The Feel of Echoes

by Mari Labbee

  The hearth was huge, tall enough for him to stand in, bent over a bit maybe but still tall enough. It was made of the same cream-colored stone as the house and was topped by a massive mantel made of cocobolo that was carved through with scrolls and vines. It was worn. And one of the mantel’s legs was splintering, but like everything else, it wasn’t in particularly bad shape. He could make a splint and hold it together with grips; it wouldn’t take much to repair it.

  “This is quite beautiful,” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” Bri agreed.

  He nodded absently as he rested on his heels to take a closer look at the splintered leg.

  She watched him. He was methodical and certainly knowledgeable. She felt good about him, but something told her not to push it. Be patient. Don’t bring up prices. Let him do that. What if he decided not to take the job? She panicked a little at the thought. None of the others who had been out so far made her feel as comfortable or confident. She reminded herself to thank Dana profusely next time she saw her for sending Matt over. Somehow, she had to convince him to take this job; she couldn’t imagine anyone else in this house but him.

  The workmanship was extraordinary. This sort of craftsmanship had disappeared; this was art.

  “Yes. Very beautiful work,” he said softly as he rose and turned around. Then his mouth fell open and he frowned.

  “What is that?” He asked pointing to the wall opposite the hearth.

  The wall had been covered, inexplicably, in gaudy, metallic pink-and-green foil wallpaper, undoubtedly a relic from the 1960s. And this was a big wall, immense; it comprised the entire length of the room.

  “That was my reaction when I first saw it,” Bri offered, nodding in agreement.

  Actually, she had been dumbfounded. Among all these elegant things…this…this…alien thing…why?

  “Why would anyone put up this wallpaper?” he asked no one in particular.

  Bri continued nodding vigorously. “That’s what I thought, too. Why put it up at all much less in here, in this house?”

  It was completely out of place. And as luck would have it, it was perfectly intact, stuck securely on the wall unlike all the other paper that was peeling away from the walls in the house. She hadn’t bothered to add take down great room wallpaper to her list because there was no forgetting it.

  They stood shoulder to shoulder looking at it, bewildered. The pink and green appeared even more brilliant as the sun filtering into the great room shone directly on it.

  “You’re planning on taking this down, right?” Matt asked.

  She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course I am.”

  He had asked but hadn’t expected a different answer. Completely mystified, Matt followed her back out into the foyer and up then the stairs.

  On the second floor she pointed to the far end of the hall. “Those will be guest rooms; four total and two bathrooms, there and there.” She gestured but didn’t make a move to go over there. Instead, she turned and led him to the room on the opposite corner.

  “This is my room,” she said, stepping aside.

  The room was huge. An unbroken line of windows met at the corner for an unfettered view of the lighthouse and the sea beyond. The view was spectacular. But not much else was; it looked a little like a college dorm room. In one corner, a laptop, cables, and other peripherals sat in a jumbled heap, having been given up on right in the middle of things. There was no furniture, except for a mattress and a lamp that sat on the floor along with everything else.

  Feeling the need to explain, Bri began, “I got rid of everything before moving here, and I haven’t gotten a chance to replace any of it.” She gave a little shrug. “Priorities, I guess.” She paused. “Einstein’s the only one that made it out—the only thing from my past life.”

  “Einstein?” Matt asked.

  Bri pointed to the cactus sitting on the stack of suitcases.

  “I’ve had him since college.”

  Matt smiled.

  “It’s a big room, so it’ll be my office too.”

  She led the way into the bathroom just off the bedroom. “No hot water at the sink, but I get it in the bath.” She gestured to a claw-foot bathtub by the window. At some point, a more modern fixture had been added to allow for a shower, but that didn’t take away from the fabulous antique. He hoped she didn’t have plans to replace it.

  She showed him the other rooms upstairs, the parlor on the other side of the foyer, and they finished up in the kitchen.

  “Well,” Bri said cheerfully, “would you like some water or iced tea?” Bri asked and then quickly corrected, saying, “Um…actually, I’m sorry. It’s tea but not iced. I don’t have ice, so it’s room-temperature tea. Or water, room-temperature water.” She paused a moment before continuing. “The kitchen is actually the coolest room in the house, and the pantry keeps things pretty cool, even in this heat. That’s where I keep everything.

  “I think the kitchen was an add-on somewhere along the way. It just doesn’t look like the rest of the house. It’s more modern, sort of…European-looking.”

  She said as she pulled two glasses from one of the cabinets next to the pantry. Then from the pantry, she pulled out a pitcher.

  “You know, I have a cooler in the truck,” Matt offered. “Maybe you’d like some ice water.”

  She stopped and turned around; he had been watching her. Ice water sounded wonderful.

  Warm but with a breeze coming off the ocean, it felt good outside. He pulled back the cover that lay over the bed of the truck and pulled a thermos out. It was one of those modern ones where the core was chilled with ice. It was dinged and dented and had seen plenty of travel. He opened it, poured water into the lid that doubled as a cup, and offered it to her.

  It was delicious, maybe the most memorable glass of water she’d ever had.

  He noticed and poured her another cup.

