This was, again, a decision I made right then.
And it was another decision I meant to keep.
I just had no idea how.
Or why.
Lavender House did not fit my life. I couldn’t leave a huge house unattended while I traveled the globe.
I also couldn’t let it go.
Not ever.
Not ever.
Once I died, it would understandably go “out of the family” seeing as I had no children and at my age, never would.
But it would remain in the family until that happened.
“Cool!” Ethan cried and I started, focusing again on Jake who was staring down at me intently, his hand still on my neck. “Totally knew it,” Ethan went on. “This means we get to keep comin’ over but now Josie’ll cook for us.”
“Yeah,” Amber replied with less enthusiasm, then again, it would be difficult to have more than Ethan.
“Babe,” Jake called and since I was already looking at him, I nodded to indicate I was focused on him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I for some reason shared.
He studied me.
Then he said, very quietly this time, “We’ll talk. Tomorrow. Without the kids.”
Again, for reasons unknown to me, I nodded my agreement.
His hand gave me a squeeze. “Go pour yourself more wine and relax. I’ll finish the pans.”
“I can finish the pans.”
“Babe.” Another squeeze, this one deeper as his face dipped close and his voice dipped low and serious. “What did I say?”
I found this surprising. It was inappropriately overbearing and dictatorial.
It was more surprising when I found myself nodding, slipping out from in front of him and doing what he inappropriately dictatorially told me to do.
This meant I spent the next fifteen minutes before we all retired to the family room to watch TV sipping wine at the kitchen table. But only after I went to go get my phone so I could check Ethan’s answers to his multiplication homework (I was hopeless at math) on the calculator.
He got one wrong out of thirty.
Which meant he was also bright as well as amusing and quite sweet.
And I felt this to be the utter truth even when I asked him to do the incorrect problem again and he counted it out on his fingers with his lips moving.
And I felt this because, I decided, that was adorable too.
* * * * *
It was the end of the evening. We were standing outside close to Jake’s truck and I was addressing Amber.
“I’ll inform your father when Jean-Michel gets back to me,” I told her as she’d cleaned her face with my face wash and I’d taken her photo. Though I wouldn’t text it to Jean-Michel until the next day as it was late, he was in New York and that would be rude.
“Right,” she mumbled.
“It was lovely meeting you,” I went on.
“Same,” she muttered, lifted a hand in an awkward wave and moved to the truck.
She barely started her short journey before Ethan darted forward and gave my waist another hug.
This time, I dropped a hand to his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he pulled away.
“Super cool to meet you and the food was fah-ree-king awesome!” he declared.
“I’m glad you thought so and it was lovely to meet you as well,” I replied.
He gave me a big smile, a wide wave and hastened to the truck.
Jake filled his place and when he did, he declared, “It was a good night.”
It actually was and it appeared it was so for all of us.
I nodded.
“Tomorrow, nine o’clock. Meet me at The Shack.”
I stared at him, aghast.
I was aghast because The Shack was, well…a shack. It was on the wharf and although I’d heard of it and knew Gran had been there on occasion, I’d also seen it and it was, well…ghastly.
“The Shack?” I asked and he smiled.
“The Shack, slick,” he stated strangely for I couldn’t comprehend why he added the world “slick.” “Nine,” he finished.
“I, uh…perhaps I can make you breakfast,” I suggested.
“You could, but if you did then I wouldn’t get to introduce you to their seafood omelets that are so good they’ll knock you on your ass. And I want you focused on tellin’ me all the shit that’s goin’ on behind those pretty blues and not on cookin’ breakfast.”
Pretty blues?
Was he referring to my eyes?
Just the thought made my stomach again pitch.
“So nine. The Shack,” he ordered.
I sighed before I agreed, “All right.”
He gave me another smile, leaned in and gave me another brush of his lips on my cheek and then he moved back nary an inch before he whispered, “Thanks for a good night.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Even in Lavender House’s dim outside lights, I could see his eyes light with amusement before he shook his head and moved away, saying, “Later, babe.”
“Uh…erm…later,” I called.
I watched him swing up into his truck.
I waved back when Ethan waved at me from the backseat.
I only moved to the house when the truck started growling along the drive.
Once inside, the door closed and locked behind me, it wasn’t until I hit the kitchen to turn off the lights that I felt it.
The house felt strange.
As in, strangely empty.
It had never felt that way. It always felt the opposite, even with only Gran and me.
Vibrant.
Alive.
Now it felt quiet.
Lonely.
“Or maybe that’s just how you feel, buttercup.”
The words were said by me and not only the fact that I’d utter them, but the words I uttered were so startling, and troubling, I instantly shoved them out of my head and moved to the light switch.
But I reversed directions and instead of turning out the lights, I went to the stoppered bottle of wine and poured myself the last of it.
Carrying it with me, only then did I turn out the lights.
And I headed to the light room.
Chapter Six
Fierce
The house mostly dark and totally quiet, a bottle of beer in one hand, Jake reached his other hand into the drawer he’d unlocked in his desk.
He pulled out the tall stack of envelopes tied in a blue satin ribbon the color of Josie’s eyes.
He drew in breath, set the stack on the desk and tugged on the end of the ribbon until it slid apart. Then he ran the tip of his index finger down the stack until he found it.
His favorite one even if it was the saddest.
The envelope was pink.
Setting the beer aside, he turned the stack on top of the pink envelope over and nabbed it.
Then he shifted up the stack and slid out the blue one.
He grabbed his beer and moved to his chair at the window. The standing lamp was already on so he sat in the chair, put the beer on the table beside him and pulled out the often handled letters, carefully opening them.
He grabbed his beer again, sat back and lifted the letters, the blue one on top, his eyes moving over the small, tidy, yet somehow delicate and definitely feminine writing.
Dearest Gran,
We just got off the phone and I’m concerned about you. I know that sounds strange since our phone call was about how you were concerned about me.
Please don’t be. Please?
I’m happy, Gran. I truly am. Honestly.
When we were talking earlier, I wanted to say this but I didn’t know how to say it. Perhaps I couldn’t get my mouth to say the words because I didn’t want to admit it out loud or say it to you and upset you more.
But you should know—I’m fine with being alone. I want it to be that way. Honestly, I do.