by Beck, Jamie
I supposed we could’ve passed each other in town before without noticing. I mean, I didn’t pay attention to most men, especially not while dating Max. Then again, it’d be hard to miss Eli, who looked fine this morning in belted caramel-brown khakis and a midnight-blue shirt.
He smiled. “Had to overnight something to Nashville.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you again.” I wondered briefly if he had family there.
His gaze moved from my wagon to Mo, who sniffed him like he kept bacon in his pockets. Eli crouched to scratch my dog behind the ears and, man, was I jealous. Mo’s tail wagged nonstop. Even I wanted to thump my foot with pleasure at the sight.
“Aren’t you cute.” Eli glanced up at me. “What’s his name?”
“This is Mo. The greatest dog ever, despite being overdue for a grooming.” I couldn’t help my grin. Mo filled my heart with light.
“Lucky me, meeting the greatest dog ever.” Eli’s slow smile rose to warm me like a sunrise.
“He likes you.” A fact that confirmed Mo’s superior intellect. “Or you have treats in your pocket. Hard to be sure.”
“No treats.” Eli chuckled as he stood. “You’ve got your hands full. Would it help if I sat here with Mo while you take care of those packages?”
Gallant too. Like my dad.
“Would you mind? I wouldn’t impose, but Mary works on Wednesdays, and she and Mo do not belong to a mutual fan club.”
“Obviously Mary has her head up her . . .” Eli winked and then held out his hand for the leash.
I set my chin on top of one box in order to keep them from toppling while I transferred the leash, so I couldn’t savor the electrifying brush of our fingers for near long enough. “Thanks so much. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time.” Eli waved me off.
Boy, postage killed my margins. A large order of sugar scrubs was heavy, and I tended to underestimate the shipping costs. If I didn’t investigate better options for small businesses soon—another of the to-do items that always fell to the end of my list—Shakti Suds might die before it got off the ground.
Mary and I did our business with little joy. People like her confused the crap out of me. If you’ve got a job dealing with the public, why not smile? Make some small talk. Tell a joke. Anything to break the monotony for yourself, if not to enhance the customer experience. Good grief.
One by one, I pushed pennies across the counter to pay the bill. Admittedly, Mary’s annoyed stare only made me go slower.
The dire state of my finances should make me rejoice about moving in with my mom in two days. Ha! Lots of feelings about that swarmed my thoughts, but joy had yet to appear in the lineup. A lack of privacy ranked high on my list of concerns, but not as high as the inevitable bickering.
She always corrected every single thing I did. Like when I emptied the dishwasher to be nice, but she complained about how I put away the silverware. First of all, why buy two different sets? Second, it wasn’t like I put forks in the same tray as spoons, so who cared if the plain set got mixed together with the patterned set? Plain forks and fancy forks were still forks, for crying out loud. My dad had agreed with me, but then had given my mom a kiss before he redistributed the silverware to make her happy.
I pocketed my receipt, eager to set aside my moving-day concerns and return to Eli and Mo. When I got outside, I found them seated on the bench. Two pretty, young twentysomethings were flirting with him and Mo, but he wasn’t encouraging them. When I came up, he smiled at me. “You’re back.”
The young women shuffled off.
I sat beside Eli instead of immediately taking the leash. “Thanks so much for your help. It’s much easier to do that without Mo at my feet.”
“You’re welcome.” He squinted in the sunlight. “What were all those boxes?”
“Soaps and sugar scrubs. Remember, I offered to make you some? My products are all organic. Any scent you want.”
“Men buy that stuff?” His expression showed doubt.
“Sure!” Truth be told, most of my customers were women, but I could expand to new markets. “There are masculine scents made with sandalwood or bergamot or lemongrass—or a combination of those.”
“That sounds nice, actually.” His melancholic, kind eyes crinkled at the outer edges when he smiled. It’d be easy to get lost in those expressive teal pools.
