no coincidence. Miranda shook her head, laughing to herself. Only her grandmother could make her feel like a teenager, getting caught with a forbidden boyfriend.
Inside the house, the air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread. “Hang up those wet jackets in the mudroom, will you?” Sophie called from the kitchen. “I have some soup for lunch and a nice braided bread, just out of the oven.”
Miranda and Adam didn’t need to be called to the table twice. Between painting all morning and running around in the snow, Miranda felt half-starved.
Adam rubbed his hands together as Sophie served him a bowl of beef and barley soup. “Wow, that looks delicious. Smells good, too.” He leaned forward and reached for a slice of bread. He regained his composure easily, Miranda thought. She still felt a bit off balance from her fall in the snow. She looked across the table and met his glance. An intimate smile in his eyes told her his thoughts were still outside, too.
They had just started eating when the phone rang. Sophie was nearest and answered it.
“Miranda, it’s for you,” she said quickly. She gave Miranda a meaningful look. “It’s Greg. He’s called twice this morning.”
“Oh…sure. Excuse me,” she said to Adam. She rose and took the phone from her grandmother.
“Hi, Miranda. I’m just calling to see if we’re still on for tonight.” She felt a twinge of guilt. She had a date with Greg. And she had completely forgotten. “Tonight, right,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“I thought we would go into Newburyport and have dinner at that French restaurant you like.”
“That sounds great. I would love that,” she added sincerely. Greg was very thoughtful and went out of his way to please her. She hadn’t met many men who seemed so aware of her likes and dislikes.
Greg asked what she had been up to, and she told him about the order from the Golden Moon. “That’s good news,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “That should keep you busy for a while. Any word from the play people?”
That’s what he called the director and producer she had auditioned for. Miranda bit her tongue, trying hard not to correct him. “No word yet. I don’t expect to hear from them, though, for at least a week or so.” She quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been doing a lot of painting, inside and out…”
She told him about finishing the studio, leaving out the help from Adam. That seemed too complicated to get into right the
n.
She had met Greg at a party a few months ago and they had been dating ever since. He was attractive and smart, a senior engineer at a local firm. He traveled a lot for business, and so they hadn’t actually spent that much time together, but they genuinely liked each other and Miranda felt their relationship had the potential to be something serious.
Greg had been on Cape Cod for the last few days, supervising a project. Normally, she would have been waiting for his call. Now Miranda realized she had barely given Greg a thought for the past two days—not since Adam arrived.
“…I’m so glad to be back in town,” Greg was saying. “We’ve been having serious problems with that project in Wellfleet…” Greg started describing the situation in more detail, and Miranda tried to make the appropriate sounds of concern. The truth was, though, she found descriptions of engineering rather dull.
And she had a more pressing concern. She wondered if she should tell Greg about Adam now. Or wait until she saw him tonight.
“So I’ll pick you up at six?” Greg asked.
“Perfect,” she replied, deciding that was a sign that she should wait. Besides, she and Greg didn’t have any sort of commitment. And nothing had actually happened with Adam yet, not even a kiss. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything at all.
“Hey, I almost forgot. I read a story in the newspaper today about you. Did you really find a man with amnesia on your property the other night?”
So much for signs. “Dixie found him, actually,” she admitted. “His name is Adam. Well, we call him that for now.”
“So…he’s still staying with you?”
“Yes, he is.” Miranda felt self-conscious talking in the kitchen with her grandmother and Adam so nearby. They were having a conversation of their own and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her. But she still felt awkward. “I’ll tell you all about it tonight, when I see you. Okay?”
“Sure…sure thing. I can hardly wait to see you, Miranda.”
“Me, too,” she said quietly. She liked Greg. She had missed him. She was looking forward to seeing him…wasn’t she?
A Christmas Visitor Page 9
