Sundays on Squire's Isle, page 5
She could think of worse ways to start a Sunday.
July 22, 2012
Open Doors
April 16, 2012
"Ah." Beverly stayed perfectly still, staring at her left hand in that dumb, frozen-time moment where the brain tried to convince her body it wasn't really hurt. But then the blood began to well up, running from the middle of her wrist up to the meaty heel of her hand. "Damn it. Keith? Are you still here?" Her voice echoed through the studio as she grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it against her wound. Asking had been stupid; she knew Keith was gone. She'd heard the door close when he left, but she held out hope.
The reception area was empty, as she knew it would be, and she cursed quietly. They had a small public restroom next to the office to wash the wound and wrap it more securely. She locked the door behind her and went to her car, watching as the towel slowly reddened. For a moment she considered calling someone to give her a ride, but the hospital was just down the road from her studio. It would take longer for someone to come pick her up than it would to just drive herself.
She drove to the hospital and parked near the Emergency doors, lifting her arm to see blood was smeared on her arm and the hem of her shirt. "Ah, great."
The nurse checked her in and told her a doctor would be with her in a moment. She barely had time to settle on the foot of the exam bed before a woman in a white coat was in front of her. "Hi. I'm Dr. Tom. You cut yourself?"
Beverly nodded and gingerly lifted the towel. "I'm Beverly Meade. Just a stupid accident."
"You can tell me if it wasn't." She was examining the wound. "People come in with cuts on their wrist, we have to make sure."
"Oh. No, it was definitely an accident." She smiled self-consciously. "Job hazard. I'm a wood carver. One of my tools got away from me."
Dr. Tom nodded. "I'll say it did. This isn't too bad. I can go ahead and suture it, set you up with a nice bandage."
"Some people like the drugs, but I come here for the service."
The doctor smiled. She looked for a cart and stretched for the nearest one, pulling it close. Beverly looked away as she worked, unable to stomach the sight of her flesh being poked and prodded and stitched. "It's okay," Dr. Tom said. "Just relax. I've done this hundreds of times. Thousands if you count teddy bears when I was a little girl."
"Ever lost a patient with this treatment?"
"Suturing? No. Well, a couple of teddy bears suffered massive padding loss. Very sad. My Little Ponies couldn't make it through the funeral."
Beverly chuckled.
"So what kind of wood carving do you do?"
"Doors." She cleared her throat, grateful for the distraction.
Dr. Tom tilted her head. "Doors? What do you mean?"
Beverly cleared her throat. "The things you open to get into rooms."
"Hey, I didn't have to numb this."
"Sorry. I carve designs into them. Usually something simple like leaves, vines, fleurs-de-lis. But a couple of people want something more ornate. I've done mountains, animals, people. I'm not terribly good with people. But I make nice doors."
"That sounds very cool. You do designs?"
"Yeah. I got into it in college. Art major, Dad was a woodworker, so the two went together well. I found a way to make it work."
"Do what you love, right?" Dr. Tom smiled at her and finished bandaging the wrist. "There you go, almost good as new. Hopefully it won't affect your work."
"Not so long as I keep the chisel on the wood and not my skin."
Dr. Tom grinned. "That's the preferred way, I hear."
Calmer now, Beverly gently massaged the clean gauze that covered her wound as she slipped off the edge of the bed. She expected Dr. Tom to leave, to move on to other patients, but she lingered and seemed to be contemplating something. Finally she said, "About how long does a project take? You probably have a few projects in the pipeline, and then the actual work probably takes... a while. Would you be able to do a custom job by late July?"
Beverly did the mental mathematics. "It would depend on how ornate you're thinking, and how this heals, but I think I could get something ready by then. What did you have in mind?"
Today
Alex's knee was sore. Even though she'd been dealing with messes for the past twelve hours, she was certain her pain was mostly in her head, stemming from the fact she had reduced their anniversary dinner to a quick lunch together and a promise of sex that night. It wasn't their actual anniversary, the real date they became lovers, since that time period was all tangled up in horrifying death and destruction. Instead they celebrated the day Alex had moved to the island and taken up residence in Rachel's home.
And they honored it by meeting for lunch at a café on Spring Street while tourists swarmed around them like gnats. Hardly what Alex really wanted, miles from what Rachel deserved, but two of her volunteer firefighters had quit and the department was running low on funding. She knew that Patricia Hood-Colby, if elected, would make things a little easier, but the election seemed so far away.
Now she was finally home, too late to actually treat her partner to a night out, and her knee was throbbing as if to remind her of how far she had once gone. Like Wonder Woman through a skylight. Now you chain yourself to a desk and give her the bare minimum. It wasn't true, it wasn't fair, and yet she still couldn't make the little voice shut up. She took off her shoes in the hallway, one hand braced against the wall as Rachel came out of the kitchen.
"Hey. I'd ask how your day was..."
"Same as every other day. Tedious, with beauty at the end of it. Hi, baby." They kissed hello, and Alex realized she smelled something delicious. "Are you cooking dinner?"
"It is our anniversary. I wanted it to be a surprise."