Any other time, I’d surprise him by quickly delivering some experimental batches. But I’d promised myself that with Max gone and this move to Mom’s, I’d focus on myself more, which meant I should sit on my flirtatious impulses. “I enjoy coming up with creative ideas and playing around with different molds. I’m planning a line of chamomile soaps for my soon-to-be niece. The only holdup is waiting for my sister to tell me her name so I can order a monogrammed mold.”
A shadow passed over his eyes, hinting at that sadness I felt when we’d first met. I wondered what triggered it.
He continued stroking Mo, who looked content to remain nestled beside Eli’s thigh. Like I said, smart dog. “Is this your first niece?”
“Yes, but I have a nephew up near Baltimore.” I loved little Billy, but he didn’t live here in town. “I’m superstoked to become Aunt Erin to another kid—although that name’s so boring. My sister isn’t a fan of my chosen nickname, though.”
He smiled again—shadow erased. “What’s that?”
I made a Z with my arms as if I were doing an Egyptian dance. “Zizi-E. Much more hip, don’t you think?”
His eyes, which stared directly into mine for the first time today, lit with humor and, dare I say, attraction. Oh, man, I might be in trouble, because if he liked me, it would be hard to put on the brakes. “Definitely.”
“How about you? Are you an uncle?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m an only child.”
I frowned on reflex. My siblings and I weren’t best buds, but I also couldn’t imagine childhood—or adulthood—without them. Not that there hadn’t been some days when being an only child had sounded pretty good. “Does that get lonely?”
“At times. It’s not all bad, though. My parents fawned on me. I never had to share their attention or resources, so I got to do things they might not have afforded if they’d had more kids.”
Might I have made that trade—all my parents’ attention and resources but no siblings? Riding lessons had been an unattainable childhood dream. I’d loved the look of those velvet helmets and riding pants. Horses too. But even through all the arguments and tattling, no horse would’ve been as good as a sister who braided my hair and a brother who drove me everywhere once he got his license.
I sometimes wished our birth orders had been different. I liked being the baby, but if Amanda had been the oldest and Kevin the middle child, he and I would’ve played well together. He didn’t scream when I brought frogs into the house, or care if I wore my favorite pajama pants to the park. But without a doubt, the worst part of being an only child in the Turner home would’ve been being the sole object of my mother’s scrutiny. Thank God Amanda gave her one daughter she could be proud of.
I looked at Eli, curious about childhood days without siblings to bicker and play with. “What kinds of things?”
He raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “Great summer camps in faraway places. Music lessons.”
That did sound nice. None of us Turners ever got to take private lessons at anything, although we’d played sports for town and school teams, and we’d had all the basics—fishing rods and bikes and skateboards. Best of all, we’d had our dad, who made the best homemade kettle corn, gave the biggest hugs, and laughed as easily as I did. “I noticed all the guitars in your house. Are you a professional musician or a hobbyist?”
As soon as the crease appeared between his eyebrows, I wanted to rub it away. “I was a songwriter.”
He’d mentioned sending a package to Nashville. “‘Was’?”
A truck shifted gears on its way up the hill behind us, its low rumble like
a thunderous warning.
“Been taking some time away from it all.” He didn’t need to say more for his tone to tell me that whatever drove him to step back wasn’t something he would discuss. “Spent more than a year traveling around Asia before moving here recently.”
“Why Asia?”
“I needed to immerse myself in something completely different—a whole new culture, new foods, new topography.”
Sounded like he’d gone on a sort of spiritual journey. If I had the money, maybe I’d take off for parts unknown to speed up my own evolution. “So what brought you here?”
“An old friend. He’s taken over his parents’ business—a music bar and restaurant called the Lamplight.”
“You know Phil?” The bar owner, Phil, was Kevin’s age, but they weren’t close. Kev had been an athlete, not a quiet kid like Phil, who’d been into deejaying in high school. If I recalled correctly, Phil had gone to school at Belmont to learn the music business—which would have sounded like an awesome plan to me if only I had liked school—so I’d thought it a little sad when he ended up coming home last year. But then I’d learned that his dad was sick—MS or something—and his mom had needed help. Now Eli’s connection to Clyde—who played there and helped Max book some gigs on open-mic nights—made more sense, too.
