Chapter Twenty-Two
Phoebe refilled the kibble in Murdock’s food dish and opened the door to welcome the rain-cooled breeze. After last night’s storm, they hadn’t been expecting more rain, but the heavens had opened up again for a brief but satisfying drenching which ended their day a little early.
Phoebe laughed watching the little dog wag his stump of a tail as he chewed. She could hear John singing Culture Club upstairs in the shower, and it brought a smile to her lips.
It seemed like all the occupants of Pierce Acres were feeling the mood. She felt lighter than she had since her father’s accident. This moment, this day, this summer was turning out to be so much more than she could have hoped for.
She grabbed the chicken breasts that she’d been marinating in the refrigerator and turned on the oven. She’d pair the chicken with light salads and John’s own green beans fresh from the garden.
Humming, Phoebe slid the chicken into the new casserole dish. Her first impression of John as the hero, the caretaker, had proven to be correct. All she needed to do was mention how a casserole dish would open up her menu offerings or tell him about her grandmother’s sourdough waffle recipe, and within days, a cheerful red dish and new waffle iron made their way into the kitchen.
The phone on the kitchen wall rang, and Phoebe kicked the oven door shut, wiped her hands on the tea towel on the counter, and picked up the phone.
“Pierce residence,” she said cheerily.
“Hi, sweetheart!” Phoebe could hear the excitement in her mother’s breathless greeting.
“Hi, Mom. How are—”
“I just got off the phone with a Mr.—” Phoebe heard papers rustling on her mother’s end. “Ingersol with the FDA.”
Phoebe’s hand tightened on the orange receiver. “What did he say?” Her voice rose seven octaves. Murdock shot her a wary look before going back to his food.
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John padded downstairs barefoot, hair still damp from his shower. He heard Phoebe in the kitchen. Her voice happy, her laughter bright. It was hard to remember what the house had been like before her. Quiet. Very quiet, he decided.
The phone cord stretched across the doorway. The meager foot-long cord had been plenty for him. To John, phone calls should be brief, perfunctory. But to Phoebe, they were a way to give detailed reports of every second of her week to her parents, her sister, and friends. His long-distance bill was going to be astronomical.
“A job? You’re sure he said they were offering me a job?” Phoebe asked, squealing a moment later. “Mom, this is everything that we need!”
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, John told himself. Technically, it was his house. And technically, he was just standing in the hallway where Phoebe could see him if she walked past the doorway. It wasn’t like he was hiding.
She crossed the doorway. One hand on her head, her smile bright, her gaze on the ceiling, and he ducked behind the old hutch in the hallway. “Yes, of course this is what I want, Mom. Why do you think I would change my mind?”
A job with the FDA. It’s exactly what she’d wanted, what she’d planned for. Then why didn’t he feel happy for her? Why did he feel like his stomach had just dropped into an elevator shaft? He faced the wall, staring at the hideous black and orange wallpaper. It was on his list. This whole fucking house was on his list.
Why would she want to stay in a broken-down place with ten seconds of hot water and shitty orange flowers peeling off the wall? She knew what she wanted. A good job in a flashy city with a paycheck flush enough to support her parents. It was a shame that he knew what he wanted now, too. Phoebe. But he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
“Don’t cry, Mom. Please?” Phoebe’s voice was softer now. “You and Dad sacrificed for the last twenty plus years for me and Rose. It’s our turn, and you’ll be back on your feet and planning cruises and dinner parties in no time.”
She was quiet for a moment or two, and John could feel her enthusiasm fade just a bit. “I promise this is what I want, Mom. My thesis is almost done. I’ve been polishing it for a while.”
She paced past the doorway again, staring straight ahead. The smile was gone.
“I’ll call him back first thing in the morning and let you know what happens, okay?”
John kicked at the dusty wall trim and, for the first time ever, regretted his choices.
“I love you, too, Mom. Give my love to Dad.”
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Phoebe wolfed down her scrambled eggs and bacon, focusing on the tasks ahead of her for the day. There was the back-breaking, never-ending harvest of zucchini and cucumbers, another coat of paint on the west side of the barn, watering the flower beds, weeding for the zillionth time, and, oh yeah, telling John she had a day to accept a position as a research assistant with the FDA.
Starting in two weeks. In Washington, D.C.
She should be thrilled, ecstatic even. This was the outcome she’d been praying for. And yet she hadn’t been able to say yes to the very dry, very business-like Mr. Ingersol.
