Winded

My high-heeled boots thudded on the boardwalk as the heavy breeze blew my Alexander McQueen scarf behind me.

I spied Jake at the window to The Shack through my sunglasses that I was wearing even though the day was cold, gray and threatening rain.

I was lamenting my choice of the McQueen scarf. It was cream with hot pink skulls on it (one that was of his signature design) but it wasn’t exactly warm.

Still, it was fabulous and fabulous required sacrifice. I knew that from years of practicing fabulous.

Or trying to.

As if he sensed my approach, Jake turned, his non-sunglassed eyes did an obvious head to toe and his unfortunately attractive lips spread into a wide smile that exposed equally unfortunately attractive teeth.

He moved my way as I got close and I heard him call to the window, “Just yell when they’re done, Tom.”

“You got it!” was called back by the invisible Tom.

I stopped where Jake stopped, at the end of The Shack where there was a tall table with a variety of things on it.

“Good morning, Jake,” I greeted.

“Mornin’, Slick,” he greeted back, still smiling big.

But I blinked.

Slick.

I finally understood his use of the word “slick.”

Good God.

He’d given me a nickname.

And it was Slick!

I opened my mouth to protest this but he stuck a hand toward me and I saw he had two white paper cups.

“Coffee,” he pointed out the obvious.

Forced by politeness to express gratitude rather than express aversion to my nickname, I took it and said, “Thank you.”

“Shit’s here to put in it,” he motioned to the table. He then put his coffee on it and pulled off the white lid.

I eyed my selections and noted with no small amount of horror that they had powered creamer and no sweetener.

“Thought Fellini was dead,” Jake noted bizarrely, pouring a long stream of sugar from a silver-topped glass container into his coffee.

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

He kept pouring for a bit then put the sugar down and turned to me. “Babe, you look like you’re walkin’ on the set of a Fellini movie.”

I blinked at him again before I asked, “You’ve seen a Fellini film?”

And he smiled big again. “No, but that doesn’t mean you don’t look like a broad from one of those old art house movies where the babes are all sex kitten bombshells dressed real good, wearing sunglasses with scarves flyin’ all over the place.”

I stared at him thinking this might be a compliment.

A very nice one.

Or, a very nice one Jake Spear style.

“Scarves, I’ll add, that don’t do shit when it’s fifty degrees but the wind chill makes it feel like forty,” he went on.

I kept staring at him.

“Josie? You awake?” he asked when this went on for some time.

“You use too much sugar in your coffee,” I blurted.

“Yeah,” he said, going back to his coffee that he was now stirring. “You’re not the first woman to tell me that.”

I found that interesting.

He looked at me, down to the table then at me again and asked, “You gonna set up your coffee?”

I hid my distaste as I looked at what was on offer to “set up my coffee” then I looked back at him and shook my head.

I usually took a splash of skim milk and a sweetener.

That morning, I’d drink it black.

“Right, let’s sit down,” Jake said and tossed his stirrer in the (filthy and encrusted with a variety of things, not all of them coffee) little white bin provided on the table.

He then started moving to the mélange of unappealing white plastic chairs with their equally unappealing white steel (liberally dusted with rust) tables that likely saw cleaning only through the salty air and sea breeze.

“Sit down?” I asked Jake’s back, following him. “Outside?”

He selected a table (there was a wide selection seeing as no one was there) and turned to me. “You got a problem with outside?”

“Not normally. Al fresco dining is usually quite lovely. But not when the wind chill factor is forty.”

“Al fresco dining,” he repeated.

“Dining outside,” I explained and this got another smile.

“Know what it is, Slick,” he stated. I opened my mouth to share how I felt about this nickname but he returned to his earlier subject before I could say a word. “You need a decent scarf.”

“This is a decent scarf,” I retorted. “It’s Alexander McQueen.”

“Maybe so but I’m not sure Alexander whoever’s been to Maine.”

I wasn’t either. Alas, he nor his genius was with us any longer so if he hadn’t, that would now be impossible.

This conversation was ridiculous and he wasn’t moving so I decided to seat myself. As I did, I longed for some antiseptic wipes (about a hundred of them, for the chair and the table). Since I didn’t have any, I settled in a chair and sipped the coffee.

After I did that, I stared at the cup mostly because I was surprised that it was robust and flavorful.

“Tom doesn’t fuck around with coffee,” Jake murmured and I turned my eyes to him.

“It appears this is so.”

He smiled at me again.

I gingerly set my coffee on the table and equally gingerly shrugged my handbag off my shoulder to join it.

“Your mornin’ been good?” he asked quietly.

I picked up my coffee and looked at him. “Thus far.”

“When do you go to your friends’ place?”

“After this,” I said before taking a sip.

His head cocked slightly to the side. “You sure you’re up for that? That’s a lot, what with all you’re already dealin’ with.”

He was right.

Even so.

“Mr. Weaver needs a break.”