  “I have got to get a refrigerator,” she said after emptying the second cup. “That was great, thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” he said as he poured a cup out for himself.

  She watched him drink from the same cup she had just drunk from and found it interesting.

  They walked around to the back, to where the old garden was.

  “I thought a garden here would be good; mostly herbs, I was thinking. For cooking-and maybe to make soaps and lotions. Well, that might be a bit too much. There are so many good local artisans; I can always buy from them.”

  Matt nodded, and she continued.

  “It has good morning sun and some shade from the woods.” She looked toward the kitchen, where vines had covered most of the windows. “But I need to cut away most of the woods from there. It makes the kitchen so dark.”

  She wanted to ask what he thought about everything so far, more specifically, she wanted to know what he would charge. She wanted to know if he had made up his mind but wouldn’t ask; she didn’t want to scare him off.

  “Um…” she said, looking down, “there’s also the lighthouse. I haven’t been able to get in, but—”

  He interrupted her.

  “We can leave that for later. I really do need to get going.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m Sorry, didn’t mean to push.”

  “You didn’t.” He paused. “Have you had anyone else come out yet?”

  “Um…yes, a couple of people. One of them hasn’t returned my calls, and Charles…uh…I can’t remember his last name. He came to look at the electrical. I have his card inside.” She made a move to go inside.

  “Charlie Cotteral?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Do you know him?”

  Matt nodded and smiled.

  She could tell that he wasn’t much impressed by Charlie Cotteral.

  “Yeah, I know him.”

  “Is he OK? I mean, do you think he can do the work? Well, actually, he hasn’t come back around yet, but he told me a couple of times that he would. I was going to call him again today.”

  Charlie was perfectly a
ble to do the electrical and any number of other things. Matt had seen his work. But Charlie, though in excellent health, was pushing eighty, and his approach to work was akin to that of a hobby, something he did only when the weather was fair, and on days he felt an inclination to do so. He also enjoyed being out of his house and in someone else’s. He had no family and not much to do all day. He hated it when a job ended, so most of them took a while. The problem was that he never mentioned that up front, and it usually turned into a point of frustration many months down the road.

  “Oh, he can do the work. No question.” How could he leave her in Charlie’s hands? If he were around, at least he could make sure that Charlie stayed on schedule.

  She waited, but Matt said nothing. If Charlie wasn’t the right man, who was? Was this his way of saying he was? She had no idea what he meant, and she hated being confused.

  Matt thought for a moment. If he didn’t do the work, who would? Charlie Cotteral? He’d be here forever. And Charlie wasn’t really a carpenter. He practically cringed at the thought of Charlie near the cocobolo. Matt now knew the level of work this house needed: the mantel, the staircase…Charlie just wouldn’t be able to. He thought about a couple of guys he could call, but this was a big job, and it would be a long job. Maybe that’s what clinched it for him; on some level, he’d committed himself already. He just needed to make it official.

  “Well, I’m just finishing up a job in Whittlebee. That’s where I’m headed now. And, unfortunately…” He hesitated.

  She took in a quick breath, as people do when preparing to hear bad news. No, no, don’t say no! She begged silently.

  “I have to go out of town tomorrow. I think I’ll probably be gone a week, but I can start after that. Is that OK?”

  She smiled wide, and that’s when he first noticed the dimples. She swiped a hand across her forehead quickly and nodded.

  “That’s fine. Do you have any idea what it might run?”

  He smiled. “I’ll work something up, and we can talk some more when I get back. And,” he said, looking around, “I’ll call Charlie, tell him to come by and get started on the electrical. I know a plumber too; he’s a friend. I’ll ask him to come by and take a look. And in the meantime, I’ll give you some WD40 for the hinges,” he said, gesturing to the front door.

  Bri wanted to hug him but, of course, didn’t. She felt they were moving forward now, and finally, things would start getting done around here. She stood on the porch and watched as he got into his truck, backed it up, and then straightened it out. On the driver’s side door, she saw M. Broun written across it in bold letters.

  “Broone?” she dragged out the o’s.

  He looked at her confused.

  She pointed at the truck’s door. “Is that how it’s pronounced?”

  “No, that always happens. It’s pronounced Brown.”

  “Oh. Well, then, thanks for coming out, Mr. Broun,” she said, pronouncing it correctly.

  He smiled and gave a little wave before pulling out. He watched her in the reflection of the rearview mirror as he drove the truck down the driveway; she stood on the porch and was still there looking after him as he took the first curve out of the driveway.

  About a half mile down the highway, a slow-moving car turned out directly in front of him, and he stepped hard on the brake. Other than that quick reflex, he didn’t react at all to this infraction. An imperceptible shift had occurred, one that he wasn’t completely aware of. He was neither annoyed nor angry with the slow-moving offender. Just past noon now, it was hot, but he barely felt it. He only knew that the breeze felt good against his skin as it blew in through the open window.

  The wind was always strongest at night. It kicked up and fought her as she walked outside, but it also made her feel alive.

