Clearly it was time for a showdown. It was either him or the hammock. George took a deep breath and, steadying himself, backed up toward the hammock. He then gripped it tightly with both hands, one on each side, and eased his backside onto it. So far so good. Next he cautiously lifted his legs, shifted his weight, and gingerly leaned back. George could feel his heart racing as he lay there as rigid as a stick, waiting for the unruly hammock to exert its will against him, but nothing happened.
Determined to relax, George tried to ignore the strings that felt like they sliced through his back. But before long his head began to throb as well. How in the world was a hammock supposed to be relaxing? And how was he supposed to swing the wretched death trap when even the slightest motion threatened life and limb?
After a few minutes, deciding he’d had enough, George swung his legs downward, but this motion sent the hammock into another dizzying spin, landing George on all fours in the grass and sputtering like a lunatic. As he stood up, brushing grass from his trousers, he could hear loud giggles coming from the direction of Lorna Atwood’s side of the fence. Naturally, she’d been witnessing this whole fiasco.
Trying to maintain a slight shred of dignity, George tipped his head toward her. “Good afternoon.”
“Looks like you’re having some trouble with your hammock,” she called out.
He sighed as he went over to speak to her. “Yes, it seems I’m not a hammock sort of fellow.” He held up his hands. “For some reason I thought that it would be a relaxing way to pass the time with my newly acquired retirement. But now I’m ready to dump the whole works into the trash can.”
“Don’t do that,” Lorna said. “You just need to get the hang of it.”
“It nearly hung me.”
“There is an art to using a hammock,” she explained. “Believe me, I had one for years at my previous house. I would’ve brought it here with me, but I couldn’t find an appropriate place to hang it in the yard. Although I am considering one of those free-standing ones.”
“Well, if you had a place to hang a hammock, I would offer you that one.”
“What you need, Mr. Emerson, is a hammock lesson.” She beamed at him. “And I am just the one to give it to you.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Come on,” she urged. “With a few handy tips, you’ll soon discover the wonders of good hammocking.”
“Hammocking?” He frowned. “I don’t think that’s a word.”
She just laughed. “Meet me at your front porch—and I will give you a free training session.” And then she hurried away.
Knowing he had little choice, George went through his house, but as he opened his front door, he was already concocting an excuse to send his “helpful” neighbor on her way. “Thank you for—”
“Don’t mention it,” she said as she forced her way into his house. It was the first time she’d been inside, and she brazenly looked all around. “Looks like this is the same floor plan as my house, but not quite as cozy looking.” She grinned. “More like a bachelor pad, eh?” She was already leading him through the kitchen and out to the backyard. “Lesson number one,” she said with authority. “We need to lower your hammock a bit.” Already she was adjusting the S-hook and chain on one side. “Take it down a couple of links,” she instructed him.
“But this is so low,” he countered. “Won’t my backside be dragging in the—”
“Trust me. It’s just right. Next you need a lightweight rope.” She pointed to a lower branch of the apple tree. “We’ll tie it there. It should be long enough to comfortably reach nearly to the ground.”
“Whatever for?” Did she want him to hang himself?
“It’s a pull rope,” she explained. “You dangle it over your hammock and give it a little tug to set your hammock swinging.”
“Oh?” He nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Besides that, you need a nice, thick blanket or two.”
“But it’s not cold—”
“To lay on top of the hammock,” she said. “It’s to pad you from these strings. I had a hammock just like this and, believe me, those strings will leave nasty welts all over the back of you. Not pretty.”
“Oh yes, that is a good idea.”
“And then you’ll want a nice, soft pillow for your head.”
He nodded. “You really do seem to know hammocks.” He wondered if he should’ve been taking notes.
“And then you might want to place a little outdoor table out here. Not so close that you’ll knock it over, but close enough to set a cool drink or some reading material or sunglasses. You know, the comforts you’ll want while relaxing.”
George looked at his neighbor with fresh appreciation. “You have clearly given this much thought.”
“I told you I was experienced.” She chuckled. “So let’s go inside and gather the things you need, and then I’ll show you the best way for getting in and out of a hammock. I thought you almost had it, but then, well, you saw what happened.”
Convinced this woman knew her stuff, George allowed her back in his house, and before long they had gathered up an old quilt made for him by his grandmother when he was a boy, a soft feather pillow, some clothesline, and even a TV tray. With Lorna’s assistance, they soon had everything all set up outside.
“I must say this almost looks inviting,” George admitted as he stood back to look. “But I’m not sure . . . I really don’t relish the notion of being dumped on the ground again.”
“That’s why you need to learn the proper way of entering and exiting a hammock. Let me demonstrate. Your technique for getting in backwards was good. But you need to do it like this.” With her back to the hammock, she grasped it with both hands, easing herself to a seated position. Then she went down sideways and carefully rolled over, smiling as if this were nothing. Next she reached for the clothesline and gave it a little tug. “There. See? Easy peasy.”
