My Soul Immortal (11 page)

Unfortunately, the repetitive work leaves my mind free to wander. At first, I’m able to concentrate my thoughts on the flurry of paint flakes making speckled puddles along the sidewalk, but soon enough, my mind wanders back to Leah. I miss her more than I should.

Close to one o’clock in the afternoon, Leah’s voice sings out from below. “Hey, just the guy I was looking for.” Her face shines up at me, brighter than the early June sun.

“I was going to call you this afternoon, but I don’t have your number,” she continues. “I was hoping I could coax it out of your boss.”

“Were you?” I have no doubt Ed would’ve handed over the keys to the castle if she asked in that tone followed by that smile.

“What are you doing tomorrow? It’s supposed to be brutal. Record-breaking temperatures, according to the weatherman. A bunch of us are heading to the beach.”

“I’m supposed to paint.”

Disappointment replaces her smile.

“But I can get out of it.”

Her smile returns. “I’m not going until the afternoon because of that assignment.”

“Brilliant. I’ll paint in the morning and go in the afternoon.”
And keep an eye on you for the rest of the day.
The blue-eyed devil won’t get within a hundred yards of her, not if I have anything to say about it.

“Okay, I can give you a ride. I was thinking of leaving around two. Or will that be too early?” Leah studies my face while waiting for my answer.

I point at the glimmer of black across the street. “I got my own wheels. So maybe you can ride with me.”

“You’ve got a motorcycle! Oh my word, I love riding. My dad had a Harley. He adored that bike. Called it Babe.”

The thought of having Leah’s arms around me is more than I can resist. “If you’d like, I could take you on a short ride now. I was about to take my lunch break.”

“That would be awesome.” She sighs. “But I should get back and work on that stupid assignment.”

“A ride might clear your head.”

“Okay. Twist my arm.”

“I have to put this stuff away.” Glancing at my dusty clothes, I add, “And clean up a bit, and then we’re off. I’ll be quick. I promise.”

Leah insists on grabbing the paint cans as I carry the ladder into the alley behind the store.

“Thanks. I’ll be ready in a few.” As I take the cans in one hand, I hold the bookstore’s back door open for her with the other.

“I’ll meet you in the front. It’s too nice a day to spend a moment inside that I don’t have to.”

I rush in, dropping the paint by the back door. I snatch a clean T-shirt out of my knapsack stuffed under Ed’s desk and head for the bathroom. I wash the grime off my face, arms, and hands, and change in a minute flat. On my way back through the office, I grab an old jean jacket forgotten by a past employee.
Thank goodness Ed never throws anything away.
From the faint scent of weed and the peace patch sewn on the sleeve, I guess it was Journey’s. But it’ll have to do.

At the front of the store, Ed leans against the counter and peers out the window.

“I was going to take my lunch break. Would that be all right?”

“She’s a cute girl.” He jabs his finger to the window.

“Yeah, she’s okay.” I lie. She’s so much more than
cute
. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Ed ignores me. “She. Is. A. Cute. Girl.”

“Around two.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Take an extra-long lunch break.”

“I can’t. I want to get most of the scraping done this afternoon so I can take tomorrow afternoon off. If you don’t mind, that is. It’s supposed to be a hot one.”

“How long has this place looked like this?” he asks. “Years,” he says, answering his own question. “So if a pretty girl wants to spend time with you, take advantage of it. Someday, you’ll look like this.” Ed displays himself. I half expect him to twirl.

I laugh. “You’re still a handsome dude. I won’t be too long.”

Ed huffs. “Romance is wasted on the young. If I were your age and a girl like that wanted to go on a ride with me, I wouldn’t be back for hours. Work be damned.”

I can’t fight back the smirk. “Bye, Ed.”

“Have some fun for me,” he calls.

I grin back at him and head out the door. The heat from the afternoon sun blazes down.

Leah’s waiting in the shade. “Wow, you were quick.”

I smile, remove the helmet from the bike’s side hook, and hold it out to her. “This is for you.”

“Where’s yours?”

I knock my knuckle on the top of my skull. “I don’t need one. Hard head. And put this on, too,” I say, holding out the jacket.

Leah begins to protest as she tugs on the helmet. “But it’s gotta be close to ninety-five.”

