Chapter Ten
Crew
She looks up at me in disbelief and shakes her head.
“Are you serious right now? You own my house?”
I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from smiling and look up the street at the line of small fisherman’s cottages that have been here for over sixty years. They’re all the same except they’re painted in different colors, some green, some white, some blue. All of them are worn and bleached by the sun and sit low to the ground as if they’re hunkering down behind the dunes to protect themselves from the strong offshore winds. I know just by looking at them that the wide planks holding them together have been so battered by wind and sand that they’re smooth and soft to the touch.
“Wait,” she says slowly, following my gaze. “You own some of the others too?”
She’s looking up the street now, trying to count the cottages.
“There are seventeen of them,” I say, answering for her. “And I bought them all four years ago.”
I walk around a flowerbed full of weeds and up the three small steps to the door. Hartley follows me, reaching into the front pocket of her jeans for the key as she kicks off her shoes.
“Are you some kind of Property Manager?” she asks as she pushes the door open and steps aside so that I can walk in. “I thought you were in hotels.”
“Eco-lodges and conservation,” I correct her as I walk through the door. “And this is the same thing. The blue cottage with the yellow fence at the end of the street belonged to my grandfather. This used to be a small fishing village. Nobody else lived here until the 1980s. People didn’t want to deal with the weather.”
She follows me inside and shuts the door behind her. On the floor at my feet is a pile of clothes that I recognize as the ones she was wearing at The Sea Shack yesterday. I try not to imagine her arriving home soaked to the skin and stripping them off piece by piece.
“Ok, so buying your grandfather’s old house makes sense,” she says, kicking the clothes aside. “But why buy up the whole street? That’s just showing off.”
She looks up at me and grins. She has this naughty impish smile that I can’t get enough of. Every time she does it her nose crinkles in the middle, and it makes me want to touch the tip of my finger to the end of it. Come on man, I think to myself. Get a grip.
“There was a company interested in buying up all of the houses along the seafront,” I say, trying to take my mind off the clothes on the floor and the way her mouth looks extra red from the cold. “They planned to demolish them and build holiday apartments. Twin Heads is only an hour from a major airport so investment-wise, it’s a no-brainer. They’re still trying to buy up the rest of them, actually. I just make sure I get in first, every time.”
I stand in the hallway for a moment, waiting for her cue. All of these houses are built the same, so I know the floor plan like the back of my hand. But after the way I just walked right through her front gate without asking earlier I’m not going anywhere until she says so.
“Want coffee or a cup of tea?” she says, walking past me to the kitchen.
I follow her through the doorway and into the small light-filled room. Someone has put in a new kitchen, but the original wood fired stove is still set into the brick on one side. The sight of it brings back memories of visiting my Grandfather on rainy days after school. I quickly look around the rest of the room, and I have to laugh, because damn, this place is a mess. There are boxes and paper bags piled up along one wall, dishes left in the sink and what looks like enough clothes for a week draped over a chair. She turns to me when she hears me laughing, looking confused.
“What’s funny?” she says blankly, looking around the room.
“It’s nothing,” I smile to myself, “it’s just that, well, I never pictured you as a slob.” I start laughing again when I see the scowl on her face. She’s even prettier when she scowls than when she smiles.
“Hey!” she says crossly, “I am not a slob. I just moved in.”
“Uh huh,” I nod, taking in the messy piles of papers and magazines spilling across the kitchen table onto the floor. “I’m going to help you unpack, then.”
I walk over to the table and pick up a magazine. It’s a copy of American Scientist. Underneath that is a well-thumbed copy of Global Change. And under that are pages and pages of handwritten notes in black pen. She has messy handwriting.
“Is this for your work?” I ask, looking at what looks like a list of plant varieties. When I turn back around she’s busy putting tealeaves into a teapot and fiddling with a packet of cookies.
“Not really,” she mumbles without looking up. “I mean, no, it’s not. I just like to keep up with what’s happening. And I take lots of notes out of habit. Plus, if I write it down, I know I’ll be able to remember it and read it again in my head later.”
“Hartley?” I say seriously, hoping she’ll realize I’m just teasing her. “Are you a nerd?”
She looks up suddenly and bursts into surprised laughter.
“I’m not just a nerd, Crew,” she says, matching the seriousness of my tone. “I’m the nerdiest.”
We sit down at the table and try to clear some room. I make a big fuss of having to scoop the papers into piles, and she ignores me, placing her tea cup down on top of a piece of paper covered in hand drawn diagrams.
“Tell me more about your work,” I say as she passes me my teacup, and I take a sip. I’ve hated tea my entire life, but I’ll tell her that later. Maybe. She’s made it in this little white teapot with blue and pink flowers on it, and the cups are so little and fiddly I’m not sure how to get my hand to hold it. She notices my struggle and tries not to laugh. I’m starting to think she’s making me look like I’m at a ladies afternoon tea party on purpose. I give up trying to put my finger through the handle and just wrap my whole hand around it.
“There’s no work,” she smiles sadly over the rim of her cup. “I’m unemployed.”
“Yeah, ok,” I say looking down at the papers on the table. “Tell me about what you used to do then.”