“Hmm.”
“And here is how you get out.” She reversed what she’d just done and was now on her feet. “See?”
“I, uh, I guess so.”
She straightened out the mussed quilt and fluffed the pillow. “Your turn.”
Uncertain he wanted to attempt such a feat with an audience, he was about to decline. But remembering that she’d witnessed his earlier humiliation, George decided to give it a try. He cautiously backed up to the hammock and proceeded to imitate her steps—and, to his surprise, it worked.
“Voila.” She clapped her hands then handed him the loop that she’d tied at the end of the clothesline.
He gave it a cautious tug, lying stone still as the hammock gently rocked from side to side.
“How is it?” she asked.
He felt himself beginning to relax. “Not bad.”
“Now all you need is a drink and a good romance novel.” She giggled. “At least that’s what I usually go for.”
“Maybe I should practice getting out,” George said. “Just in case.”
“Good idea.”
George played the steps in his head, reversed from how he’d gotten in, and hoping he wasn’t about to splat on the ground, he went for it. To his pleased astonishment, he wound up on his feet. “I think your suggestion for lowering the hammock was most helpful,” he told her. “Thank you very much for the lesson.”
“You are very welcome, Mr. Emerson.”
“Why don’t you call me George,” he said a bit sheepishly. “After all, we’re neighbors. No reason we can’t be friends.”
“Well, thank you, George.” Lorna smiled. “And I feel I should apologize. I realize that I can be overly enthusiastic at times. My girlfriend Karen reminded me of this a few days ago. So if I’ve overwhelmed you with my enthusiasm, I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“Thank you.” He nodded. “I must admit to liking a quiet life. When someone comes on too strong, I tend to retreat the other direction.”
“And I’ve noticed that you’re involved with your artist friend, Willow
West. She seems quite nice.”
George didn’t know how to respond. On one hand, it would be a convenient way to discourage unwanted advances from his “overly enthusiastic” neighbor, but on the other hand, it was disingenuous. “Willow is a good friend,” he said honestly. “But sometimes she can be overly enthusiastic too.”
Lorna grinned. “Well, then I’m in good company.” She waved. “Now I’ll leave you to your hammock and your peace and quiet. But if you ever need anything, George, you know where I live.”
On Sunday, instead of raging at everyone about everything, all Josie did was sob and wail. Willow honestly didn’t understand how a person could cry that much. But Josie wasn’t faking it. Her tears were real. By that afternoon, Willow felt seriously concerned that her daughter could be dehydrated from shedding so many tears.
“I made you a pitcher of iced green tea,” Willow said after Josie opened the apartment door. Her nose was red and swollen and her eyes were so puffy they looked like slits. “Are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m not okay,” Josie declared. “I miss Garth. I feel like someone chopped off my leg. I don’t know how I can go on without him.”
“I’m sorry.” Willow handed her the pitcher. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Get Garth back.” Josie peered at her hopefully, as if she really thought Willow could perform such a magic trick.
“Have you tried to call him?”
“I think he’s blocked me.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe you could call him, Mom.”
“I don’t know.”
“He wouldn’t have your phone blocked.”
“I wouldn’t know what to say, honey. And I honestly don’t think I should get in the middle of your—”
“Then let me use your phone,” Josie begged.
Against her better judgment, Willow gave in. “You have to use it in my apartment,” she insisted. “And keep the call short. If he really wants to talk to you, ask him to call you on your own phone.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
But, back in Willow’s apartment, the call to Garth was very brief—and then Josie was crying all over again.
“I’m sorry.” Willow exchanged her phone for a handful of tissues. She controlled herself from saying something trite—like sometimes life is tough or sometimes doors close. She knew platitudes would do no good. Instead, she simply hugged Josie . . . and felt relieved not to be shoved away. Maybe that was progress.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Josie flopped down on Willow’s sectional, clutching a batik pillow to her chest. “I feel so lost.”
“I’m sure you do.” Willow sat down across from her, silently praying for help.
“What will I do, Mom?”
Willow concealed her shock. Josie was asking her for advice? That was new.
“Tell me, Mom,” Josie pressed harder. “What am I supposed to do for the rest of my life?”
Willow took in a cautious breath. “Well, for starters, you can only live one day at a time.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“When Asher died, I felt lost,” she confessed. “But a friend reminded me that we can only live one day at a time.”
“But I don’t even know how to do that.” Josie blew her nose. “I feel like I’m dying inside.”
“I know.” Willow tried to gather her thoughts. “You need to take baby steps, Josie. That means moment by moment. Like—step one—you get up in the morning and just breathe deeply. Then—step two—you brush your teeth and—”
“I never brush my teeth in the morning.”
“Well, that’s just an example.” Willow frowned. “But maybe it’s time you did.” She continued suggesting steps. “You just think about the moment you’re in, Josie—and you do your best. You don’t worry about what’s happening next . . . or tomorrow . . . or next year. And before long, you begin to feel better.”
