Winter in Wonderland

by Kari Trumbo

  Chapter Five

  Being at Grammy Jean’s brought back so many good feelings. Sam couldn’t think of himself as just a guest there. He’d cleaned gutters, trimmed hedges, dug up irises and many other odd jobs for Jean Kelsey over the years. She’d thought of him as one of her own, he’d always felt more at home in that old Queen Anne than he did in his own house. The home was cozy after being in the unheated house all morning and he shrugged off his coat and draped it over a kitchen chair.

  He was rinsing out the Thermos when Ashley showed up. “So what do you plan to do with this old girl?” he asked her. “I heard you were a house flipper.”

  Ashley hung up her house key, took off her vest and glanced around. “I can’t flip this, but I can’t stay here. I feel … stuck.”

  He hoped she’d be stuck for a good long while, but he could only count on her staying until Christmas. That would have to be enough. “You haven’t asked me if I want to sell the other place. You kind of just … decided. I’d still love to own a B&B in town.”

  She didn’t answer, just grabbed the coffee carafe and moved in next to him at the sink to rinse and fill it. He gave her a little more room, and she sidled over to reach the water more easily. They’d always worked well together, sensing each other. And she was the only woman he’d ever known who could work in sawdust for hours and still manage to smell like berries.

  “There.” She set the coffee pot on the machine and pressed the button to start it. “Now let’s get this talk done so you can be on your way.”

  He’d told her he wasn’t looking to be her best friend, but he thought the day had gone well so far. Maybe he’d thought wrong. “Was I really so hard to be around?” He laughed, hoping she’d laugh again too.

  “No.” She sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just … you were my first love, Sam. When you told me you didn’t want me anymore, I went through a crisis. I didn’t even know who I was without you.”

  He understood. All too well. “Yeah, tell me about it. When I heard you were seeing my best friend behind my back, I pretty much felt the same. Yes, I was stupid for believing a lie, but I couldn’t think straight. You had Evelyne. I had no one.” He hadn’t meant to put his heart on his sleeve like that, but the words had just come.

  Her eyes widened. “You thought I would go for Grady?”

  “You thought I would go for Chelsey,” he countered.

  “Yeah, but she’s pretty and she’s always had a thing for you.” Ashley pulled out a chair and sat. “Maybe she wore you down.”

  At least she was talking now – that was progress. He sat next to her. “Well, I don’t know if Grady’s pretty or not. But I thought maybe you preferred him …”

  Ashley blushed, a rare occurrence from what he could remember. “He’s no Sam Patterson,” she whispered. “The only man I’ve ever wanted is you …, excuse me.” She jumped from her chair and headed for the tiny half-bath off the kitchen.

  Lovely – he’d managed to make her cry on the very first day. He sighed, sliding her to-do list toward him. She didn’t have much in the way of money, she’d said, but he was doing fine, and since he worked at 101 he could he help and get materials at a discount. That was an advantage they didn’t have when they’d first purchased the house.

  He flipped the sheet over and picked up her pencil. He could provide paint, flooring, plumbing supplies, wood, drywall … he flinched. Drywalling was his least favorite job, even less fun when it got cold. Too dry in the house and the spackle would get clumpy; too humid and it couldn’t be sanded.

  At the bottom of the list, he wrote down an estimated cost for all the items so she’d have a number to work with. Ashley had always liked neat totals, with a little padding for surprises. She never had been a big fan of surprises – probably less so after what he’d done.

  Sam realized he was wasting time, hoping she’d come out so he could set things right, but again, he’d blundered when it came to her. When he was done calculating, he wrote I’m sorry in the margin, then stood, gathered his coat, turned the coffee maker to warm and left. She wouldn’t come out of the bathroom while he was sitting there.

  Ashley tore off two squares of toilet paper and scowled at the door from her perch on the toilet lid. Crying, really? She hadn’t cried in years, not actual drip-down-her-cheeks tears. But a fact was a fact. Sam Patterson was the only man she’d ever wanted, no one else, certainly not Grady. Sam hadn’t even said why it would be crazy for him to be with Chelsey, though he’d implied it was.