A strange look passes over her face for a second and then all of a sudden she lights up on the inside, as if just by asking I’ve thrown petrol on a slow burning ember.
“Well, I used to do research and development for a company. I had six scientists working in my team, and we were mainly in charge of monitoring the pollution levels in water catchment areas where the company was based. But my favorite part was the development side of it. When I left, I was working on a way to use environmentally friendly compounds to clean up oil spills.”
She reaches behind her and pulls a pair of glasses off a shelf. When she puts them on, the hard ball I’ve been carrying around inside my chest loosens up a little. I can actually feel the edges of it softening.
She smiles over the rim of her teacup and passes me a cookie. I love the way she talks about her work. It brings out a whole other side of her. Her eyes are bright, and her cheeks look flushed, like it ignites the passion in her.
“What are you planning on doing now?” I say, regretting it instantly when just like that the light inside her eyes goes dark.
“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “There aren’t many work opportunities for someone with a Ph.D. in chemistry around here.”
She looks out through the window for a second, and I start to count backward in my head.
“Wait,” I say when I’ve worked it out. “How can you have a Ph.D.? You’re only 23.”
She looks back at me and sighs, as if she’s been asked this question a lot.
“I graduated from high school when I was 13. I finished my first degree by 16. Then I completed my post-grad and Ph.D. while I was working.”
She looks kind of awkward like she might even be embarrassed of how damn smart she is. And I can’t have that.
“Wow kid,” I say, taking a sip of my tea. “You really are a nerd.”
The uncertainty in her dissolves instantly and she starts laughing again.
�
��Crew, you don’t even know the half of it.”
She picks up a magazine from a pile on the floor and flips through it. I find a three-day old newspaper under my chair and open it to the business section. We sit like that for a full hour, and together we finish the entire bag of cookies.
Chapter Eleven
Hartley
“So kid,” he yawns when we’ve both finished. “Looks like we forgot to unpack.”
He looks over at the piles of boxes then back at me as he raises his arms above his head and stretches. The bottom of his t-shirt lifts up a little revealing a scrap of brown skin at his waist. I stand up and quickly collect the teacups. I was hoping he wouldn’t remember about the unpacking.
“I’m going to stick around this week and have a look at the rest of my properties here,” he says as he picks his keys up from the table and puts them in his pocket. “I can come by in a couple of days to take a look at the repairs. I can give you a hand then.”
I think about all of the stuff I’ve been mindlessly buying since I arrived in Twin Heads, not to mention the things that have been arriving daily by mail thanks to my insomnia fuelled visits to the world of online shopping. If he looks in those packages, he’s going to see how scattered I really am.
“Ummmm,” I say, trying to think of something I’m doing this week. Anything. But nothing comes to mind.
“The thing is,” I mumble, looking over at the box that I know contains twelve gold-rimmed dinner plates decorated with realistic hand painted insects. Thinking about them reminds me that I still don’t own any bowls and tomorrow I’m going to have to eat my cereal out of a mug, again.
“What’s the thing Hartley?” he smiles, raising his eyebrows at me. He knows I’m stalling.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’m doing my clothes. You don’t get to touch my underwear.”
“No problem,” he laughs without missing a beat. “I don’t want to touch your underwear anyway.”
“That’s good,” I say smiling sweetly, “then we’re both agreed. No one will be touching anyone’s underwear.”
There’s a flash of heat in his eyes, but it only lasts a second before it’s gone, and the corners of his mouth are twitching in amusement.
“Is eight o’clock Friday ok with you?” he says as he starts to move towards the door. “I’d like to get started early so I’ll have time to get to the hardware store and back.”
Suddenly I’m thinking about what eight o’clock means back in Jefferson. It was the time I used to meet my dad for breakfast before work every day. It was a routine we started on my first day at Preston Industries. Sourdough toast and two scrambled eggs for me, eggs, salmon and spinach for dad. I wonder if at eight o’clock tomorrow morning he’ll be sitting at our table alone.
“Or you can keep sleeping if that’s too early,” Crew says quickly. “I won’t make any noise, I’ll just be making a list of the stuff I need.”
I shake off the memory and look up to meet his eyes.
“Oh, it’s not that. Sorry, I was thinking of something else. I’ll be awake.”
He looks at me with a puzzled expression on his face and for a moment I think he’s about to ask me why I really moved to Twin Heads. But then he just sighs and jiggles the keys in his pocket.
“I’ll bring breakfast,” he says, turning to go. “Any requests?”
I look at his back as he places a hand on the knob and pulls the door open. The muscles in his shoulders move under the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He has a broad back, a swimmer’s body – all shoulders and chest and long, lean muscle.
“A bagel would be great.” I smile, looking up to meet his eyes when he turns around again.
Outside, shadows are creeping up my front garden, and the chill is back in the air.
“Sweet or savory?” he asks running his hands over his arms to keep warm. I wish I had a car so I could drop him home.
“I’ll have your favorite one,” I say and step back inside the house.
He smiles and starts walking down the path, quickening his pace to a jog once he steps out onto the pavement.
