“This looks good.”
“I didn’t eat much lunch and realized I was hungry. Help yourself.”
She grabbed some grapes and a few cubes of what looked like a good Havarti and set them on one of the plates Eleanor pulled from the cupboard.
“We’ve been so busy this morning that I really haven’t had time to ask you about yourself.”
Jess tensed. She really didn’t like talking about her past. “Not much to tell,” she said. “I joined the army out of high school and then a friend and I started Transitions when we both got out.”
“I know that much. I’m more interested in what you did before that. Where did you grow up?”
She swallowed a grape then gave some of the glib narrative she had developed over the years. It was the truth, anyway.
“Our father was in the military so we moved around a lot.”
“You probably lived in some interesting places, didn’t you?”
Years later, they all tended to run together in her memory. “We spent some time in Hawaii, Germany, England. All over the place.”
“Would you say you consider any one of those home?” Eleanor pressed.
“Tough question. I don’t know. I liked Monterey quite a bit.”
“Who doesn’t?” Eleanor said with a laugh.
“Cape Sanctuary reminds me of that area. The same dramatic coastline and scenery.”
Eleanor nodded. “I’ve always thought so. The landscape here is a bit like the Monterey and Carmel area but without the crowds. The best of both worlds. Of course, we don’t have the same number of quality restaurants and art galleries but we do all right here.”
Better than all right. Jess knew her sister loved it here. Rachel had stayed through high school, hadn’t she? Even when Jess had tried to convince her to move to Southern California with her.
“Did you grow up in this area?” Jess asked. She was genuinely curious but was aware she also used the question as a diversionary tactic to keep Eleanor from probing too deeply into Jess’s own history.
“No. I was raised in Europe and Asia, mostly. Like you, I don’t have any one place I could call home. My parents were both in the foreign service.”
“That sounds exotic. I imagine you have fascinating stories.”
“I was in boarding school, for the most part. It was rather lonely, if you want the truth. I went to Stanford for university and ended up meeting Jack my senior year. He was the assistant professor for an English class I was taking. He was seven years older than I was and we both knew it was a completely inappropriate relationship but we fell in love anyway. It was quite scandalous, as I’m sure you can imagine. It was his first university teaching job and he was so afraid we would be found out. Lots of clandestine meetings at my apartment, hotels off campus, that sort of thing.”
Her dreamy expression gave Jess an odd feeling. Envy, she realized.
Why? She didn’t want that kind of passion. Ever. Her mother had clearly demonstrated how disastrous it could be to love someone that completely.
“Jack and I eloped the day after my college graduation,” Eleanor went on with a laugh. “It was the only way he could keep his job.”
“Did he stay at Stanford?”
“Another few years and then his mother died and his father grew ill and we decided to move back here to help him. He transferred and we’ve been here ever since. He commuted to Redding to teach there. It wasn’t quite Stanford, but it was the students he loved anyway.”
Was Eleanor aware her whole expression softened whenever she talked about her husband? Jess found it charming.
Before she could answer, she heard the front door open and a young voice call out. “Gram? Are you home?”
“In the kitchen, my dear.”
An instant later, a young teenage girl came in, maybe thirteen or fourteen. She had light brown hair and bright blue eyes. Jess knew instantly this must be Nate’s daughter, Sophie.
The girl stopped short in the doorway. “Oh. I didn’t know you had company.”
“This is my friend Jess Clayton. I told you about her. Jess, this is my granddaughter, Sophia.”
“Sophie,” the girl said. She tilted her head, studying Jess with interest. “You’re the one who has that adorable trailer parked by the beach trail.”
“Guilty.”
“It’s so cute. Is it an antique?”
“It’s a vintage Airstream from the 1990s but I’m not sure I would call it an antique exactly.”
“I’ve seen them on Instagram. Did you restore it yourself?”
“Most of it. It’s been a labor of love for the past few years.”
“Can I see inside it sometime?”
She blinked at the unexpected request. Not very many adolescent girls would be interested in a restored Airstream.
“Sophie has an emerging interest in all things design,” Eleanor explained.
“That’s terrific,” Jess said. “Good for you. I should tell you that while I did most of the physical work except what I had subcontractors help with, my friend Yvette made all the design choices. It would have been a disaster if I had tried to decorate it myself.”
Sophie offered her a tentative smile. “I still want to see it sometime. If you don’t mind.”
“Why don’t we go now?” Eleanor suggested. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself.”
“Can we?” Sophie asked.
Jess felt guilty, thinking of all the work they still had to do here at Eleanor’s house, the rooms they hadn’t yet touched.
On the other hand, Eleanor was paying for her time. If she wanted to take a break so her granddaughter could see a restored travel trailer, Jess didn’t know that it was her place to argue. Anyway, the Airstream was only twenty-four feet long. The tour only lasted about two minutes.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
She did love her little house, with its clever uses of space and the generous light pouring in through the windows encircling it. Eleanor and her granddaughter seemed enthralled with the cabinets and the bathroom wet room that gave her adequate space to shower.
“It’s so cute. Seriously. The cutest tiny house I’ve ever seen. You really live here all the time?” Sophie asked.
“Technically I keep an apartment outside LA but I usually only sleep there a few weeks out of the year. The rest of the time, this is home.”
“That’s so awesome. Maybe I’ll buy one when I graduate from high school and travel around the US and Canada.”