by Gayle Roper
"Sorry, pretty girl, not for you." Nan gave the cat a scratch under the chin. Lizzie didn't look impressed, but she lifted her head so Nan had a better angle.
Nan came to the table and held the flyer out to him.
A & J Mulrooney: local independent realtors working hard for you.
The picture of the smiling woman didn't look much like the angry Alana Rog had seen.
"So the A is Alana," Nan said. "And the J?"
"Her husband Jason." He helped himself to a third piece of coffee cake.
"I get letters from A & J Mulrooney all the time, but I don't even open them. I read the first one, which was an offer for the store. Since I wasn't interested in selling, I tossed it and all the others."
"Ed says you and he are the only properties on the block that Alana and her husband don't own."
Nan cut a sliver of coffee cake so thin Rog was afraid it would crumble before she got it to her mouth. "Alana called a couple of times back when I first got the property. She was all friendly and charming until I told her I wasn't interested in selling. Then the crabby Alana appeared." She blinked as Lizzie jumped into her lap. "I didn't realize A & J Mulrooney was Alana's real estate firm, probably because the name Mulrooney didn't mean anything to me."
When Nan started clearing the table, Rog took his dishes to the sink, where he rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher. It was the least he could do after the wonderful meal.
Nan leaned against the counter. "You don't think Alana's desire to buy me out has anything to do with the leavery, do you?"
"Interesting question." Rog leaned against the counter beside her, letting their shoulders bump. "I doubt it, but I'll think on it."
Nan gave him a bump back. "You do that."
They grinned at each other, and what started as a simple meeting of the eyes turned into another of those vertigo-inducing moments. He wasn't sure who blinked first, but Nan cleared her throat. "I've got to get back to work."
Rog straightened. "Yeah. Sure. Me too."
The sound of her footfalls faded before he took a step.
Nan sent Mooch up to help him move the rest of the furniture away from the walls, and Rog spent the evening taping off the windows and baseboards and cutting in around them, into the corners, and along the ceiling. The can said the paint had primer in it and you could save yourself a step. This pink would be a bear to cover, so he hoped the claim was true.
He listened to music as he painted, relaxed and at peace. Nothing terrible had happened on the job today, and he'd had a wonderful dinner. He was doing a task he found soothing, and there was a very pretty lady downstairs.
Good day, Lord. A very good day.
He finished dealing with the corner behind the huge chest of drawers, feathering the paint at the edges of his strokes so it would blend with the paint from the roller when he did the walls. He wrote a big ROG on the facing wall before he knelt to paint along the baseboard. The signature would be covered when he did the walls and no one but he would know it was there. Well, maybe Nan would notice. But he would know. He wasn't like one of the Grand Masters signing a work of art, but his work was marked.
He lowered to his knees, setting his paint, which was poured into an old Cool Whip container, on the floor in front of him. He liked working with the smaller container rather than the larger, heavier can.
Suddenly, Nan came around the chest with a drink she'd gotten for him at Ed's Eats, or so the green ED'S on the yellow cup indicated. He hadn't heard her coming because of his earbuds. She just appeared, holding out the beverage to him.
"For you."
At least that's what he thought she said. He pulled out his earbuds and reached for the glass. "Thanks. I was getting thirsty."
Nan stepped forward to hand the cup to him—and put her foot right in the paint container. She gave a little yelp as she felt the container tilt and the paint slide into her sandal. "Oh, no!"
She stepped back, lifted a hand to steady herself against the wall, and hit dead center on the ROG. Her hand slid on the still-wet paint, and she half-fell into the corner and its wet paint. She pushed herself upright, trying to steady herself on one foot.
Instinctively, she shook her wet foot. Paint flew. The chest became more speckled than a wren's egg. So did Rog, who was having a hard time standing in the little space behind the chest without stepping in the paint. He finally staggered to his feet, brush in hand, and reached for her before she stepped in the paint again. It was flowing with amazing quickness right toward her other foot, the one she was standing on. She reached for him to steady herself and grabbed the paintbrush for her trouble.
