“Of course.”
“She was furloughed, too.” Hearing Cara’s sigh encouraged her with her news. “She’s in worse shape than I am financially. She can’t pay rent and without family to fall back on, that leaves her pretty much homeless. So,” Linnea took a breath, “I offered to let her stay here as my roommate. Rent free. Plus she can help with my expenses.”
“I see.” Cara considered this. “Good decision.”
Linnea smiled with relief. “But what about Hope staying here? Are you concerned?”
“I’ll have to insist that you practice precaution. Annabelle will have to wear a mask for the first ten days when she’s in the same room with Hope, just to be sure. If she agrees to that, I have no problem at all.”
“I’m sure she will.”
“Good, that’s settled, except for what I pay you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to pay me. The rent and all…”
“I insist. Please, don’t argue that with me.” Cara smiled. “I believe you need a job?”
Linnea smirked at the obvious.
Cara continued, “I’ll pay for groceries, supply anything you need. And I’ll come by to play with her and give you a break.”
“It will be fun,” Linnea said. “When do you want to start?”
Cara took a breath, then said, “Today?”
chapter three
Spring revealed her glory in the lowcountry.
The world might be in chaos, but the season of rebirth rolled in regardless.
THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED beneath the tires as Linnea pulled the Gold Bug into the driveway. Stepping out of the little gold Volkswagen Beetle, she took a moment to look around the property. Spring revealed her glory in the lowcountry. The world might be in chaos, but the season of rebirth rolled in regardless. She found the consistency of nature reassuring. The sweet scent of honeysuckle wafted past, and looking over to her neighbor’s yard, she saw it growing wildly on Emmi’s fence. It brought back memories of Easter egg hunts here with Grandmama Lovie. A smile played on her lips as she closed the car door. Hope will love that, she thought. She wanted the little girl to be happy at the beach house, as her mother had been. She’d spent the morning cleaning the pink bedroom and shopping for special foods that Cara said Hope might enjoy.
A tapping caught her attention; curious, she followed the sound to Emmi’s carriage house, letting her gaze travel higher to the second-floor window. It was tall and in the Moorish style, more a door than a window. Linnea’s heart stopped and she froze at the sight of a tall young man standing at the window. There was an awkward pause as she stood, limp-armed, staring up at him.
Seeing that he’d caught her attention, he waved.
On automatic pilot, she raised her hand in halfhearted acknowledgment—then spun on her heel and walked directly to the front trunk of the VW, her head bent with purpose.
The small trunk was crammed with brown paper bags filled with groceries. She loaded each arm with a bag and headed straight to the side door into the kitchen, not looking back at the carriage house window. She plopped the bags on the kitchen counter, then returned to the car for the second load, eyes to the ground. Once again came the insistent tapping at the window, but this time she pretended she didn’t hear it. When she reached the car, however, she heard a sharp whistle and looked up, startled.
John had pushed open the large windows. They divided in half vertically, giving her a full view from hip to head. His dark auburn hair was longer than she remembered and fell over the collar of his open chambray shirt. She couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, but she knew that devilish spark in the green would be there. John gestured for her to come closer.
Linnea pointed to the grocery bags, then shook her head.
John darted his hand out, lifting a finger to indicate she should wait a minute. He disappeared from the window.
Linnea’s lips tightened in impatience. What was she doing, standing here waiting on him? Him? No, she wouldn’t, she decided. She ducked in to grab hold of the remaining grocery bags when another whistle pierced the air. She straightened and looked over her shoulder. John was back at the window; he lifted his hand and, to her surprise, released a paper airplane. Linnea watched the pointed missile catch a breeze and fly gracefully across the lawn, over the shrubs, to crash-land on her driveway pebbles a few feet away. He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
Linnea did not smile. She stared at the little white paper plane in the driveway. One of the wings was bent from the landing. With a frustrated sigh, she walked toward it, under his watchful gaze, and picked it up. The plane was made from white computer paper, tightly folded. She lifted it in the air to show John she had it, then walked back to the car. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reading it in front of him. She tossed the paper plane into a bag, then hoisted the two remaining bags, using her elbow to close the trunk. It fell into place with a loud, rusty squeak. She heard him shout her name, but she pretended she didn’t, striding at a determined pace into the house without a backward glance.
She set the paper bags on the counter, then lowered her head. Her shoulders ached, not from carrying the bags but from the tension of dealing with John. She wondered again what he was doing on Isle of Palms. She reached into the bag and drew out the paper airplane, smirking as she opened the neat, tight folds. It was so like John to create a toy. He was childlike in so many ways. His spontaneity. His quick wit. His love of a good time. It was both his charm, and his flaw. He was Peter Pan who never wanted to grow up.
She unfurled the paper and immediately recognized his bold print.
Linnea-
Can we talk?
John
The memory of their last argument a year ago surged through her, bringing the shame, hurt, and humiliation hurtling back.
* * *
THEY’D BEEN LIVING together in John’s San Francisco condo for nearly two years. When Linnea was out of work, she tried desperately to make herself useful to John since she could no longer pay rent. She’d cleaned the condo, did the shopping and the cooking, ran errands, but no matter how hard she tried, John grew increasingly morose and testy. It came to a head one evening in April as the rain streaked against the tall, stark windows of the modern space. It was more a bachelor pad in feel than a home with his furnishings, all leather and wood. Even now, a year since the breakup, John’s words reverberated in her brain as clear as when he’d spoken them.
“I’m just not ready,” John said.
“What does that even mean?” Linnea had asked. “Ready for what?”
“I’m not sure,” John said, raking his hair with frustration. “It’s just, things have changed since your layoff. I work from home. And… no offense, but you’re here all the time.”
“I live here!”
“And I’m the one paying all the bills. It’s—it’s like we’re married.”
She felt slapped. Shame swept over her. “You know I’m not happy that I can’t contribute to the rent. I’m looking for work. I try to be helpful.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, pacing the floor. “That’s what I mean. You’re more like a wife than a girlfriend.”