“He may need one, Josie, but I think he’d get it if you weren’t up to giving it to him.”

“I offered,” I pointed out. “I can’t renege now.”

He said nothing but watched me even as he took a sip from his coffee.

When our silence lasted for some time, I shared, “I like your children.”

“Yeah, they liked you too.”

I felt my brows rise for I found this surprising.

Ethan liked me, I knew. I couldn’t miss that, what with the hugs and the like.

Amber, I wasn’t certain.

So I asked, “Even Amber?”

“Amber likes boys, makeup, shoes, clothes and boys is worth a repeat since she likes them so much. You’re all about three of those so I figure she’ll put up with you. What she doesn’t like is schoolwork, her dad, her mom, helpin’ out around the house and pumping gas into her car. I know that last one since I’ve had to go get her five times when she’s run out of gas and she’s had her license for two months.”

“Oh dear,” I murmured.

“That’s about it,” he agreed.

Wishing to make him feel better, I asked, “Isn’t it normal for a girl her age not to like those things, including her parents?”

“Maybe,” he replied then continued, “But she doesn’t like me because I’m precisely what you said I am. A dad, a protective one and one who knows what that Noah kid has on his mind when he asks her to a concert in Boston which would mean they gotta spend the night in Boston. And I’m strict about that shit and her gettin’ decent grades because my girl’s smart as fuck and she could do something with her brain, so she should. And she doesn’t like her mother because she’s about gettin’ laid, the more often the better, the younger the guy she lets in there the better. The bitch hit mid-life crisis early, shot right to cougar and Amber’s not big on her mom bein’ competition for boyfriends.”

I gasped loudly at this shocking news.

Jake repeated, “That’s about it,” when I did.

“Is she, well…Ethan’s—?”

He shook his head. “Conner and Amber have the same mom. Married a woman in between, thankfully didn’t get her knocked up seein’ as that lasted three months. Ethan’s got a different mom. That lasted three years. She lives in Raleigh now with her new man and she’s all about shovin’ her nose up his ass and that means treatin’ his kids like gold and forgettin’ she made one of her own.”

“Oh no,” I whispered, not liking the sound of that at all.

He muttered, “Yep. I can pick ‘em,” and took another sip of coffee.

I took one too thinking, poor Ethan.

And poor Amber.

“Yo! Jake! Food’s up!” I heard yelled through the wind and I looked back at The Shack to see two Styrofoam containers sitting on the ledge outside the window but Tom was still hidden in the murky shadows of the diminutive ramshackle structure.

“Be back,” Jake said, got up and went to get our food.

He came back and set mine in front of me. This included a see-through plastic wrapped parcel that held a napkin and plastic cutlery.

“Crab, cream cheese and green onion omelet,” Jake declared.

I couldn’t believe it but that actually sounded delicious.

Tentatively, I opened the container.

It looked delicious too and the aroma wafting up smelled divine.

I set my coffee aside, grabbed my plastic wrapped parcel and asked, “How long were you together with Conner and Amber’s mom?’

“Seven years,” he answered. “She lives local and I wish she’d move to Raleigh too.” He paused then finished on a mutter, “Or maybe Bangladesh.”

I turned my eyes to him and smiled at his joke.

Then I looked back down to my omelet and thus missed his eyes changing before they dropped to my mouth.

“You, um…said that Amber charges money to look after Ethan and that Gran would watch him after school.” I forked into my omelet and brought it to my mouth as I looked back at him. “While I’m in Magdalene, I can help out if you need someone to watch him.”

“Brings us full circle, Slick,” he stated and before I could get into the “Slick” business, he continued, “You thought more on your plans?”

Actually, I had, over a glass of wine consumed staring at the dark sea from the window seat of the light room last night.

Therefore, I shared them with him.

“I think I’ve decided to stay for a bit. Take a kind of sabbatical. I can do a lot of what I do for Henry from here, given a phone and Internet, the second Gran doesn’t have but it’s easy enough to get access. So I won’t get bored. But after losing Gran, I’d like to feel”—I searched for a word and found it—“settled for a while.”

I took my bite and he was right. It didn’t knock me on my behind but it was shockingly delicious. It wasn’t just crab, cream cheese and green onion. There was a subtle hint of garlic as well, the pepper was clearly freshly ground and the crab was succulent.

Superb.

“That’s a good idea, Josie.” I heard Jake say and I lifted my eyes to him to see him studying me intently. “Slow down a bit. Deal with Lydie passin’.” He grinned. “Hang with us, people who loved her like you did.”

After years of a jets-set lifestyle that was interesting and fulfilling, that still sounded marvelous.

That said, there were things to discuss, things to know.

And I set about doing that.

I dug back into my omelet and said before taking another bite, “I’d like to understand that better, Jake.”

“Understand what better?”

I chewed, swallowed and looked to him again. “How you came to know Gran so well.”