"Ee-uw!" She shoved the brush away and started to tilt again. She flailed and hopped and hit the wall with her back. She hung there, suspended like a human Tower of Pisa. The tarp beneath her foot shifted under the sharp angle of pressure, and she started to slide down the wall.
If she hit the floor, she'd be sitting in paint.
Rog caught her upper arms and hauled her upright. She grabbed him at the waist. They stood, she blinking up at him, he gazing down at her. Magnet and metal shavings.
He swallowed. "You okay?"
"Sure." She looked him up and down. "You're spattered. I spattered you."
He glanced down at himself. He was spattered, all right. "It's water-based. It'll wash off, though I'm not too sure about your sandal." He pointed. "Sandals." The paint surrounded her second foot, and it was closing in on him.
He moved quickly, sliding an arm across her back and one under her knees and lifting her up. She gave a small squeak of surprise and threw her arms around his neck to steady herself. He took a giant step to avoid the gray-green lake and carried her into the bathroom, paint dripping from her feet as they went. He set her down in the tub and steadied her with his hands on her waist. Such a tiny waist!
He let go reluctantly. "I've got to go back and get that paint cleaned up before it runs under the tarp and ruins your rug."
She stared down at her gray-green feet. "Sure. I'll just rinse myself off." She ran a hand through her hair. "I feel like such an idiot!"
He grinned. "But you saved the lemonade." He pointed to the cup still in her other hand, lid tightly in place.
She stared at the yellow cup, then at him. "Priorities." She held it out to him.
He took it. "But where's the straw?"
Chapter Nineteen
When Nan climbed the stairs after ten that night, she was running on empty. She walked to the bedroom door and peered in.
"You in there?" She leaned wearily against the door jamb so it could hold her up as she waited for Rog's response. After the paint fiasco, there was no way she was going to enter the room, even if she'd had the energy to walk that far. Queen Elizabeth came and sat beside her, head cocked as if waiting for the answer too.
"Over here." His hand shot up behind the bureau. "Just have to do from here to the corner and I'm finished."
He sounded full of life, and she managed a mental snarl at such vitality. He made her feel more tired than she already was. She'd spent a frustrating two hours trying to reconcile delivery slips with sales records and inventory, all without success. At least there'd been a bit more cash in the till today.
She sighed and forced herself to be gracious, because he deserved her appreciation. The soothing gray-green lining the ceiling, the windows, the corners, and the baseboards already eased her stress in a way the pink could never do.
To show her appreciation, she made herself ask, "Want a bowl of ice cream when you're finished?" Surely she could find the strength to scoop some rocky road into a bowl.
"Know what I want?" His voice was muffled. Or was she so tired she no longer heard clearly? "I want to go for a walk."
What? "Nice. Have fun." She pushed off the jamb and went to one of her chairs in front of the window. She sank into it and spun to face the dark. From up here when you sat, you looked right out to the beach, missing the boardwalk entirely unless you leaned forward. She looke
d out at the dark beach and black ocean beyond, laid her head back, and closed her eyes.
A hand on her shoulder caused her to jerk awake with a little yelp.
"Sorry." He smiled. "I didn't mean to scare you."
She bit back a yawn. "Not to worry. I don't scare easily."
His smile broadened. "If you say so."
"I don't. I was just a little startled. That's all."
He reached out to her. "Let's go."
She stared groggily at his extended hand. "What?"
He crooked his fingers. "Come take a short walk with me. You've been inside all day, and I've been breathing paint fumes. We need the fresh air."
What she needed was her bed and a good night's sleep. What she said was, "Sure, a short walk. Sounds good."
She grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet. She grabbed her fleece jacket, a barrier against the damp chill she knew would have crept into the sea air. She followed Rog down the front stairs, stifling a yawn as she went. They stepped onto the boardwalk, now quiet and mostly empty since the shops and food places were closed for the night.
