CHAPTER TWELVE
For once, the sun was out, shining over the land like the end of a fairytale. Limping, I dragged two cans of paint with me into the Stafford Estate. Jumping over the fence, I’d come off the hover board a little too fast and had crash-landed onto the lawn. The weeds and tall grass had broken my fall, and they’d also saved my paint cans from splattering everywhere. My intention was to paint the formal sitting room, not the shambles of the yard.
I’d been to Stafford Estate a few times, planning my visits around Noah’s schedule. With the World Science Convention around the corner, Noah was busy sitting in meetings so classified even I couldn’t attend. Not because he didn’t trust me, but because he was afraid of someone hacking into the system I used to take my notes and stealing the information. Thinking about it, I probably could have gone with him to the meetings if I’d asked, without my tablet, but I wasn’t interested. It suited me very well to sneak away to the estate. In many ways, it had become my refuge. Everything about my life in Chicago was ruled by the Stafford brothers. Getting the interview. Being hired. Even the apartment I lived in. Stafford Estate was no different, but out here all alone, my thoughts were my own.
Grunting, I set the paint cans down in the sitting room and sat on one of the couches to let my foot rest for a minute, recovering from my bad landing. In a previous visit, using a ladder I’d bought at a hardware store in the town nearby, I’d taped up all the crown molding in preparation for today. The walls had been filthy. Patches maintained the brilliant white they had once been, but years of neglect had mostly left them yellowed from dust. It had taken me forever to wash them clean.
Testing my ankle to make sure it wouldn’t give out, I slowly stood from the couch and began to lay out newspaper on the floor then prepped the paint. All set, I grabbed a roller and applied the first streak. There was no going back now.
With Lake Michigan as my inspiration, I’d chosen a gray-blue color that was smoky and wistful. Like Chicago, Milwaukee was built off the shores of Lake Michigan. The lake was something Noah and I had shared in our upbringing, so I thought it the best color to use in the manor.
As I painted, I listened to a little portable radio I’d brought and danced around with my daydreams. One day, I’d be painting the front room of a house I owned with a man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. In my fantasies, that man was Noah. And the house I painted was full of sunshine, just like today.
Halfway through my efforts, I ran out of paint, having planned for a normal-sized room, not the high ceilings of a country manor. Picking up the lid of one of the paint cans, I snatched the hover board, returned to my hatchback, and drove to the hardware store.
For a small suburban neighborhood, the hardware store was pretty large. The needle in the haystack, I stood in front of the wall of paints with uncertainty. None resembled Lake Michigan.
“Can I help you?” a girl a few years younger than me asked. She was cute, with raven dark hair, freckles across her nose, and vivid green eyes that made me wonder if she had some family relation to the Staffords. I couldn’t ask, not without ruining my secret.
“Do you have this paint in stock?” I asked her, displaying the lid I had brought with me. “I bought this in the city but ran out.”
“No, we don’t,” she said apologetically. “But we can custom mix the color for you so that it’s an exact match.”
“That would be wonderful,” I told her. “Does it take long?”
“Only a few minutes.”
I followed her to a counter with a colossal mixer behind it and handed her the lid, which she scanned with a handheld reader. “It’s an interesting process how the computer registers the color,” she said. “With a simple scan, it tells me the exact blend of color I need to make the match.”
Moving on to the mixer itself, she continued to speak as she poured a base of white into the tub. “Our eyes have light receptors that receive color — that’s what color is, light — and our brain interprets it, but everyone is individual, so we don’t all see a single color the same. The computer does. It’s congruous. That’s why the match is perfect.”
Listening to her, I grinned. “You must be a scientist.”
“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I’m studying law, but I read up on anything that interests me.”
“Is that why you’re working here? To pay your way through school?”
“Sure is,” she said, maintaining her sunny disposition, mimicking the blue skies outside.
Her good mood was contagious. “What’s your name?”
“Gloria,” she told me, adding blue to the mix.
“Hi, Gloria. I’m Imogen. You’re not seeing anyone are you?”
Her eyes flicked to me. “Awww, aren’t you sweet. I’m flattered, but I’m more into men.”
I laughed. “I wasn’t asking for myself. I have a friend named Peter. He’s a really smart guy, and he’s your age. I think you two would really hit it off. Would it be okay to give him your number?”
Without dropping her smile, she said, “Thanks, but with school and work, I’m not sure I have the time.”
“Trust me, he’s worth the time,” I encouraged.
She considered it as she chewed on her bottom lip. “He is?”
“Yeah, he’s adorable and a gentleman. And he’s studying too, for his PhD, so he understands the importance of school.”
“It would be nice to have someone I could talk to about the crazy things I read. Alright then,” she decided and gave me her number. “I can’t make any promises, but what’s a simple phone call?”
***
Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was the estate. Or maybe it was my conversation with Gloria in the hardware store, the brink of young love possibly in the air. Whatever it was, when I was finished painting the sitting room, I didn’t return to the city. I drove to my grandma’s house, my childhood home.
My friends really had left the house cleaner than it was when I left Milwaukee, but no amount of cleaning could take the age out of the house. It was a three-bedroom rambler set on a residential street where kids could safely ride their bicycles and cars could be parked outside the garage with no fear of theft. Throwing my purse down on the floral couch, I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water, thirsty after the long drive.