“We don’t got the time to get into that before you gotta be at the Weavers.”

That sounded like a stall tactic and I opened my mouth but he lifted a hand.

“Tell you it all, honey. All of it. But seriously, it might not be a long story but it might bring up questions and I’d like to have the time and focus to answer them.”

That was thoughtful, nice and I had a feeling he was right. I would have a lot of questions and I’d like him to have the time and focus to answer them. So I nodded and took another bite.

“Owe you dinner, take you out, give it all to you.” I heard him say as I munched.

I swallowed and looked to him. “That sounds doable.”

He grinned.

My phone in my purse rang.

I let it and continued eating.

It kept ringing.

“You gonna get that?”

I looked back to Jake and answered, “No. It’s rude to answer the phone during a meal or in someone’s company.”

He grinned again and said, “Babe, don’t mind and we’re not at a meal. We’re at The Shack.”

I wasn’t certain about the distinction but our conversation turned moot when my phone stopped ringing.

I took another bite of omelet.

My phone started ringing again.

I felt my brows draw together.

“Babe, get it. Like I said, don’t mind and someone obviously wants you,” Jake urged.

I nodded, set aside my cutlery that was so light I was worried the breeze would sweep it away (so I tucked it as best I could under what remained of my omelet) and reached to my purse.

I got my phone and the display informed me the caller was Henry.

I looked to Jake and said, “My apologies, Jake. It’s Henry. Something might be wrong.”

His face changed minutely, going slightly blank but more noncommittal and he jerked up his chin in what I was deducing was his telling me I should take the call.

I took it and put the phone to my ear, greeting, “Henry.”

“What the fuck?”

I blinked at the table because Henry had never said this to me, nor had he ever spoken in that tone. Or at least, with the last, not to me.

“I…pardon?” I asked.

“What the fuck, Josephine?”

What on earth?

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s wrong. You haven’t called in two days.”

Oh dear. I actually hadn’t.

“Henry—”

“Worried about you Josephine. Told you to keep in touch, check in, let me know you’re all right.”

“You were traveling to Rome yesterday,” I reminded him.

“Yes, and that flight’s long but it doesn’t take a year. And you know my schedule, Josephine. You know when I left, you know when I landed, and you know when I turn my phone off and on for a flight.”

I did. He waited until the last second to turn it off and he turned it on the instant he could when we’d land.

“I’m sorry, Henry. Things have been somewhat…strange here.”

“Strange how?” he asked immediately.

I sat back and trained my eyes to my lap. “Strange in a variety of ways. None of which I can get into right now because I’m at breakfast with Jake and then I have to go over to the Weavers. But I’ll call you later and explain.”

“Jake?”

“Yes. Jake.”

“Who’s Jake?”

“A friend of Gran’s.”

“Have I met him?”

Henry had been to Magdalene with me frequently and met a number of Gran’s friends and acquaintances.

But I was relatively certain he had not met Jake.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“He one of her bridge cronies?”

The thought of Jake playing bridge with Gran’s cronies, none of whom was under seventy years of age, made me smile at my lap.

“No.”

“Then who is he, Josephine?”

I vaguely wondered why he was so determined to know.

I didn’t ask that.

I said, “It’s a long story, Henry, and I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to tell it to you right now. I’m sitting outside on the wharf and my omelet is getting cold. It’s delicious and I’d like to enjoy it while it’s warm. Not to mention, Jake’s sitting right here and it’s rude to chat on the phone when I’m in company.”

This was met with silence and this lasted quite some time.

“Henry? Have I lost you?” I called into the silence.

“No, you haven’t lost me,” he answered. “You’re on the wharf eating an omelet?”

“A rather delicious one,” I shared.

He said nothing.

“Henry?” I called.

“Phone me when you get a chance,” he ordered oddly tersely. “I don’t care how late it is here. Just call. I’m concerned. You’re coping with a great deal and you’re on your own.”

That was proof Jake was wrong. Henry was irate because he was concerned about me. Yes, he was my employer, but he also cared.

However, Henry was wrong too. I wasn’t on my own.

Jake was with me.

This caused that warmth to return even if all around me was cold but I ignored that and assured Henry, “I’ll phone.”

“And I’m telling Daniel to cancel Paris.”

I blinked at my lap then looked up to the boats bobbing along the wharf. “You can’t do that.”

“I can, Josephine, and I’m going to.”

“But, it’s a video shoot that took months to set up,” I reminded him.

“They’ll have to find another director,” he told me.

“Dee-Amond only works with you,” I continued recounting things he knew.

And Dee-Amond did only work with Henry and had only worked with Henry for the last seventeen years.

He was a renowned hip-hop artist who’d started his own fashion line, which was remarkable and thus quite successful. Henry did all his work on Amond’s music videos and his fashion shoots.

Amond was also a very handsome, though somewhat frightening black man, who had, in his early days, beat a number of what he called “raps,” the charges being rather violent.

