Mel whistled. „I bet this old broad was hell on wheels when she was young.“
Mrs. Kludinski turned as if she’d heard him, but only looked around the room again. „I also know of a nice young man who does a good job painting. He’s reasonable and fast. Would you like his number?“
„Well, we were… I was…“ She heard Mel moan laboriously behind her. She wasn’t all that keen on doing the job herself either. She realized it was the nice young man that had her balking. „He isn’t single is he?“
„I don’t know. It didn’t come up while he was painting my guest room last fall, and I didn’t ask. Does it matter?“
„No. Not really.“ She felt foolish. She wasn’t really the sad victim of an international blind-date conspiracy – it just felt as if she was sometimes.
Shortly after the varnish dried on the freshly sanded floors, the air in the apartment grew thick with the smell of latex paint.
Guy Westfield, the painter, was a prompt and efficient man in his early thirties, who liked to stand around and talk in the mornings if Charlotte didn’t make herself scarce.
„He’s a sociable guy, our Guy,“ Mel said, following her into her office, where she’d spent most of the previous two days hiding from the painter.
Mel didn’t usually join her in the office. When she worked, when she needed time to herself, he was very good about sensing it and getting out of her way for a while. And then he would just be there later, as if he were simply returning from the kitchen with a glass of water or had been reading in another room. It was one of his many tricks that she appreciated, and didn’t question – it was best not to question.
„A sociable guy I’m paying by the hour, thank you very much.“ She sat down at her desk and brought her computer screen to life. „Besides, I hate watching someone else doing a job I’m paying them to do simply because I hate doing it myself. I hate to vacuum and dust and I haven’t hired a maid service for me exact same reason.“
„Yeah, well, that’s secondhand guilt from your parents who grew up in a frugal do-it-yourself era.“ He flopped into the chair at the opposite desk. „I’m the one who’s been nagging you to get someone part-time and rationalizing it as good for the economy, spreading the wealth around and supporting the job market.“
She stared at him. „That was you? I thought it was the devil, tempting me with sloth.“
„I know. And don’t think I wasn’t insulted. Not to mention frustrated that, once again, you couldn’t distinguish his voice from mine. This is something we need to discuss sometime before I leave, by the way.“
Her heart flipped and constricted; tears pushed and stung in her eyelids. „You’re leaving me?“
His smile was reassuring. „Not while you still need me.“
Charlotte didn’t want to think about him leaving, couldn’t bare thinking about it. So quickly he’d become the best and truest friend she’d ever known.
Oh, he teased her and provoked her and was difficult to take to a crowded movie theater where empty-looking seats were hard to hold on to, but he was also wise and comforting and a companion who made even the most mundane everyday activities more pleasurable.
And she was happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. She couldn’t help it. He made her feel all gooey and girly inside. He was feeding huge portions of faith and fervor to her femininity, and she found she was as dependent on him as she was the new dif-fuser on her blow dryer.
„And, little lady, please don’t think that you have successfully changed the subject from Guy to God,“ he went on, leaning back in the padded chair that once belonged to her father. „Because we both noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and he seems like a nice enough guy. Guy, not God – though, I suppose He’s probably nice enough too, just a little out of your league.“
„God, not Guy, right?“
„Right.“
„Well, I’m not going to hit on the painter.“
„Why not? He’s already seen you in that shirt with the baggy jeans I distinctly recall putting in the Goodwill box myself, and he can still bring himself to look you in the eye. He is obviously a man with great depth perception who can see beyond your foolish attachment to all that is dumpy and ill-fitting to the real you… who is still screaming to get out, I might add.“
She simpered at him. „They’re comfortable.“
„So are the new ones. You admitted as much.“
„But why wear out my new jeans just hanging around the house working?“
„Because dressing well and looking nice is going to become your second skin.“ He held up his hand when she started to object. „You can be comfortable in clothes that look nice on you as easily as you can in… what you’ve been wearing and…“ His eyes narrowed suspiciously. „And stop trying to change the subject.“
„I’m not attracted to him, okay?“
„How do you know until you try?“
„You don’t try to be attracted to someone; you just are.“
„Not always. Sometimes you meet someone, you become friends, and then you become attracted. They grow on you. We’ve read all the same articles, seen all the same movies, listened to all the same talk shows. This love-at-first-sight you’re so hung up on is usually just an infatuation and those never last. You know that.“
„I know that for two people to be friends even, they must first have something in common. What do I have in common with this man?“
„How should I know? But you can’t tell just from looking at him that you have nothing in common. He might be a painter who loves poetry and sappy movies, who likes music and dancing and books about Edna St. Vincent Mil-lay. You never know. He could be the man who opens up the new world of skydiving for you.“
„Scuba,“ she said, her expression bored. „I want to try scuba diving.“
„I know. Just checking. And… Guy could be the guy to teach you.“
„So, if I ask him if he scuba dives and he says no, we can drop this?“ His stare was taxed. She sighed. „I’ll think about it. But not until after the painting is done. If it gets ugly I don’t want him running off and leaving me with a half-painted apartment.“
„Oh, ye of little faith. What if it turns out great and he decides to forego his bill?“
„Then I’d know we were incompatible, for sure. I never heard of anything so stupid.“ She turned back to the computer and her own work. „What sort of incompetent businessman is he that he’d paint someone’s apartment for free, just for a date?“
„Not for a date and not for free. For love.“ He said it like a prayer.
She shook her head. „That’s bartering. You can’t barter for love. I told you it wouldn’t work out with him.“
And besides, I have you. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him squirm in his chair a few seconds later and buried the thought in numbers.
Eight
They watched the Mariners play at Safeco Field and spit off the observation deck of the Space Needle. They drove to Port Angeles and rode the Black Ball Ferry to Victoria, British Columbia, quite possibly the prettiest city in the northern hemisphere, in Charlotte’s opinion, and they stayed for all three days of the Tall Ships Challenge. Mel liked the Ballard Locks. More than once she found herself standing at the rail watching boats of all shapes and sizes move up and down, passing from the Puget Sound to the fresh water of Salmon Bay – or vice versa.
August was already September before she began to feel as if she were finally settling into her own skin. Her reflection in the store front was as young and alive as she felt. Her reflection, not some stranger with similar features; her all stylish and put-together, eyes sparkling, head high.