Teresa Hill (8 page)

She and June spent twenty minutes flipping through photographs and home descriptions, looking over the maps of the community and finally heading out to look at three places that were close by.

One was too big. One was too small. One seemed just right—the size, the neighborhood, the price, the style, and yet Samantha knew it just wasn’t her house. As June drove her back home late that afternoon, Samantha turned her head toward the side window while June rattled on about depreciation and interest rates and tax advantages.

Gazing sadly at the passing scenery and trying not to listen to anything June said, Samantha caught sight of a For Sale sign in a yard overgrown with weeds. Curious, she thought, because all the other houses on the street had beautifully maintained yards, with little rock borders and flower beds and vines and bulbs. It was a charming neighborhood, a place full of real homes.

“What’s this place?” Samantha said.

Ready to latch on to the least show of interest, June jerked the car to the curb and pulled out her handy-dandy house book. “What’s the address?”

Samantha looked to the end of the street, then to the numbers on the porch column. “Threeten Dogwood Lane.”

She’d had dogwoods in her backyard when she was growing up. Scrawny ugly trees that seemed to have no substance at all, no backbone. But in the spring…Samantha smiled. She could see them filled with the brightest bursts of pinks and spring whites, delicate little blossoms that absolutely transformed those trees into something magical for a few short weeks.

June started reading the listing information to her. “Seventy-five years old.”

Seventy-five? She’d need a live-in handyman.

“Five bedrooms, four baths.”

An army could sleep there.

“Full basement.”

Which would leak for sure.

“A one-acre lot.”

She’d need a tractor to mow it.

“It’s all wrong for me,” Samantha said, gazing at the house. The real trouble was, it reminded her of her own home, the one where she’d grown up.

It had all sorts of interesting angles to it, a wide shaded front porch, so many windows she’d pay a fortune to cover them and another fortune to heat the house.

June named a price, then added, “That can’t be right. It’s much too small a figure for this much space. Let me see…”

Samantha watched as June finally looked up and saw the house.

“God, it’s a mess.”

“No, it’s not.” Samantha felt she had to defend it for some reason.

“Well,” said, June backpedaling, “it’s a steal for this price. And the neighborhood… You know what people say about buying a house—location, location, location. You can fix anything about a house except its location.”

True, Samantha thought. But this house needed a tremendous amount of fixing. Still, they could just look. What was the harm in looking? “Can we go inside? Now?”

June peered through the trees toward the front porch. “If there’s a lockbox, we can look.”

They climbed out of the car and walked to the front door. Beneath her feet, the boards that formed the front porch creaked and sagged ominously. The white paint was flaking, giving the house a dingy and rather sad appearance. Still, Samantha was excited.

June extracted the key from the lockbox, and they let themselves in. Dust scattered as the wind rushed in. Samantha watched as sunlight streamed through the windows and the dust floated back down to the floor, which was hardwood. Obviously it had been mistreated over the years, but it was real hardwood.

She could sand it, polish it, make it shine.

There was a huge fireplace in the corner, an elaborately carved wooden mantel, equally in need of attention. But it could be magnificent. She just knew it.

In the back she saw a yard filled with trees, the ground covered by a blanket of leaves that no one had bothered to rake. The lot was wide, heavily treed, ending in what she suspected was a stream that ran across the back of the property. It was a children’s paradise, she decided. Lots of trees, grass, a stream—they could play for hours. She had, in a place just like this.

Why the thought didn’t make her sad, when she had no children to play here, she simply didn’t understand. But she felt excited seeing a mismatched collection of boards hammered together high in the tree to form a tree house, a swing hung from one of the branches, the faint outline of a ball field laid out in the grass.

The kitchen was ancient, with linoleum right out of the fifties, minimal counter space, hardly any cabinet space. No dishwasher. It was like their kitchen at home, but it was a big room. She could do anything she wanted here, with time and money at her disposal.

There was a huge family room that opened to the right off the kitchen. Just a big room, with lime-green carpet, but it had a wonderful view of the yard and the dogwood trees she liked so much.