He’d since settled and he could be very charming. This was why I spent a particularly enjoyable night with him after a party that we attended after the VMAs seven years prior. After that, he’d asked me to join his “posse” but I’d refused, with some hesitation (this was because he was very charming, and as I’d mentioned, also very handsome and our night had been just that enjoyable).

But I could never leave Henry.

Then again, there was also the small fact I was not a woman who would be comfortable as a member of a “posse.”

Henry never knew, of course. I was always, without fail, discreet and fortunately Amond was too.

“Then he’ll have to reschedule when we can both do it,” Henry replied.

“Henry, I hardly need to be—”

He interrupted me. “Are you going to meet me in Paris?”

I hesitated, looked back to my lap and whispered, “Things are such that that’s unlikely.”

“Then I’m canceling.”

I sighed before I asked, “Can we discuss this later?”

“Right. Your omelet and Jake.”

His tone was unusual and vaguely disturbing.

I pressed my lips together.

“I’ll speak with you soon,” he said.

“Of course,” I murmured.

“Until then, Josephine.”

“Until then, Henry. Good-bye.”

He didn’t say good-bye. He simply disconnected.

He’d never done that before either.

I stared at my phone for a moment before putting it back in my bag and regaining my cutlery, saying distractedly to Jake, my eyes on my food, “I apologize. That lasted too long.”

“And it didn’t sound like it went real good.”

At Jake’s comment, I turned my eyes to him. “He’s canceling work to come to Magdalene.”

I watched as his mouth got tight for some strange reason and I watched as, seconds later, it relaxed as if he’d willed it to do so to hide his reaction, which was even stranger.

“It’ll be good, you have your people around you.”

“He shouldn’t cancel. It’s a video shoot. That’s even more involved than a photo shoot. They’re shooting on location, so they need to get permission, permits. There’s a good deal of money tied up in it, not to mention all the personnel.”

“You’re worth fucking all that.”

I stared at him as that warmth swept through me again but I replied, “It’s foolish.”

“You’re worth bein’ that too.”

His words were making me feel such that I decided to return my attention to my probably now chiller-cabinet-cold omelet. So I did.

After I took a bite and found it was, indeed, now chiller-cabinet-cold, Jake asked, “When’s he coming?”

I looked back to him. “The job in Rome lasts just over a week. If he cancels Paris, he’ll be free to fly here next Saturday.”

“Right.”

I took a sip from my coffee cup and returned my attention to my omelet.

“Your offer, I’m gonna take you up on it,” Jake declared and my eyes went back to him.

“My offer?”

“Lookin’ after Ethan,” he said. “He, Con and Amber would go over to your place a lot after school. I got shit on, it falls to Con and Amber to step up, look after their little brother, take him places, shit like that. Lydie wasn’t real young, but the kids loved her. It wasn’t really her lookin’ out for them so much as all of them havin’ each other and my kids havin’ someone to go to when school was done. Like my kids havin’ good in their lives and Lydie was the best.”

He was not wrong about that.

He was also not done speaking.

“And Amber needed a good, decent woman in her life. Lydie was that too.”

She was indeed.

He went on.

“Part of Amber bein’ a pain in the ass is she doesn’t know what to do with the hurt she’s feelin’ with Lydie gone. Ethan lets shit hang out, too young to bury it or really know how to deal with it. Con was tight with Lydie too but he’s not a kid anymore and thinks he’s gotta hide emotion to be a man. With that all around Amber, she doesn’t know which way to go. And Lydie gave her a lot which means she lost a lot.” His voice dipped lower when he finished, “I figure you know all about that.”

I very much did.

I didn’t agree verbally. I nodded.

“It’ll be good they got a bit of Lydie to fill that hole. That being you.”

I was not a mother but I could see a father would think this true.

And this felt oddly nice, filling that hole, and that hole being the one Gran left, not to mention him thinking I could fill it as any hole Gran left, I knew too well, was enormous.

I nodded again.

“That said, Amber’s grounded for a week so her ass is tied to Ethan or the house or Lavender House, you take them on. After that, you’re around a while, it’d be cool you give her a break. She’s sixteen years old. That’s too damn early to be a mom to an eight year old kid but with all the shit I gotta do with the club and the gym, I had to lean on her.”

“I can give her a break,” I said quietly.

“That’d be appreciated.”

“I…should I start today?”

“No. You keep settlin’ in. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Amber’s not goin’ on her date because of the shit that came out of her mouth yesterday. They’re covered. But if you could start next week, I’d be grateful.”

I nodded yet again.

“Since Amber’s on enforced babysitting duties, I’ll take you out to dinner tomorrow night. Fill you in.”

Dinner with Jake.

Alone.

Again, that strange anticipation I’d experienced all the day before hit me and I knew in that moment that it was because I enjoyed being around this man. What I didn’t know was why I’d anticipate seeing him, that feeling coming on strong, when he was sitting right next to me.