“You know Phil?”
“Everyone knows that family and the Lamplight, especially those of us who love music, which I do. Mad kind of love—as you probably guessed from my albums. I think songwriters are the most talented storytellers on the planet.” The statement brought my dad to mind so sharply I felt a twinge. “Did you perform your own stuff, or write for others?”
“Both, but mostly I sold my songs.”
“Anything I’d know? And bear in mind I know a lot of songs, not only the pop stuff most people hear on the radio.”
He graced me with another of his wide, appreciative smiles. “‘Come ’Round Home’ and ‘Only You’ got a lot of play.” He looked at the ground like he’d been caught bragging, but I almost shot off the bench.
“Brad Peyton’s hits?” I loved good country music, especially when sung by a bass with a rich vibrato. “Wow! I’m super impressed now. Where do you get your inspiration?”
That shadow came racing back to his eyes. He was bent over, elbows on his knees, fingertips tapping together. “Let’s just say it’s lost now.”
The air around us got heavy, like the thickness that settles in before a storm, except the sky remained blue and sunlight poured over us. I hadn’t been wrong about that sorrow I’d sensed, although the scope of it seemed bigger than I’d originally guessed. A divorce maybe? Or like me, a beloved parent snatched away. God knows I’d slept more during the first six months after my dad died than I had in the six prior years combined.
I probably should’ve kept my big trap shut, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You know, I’m not the smartest person. In fact, my family would tell you my life is a hot mess. But the one thing I do know is that nothing lasts forever—not the good or the bad. Whatever’s got you blocked, I hope you find new inspiration soon. I know you will, actually. Probably when you least expect it.”
I looked away then, choosing to focus on Mo and his kisses. Kisses I might rather get from Eli—let’s be honest.
Eli didn’t say much except to mumble a quiet thanks before he stretched his legs and rose from our bench. “Well, I’d better let you get back to your day. Nice bumping into you, Erin.”
My heart sank to my toes when he effectively ended our conversation. Apparently, he didn’t want a pep talk.
“Thanks again for your help. First you get ripped off by my ex, next you dog-sit free of charge. My IOUs are piling up.” I subdued the instinct to grab his shoulders for a quick hug, settling for a wave. “See you around!”
He offered a casual salute as his final goodbye. I told myself it was for the best. I had a move to deal with anyway.
All in all, still the best post-office run ever.
Take that, Mary!
“You guys rock.” I high-fived Lexi’s boyfriend, Tony. Not only had he let me borrow his pickup to move my stuff, but he’d also helped carry the few pieces of furniture I kept.
Mom had been anxious, telling me where I could and couldn’t put my things. I couldn’t really get mad. It was her house. At least she didn’t mind watching after Mo while my friends helped me unload the truck.
To avoid winding through the house and down the narrow basement stairs, we’d brought my boxes and furniture through the basement slider in the back. For the time being, most of my nonessentials would remain stored in the unfinished part of the basement so they’d be easy to move again when I found a new apartment.
“No problem, E.” Tony mopped his brow with his forearm, then patted Lexi’s butt. “Meet you in the truck?”
“Be there in a sec,” she said. Once he’d gone, my best friend spun around. “You know, this finished part of the basement could be a great little yoga studio.”
Intrigued, I surveyed the level rectangular room. My dad and I had upgraded the flooring about seven years ago with laminate, so it would be durable, easy to clean, and soft beneath the feet. Natural light from the sliders flooded the space, and if I hung some crystals near the doors, they’d cast little rainbows everywhere. “You’re right, Lex.”
“If you move some of those pieces against the walls, you’ll clear enough floor space for five or six students.” She rested her hands on her hips, nose wrinkled. “Man, I’d kill for a free place to do private lessons.”