I rub the sheer fabric of her sleeve between my thumb and fingers. “If something happens, this won’t be much protection.”

She gives a defeated sigh and takes the jacket. She sniffs the sleeve and scrunches her nose. “It smells sickly sweet, like…” She pauses to think. “Like pot.”

I mount the bike and start the engine. As the old Triumph rumbles to life, I tap the seat behind me. “The jacket isn’t mine. I found it in the office. Probably Journey’s. Wasn’t he one of your favorites?” I grin.

Leah groans and rolls her eyes as she joins me—using my shoulder for support. She straddles the seat, and her legs press against mine. Her slender arms wrap around my waist. My heart quickens and feels as if it might lunge right out of my chest. Her breath warms the bare skin of my neck. As we begin to roll, Leah’s arms tighten. I chuckle. Ed’s right; an hour won’t be long enough.

The road winds northward, hugging the coast. Between long stretches of sun-baked forest, small villages with tall, white steeples play peek-a-boo along the rocky shoreline. The wind ruffles my hair, giving me the sensation of flying. The road snakes right, then left. Every sharp corner earns me a squeal, and Leah’s arms wrap tighter around my waist. Again, the woods begin to thin, and a town situated on a lazy flowing river unfolds before us. With shop-lined streets set against the backdrop of a spectacular view, it looks as though it’s been plucked off a postcard.

I slow the bike to the curb. “This is a pretty little spot. Whatcha say we have a look around?”

Leah fidgets on the seat. “If you say so. This is Wiscasset. My unchanged and very boring hometown. My mom still lives down that way, in the house I grew up in.” She points down a small side street.

“Let’s go.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

“I’d love to see where you were raised.” My small smile builds.

After a tense silence, Leah’s posture sags. “Okay, won’t
she
be surprised. Fourth house on the left.” The nervous edge to her voice mixes with a touch of resignation.

Within minutes, we pull up in front of a small New England–style farmhouse dwarfed by the two primordial oaks flanking it. A porch wrapping the first story is lined with bold-red Adirondack chairs that stand out in contrast against crisp-white clapboards. From the mailbox post hangs a white sign with matching red lettering: MAINE WINTERS POTTERY.

“She’s probably in her studio,” Leah says, swinging her leg over the side, and removing the helmet.

“She’s an artist, too?”

“Yup. Like mother, like daughter.” Leah slips off the jacket and lays it over the seat. “I think it’s safer if this stays here. My mom doesn’t need to think I’m a pothead.”

I smile and push off the bike.

Leah takes my hand without hesitation as she leads me through the deep shade toward the back of the house. We cross the rolling lawn to a small barn positioned on the river’s edge. The glassy surface of the water reflects the building’s weathered gray shingles.

The interior of the barn is cool compared to the mid-afternoon heat. The smell of earth mingles with pine. A petite woman with short strawberry-blond curls sits hunched over a potter’s wheel. Her hands embrace and smooth a small spinning chunk of clay. Each touch changes the lump’s form, and a shape begins to emerge. Around the room’s perimeter are shelves stacked with brightly colored pots in different shapes and sizes.

Leah waits patiently for her mother while breezes blowing through the open door ruffle and play with her hair. Soon the wheel slows, and her mother leans back to examine her work.

“Mom.”

She looks up, and a stunned smile flashes across her narrow face. “Lee-lee, what are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming. Or did I forget?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise,” Leah says.

As her mother steps toward us, her gray eyes flick to me, and Leah releases my hand.

“This is Jack. Jack, my mom, Marlee.”

I bow.

“My, what manners.” She grins at her daughter then returns the smile to me. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“And you, Marlee,” I say. “It’s clear where your daughter gets her love of the arts. Your workmanship is impeccable.”

“Thank you.” Marlee grins and looks at her daughter. “Manners and taste. He’s a keeper. I was just going to clean up and have lunch, or is it dinnertime? I never bother to keep track when I’m in the zone. Anyhow, hungry?” Without waiting for a reply, Marlee removes her apron, tosses it aside, and wipes her hands on a towel that was draped over her shoulder. She begins to hum as she heads out the door toward the house.

“You’re loading it on a little thick, don’t you think?” Leah murmurs.

“I want her to like me.”

“No worries there. You got her eating out of your hand.” Her smile looks a bit annoyed.