“Dress up, I’m takin’ you to a decent place,” he ordered.

That anticipation spiked in a way I felt it in my nipples.

My nipples.

Oh dear.

“I…uh…all right,” I replied.

“Be at your house at seven,” he said.

Finally, a decent hour for dinner.

“I’ll be ready.”

“You done with that?” he asked, tipping his head to my omelet.

I nodded.

“Then let’s get you to the Weavers.”

By this, he meant he would collect all of our refuse, leaving me only to grab my coffee cup. This he did, depositing it in the big barrel with its black plastic liner that served as a rubbish bin for, perhaps, the entirety of the wharf and not just The Shack.

He called, “Later, Tom,” and got back a, “Later, Jake.”

I looked and still, no Tom could be seen in The Shack.

“Your omelets are lovely.” I decided to yell because they were and he probably knew that but it always felt nice getting a compliment.

“Thanks, darlin’!” I heard called back but still could see no Tom.

I completely forgot about Tom when Jake grabbed my hand and started us up the boardwalk.

I also completely forgot to breathe and my heart completely forgot to beat.

We walked, Jake guiding us to my car, and as we did, although I couldn’t breathe and mostly couldn’t think, what I could think was that walking with me holding my hand seemed altogether natural to Jake.

Then again, he’d had three wives, he had a daughter and in our brief acquaintance, he’d shown he could be affectionate and it was doubtful he was only this way with me.

For me, I had never, not once, not since high school, walked holding a man’s hand.

And doing it, that…that knocked me right on my ass.

In a nice way that felt splendid.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I forced myself to say when I’d forced myself to breathe again.

“No worries,” he muttered.

I turned my head and looked up at him. “You were right, it was delicious.”

He dipped his chin and looked down at me. “Told you it’d knock you on your ass.”

Staring in his eyes, now a stormy gray that seemed to reflect the skies above, I knew I was.

I was getting knocked on my ass.

But not by an omelet.

By something altogether different.

And this feeling would continue when he stopped me at the driver’s side door to my car and leaned in. He brushed his lips against my cheek, which gave me another waft of his attractive cologne as well as an altogether too appealing scrape of his stubble (he had again not shaved that morning).

He pulled back and, smiling, murmured, “Later, babe.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow night.”

He winked, squeezed my hand, let it go and I watched him walk to his truck.

I forced myself to get in my car and drive to the Weavers’.

But I did it feeling a peculiar feeling.

That being knocked on my ass.

Thus winded.

And not minding at all.

* * * * *

I didn’t know why I did it; it was as if my eyes were drawn there by unseen forces.

But as I was driving back to Lavender House from the Weavers, my mind consumed with Eliza, her frailty, the pain etched around her mouth, the effort she still was making to pretend everything was all right and chitchat when her eyes were drooping, I turned my head and saw it.

Magdalene was not large and had long since had a town council that was rabidly determined to keep the old Maine coastal town feel about the place. Thus, the commercial areas of town were mostly untouched and had been for well over a century and things like fast food restaurants were firmly placed at the outskirts of town so you couldn’t even see them unless you were on the road driving that way.

That didn’t mean that off Cross Street (the main street in town), there weren’t other business that had sprung up over the decades.

And this included a large store that once was a hardware store but now, as I turned my head to look down Haver Way, it had a sign in the window that did not promote hardware.

I hadn’t taken in that building for years.

But after I drove by it, I found my opening to circle back, turned left on Haver Way and parked in the large-ish parking lot outside the building.

The gold painting edged in black on the window said “Truck’s Gym.”

And inside, through the now misting rain, I saw it was, indeed, a gym. A specific kind of gym. And I spent no time at all in gyms but even so, I knew exactly what kind of gym this was seeing as from what I could take in from my vantage point, there were two boxing rings set up in the vast open space.

They were down one side. Down the other side, there was weight equipment and I could see those bags suspended that were always in boxing gyms in movies, the little ball-like ones and the large tubular ones.

There were men punching things, lifting things and jumping rope inside. Several of them, which I found surprising seeing as it was early afternoon on a workday.

I could also see, standing outside the ring closest to the window, Jake. He was not wearing jeans, boots and a sweater as he had been that morning when he bought me an omelet. He was now wearing a pair of dark track pants with three white stripes down the side and a white, long sleeved t-shirt. There were boxers in the ring and Jake was calling out to them.

He’d mentioned his gym more than once.

This must be it.

And the name was “Truck’s.” That odious man at Breeze Point had referred to “the truck” and I didn’t think this was a coincidence.

More to learn about Jake.

I had a feeling there was much to learn about Jake. Three wives, one he had only three months. He clearly had at least partial custody of all of his children. Even though he mentioned one of his ex-wives was local, he didn’t mention her children staying with her, and Conner and Amber were both hers. He owned a boxing gym and a strip club, which were vastly different enterprises. He was well-known, if that man from Breeze Point was to be believed, not to mention, the bad-mannered Terry Baginski knew him as well.