They turned away from the Buc, which still lit up the night in the distance, and walked into the quiet and dark. With the moon barely a crescent, the beach and the ocean were invisible on their left, though the low rumble of the waves reached them. With no one in front of them, they could have been alone in the world as they moved through the pools of light cast by the street lamps lining the boardwalk.
For a while, they walked without talking, their silence companionable, comfortable. Even when Rog took her hand, all they did was smile at each other. When she shivered, he dropped her hand and wrapped his arm around her. She was happy to snuggle against his side. She resisted the urge to rest her head on his shoulder.
A cry sounded from the beach, and she startled. All the tales she'd ever heard of trouble on lonely stretches of night-shrouded sand slid through her mind. "What was that?"
Rog's arm fell away, all his attention focused on the possible trouble. "Stay here. I'll be back." He loped to the closest stairs to the beach and threw her an absent-minded wave as he disappeared down the steps.
Nan leaned against the rail, squinting into the night as she tried her best to make out Rog's dark shadow against the black of the beach and ocean. He seemed headed toward a small light bobbing in the darkness. From here, she couldn't tell if it was in the water or on the beach.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and her heart tripped. She spun to see a couple hurrying past without a glance her way. The man said something low, and the woman turned to him, her teeth flashing white as she smiled at him.
Feeling foolish at her accelerated heart rate, Nan watched the couple for a few seconds. When their arms snaked around each other's waists, she smiled. Romance was in the air.
She turned back to the beach, looking again for Rog, but all she saw was black. The light that pooled around her from the street lamp made the space outside its reach even darker. The itchy feeling of being alone and exposed rippled through her.
Footsteps pounded, approaching from the rear. She spun again and tensed as a pair of teenaged boys ran up the ramp from the street and hurried her way, only to run past. She heard one say, "End of the World." She glanced at her watch. They had fifteen minutes before the Buc went silent for the night.
She laughed at herself and her jumpiness, but the itchiness increased. "Come on, Rog," she muttered. "Get back here."
A pair of nighttime joggers shook the boards as they passed, and a man with a very large dog—a Newfoundland maybe?—surged up the ramp. Too bad she didn't have a big animal like that at her side. She wouldn't feel as vulnerable and alone.
The man with the dog sneezed, and she jumped. He sneezed again, pulled out a handkerchief, and blew his nose. The big dog waited patiently, looking at Nan with interest. He gave a deep combination bark and growl.
The dog's interest drew the man's attention to her. "Hello. Dark tonight, isn't it?"
She gave a little smile and watched the dog pull on his lead, anxious to get to her.
Okay, she'd had enough. She'd never considered herself a Nervous Nellie, but she felt like one now. She pushed off the railing and headed for the steps to the beach. The dog barked at her again as she hurried down.
She hit the beach running and headed straight for the small moving light. She looked over her shoulder, half expecting the man and the dog to be on her tail. No one was there.
Still.
Now the beach, dark and strange, made her skin prickle. She picked up speed. She needed Rog. She felt relief as she was able to make out shapes moving in the little light.
"Rog?" There was no answer, but she thought her voice was probably lost in the noise of the waves. She called louder. "Rog!"
One of the black figures turned, his face in shadows cast by the light behind him. "Nan?"
She ran the last few feet to him, pointing back to the boardwalk. "Too weird up there alone."
"So you don't scare easily, huh?"
She heard the teasing tone and made a face. "I don't. I just felt lonely."
"If you say so."
Another dark figure rushed toward her, and she automatically took a step back.
Rog reached for her. "It's okay."
She grabbed his hand. "It is?"
"Hey, boss! Imagine seeing you here."
She blinked. "Mooch?"
"Yeah, it's me." He sounded excited and pleased with life.
"That cry we heard?" Rog pulled her in front of him and rested his hands on her shoulders.
"Mooch?" Not hard to guess.