“Only one thing.”

Leah stops and looks at me. “What?”

“Does she cook like your brother?” I whisper.

She laughs. “Thank goodness, no.”

The interior of the quaint little farmhouse is not at all what I expected. One giant room takes up most of the first floor. Sunlight floods in through large windows that look out over the river, and each wall is painted a different color. Marlee disappears into the bathroom to clean up. “You should show Jack your sketches,” she calls out before shutting the door.

I turn, giving Leah a hopeful grin.

“My mom’s a bit of a hoarder. Upstairs is a sty.” Her excuse seems half-hearted, as if she’s trying to convince herself and me.

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse. Anyway, I’d love to see your artwork.”

“No! Sorry, but no.” She shifts away as an awkward silence follows.

Her refusal to open up and let me in is like a kick to the gut.
Hypocrite. Think what you’re keeping from her
. In truth, we’re practically strangers. I curse myself again for thinking we could ever be more. I realize Leah is studying me.

“Have you ever been to Wiscasset?” she asks in a whisper.

“Besides today, no. Never. Why?”

Leah doesn’t answer. She stares out the window, blinking repeatedly while she gnaws on her lower lip as though she’s trying to find courage.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head.

I’m about to press the matter when Marlee breezes through the room, heading to the kitchen. “Lee-lee, I could use a hand.”

“Sure thing.” Leah says, but the sound seems to get stuck in her throat. “I’ll be right back.” She smoothes her clothes nervously, and with a deep sigh, she leaves the room.

When the door swings shut, I hear Marlee mumble, but nothing clear leaks through the wooden door. Curiosity wins over manners. I walk silently to the doorway, where I begin to understand her apprehension.

“Well, he seems like a nice young man,” says Marlee.

I’m amused, despite the tension still hanging in the air.

“Yup.” Dishes clatter.

“So handsome and polite.”

More clanging. “Don’t go there, Mom.”

“I’m just saying he’s nice. What’s wrong with that?”

Leah sighs. “You’re right. Jack is a great guy, but we’re only friends—”

Dropping my head, I close my eyes.

“Honestly, we haven’t known each other that long. By the way, don’t tell Grady that. You know how he can get.”

Silence follows, giving me a chance to think.
Friends
. A twang of disappointment flitters in the pit of my stomach. I should be grateful she considers me a friend rather than a creepy stalker.

“You know, your father and I started out as friends.”

“I know. I’ve heard the stories a thousand times. This would make it a thousand and one.”

“Well then, if you’re
only
friends, why do my comments bother you, hmm?” Marlee laughs. “Is it wrong for me to want you to find a nice man who will treat you like your father treated me?”

“End of discussion, Mom. What if he hears you? Now drop it. Please.”

Silence blankets the kitchen, except for the occasional clinking dish.

I groan internally and return to my seat. I don’t remember courtship being this baffling. But then again, I have been out of circulation for a long time.

Her mother is still grinning from ear to ear when she and Leah emerge from the kitchen. She sets a pot of steaming soup in the middle of the table and sits. Leah slides a stack of variegated bowls next to the pot. Her expression frozen in an annoyed frown, she slips into the chair nearest mine. I sit mindlessly at the small round table, pretending to be oblivious to the glares shot back and forth between mother and daughter. In my head, buzzing thoughts spin at a hundred miles per hour. Sure, Leah is friendly, welcoming even, but maybe that’s part of her makeup and has nothing at all to do with me. Not liking where my assessments are leading, I shut them down.

Minus a cue, Marlee and Leah bow their heads, and I follow suit.

“Thank you, Lord, for this food. Bless it to our bodies. Amen,” Marlee says, then looks up with a smile. “Now, let’s eat.” She ladles scoops of hot broth and vegetables into the bowls. “Oh, drat, I forgot the biscuits. Could you, Lee-lee? They’re on the stove.”

Leah gives her mother a wary look. “Sure.” She stands, and instinctively, so do I.

Too busy gazing out the window, Marlee doesn’t seem to notice my overly proper manners. Maybe she’s just being polite or storing up material for another mother-daughter chat. Leah, on the other hand, does notice. She stares at me. I try to read her eyes but decipher only a swirling mess of emotion. She doesn’t say a word before darting into the kitchen.