Yes, I thought, watching him watch the boxers in the ring, there was much to learn about Jake Spear.

And I found myself already fascinated not even knowing what it was.

I reversed out of my spot, pointed the car back to Havers Way, then Cross Street and I drove out of town and to Lavender House.

I waited until I was out of my jacket and had a cup of tea in hand before I got my phone, went to the overstuffed chair by the window in the family room and called Henry. The time difference was such that it would be late in Italy but Henry was like me. A night owl. He’d be awake.

“Josephine,” he answered.

“Hello, Henry,” I replied.

Then I didn’t know what to say and clearly, Henry didn’t either because he also remained silent.

It was me who broke it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I said softly. “It’s just that something happened the day before yesterday. A man came to the house. He’d approached Gran about buying it and he approached me too. And I had a very strong reaction to it.”

“Someone’s trying to buy Lavender House?” Henry asked.

“Yes, and Gran didn’t share that with me.” Amongst other things and I again didn’t tell Henry about these things for reasons unknown to me that I decided in that particular moment to process later.

“And he just showed up at the house?”

“Yes.”

“What an ass,” Henry murmured. “You just lost your grandmother.”

“Indeed,” I replied.

“And what was this strong reaction you had?” Henry queried.

“I…” I paused, drew in breath and lowered my voice when I shared, “I don’t want to let it go.”

“Of course you don’t.”

I blinked at his quick acceptance of that fact.

“Fuck him, sweetheart,” Henry continued. “Tell him to leave you alone. If he doesn’t, I’ll tell him when I get there.”

“I—” I began but he kept talking so I didn’t get any more out.

“I’ve been thinking and we need a break, both of us. So we’ll take it at Lavender House. And you’ll need to do things that are unpleasant, like go through Lydia’s belongings and you should have help when you do that. But we have a problem.”

I wasn’t exactly keeping up with him but I still managed to ask, “We do?”

“Yes. I told Daniel to cancel Paris and he looked into it but Amond got wind and got hold of Cecile. Reminded her of my contractual obligations. There’s an out in the contract but if Amond pushes it, which he inferred he would do, it could get unpleasant. She’s advised I don’t cancel but she’s looking into cancelling Sydney. As there’s more time for them to get another photographer, she thinks that can be accomplished as well as clearing my schedule after that. But that means I won’t be able to get to Magdalene for a few weeks.”

Cecile was Henry’s agent and had been with him for years. If she said Sydney was cancellable, it would be.

This made me feel better.

“That sounds like a better plan, Henry,” I told him.

“I’m not pleased it’ll be weeks until I can get there,” he disagreed.

“I’ll be all right,” I assured him.

“I know you will, sweetheart. I’m still not pleased.”

I said nothing mostly because I was relieved he was sounding like Henry again.

Then he stopped sounding like Henry when he went on, asking, “Right. Now, who’s Jake?”

I opened my mouth, shut it, opened it again and when I did, I reminded myself this was Henry.

So words finally came out.

“Jake and his children are close to Gran. My guess is he’s around our age, he has three kids, two teenagers, one young son and they spent a lot of time with Gran here at Lavender House. The kids, and I think Jake too, are missing her quite a bit and they, well…we’re establishing a connection because we all feel the same way.” I again lowered my voice when I finished, “And it feels nice, Henry. It feels very nice to be around people who cared so much about Gran.”

It seemed he only heard part of what I said because he asked, “And the connection you’re establishing with Jake?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had breakfast with him this morning,” he reminded me and I thought I understood what he was saying.

So I explained, “It isn’t like that. I’m not his, well… thing. He likes big hair and big”—I paused—“other stuff. And he’s really not my thing either.”

That last, I was beginning to fear, was a lie.

Still, I carried on.

“He owns the local strip club and boxing gym.”

Henry’s voice was no longer interrogatory but trembling with humor when he asked, “He owns what?”

I repeated myself.

He whistled before I heard him burst out laughing.

Still chuckling, he inquired, “Lydie spent time with the owner of the local gentlemen’s club?”

Something about the way he said this made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“He’s rough, Henry,” I said quietly. “But he’s very nice, he’s a good father and he loved Gran a great deal.”

Henry was silent.

I wasn’t.

“He’s treating me with care and kindness and I…well, his daughter is somewhat of a mess but his young son is quite adorable.” I drew in breath and concluded, “It’s nice to have them around.”

“Then I’m glad you’ve got them, honey. And you’ll have me too, as soon as I can get there.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me and said softly, “I’ll look forward to you getting here.”

“Now I’m going to let you go but I want you to remember to phone in.”

“I will, Henry.”

“Good, sweetheart. You take care and if you need me, don’t worry about the time difference. Call.”