Impulse had brought me here, stirred by emotions I didn’t want to confront. I bit my lip. For the first time since the storm, I doubted my decision to extend my agreement with Noah. Lines were starting to blur. His seduction was no longer an intrigue; it was the center of my happiness. It wasn’t healthy, but I couldn’t let go.
The fear of loneliness was my biggest inhibition, and right now Noah was the cure, but he wouldn’t always be. When the year was over, I’d be left lonelier than before, cast aside by both Stafford brothers. In some ways, it was no different from my mother abandoning me.
My time was too valuable to waste. Julia had been right about that. I was young. There was no hurry for me to start a family, not like Julia wanted. But I did want to settle down. Chicago was not settling down. Savage and sensual, it was the exact opposite, luring people out of their sanctuaries, forcing them to confront their darkest desires.
Milwaukee was safe. I could move back. Julia would understand. She was only a two-hour drive away. I could visit her, and she could stay with me whenever she wanted. It may mean I’d be stuck flipping burgers, but at least I wouldn’t be haunted by a clock that was ticking down.
Needing the distraction, I sat on the couch and read through old National Geographic magazines, some that dated back years. The beauty of science was that it never got old. Knowledge of the world increased, but the foundations of science remained the same. The bees built their hives the same every year, the porcupine grew its spikes, and the birds soared in the skies with their hollow bones.
I fell asleep on the couch but woke an hour later with the sudden urge to go to the senior center and be surrounded by familiar faces. It was only a fifteen-minute walk down the street, but it felt strange walking on my own. Every other time before, my grandma had been with me, holding my hand as a child, standing by my side when I was a teen. When she was older, I pushed her in her wheelchair.
Music blasted from the center as I jogged up the steps. It wasn’t unusual, the seniors really knew how to live, the only way a generation who had witnessed so many wars could, but the strobe lights above the entrance was peculiar.
“What’s going on?” I asked the nurse at the front desk as I signed in.
“It’s a disco,” she informed me. “It’s something new we do on the first weekend of the month. For those who can’t hear very well, and there are many here, they can feel the vibrations of the music through the floor.”
“That’s such a good idea,” I said. “Especially with the group that you have.”
The nurse threw her head back laughing. “You know them just as well as I do, Imogen. They’re rowdy, but they’re sweet. The disco is almost over. Feel free to go inside.”
Deciding to avoid the necessity to shout over the noise of the party, I went to the reading room instead and ran my hand along the books until I heard the music stop. Slowly, the seniors poured out of the door of the cafeteria, smiling broadly. Obviously, they had enjoyed themselves. Many greeted me and made me promise to visit more often, but the one face I was looking for, I couldn’t find. Worried, I went into the cafeteria and was relieved to see him there, the man in the checkered shirt. “George,” I said. “It’s so nice to see you.”
For a man in his late eighties, he moved around quite well as he picked up the trash left over from the disco. “Imogen,” he called, his glassy eyes sparkling. “Now my day is complete. What a delight to see you, my dear.”
I went to a table and gathered empty plastic cups, which smelled like they had been full of apple juice and water, but there were a few that I was certain had contained something stronger, likely from my grandma’s group of friends.
“So what brings you back?” George asked.
“I was homesick,” I admitted. “I needed to see you guys.”
“That’s because you’ve been gone too long. You ran away,” he said, grinning, referencing the time after my tenth birthday when I was upset about the cake. “I warned you against running away.”
“Well, I’m here now,” I said and spent the rest of the evening talking with George about memories from his past. He loved talking about his late wife, who had died young. He could speak about her for hours, and tonight, he did.
By the time I made it back to my grandma’s house, I still didn’t have the peace I searched for. I would have to go back to Chicago tomorrow and face the ticking clock. Overwhelmed, I sat on the steps of the porch and burst into tears, my head in my arms, wishing my grandma was there. She would tell me to stop messing around, to end my agreement with Noah, and to focus on my career, but I couldn’t let Noah go. I cared about him too much. I might even love him.
As if summoned by my thoughts of him, the company car pulled up in front of me, and Noah jumped out. “Imogen, are you okay?”
I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand, which was stained blue from painting earlier. I hoped Noah didn’t see, and if he did, that he assumed the work had been done here.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, unable to believe he was standing in front of me.
“I checked in on you. You were here, so I worried.”
The microchip. That’s what he meant by checking in on me. Knowing he cared enough to drive all this way made my heart soar, but I was still conflicted. Looking into his eyes, I searched for truths he would not say, but they told me nothing I didn’t already know.
“I was homesick,” I told him. “It’s hard without my grandma here. I used to go to her about everything. She was a wildcat, but she always had good advice to give me.”
“You can always come to me,” he said, and I believed he was sincere.
“Except when the advice I need is about you. What would happen if I ended our agreement?”
If my question upset him, he didn’t let it show. “We would return to being friends. I don’t want to lose you as a friend. You’re one of the few people in my life who actually improves it.”
“Friends,” I echoed, looking down. It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but at least I knew that when it was all over, he might not toss me aside. I had a place in his life, and so I would continue to give him a place in mine. “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want to end the agreement.”
Comforting me with his strength, he put his arm around me and held me close. “I know you feel lonely without your family, Imogen. The flaw with happiness is that it can be taken away when those we love are gone. With pleasure there is pain, and with pain there is pleasure. The two don’t exist without each other.”
“I’m not sure I believe that. I think happiness can exist independently from everything else.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to the city. It’s time you leave your car here and let me buy you a new one.”
“No,” I refused, looking at the daisy stickers on the back window of my hatchback. “I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet.”