"I didn't want you to be put out. I wanted to take you out, I wanted--"
Rachel put a finger on Alex's lips. "And I wanted to pamper you. I have someone I love, who loves me back, and who appreciates when I make her food. I love cooking for you, Alexandra. It still has some time before it's done, so why don't you hop in the shower and change into something a little less... worn."
Alex bowed her head to sniff herself. "Bad?"
"Nah, but... shower, babe." She patted Alex's rear end and pulled away from her.
Alex smiled, the stress of the day already fading as she turned to go down the short hall to their bedroom. She almost didn't lift her head when she gripped the knob, but she noticed the door seemed to be a different color than she remembered. She stepped back, fingers resting limply on the knob as she focused on it.
"What do you think?" Rachel asked from behind her.
The door was blonde oak, with four panels. The top panel on the left showed dancing flames, while the right had a caduceus. In the panel below the fire were the letters AC. The letters under the caduceus were RT. Alex moved her hand to trace one of the flames, breathless as she backed up to get the full picture. She bumped into Rachel, who put her arms around Alex's waist.
"This is amazing. How...?"
"There's a woman in town who carves doors. I treated her for a cut on the wrist a few months back, and I checked her catalogue, and I decided this would make a good anniversary gift for you. For us." She kissed Alex's neck. "It's been done for a few weeks. It's been driving me crazy not to say anything."
"The flames. You... having flames on your bedroom door won't be a little strange for you? Considering..."
"I'm not scared of fire anymore, Alex. Not since you came along."
Alex turned around and kissed Rachel. "Thank you. It's really gorgeous. You're really gorgeous. But you're more gorgeous than the door."
Rachel smiled. "Glad we have that clarified." They kissed again, slowly, and Alex pulled back. "Are you really cooking dinner?"
"I am. And you really should shower. We have plenty of time for anniversary stuff after we eat."
Alex nodded and stepped back, letting her hands trail down Rachel's arms to prolong contact. They finally had to separate, and Rachel went to tend to the food. Alex turned and looked at the door again. She traced the smooth, curved lines of the caduceus, unable to believe it was actually their bedroom door. It looked like something that belonged in a palace or some museum display. Just the sight of it made her feel calm, and it made her feel like the room was more special than it already was.
Not just their bedroom, their sanctuary. Their safe place. Already vastly more relaxed than she'd been when she got home, Alex finally turned the knob - which was also new, but aged - and let herself into the bedroom to prepare herself for a proper anniversary celebration.
August 5, 2012
No Place Like It
Nadine stood on the sidewalk, hands on the fencepost, and stared. The story said that the house was almost as old as the town itself, one of the first homes built when people came to Squire's Isle and decided to stay. But something over a hundred years was really just the sum of its parts. A new roof put in twenty years ago after a big storm, a chimney that had to be reconstructed, a porch added during World War II... the house itself was ageless. Partially new, partially old, but it had stood in the same spot and wore a similar face for all its years, so it got the title of landmark.
As far as Nadine was concerned, the house was ancient. It stood her entire life, a three-story sentinel on the edge of town, facing the harbor. Great people of the island had once lived there. They stood at the window, or on the original porch, or strode slowly on the widow's walk, and they plotted the town as it existed now.
A small blue-and-white sign on the front gate announced it was for sale.
Nadine knew exactly how much it cost: too damn much. The house itself might have been buyable with some financial finagling, but Nadine knew houses like this sucked money. Upkeep, repairs, just keeping it looking nice would be like burning money. But oh, how she was tempted. She ran her hand over the wood of the fence and then walked to the gate. She touched the metal latch with two fingers and smiled as she thought back to the times she'd seen the house as a child.
She couldn't think of specific memories. The image in her mind was, she knew, a pastiche of a hundred different days. Summer, hot, racing her friends down the sidewalk with the house rising like a palace between two hedges. She still had the bicycle, leaning against the tree on the sidewalk, but now she was an adult. She had a good job, she was married, and she had a life. Was it so crazy to want a house? She loved their condo, but a house was a symbol.
After a moment of hesitation, Nadine opened the gate and stepped onto the brick path that led to the porch. She felt like she was crossing a threshold, breaking that thin membrane that existed between the hallway and her parents' bedroom when she was a little girl. She felt like she was breaking a rule, resisting the urge to look around to see if she was going to get caught. She was almost to the porch when she heard a car pull up and park at the curb, and it took all of her willpower not to flee.
"Hi! Sorry, I think I'm running a little late."
Nadine smiled over her shoulder. "No, I just got here a little early."
Gail Call trotted up the walkway, smiling as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She wore black slacks and a blazer with the real estate company's insignia on the breast. She held out her hand to Nadine as she approached, and they shook.
"Right this way, Mrs. Butler." She took the keys from her pocket and led Nadine onto the porch. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but I've learned I have to ask. Are you actually interested in buying this house, or do you just want to see the inside?"
"Um."
Her grin widened. "Don't feel bad. Part of the reason I was so glad to get the listing is because I was dying to take a tour myself. I think only two kinds of people have taken the tour: those willing to admit they're not going to buy it, and those who hold onto the lie to make me feel better." She shrugged. "I don't mind being a tour guide. Come on inside."