Yes, Jake was wrong about Henry.

He cared and not just in an employer/employee way.

This was why I was smiling when I replied, “I will.”

“All right, Josephine, speak to you soon.”

“Yes, Henry, goodnight.”

“Good-bye, sweetheart.”

We rang off and I took a sip of my tea, my eyes moving out the window to see the mist was still shrouding the view, when the house phone rang.

I took the call, it was from Ruth Fletcher, the reverend’s wife, and after some (slightly annoying but she was trying to be polite) back and forth, we agreed they would come to Lavender House on Sunday night after evening services and I would cook for them (rather than the other way around).

I was heading back to my chair by the window, and my tea, when my mobile on the table beside the chair rang.

I looked at the screen and took the call.

“Amond,” I greeted.

“Beautiful, what the hell?”

Oh dear.

“Amond, please listen. Henry is just—”

“Don’t give a fuck about Henry. Know what he’s just. Anyone could do my shit as good as him, I’d let him do what he’s just gotta do seein’ as it’s for you. What I’m askin’ what the hell about is that you lost your Granny and you didn’t phone me?”

I blinked at the window as I asked, “Pardon?”

“Josephine, you’re my girl, you know you’re my girl even though you decided not to officially be my girl. You still know I give a shit, a massive shit when it comes to you. Cecile said this was your only livin’ relative, you’re tight, you lose her, you haul your sweet white ass to fuckin’ Maine and don’t tell your boy you lost your Granny?”

“I…uh—”

“And Henry lets it swing out there, you alone in fuckin’ Maine?”

“Henry had jobs,” I explained.

“I know, I’m one of ‘em. That’s still bullshit.”

My back went straight. “Amond, I’ll remind you, you just today wouldn’t let him out of one of those jobs.”

“That job wasn’t scheduled when your Granny just died either.”

This, I found with deep, somewhat annoying surprise, seemed to be a theme with the men in my life. Men, I’d add, that I didn’t even know were in my life.

“You need company?” he asked into my thoughts.

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

He wasn’t assured.

I knew this when he queried, “You sure?”

I softened my voice and said, “Yes, Amond. I’m sure. Gran had a lot of friends and they’re taking care of me. I’m not alone very often. It’s all fine. I promise.”

He hesitated a moment before he said, “Okay, girl.”

I took in another breath, let it go and told him, “It feels lovely that you care.”

“Josephine, every time I hit a red carpet, still think, whatever bitch I got on my arm, she’s not you. Class, straight up. Outside, ice cold. Shit-hot ice cold, but still ice cold. Inside, so fuckin’ warm…beautiful. You don’t give me that, I dig. That’s not in you. Don’t mean I still don’t wish I had it. It also don’t mean I can’t give you what I can give back. So you need anything, you call. I’m there. You hear me?”

And yet again, I was knocked on my ass.

Winded.

Because this was very nice, very sweet and very unexpected.

I knew he liked me. I knew he was attracted to me (that, during our night and even before, and if I was honest, also after, was absolutely not in question).

I just didn’t know how deep it ran.

Even winded, I replied, “I’m with you, Amond.”

“Right, your ass is back in LA, it’s also at my house. I’m cookin’ for you and listenin’ to you talk about your Granny.”

I smiled. “We’ll plan that.”

“Right, beautiful. Now lettin’ you go.”

“Thank you for calling, Amond.”

“You got it. Later, Josephine.”

I said my farewell and we disconnected.

I again felt warm.

I also felt strange. It wasn’t a bad strange. It also wasn’t a good one. It was like I was missing something, was supposed to remember something, but I couldn’t call it up.

I attempted to call it up, staring at the gray sea and sipping tea when the house phone rang again.

I sighed, put my tea down and went to get the phone.

“Lavender House,” I greeted.

“Josephine?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Boston.”

I closed my eyes in frustration.

I opened them and started, “Mr. Stone—”

He interrupted me. “I’m not calling about Lavender House. I would assume, after the things your grandmother shared with me about how she felt about the house, and that you shared those sentiments, that you’ll not be selling the property. I’m calling to ask you out for dinner.”

Good God, what was happening?

Luckily, I had a truthful reply that was also a negative one. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone. I have plans.”

“Please call me Boston.”

I said nothing, unsure I could address a man by such a name.

“The night after,” he went on.

“I’m having dinner with Reverend Fletcher and his wife.”

“Monday night, then.”

I sighed.

“Josephine?” he called when I said nothing after my sigh.

“Mr. Sto…erm, Boston, I mean no offense, but at this time, I’m not looking for romantic entanglements.”

“That’s understandable,” he said gently, his smooth voice going suave. “However, I’ll take this opportunity to remind you that at times like these, any entanglements are more enjoyable than those likely occupying your mind.”

This was true.

Even so, I didn’t want to be entangled with him.

But before I could utter a word, he unfortunately continued.