  Sam wasn’t a deep man. But he’d always been honest, hard-working, caring and open. He didn’t have to be an intellectual - he knew what to do and he did it. Or thought he knew, which was what had sent them down their current path.

  She heard the front door open and close, and hung her head. Tomorrow would be just great. She’d have to pretend like today hadn’t happened, just like he’d pretended all day that the messy break-up hadn’t happened. Just like she’d pretended for the last seven years.

  She wiped her eyes – good thing she hadn’t bothered with mascara that morning – and went back out to the kitchen. The huge empty house echoed with her movements, the sound of her boots on the wood floor making her flinch. She dropped into her chair and pulled the notebook back to her spot. Sam had left her an estimate for everything they’d need, including having someone else do the drywall, and wrote on the bottom that he’d pitch in half the cost, which would land the whole thing comfortably within her budget.

  His little note in the margin knotted her heart: I’m sorry. She waited all these years to hear that, and now he was saying it over and over, even in writing so she couldn’t convince herself it hadn’t happened. Working with Sam again would kill her, she was sure. She’d thought losing him the first time was hard, but intentionally leaving him again when he was so truly repentant?

  And yet she couldn’t stay. She was older now, wiser, and the only person she could trust completely was herself. Besides, the plans were great, but her mind and heart weren’t in them. She’d come back to Wonderland to work on a real Victorian, not the mishmash ex-Victorian duplex she owned with Sam.

  Ashley tossed the notebook on the table, leaned back in her chair – and caught sight of a loose tab of wallpaper above the sink. She got up, grabbed an old kitchen knife from the drawer and climbed onto the counter. She grasped the corner between the knife and her thumb and peeled it back.

  Under the paper was, of course, another layer of paper. It had texture to it and a greasy shine, and might be more horrid then the florid red paisley wallpaper covering it up. Grammy Jean had always said nothing should go to waste, including what was on her walls, and hadn’t added new wallpaper in Ashley’s lifetime. But what if something better lay underneath that? That was a job she could do for free – she only needed warm water, dish soap, a putty knife and patience. Barring patience lately, most of those were in supply.

  She found a spray bottle in the pantry where her grandmother had kept cleaning equipment, squirted a few drops of soap in it, added warm water and climbed back up to her position. The nine-foot ceiling meant she needed to stand on her tiptoe, but she sprayed, waited, then carefully used an old butter knife to pull the next layer of paper off. And sure enough, underneath both layers was a pretty blue-painted plaster wall, a real improvement.

  Peeling wallpaper could keep Ashley’s mind too busy to think about a handsome contractor who’d finally apologized for tearing out her heart. But it wouldn’t keep her away from him – she’d just have to work harder at keeping up her wall. If only it was as nice as she hoped this one would be.

  Chapter Six

  Wet snow blanketed everything outside, and the reno house felt damp in the pre-dawn darkness. Even with the electric back on, they couldn’t turn on the heat – with no siding and very little insulation in some areas, it would be a waste.

  Over the last few days, Ashley had torn out the paneling and the cabinet doors in the kitchen. She’d buy new ones and paint the faces. There
was no budget to replace all those cabinets. Sam hadn’t shown up that morning, but he’d be there soon. He’d given her space for a few days after their talk, but was steadily closing in on her again, spending more time wherever she happened to be. Which was why she was there earlier than usual – now that they had electricity, she could turn on the huge work lights and get things done before sunup.

  Christmas couldn’t come fast enough. Once it did, she could go back to her old life. Not that her old way had allowed her to forget Sam, and he certainly wouldn’t forget him now that he’d become human to her again instead of the monster she’d made him into. But at least he wouldn’t be in her hair.