They stepped into a shadowy vestibule and Gail opened an inner door to usher Nadine to the main house. "You have the living room to your right, and the dining room..." She gestured to the closed doors at the left. A staircase directly ahead of them led up to an open second floor. Gail continued further in before she turned and gestured around them. "Where would you like to start first?"
"I don't even know." She opened the door to look into the dining room. "The people who own it now, they haven't been living here have they?"
"Oh, no. There's been talk of the town buying it and setting it up as a museum. The history of our little island. That's why we're not really expecting a private buyer."
"Who owned it before?"
Gail smiled. "I'm not supposed to say. But there are rumors it's being sold off in order to help pay for a certain... contest."
Nadine put the pieces together. The Dugans owned the house, and they were selling it to get money for the mayoral election. So whoever bought the house would be funding Patricia Hood-Colby's opponent. Any fantasy Nadine held of actually buying the house fled, and she relaxed enough to enjoy the tour.
"Wait." She tilted her head to the side. "If the city ends up buying the house, then..." That would mean the Dugans would be using city money to pay for their campaign. She raised an eyebrow, and Gail kept her face neutral. She shrugged, and Nadine clucked her tongue. She didn't know if it was illegal, but it was certainly shady enough to warrant a bookmark in her mind.
She walked into the kitchen. French doors looked out onto a wide patio, and she could see a well-tended backyard ringed by trees. Her footsteps echoed as she walked past the hollow spots where appliances would go. A walkway that ran under the stairs connected the kitchen to the living room, and she went through quickly, head ducked in case of cobwebs. She arrived on the other side as Gail pushed open the curtains to let the natural light in.
Nadine imagined the space filled with their furniture. A couch facing two chairs, a coffee table between them, and all seats facing the fire instead of a television. Bookshelves would line the back wall. And at night, they would sit together on the couch and read, cuddling before bedtime. She saw Gail watching her and smiled. "Can we see the upstairs?"
"Sure."
At the top of the stairs, Gail led her to the right. "This is the master bedroom." She turned on the light and stepped into the center of the space like a docent. There was a window seat built in, a place where she could see Miranda settling in to look down toward the harbor before bed. Nadine remained at the doorway and let her mind fill in the blanks again. Pictures on the wall of her parents, of her and Miranda... kids? Maybe one day. A house this big would need a kid or two just to fill the space.
"So, what would you like to know?" Gail said.
The images faded and Nadine was brought back to reality. She blinked at the real estate agent and smiled apologetically. "Sorry?"
"There are a lot of facts, stories, historical tidbits... fun things about the house that they made me memorize. In the summertime, you can see the whales from this window seat."
Nadine smiled. "Actually, I think I've seen enough."
Gail raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sorry to waste your time..."
"No, never a waste. I could never afford this place, but I feel kind of like its caretaker. I'm happy to guide people through. It's been sitting vacant too long. It needs people, and footsteps in its halls." She touched the wall briefly and gestured for Nadine to lead the way out. Nadine waited on the porch as Gail locked the door again, and they walked down the brick walkway together.
"May I ask you something? You don't have to answer."
"Go ahead."
"What made up your mind? Even when you knew it was too expensive, you were still looking at it like there was a chance. But then all of a sudden it wasn't even a viable fantasy. I guess I'm just nosy."
Nadine smiled and looked back at the house. "It's a great house, and I would be honored to make it my home. Miranda and I could make this our home, if we wanted to. But it would take work." She turned and scanned the town, the peaked roofs and the green lawns, the steps leading from the hill down to the water. She shrugged and said, "There's a place that's waiting to be our home. We'll find it one day, but for now it's fun to play the fantasy."
Gail was smiling. "I like that. I might steal the concept for my next customer."
Nadine laughed. "You do that. Thanks for showing me around, Gail."
"My pleasure. Truly."
Nadine waved goodbye when Gail drove away, then climbed onto her bicycle and began the ride back to town. She was going to meet Miranda for lunch in an hour, after Miranda was done with her weekend errands. She decided to kill time by taking a swing through the neighborhoods to see if there were any For Sale signs that spoke to her. She and Miranda weren't exactly in the market for a house, but if the right house came calling they couldn't be caught unaware. She couldn't wait to find the place where they would spend the rest of their lives.
She smiled and lifted her feet from the pedals, coasting around a corner with a smile on her face as she thought of the future.
September 9, 2012
Candidate Bed Death
Michael was building up to something. Patricia could read it on his face; the way he contemplated his dinner and gave brief but concise answers to anything he was asked. The look had originally belonged to Nick, her ex-husband, and she'd first seen it when he was working up to asking her to marry him. She doubted what Michael had to say was quite that monumental, but she was prepared for anything.
They were at the dining room table, a rare family dinner that had happened almost spontaneously. Jill brought home chicken, Michael and Patricia were both there to eat, and Patricia suggested cleaning off the table to eat it properly. Jill's lesson plans went to the living room, Patricia's campaign debris was stacked on the counter and Michael's homework was deposited on the floor next to his backpack.