"That's because Clooney gave me a present." Mooch pointed at the little light, and Nan realized a man was wearing a band about his head with a bulb in the front. "You met Clooney yet? Clooney, this is my boss, Nan. She owns Present Perfect."
"Ah, Char Patterson's niece." Clooney's voice seemed to come from the air, since she couldn't see anything but his light.
"You knew my aunt?" Nan couldn't even make out his shadow behind the brightness.
"Wonderful woman. I'm very sorry for your loss."
Nan knew she was truly tired when she felt tears gather at the man's kindness. She willed them away but still had to clear her throat. "Thank you."
Clooney gave a laugh. "It was the strangest thing. She always used to tell me about God."
Nan recognized that baffled tone of voice. She used to sound the same way when talking about Char. "Oh, yeah. I remember that well."
"You become a believer?" Clooney sounded genuinely interested in the answer.
"I did. You?" If he could ask her, she could ask him.
"Not quite there yet, but I'm getting closer every day."
"Clooney's using a metal detector to find stuff in the sand." Mooch spoke, and Nan knew from the excitement in his voice that the adventure of finding stuff captivated him.
"Look. He gave me these." Mooch held out a pair of glasses in metal frames, much the worse for having been buried in the sand.
"Ah." Nan wasn't sure what she was supposed to say about ruined glasses.
"Clooney gives stuff to lots of people." Mooch looked at the man to be sure he had it right. "Stuff that means something."
"Right." She couldn't imagine what the glasses might mean.
"I gave Mooch the glasses because he's looking for his future." Clooney's voice held laughter as if he realized Nan's skepticism. "To find it, he has to look through the right lens."
Nan peered at the glasses again as the beam of Clooney's headlamp fell directly on them. "I'm afraid these won't be much help."
"They're a metaphor," Mooch said, as if Nan were foolish for not realizing it.
Nan blinked. "A metaphor?" She could feel a surprise that matched hers pouring from Rog.
"Hey, I listened in English." He sounded offended at her surprise. "A metaphor is when one thing stands for another. The road was a ribbon. Like that."
Nan grinned at him. He was only about ten years
her junior, but she felt like his mom, all proud and pleased. "Good man, Mooch."
"Believe me, I'm impressed." Rog gave the boy a gentle punch on the arm, then turned to Nan. "I was just saying I thought the best lens for him to look through might be prayer."
"Yeah." Mooch didn't sound too enthusiastic about the idea. "Like prayer will show me what to do."
"It just might." Nan pointed in the general direction of home. "Prayer gave me Present Perfect."
"Interesting," Clooney said. "I was just telling Mooch that I'm realizing the benefits of prayer more all the time. I'm a late learner. Mooch is lucky. He can be an early learner."
Mooch shrugged, noncommittal.
"The right lens, Mooch." Clooney looked down at his equipment, and the light from his headband fell on a state-of-the-art metal detector and a child's pail with a red beach spade sticking out of it. "I have to go. I want to cover five more blocks before calling it a night."
"Can I come along?" Mooch spun his glasses by one bow.
"It's getting late, Mooch." Rog took the glasses, studied them, and rubbed the lenses on his shirt.
"You can't rub out scratches." Mooch took them back and stuck them on his head like sunglasses worn inside. "The scratches add character."
Clooney clapped Mooch on the back. "This is a smart young man."
Mooch beamed.
Rog pointed a finger at the boy. "Half an hour. See if you can beat me home."
"I'll send him on his way." Clooney started down the beach.
With a grin and a little skip, Mooch followed. "Can I use the metal detector? I won't hurt it. I promise."
Nan glanced at Rog and smiled. He reached for her hand, and they started back in the direction of the store. Somehow, walking on the beach in the dark felt like the most romantic thing ever. She gave in to the urge to rest her head on his shoulder. She was feeling all romantic when he spoke.
"So do we have to go to that thing tomorrow night?" He did not sound enthusiastic.
Mood killer. She straightened. "I did it again, didn't I? Dragged you into something you knew nothing about."