  The door creaked open and she heard Sam wipe his feet on the rug twice, then kick his boots against the floor to make sure nothing was stuck to them. He hadn’t forgotten. Within moments, he’d found her in the kitchen. “Hey. I noticed you were coming earlier, so I brought doughnuts.” He shook the bag he’d purchased from the gas station, then set them on the center island next to the coffee she’d brought. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

  Her heart squeezed. Asking her to eat with him was not a date, merely sustenance. Like coffee, she needed something. Her belly clenched at the thought of passing up food just to spite her ex. “Sure.” She tried to smile, but it felt false and she abandoned the effort.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and pushed the bag toward her. “Cinnamon sugar. Your favorite.”

  Her hand froze on the bag. He remembered? “Yeah, they are.” She reached in and pulled one out. “I hope you brought wet wipes. My hands will be sticky forever.” She laughed.

  He pulled a canister of hand wipes from the huge pocket of his coat and set it on the counter. “It’s good to have these around anyway. I tend to make a mess of things.”

  She didn’t miss the pointed comment, but then she hadn’t exactly let him forget. His poor judgment had cost both of them. She finished the doughnut in silence, wiped her hands, but couldn’t just let his comment linger. “Sam, you already said you were sorry. We may never be best friends again, but let’s move on. You don’t have to keep beating yourself up. You said you wanted to work on this house together without having to dodge insults. So fine, I won’t lob them at you, but you’ve got to stop dropping them too.” She turned back to her work

  That was probably as close as he’d get to complete forgiveness from her. To do more would mean admitting that when she ran, she’d made a mistake as well.

  “I appreciate that. I hope you’ll keep that in mind when you think about your grandma’s house. You don’t have to run. You don’t have to sell because of me. You could stay.”

  But she would run – she could already feel her heart pulling toward him, and that was the last thing she wanted. “I figured you’d want to buy it. All those memories you talked about.”

  “I wanted to buy that house to repair it to the way it was before Grammy Jean died. I wanted to call Evelyne and ask you to come back to see it so I could apologize. I had all these grand plans that you’d see the house, love it, forgive me and … I don’t know. It sounds stupid now that I say it out loud …” He rubbed the back of his neck and walked off toward the stairs to the second floor.

  She suspected he knew exactly what he’d hoped – that she’d come back, fall into his arms and they could start over, the past forgotten.. But some wounds were too deep for spackle – the whole area had to be cut away and replaced. That’s what she’d done. She’d cut him out of her life and replaced him with work.

  But it had never really hidden the damage. Like poorly finished mudding, the evidence was on the wall for everyone to see. She was single, bitter and lonely. Sam was too, and stuck in his daydreams besides. Just like he’d been when she’d left, he lived life by reaction, not plan. Wishing alone wasn’t going to make them perfect for each other.

  Sam’s baritone filled the house as he sang his favorite Christmas carol, “Winter Wonderland.” But then, that was everyone’s favorite Christmas carol around here – they’d named the town for it, named the streets from its lyrics. Even when she lived here, she was thoroughly sick of the song by December 20.

  It didn’t help that it reminded her of the first year of her and Sam’s engagement. Chelsey convinced Sam that year to join her for caroling on Christmas week. Ashley didn’t sing, so she wasn’t invited, or at least that was Chelsey’s excuse. Ashley had trusted Sam then, never considering he might see someone else. Why couldn’t he have had the same trust in her? What had she done that would make him lose faith in her?

  It was too far back for her to remember if she’d done anything about it, and if he remembered, he hadn’t said anything. She’d been too hard on him for him to tell her anyway. Other than saying that her leaving had hurt him, he’d been quick to avoid mentioning anything that might point to the breakup being her fault. Which made her want to know more. Was she more to blame than he had let on?

  Ashley mixed the paint for the cabinets – a nice, neutral gray that, with a few coats and a prayer, might hide the scarred-up dark wood. There wasn’t enough time in their schedule to think about the past, certainly not enough to consider what if. The past was in the past, and it had to stay that way.