“You may regret that!”
I watch him run down the road and around the corner towards the beach before closing the door behind me.
“Hart!” Eleanor screams at me the following evening. “I know you’re hiding something. You’re a horrible liar. Just tell me and save us both a lot of time.”
I flip over onto my stomach and prop the cushion underneath my elbows. Eleanor is lying on her back next to me as close to the fire as she can get without catching herself alight. I look down into her face and wink just to annoy her. She sighs dramatically then hoists herself up so she can put another log of wood on the fire.
“There’s nothing to tell, Nor,” I laugh when I see that she’s thrown the wood on top of the flames a little harder than was necessary. “I just met this guy at The Sea Shack, and we’ve decided to hang out a bit.”
She spins around on her knees and presses her lips together to stop herself from smiling.
“As friends, Nor. Just friends.”
Her shoulders slump in disappointment. “But why just friends?” she sighs. “If he’s single, and you’re single, then why not?”
I sit up and pick at a loose thread on the rug underneath us.
“Am I single, though?” I mumble, “I mean, I didn’t actually break up with David before I left.”
Eleanor is silent for a moment and then takes a deep breath.
“Hart, I didn’t want to say anything when you were with David because you know, if you’re happy then who am I to judge? But you’re not with him now, so I’m going to just say it.”
“Just say what?” I say, looking up to meet her eyes. Her ponytail has half come out, and I want to reach over and fix it for her.
“He wasn’t the right guy for you,” she says quickly. “You acted weird around him. It was like you were pretending to be someone else all the time. And every time I visited you it had gotten worse, like you were less and less yourself.”
I stare at her for a second, too stunned to say anything. She looks awkward, like she thinks she’s said too much.
“David’s not a bad guy,” I say quietly. “I mean, he can be a pain in the ass sometimes. He’s a nightmare on holidays, and he treats waiters really badly, but he’s not a bad guy.”
Eleanor’s eyes are suddenly wide and full of concern. She reaches over and places a hand over mine.
“Hart,” she says softly, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that when I saw the two of you together it was like he didn’t ‘get you’. You know what I mean?”
I do. But I don’t feel like talking about it.
“Well,” I say briskly, as I stand up and start packing up the sushi boxes from the coffee table. “It’s irrelevant now anyway. I’m here, and he’s there. So that’s that.”
Eleanor is quiet for a moment and then her face suddenly splits into a wide grin.
“How about an ice cream?” she says looking down at her watch. “We’ve got half an hour before The Sea Shack closes.”
I look out the window at the rain that’s hitting the house sideways then back to Eleanor’s hopeful face.
“Ice cream?” I smile, allowing the tension of the last few minutes to evaporate. “I’m in.”
We stand at the open front door laughing at each other from underneath the hoods of our raincoats. A sheet of water is falling from the edge of the roof, and the wind has picked up again, sending leaves spiraling around the front yard. Somewhere above us a streak of lightning momentarily lights up the sky, and we both flinch, waiting for the thunder that we know is coming next.
“One… two… three!” Eleanor shouts as she leaps out of the door and makes a run for her car. I can see her cursing when she can’t find her keys in the front pocket of her raincoat.
I eye her from the safety of the verandah until I see her open the car the door and throw herself inside. By the time I’m sitting beside her, my face
cold and wet and my fingers numb, we’re both laughing hysterically again. It feels good to laugh like this, with my mouth wide open and my head thrown back. For once I’m not worrying about the fact that my teeth are a little too big or that I’m probably going to make that snorting noise I make when I’ve crossed over into the ugly laugh.
“Come on,” Eleanor gasps, wiping her fringe out of her eyes. “We’d better hurry, or they’ll shut before we get there.”
She starts up the car and carefully turns around. The wipers are working overtime trying to push the water off the windscreen, but it’s still impossible to see. The huge pot holes that have appeared in the road and Eleanor’s nana-ish driving means it takes forever to travel five minutes around the corner but when we finally pull up outside The Sea Shack the lights are still on. We’re the only car in the car park except for a red pick up truck and a blue station wagon with steamy windows that’s over the other side, facing the sea. I should probably have some nostalgic feelings about being a teenager out late and missing my curfew because I was making out with a hot guy in his car. But my teens were spent at college trying to keep up with some of the brightest young minds in the country, most of whom were ten years older than I was. When I was 16, I was engaged in a long drawn-out battle to prove that I deserved to be in the same classes as people who had worked extremely hard for many years to get there. My only experience with teen kisses was with a biology major named Brendon and we certainly never made enough heat together to steam up a window.
“Hey, dreamy,” Eleanor says, nudging me in the ribs. “Where did you go? You’ve been doing that a lot since you arrived.”
“Doing what?” I say, even though I know what she’s talking about. I’ve noticed it too. Something has happened to my focus since I arrived in Twin Heads. I find myself slipping off into memories in the middle of conversations and my dreams are a hazy mess of events from my past mixed with all of the anxiety classics, like missing a flight, or being late for an exam.
“Never mind,” Eleanor shrugs, looking at me carefully. “Let’s go in before they turn the lights off.”
Still Waters Page 5