“And you’re an exceptionally beautiful woman. So much so that it’s prompted me to act outside good manners to take my opportunity to make certain you understand I’d like to get to know you.”

“That’s very flattering, um…Boston. But—”

He interrupted me again with, “A drink.”

I wasn’t following.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not dinner. A drink. I’d offer to collect you but I feel you’d be more comfortable meeting me so we’ll do that. At the Club. I’ll give them your name at the gatehouse. Monday night. Seven o’clock.”

I sighed.

The Club was the Magdalene Club, an exclusive club that had once simply been a gathering place for the haves of Magdalene where they could go and commune with other haves while not having to mingle with the have-nots. Over the decades, they’d added a dining room to their bar and I’d never been there but Gran (and others) had told me it was quite excellent fare and had a lovely view of the sea.

I also had a lovely view of the sea from a variety of windows in my own home but I had the feeling that Boston Stone was not to be put off. Not Magdalene’s most eligible bachelor.

Unless I put him off face to face.

Which I would do over a drink.

“Fine. Monday. Seven o’clock.”

There was a smile in his voice when he replied, “I’ll look forward to that, Josephine.”

I didn’t share this sentiment so I made no reply.

“See you then,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Try to have a good rest of your day.”

“I will, Boston. You too.”

“I will. Good-bye, Josephine.”

I gave my farewell, disconnected and decided not to answer the phone again that day.

I also decided not to think of a drink with Boston Stone, going to have it solely for the purpose of telling him I was not interested, as this would irritate me and I wasn’t in the mood to be irritated.

But I did this remembering why I didn’t get tangled up with men. They could be extremely irksome.

I turned my mind from that to my chair and my tea and in sipping it, my mind turned to something Henry said.

And in doing so, my body moved out of the chair and I set the tea aside again.

Slowly, I moved through the house to the den and entered Gran’s room.

I had not remade the bed. This was because I had a mind to returning that room to its rightful state as a den and, being in it, that was what I decided to do as soon as humanly possible.

I didn’t want a reminder that Gran got to the point she couldn’t enjoy all of Lavender House to its fullest, something she did even being there for decades all on her own.

But more, I didn’t need a reminder that was where she ended her days.

I then moved to the wardrobe she’d had put in there.

I opened the doors and saw her clothes.

I took one look, closed the doors and exited the room. My throat had closed. My eyes got blurry. My mind had blanked. And in this state, I made my way back to my chair in the family room.

And my phone.

Without even thinking, I picked it up, found the number and dialed.

I got five rings before I heard, “Spear. Leave a message.”

“Jake?” I said after the beep. “Josephine. I…would you, well…when you have a moment, could you call?”

I didn’t say good-bye before I disconnected.

Then I stared at the phone wondering why I connected in the first place.

Not having the answer to that, or perhaps not wanting an answer to it, I moved to the kitchen to refresh my tea.

By the time I was moving back to my chair, trying to think of what else to do that day, anything to keep my mind off a variety of things that I didn’t want to think about, coming up with nothing but sitting in that chair and staring at the bleak landscape thinking about those variety of things, my mobile rang.

I snatched it up immediately and hit the screen to connect.

I did this thoughtlessly and inexplicably.

But I did it because the screen declared Jake was calling.

“Jake?”

“Josie, you okay?”

“I…” God! What was I doing? “I…Gran’s clothes,” I stated stupidly and said no more.

“What, honey?”

“I went into the den,” I explained. “Gran’s clothes. I…there’s no reason to keep them. Someone can use them. And I-I-I need the den to be a den again. I can’t think of her…I don’t want to remember what happened…” I swallowed and concluded, “I wish it to be a den again.”

Not even a second passed before he replied, “Don’t think about the clothes. Don’t even look at the clothes. I’ll deal with the clothes. And I’ll talk to some guys. Get them over there. We’ll deal with the den.”

At his words, warmth swept through me so immense I had to sit down in the chair.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the phone.

“Not a problem, baby.”

I closed my eyes as more warmth swept through me at his deep, sweet, soft voice.

“I…uh, I won’t keep you,” I said.

“You’re good. Anytime you need to call, do it.”

And more warmth.

“All right.”

“You okay now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I gotta work but you need me to swing around tonight? Have a beer? Talk?”

It was then I knew.

I knew.

This was what Gran wanted for me and this was what Gran gave to me in giving me to Jake Spear.

I just couldn’t understand why she kept it from me before.

“I’m fine, Jake. That’s very kind but really, I’m okay. I just had”—I hesitated then admitted—“A moment”

“You have any more of those I’m a phone call away.”

Yes.

This was what Gran wanted for me.

“Thank you, Jake,” I whispered.

“Any time, honey,” he whispered back. “You okay for me to let you go?”

“Yes.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

“Later, Slick.”

That nickname sent a jolt through me, taking me out of the moment. I opened my mouth to say something about it but got out not a sound.

He’d disconnected.