“Don’t envy me. I’d have to convince my mom to let me invite ‘strangers’ to the house, which isn’t a slam dunk.” If Amanda asked, it would be, but our mom trusted her judgment more than mine. Come to think of it, considering the Lyle situation, Mom probably wouldn’t trust Amanda now, either. Being downgraded had to sting.
On the other hand, Dad would’ve been an easy sell. He’d loved when I tried new things.
No matter where my gaze fell, I saw him. Every picture. Every old fishing rod. The pea-green lounge chair he’d fought hard to keep that my mother now couldn’t part with. The only thing missing—aside from him—was the scent of cigarette smoke. I didn’t miss that. Anytime I smelled it, my heart hurt.
“Hm. Well, good luck. I’d better catch up with Tony. See you tomorrow!” Lexi waved and then closed the slider behind her on her way out. It sealed with a thunk, perfect for my somewhat trapped circumstance. Seeing Lex run off with Tony also reminded me of my very single status. What if I got horny? Mom wouldn’t tolerate me bringing men here for sex. Could I take care of myself in the room next to my mother’s without her knowing? The shower? At least I wouldn’t be sharing the bathroom with my siblings this time around.
Before I got too depressed about the drawbacks, I told myself to embrace the positive. Cheap living. Doing the “right” thing by watching out for Mom. Making Dad proud. And maybe celibacy would be the key to my success.
Enough of that. I desperately needed a snack, which meant no more hiding out down here. Time to face my new roomie.
My backpack remained near the stairs. I grabbed it and took the steps two at a time to reach the kitchen quickly. Mo gave me one of his drive-by ankle licks, as if testing to make sure I was still me.
“Oh good. You finished quickly.” Mom crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of lemonade. “Are you thirsty?”
“No thanks.” I plopped onto a chair, hoping to look more relaxed than I felt, and grabbed an apple. I supposed I would have to spend time with her to monitor her wellness. “What should we do on this lovely Friday?”
She stared at the backpack I’d set on the kitchen table. “You could start by removing your backpack. That thing belongs in a closet, not as the centerpiece on my table.”
And so it began.
I unzipped it. “I brought a little thank-you gift for letting me crash here for a bit.” I handed her a tissue-wrapped package of three gardenia-scented soap bars and a
bath oil. A bit sweet-smelling for me, but she should like it. I’d read that older people’s sense of smell diminishes over time.
“Oh.” She set down her lemonade, temporarily disarmed. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”
She held the gift awkwardly, like she didn’t quite trust it not to explode in her hands.
“You’re welcome.” While I chomped on my fruit, I watched her fiddle nervously with the package while neither of us said more. Against my better judgment, I asked, “Actually, want to help me make a batch of sugar scrubs now? It’s fun to experiment with different aromas. And if you like it, I can teach you to make soaps.”
“Not now.”
“Why not?” I wiped the apple’s juice from my chin.
“Because that sounds messy and I have company coming. Why don’t you go shower and then run out and do whatever it is you normally do when you’re not working.” She turned, setting the soaps on the counter and placing the pitcher of lemonade and glasses on a tray. Clearly she didn’t want me to meet her mysterious company. So, naturally, I had to dig into that.
“Who’s coming? Aunt Dodo?”
Her hands went up like a traffic cop. “No one you know.”
“You’re being kinda squirrelly.” Was a man coming to visit? I didn’t know how I felt about that.
“Fine.” She tipped up her chin. “I’ve been on a wait list with a renowned medium, and an appointment opened up. I confirmed it before you set your move-in date and didn’t want to reschedule. Given everything happening with your sister, I really need to speak with William.”
My jaw came unhinged. Amanda hadn’t exaggerated her concerns. Before I could question my mother, she hustled me out of the chair. “Now go on and shower. Please, Erin. Don’t embarrass me.”
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, tossed the core in the trash, and picked Mo up with my free hand. “Fine. But I want to meet this psycho.”
“Psychic, not psycho.” She scowled.
We’d see. This would be more interesting than sitting around watching those afternoon talk shows she loved.