“I’ll never feel better.”
“I know it feels like that now. But, trust me, I felt like that after losing Asher. In time . . . it got easier.”
Josie looked up. “I’m sorry I missed his funeral, Mom.”
Willow felt a clutch in her chest. “Thank you, honey. That means a lot to me. You know . . . Asher really loved you.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“And, even though I made lots of mistakes, I loved you too. I still do.”
She nodded again, and for a long moment they both just sat there. Then Willow’s phone rang. It was Marissa. They’d met for coffee and an interview this morning and Willow had offered her a job, instructing her to call this afternoon to discuss her hours.
“Can I call you back?” Willow asked. Marissa agreed. But when Willow turned back to Josie, she could tell that what had felt like the start of a tender moment had evaporated.
“I’m sure you have places to go and people to see,” Josie said sharply. “Don’t let me and my problems keep you from it.”
“I actually don’t have anywhere to be or anyone to see,” Willow assured her. “Leslie and Joel are working the gallery until closing. And that was Collin’s girlfriend, Marissa, on the phone. I’ve hired her to work at the gallery this summer.”
“Marissa is going to work for you?” Josie scowled with disapproval. “Isn’t she awfully young?”
“Young, but motivated. And she loves art.”
Josie frowned. “I thought maybe I could work for you.”
“Really?” Willow studied her closely. Was Josie just playing her? Willow was well aware of her daughter’s ability to manipulate people when she wanted something.
“I need money—I mean, if I want to get out of here.”
“But you don’t need to worry about that today,” Willow assured her. “You’ll have a place to live and food to eat. When you’re ready—and hopefully it won’t be long—we can talk about the possibility of you working for me. Or perhaps you’d rather look for a job someplace else in town.”
“I don’t really care where I work.”
“Do you have, uh, much work experience?”
Josie rolled her eyes. “I’ve worked before. Okay, no big, fancy jobs. But I’ve flipped burgers, cleaned cheap hotel rooms, slung beer . . . and a few other jobs that you probably don’t want to hear about.”
Willow tried not to look shocked.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t done that.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“All I meant was that I’ve done jobs I’m not that proud of. Just temporary stuff. I’ve been a dancer in clubs . . . sold my blood . . . I’ve even panhandled when we were broke and the band needed gas money. People are more generous to women. But that’s not the sort of crud you’d put on a job application.”
“Is there any sort of work that you feel you’d like to do? Perhaps something you could be trained or go to school for.”
“I am not going back to school,” she declared. “Never again.”
Willow held up her hands. “That’s fine. I wasn’t really expecting an answer from you. But maybe it’s something you could think about . . . while you’ve got time on your hands. Maybe it’s time to dream a little. Dream about what you’d like to do or be.”
“Dream?”
“Why not?”
Josie snuggled down into the corner of the sectional. “Maybe I should take a nap here and try to dream. Your apartment’s lots nicer than where you’ve got me holed up. I think I’ll move in here.”
Willow suppressed aggravation. Why wouldn’t Josie want to take up residence in Willow’s apartment? It was comfortable and pretty and clean . . . with a well-stocked fridge. But the amenities would deteriorate quickly if Josie had her way. And before long, they’d be at odds over it. “I have a better idea,” Willow said.
“What?”
“Well, you want to earn some money, right?”
Josie cautiously nodded.
“And I need work done on the apartment you’re using.”
“Like what I’ve done in here. And like what Collin did to his apartment. We ripped out the carpets and linoleum, refinished the wood floors, painted walls and cabinets . . . just basic renovation stuff.” Willow waved a hand. “But the result is a place like this.”
Josie glanced around with what looked like genuine interest.
“The payoff for you would be to stay in a much-improved space. That apartment has the potential to be quite nice. But when the work was done, I’d expect you to keep it clean and neat. I mean, if you remained here in town.”
“I don’t know.” Josie frowned.
“And don’t forget, I’d pay you fair wages for your work.”
“But I don’t know how to do any of those things.”
“I can show you. So can Collin. It’s mostly just plain elbow grease and dogged determination.” Willow knew it would be a miracle if Josie agreed to this idea—and put in the effort. She also knew it was probably just the sort of work Josie needed right now. But how to get her on board? Willow recalled how reverse psychology had sometimes worked on Josie as a teen. Would she fall for it now?
Willow shrugged. “But it’s okay if you want to pass on this, Josie. It’s a lot to take on and you’re probably not in great condition. You have to be physically fit to do that kind of work. It’s very demanding and—”
“I’m in good shape.”
“But it’s a big undertaking, honey. You might not have it in you to—”
“You could at least let me try,” Josie protested. “It’s possible that I’m more capable than either you or Collin thinks. Yeah, sure, I haven’t been at my best these past few days, but it’s been pretty stressful around here. You can at least give me a chance to show you what I can do.”
“Yes, of course. I just want you to understand right up front that it’s a lot to take on.”
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 12