  The Christmas carol popped into Sam’s head as he entered the second bedroom. It was one of the larger bedrooms in the house and they’d originally planned to make it into a suite. A former owner had added a huge walk-in closet that wouldn’t be needed if they’d turned the house into a B&B. Now it could be left as a closet, which made it a bigger selling point. The house already had three bathrooms – for a single-family home, the closet would be more useful.

  He opened a built-in curio cabinet and ran his finger along the dusty shelf. Ashley had told him she’d planned to make this room the honeymoon suite, putting all sorts of welcome goodies in the cabinet for the guests. She would’ve made a great B&B owner. He’d just followed her ideas, letting her excitement guide him. He’d never had a plan for the place outside of her. When he’d heard the rumor about her, his future just disappeared.

  Seven years later, he still didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, except keep living. Construction paid well and he knew how to do it. His family still lived in town, but they weren’t known for anything except supporting others, being the ones everyone turned to when anything needed to get done.

  Hard work wasn’t a bad legacy, but it was the entire Patterson legacy – they weren’t known for owning one of the Ladies, nor a major local business. They’d never had anyone on the town council. They’d always shoveled or cleared snow, trimmed trees, done odd jobs, worked for other people. He’d never felt the need to follow in their footsteps because they hadn’t left any.

  Ashley’s nature to plan and dream had appealed to him and still did. He knew her needs and loved to pitch in. It never made him feel less important or secondary until Chelsey pointed out in high school that he was a tagalong. He’d never considered himself Ashley’s sidekick, but that was what Chelsey had called him. She’d challenged him to do something without Ashley’s approval, even though Ashley had never told him he couldn’t do anything.

  The insinuation had buried itself deep in his mind, though, and planted a seed of discontent. He’d joined the carolers that year and hated every minute of it, wishing he were with Ashley instead. That had made him angry – why couldn’t he enjoy doing anything without her?

  Sam closed the cabinet door. Things people said could ruin lives. He’d joined the carolers every year since that first one, and it usually wasn’t so bad, but he wouldn’t this year. He had the excuse of the house to finish, but even without that, it was a step toward returning himself to the way he should be.

  And another step – he was through putting up with Chelsey’s games. She’d tried to insert herself between him and Ashley for as long as he could remember. He wouldn’t let it happen anymore, even if Ashley didn’t need him.

  He shrugged off his coat and put it in the closet. After gently prying
off and marking all the trim, he pulled on his face mask and attached his paint sprayer to his air compressor. They hadn’t decided on bedroom colors yet, but all of the options were dark and needed a coat of primer to make painting easier. At least the compressor was loud so he wouldn’t hear what Ashley was doing downstairs. Though it wouldn’t stop him from wondering.

  Movement to his side caught his eye. He turned to find Ashley carefully taping a drop cloth over the curio cabinet to protect it. He hadn’t planned to go near it with the sprayer, but covering it would make the job faster. She worked quickly - by the time he’d finished coating two walls, she had moved into the closet to remove trim there.

  When he set down the sprayer to refill it, he noticed Ashley, now taking down the closet shelves, had put on his coat. It was huge on her, and her long dark hair was stuck in the corduroy collar. She knelt on the floor and dropped screws into a bucket, every movement quick and purposeful like always. Ashley always had a plan.

  He needed to be part of her plan again. But how? Little by little, she was remembering, accepting … but not fast enough to be where he’d hoped she’d be by her Christmas deadline.

  She glanced over her shoulder, noticed him staring and blushed. She stood and began to remove the coat, but he didn’t want her to take it off. “Don’t … if you need it, it’s fine,” he assured her hastily as he poured more paint into the sprayer.

  But she shrugged out of it anyway and handed it to him as she took the sprayer. “Why don’t you let me do that? I need you to unload the cabinet faces from your truck so I can paint those after lunch.”

  Oh. He’d thought she’d come up there to be with him. Turned out she just needed his muscles. But at least she needed something from him. He took off his safety glasses and put them on her, loving the feel of her hair against his fingertips. “How many houses have you flipped?”