  She felt really good about today. The visit from Matt brought with it the hope that finally there would be progress. She sat down, rested her feet on the upturned bucket, and leaned into her thighs, hugging her legs. The light was fading, and the heat, though stubborn, had softened into something balmy. Seagulls were circling the lighthouse. Their calls, faint and far away, were carried away almost immediately. She watched them as the wind whistled past her, and smiled.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By the time Matt reached the Whittlebee marina and the Audrey Natalia, it was almost nine. He waved to the night guard at the front gate as he drove in, and the old man returned the wave. There were only a handful of year-round liveaboards, as they were known, at the marina. They occupied a dozen slips on the far end of the marina, close to the laundry facility. Anyone else still on board at this hour was a visitor; their boat moored out in the harbor.

  He wasted no time showering and planned to go right to bed; it had been a long day. He wanted an early start the next morning. If it hadn’t been so late, he would have taken the Audrey Natalia out for a sail like he’d done every day since the call.

  The previous day had been particularly beautiful. The ketch’s hull sliced through a tranquil ocean, spray filling his lungs. He’d set the compass and pointed her due east to a point far off on the horizon. Though he had dozens of favorite places—countless coves and towns up and down the coast—being as far away from land was what he wanted. And he’d stopped only when there was nothing but ocean visible in every direction. Then he laid anchor.

  Every day, since that call, felt like a last day. He pushed the sadness away, but it was palpable. He noticed his cell phone had a voice mail. No mystery as to who the caller was. She wanted an answer: When would he be home? He wouldn’t call her back tonight; maybe tomorrow, once he got on the road and wasn’t as tired.

  He lay in bed with one arm under his head, looking up at the ceiling as the Audrey Natalia rocked gently. As far back as Matt could remember, he dreamed about leaving Iowa, and he couldn’t fathom that everyone else there wasn’t dreaming of doing exactly the same thing. But to his family, and generations of other families, the never-ending rows of crops and the dirt were in their blood. It was their life-force. To him, it was a dusty, cloying prison. Everything kept time with the crops. Everything was the color of corn. He had almost stayed, though, almost resigned himself to the life expected of him until fate upended everything. In hindsight, he knew now that it was hurt that prompted him to leave, and yes, he would say it was worth it because it made him who he was now.

  A strong swell rocked the Audrey Natalia more forcefully in her slip. The sea, with its constant motion, had a power over him that the timid brown patch of land he was born and raised on never had, and he belonged here. Now he might have to leave.

  Even though Matt and his father had worked shoulder to shoulder on their farm as far back as memory would go, Matt could remember no more than a few dozen conversations with his father. Matt couldn’t even recollect the sound of the man’s voice.

  It’s his way. That was the best his mother could offer in the way of solace when her young son didn’t understand the void that was his father. The land itself was actually his mother’s, passed down through generations, and she was driven by a strong sense of duty to preserve it, though it was strangling them at this point.

  For years now she had been asking him to come back home. Should was a very important word in her vocabulary. Matt was the oldest.

  “Father’s getting on,” she would say. Matt should take his father’s place; he should take over the farm.

  And now his father had died…that event had taken place. The funeral would be the day after tomorrow. He had no idea what to expect when he got back, but he could guess. The worst of it, though, was that they had gotten Susan involved, and he really didn’t want to think about that.

  He closed his eyes and turned on his side, but it was no use. He was fully awake, so he decided to relax up top. He grabbed a beer and took it up on deck with him.

  The night sky was exceptionally clear. Stars twinkled in the distance. He looked at them and thought, they’re so far away, they probably don’t even exist anymore
. A thread of moonlight cast an aureole glow on calm water that shimmered with every swell. The day’s warmth lingered, and he remembered all those newscasts warning of the impending heat wave. It’s already here, he thought, taking a sip of cold beer.

  Across the water, a party was going strong on board one of the visiting yachts moored in the harbor. The Bayliner was completely lit up. Music and laughter drifted over on a soft breeze. A dragonfly darted back and forth, coming close to him once or twice before darting off into the darkness. He thought about the day.

  The house at Jackal’s Head Point had indeed been everything Dana said it would be. It intrigued him—the amazing woodwork, the lighthouse, and Bri. She wasn’t quite what he had expected. He had been expecting someone older, and…different. Actually, he thought the owners were a couple or family. It was so isolated. Why would anyone want to live out there? It was all a bit of a mystery, and maybe that’s what ultimately cemented his decision. He would take the job, and knowing she was short of money, he decided he’d do most of the work. These days he subcontracted out most of a job, only taking on a supervisory role. But he had cleared his calendar after finding out he needed to go back home, and he’d keep it open for Jackal’s Head Point after he got back. She wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise. He probably wouldn’t be able to get subs out that far without extreme monetary enticement anyway. The cocobolo alone was enticement enough for him, and he was actually looking forward to working on it. It would be therapeutic. He took another sip of beer, and suddenly a memory was jogged loose, something about Jackal’s Head Point. He finished his beer and got up. What was it?

  Below deck, he booted up the laptop before grabbing another beer. Something someone had said once, something about the lighthouse.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Matt had been on the road since just before dawn. The truck was loaded with tools because on a farm, there was always a need for them, and there wasn’t anything there he hadn’t already fixed more than once.