She’d almost brought it up at dinner last night, but John had been unusually quiet. His one- and two-word answers had been few and far between. She hoped he wasn’t coming down with a summer cold. There was so much to do before she left. So much time she wanted to spend with him.
John walked into the kitchen, studiously avoiding her gaze. He poured his coffee and snatched a strip of bacon off the plate next to the stove.
So much had changed this summer. And one of those things seemed to be her dreams for the future. Phoebe hadn’t been prepared for this shift. She wasn’t even sure this was real. She’d never been in love before.
She’d lain awake last night for hours thinking about John’s essay on Pierce Acres. No, not just thinking, she corrected herself. She could see it as if she were there.
School delays on snow days, Thanksgiving dinners, lazy Sunday afternoons with locusts buzzing in the background and the summer sun coaxing the fields to their full production.
Children and pets and farm animals. Neighbors and friends. Family crowding around the dining room table, which would have chairs by then. What spell had John woven with his words that his future had become her dream? She wasn’t ready for marriage, children, settling down. Was she?
She didn’t know. And she needed some time to think. If she could find another way to get the money for her parents, maybe a job in D.C. didn’t have to be the only answer.
“Morning,” she said, hoping to distract herself with conversation.
John faced her without looking her in the eyes. He had papers in his hand.
He crossed to her, handed them over, and walked back to the stove.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Your thesis. It’s done.”
“You liked it?” She was relieved. It was his second full read-through and her nine millionth draft. John’s opinion carried weight with her, and if he was happy with her hours of labor, then maybe her professors would be, too.
“I don’t have a doctorate, but I think you make your points clearly and succinctly.”
She let out a slow breath, her hands rubbing her eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I’ve been working on it for so long I was starting to think it was completely shit.”
“It’s not. But what is shit is you wasting your time here, Phoebe. Your paper doesn’t need polishing. It needs to be turned in.” His tone was flat, his eyes dark.
“There are still some areas I want to work on,” she argued. There was some data she wanted to cross-reference, some points she wanted to shore up. A man she wasn’t ready to leave.
But he was shaking his head. “Why are you putting it off?”
“I’m not!”
“You have a perfect, finished thesis. You could have your master’s degree in hand. Why are you sitting at my table?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” she asked.
He met her gaze coolly. “You’re wasting your time here.”
“We have an agreement. You help me with my thesis. I help you for the summer. Just because one’s done doesn’t mean the other’s done, too.” She pushed away from the table and rinsed her mug in the sink. “You’re being ridiculous right now. I’ll see you out in the fields after you’ve had more coffee and start making sense again.”
But before she could make it to the door, he had her by the arm and was towing her backwards.
“I’m serious, Phoebe. I think you should go. Today.”
She shook her head, certain she was misunderstanding him somehow. “John, no. We’re in the middle of picking squash, and I’m making burgers tonight. Elvira’s coming over tomorrow—”
“There’s no point in you staying here prolonging the inevitable. You’re leaving. It might as well be now.”
“Who’s going to help you?” she demanded, pointing toward the fields.
“I got along just fine without you before you showed up here. I’m sure I can fumble my way through the harvest.”
Tears inexplicably welled in her eyes. She’d earned her place here. She was valuable to him. Damn it, she had more to give him before she had to go.
“Go spend time with your family before you start your job.”
“How did you know—”
“I heard you on the phone last night. You should have told me.” At least there was a hint of something besides disinterest now in his voice.
“I was going to. I hadn’t decided…”
“You haven’t decided what?” John shoved a hand through his dark hair. “To take it? That’s bullshit. This is exactly what you wanted. You’d be stupid to turn down an opportunity like this.”
“Maybe I was hoping for another opportunity,” she shot back.
“Like what exactly?” The condescension in John’s tone was heavy enough that Phoebe didn’t feel the need to respond.
“I don’t know. I have time before I have to decide.” Twenty-three hours and forty minutes to be exact.
“It’s what you want. Don’t start questioning it now.”
“Don’t you want me to stay?” The words burned a trail up her throat and then hung in the air between them.
She saw the flash in the depths of his eyes, felt the reflexive tightening of his fingers on her arm just before the lie.
“No.”
“John.” She was moving from hurt to pissed the fuck off with alarming speed. “Don’t pretend like I don’t mean anything to you.”
“Don’t pretend like we have a future,” he countered. “What we had was… fun. But it’s over. There’s no reason for you to stay.”
“You’re an idiot,” she snapped. Phoebe wrenched free from his grip. “I guess I have some packing to do.”
She stormed out of the kitchen with her heart in pieces.