Passing through the formal dining room, she found herself at the front of the house again, facing the staircase, which curved gracefully to the right and immediately had Samantha thinking of children sliding down it just for fun.

No kids, she reminded herself. She had no kids. But still, she was already thinking of paint choices and window coverings. It was insane.

Upstairs she saw big bedrooms, but they had no closet space and tiny bathrooms. But she was no slave to fashion, and she never spent that much time in the bathroom, anyway. How much space did she need?

Walking downstairs again, she thought of the sadly neglected woodwork, the peeling paint, the draftiness of the place, the sheer size of it. She hadn’t even seen the basement yet.

June clattered along behind her in her high heels with her clipboard in hand as she scribbled down notes. “We’ll need to hire an inspector to go over every inch, of course.”

If she was going to buy this house.

Samantha stepped into the kitchen, where someone had left a bar stool, and sat down. There was enough dust in the place that she could have written her name in the film covering the stained and chipped counter. The floor here dipped and swayed, and the wallpaper was falling down in spots.

How could she possibly want this house?

June was chattering on about escrow accounts and counteroffers and financing options, then got on her cell to see what she could find out about the place. When she was done, she found Samantha in the kitchen. “It’s not bad,” she said. “The owner was an elderly widow who didn’t have any family nearby to help her and didn’t trust anyone to do odd jobs for her. So she really let the place go. And the relatives haven’t been willing to put any money into it to fix it up. They’re determined to sell it as is. If we’re lucky, you may just be looking at mostly cosmetic work here. Of course, we could—”

Samantha cut her off. “Could you give me a minute alone here? Please?”

“Of course.” June took her paraphernalia and headed for the door. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait in the car.”

Samantha sat there. Closing her eyes, she let herself hear the sounds of the house, the wind in the trees, the chirping of the birds, the muted sounds of the street.

It felt good to be here, she realized. It was peaceful, soothing and very, very familiar.

Being here made her think of her father, made her remember Sunday mornings when he’d donned his chef’s apron and dirtied half the pots and pans in the house as he prepared one meal—Sunday brunch. It made her think of summer evenings in the backyard with him, because he was determined to make a baseball player of her. Strange, she could almost taste his blueberry pancakes, hear the crack of the bat when she finally blasted one home.

Turning around, she caught a whiff of something very familiar, something bitter with a hint of sweetness. His cigars. She could have sworn for a moment she smelled his cigars.

“Daddy?” she said aloud in a terribly childish voice as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

She hadn’t felt this close to him in the longest time, hadn’t felt she needed him this much in years. Somehow she imagined she might reach out and touch him then, even if he had been dead for a year.

Samantha stayed there for a long time, soaking up his presence, letting it chase away the awful loneliness inside her and absorb some of the pain.

Finally she stepped outside onto the concrete slab that was the terrace, felt sunshine streaming through the trees and falling against her face. It left her warm and strangely satisfied. The wind was light, carrying with it the scent of the trees and the fallen leaves.

And the house?

It was a mess, but she didn’t care. The place seemed to comfort her in some way. She didn’t understand how or why, but she’d take her comfort where she could find it.

She was going to buy this house, and maybe she could make a home here, make a life for herself.

J
oe waited until the third day Luke complained of a toothache before he took his son to see Samantha again. He thought he’d shown admirable restraint. He hadn’t given in at the first pathetically fake protestation of pain from his son. No, he’d waited until Luke had perfected an Oscar-worthy performance, until there was that nagging sense of parental inadequacy that had Joe wondering if he was being a terrible father for ignoring what was, even if the most remote possibility, genuine pain on the part of his son. And then he went.

After a week of moping around the house, Joe, his son and his daughter all went to the dentist’s office. You’d have thought he’d bought circus tickets the way they all reacted.

They’d all fussed over their appearance. He was no better than his kids. He slicked back Dani’s hair into a reasonable facsimile of a braid and let her wear her hot-pink sneakers with the laces that were three times too wide and had pink hearts on them. She peeled off her plaid school smock and underneath had on a plain white shirt but her most fashionable blue-jean shorts, the ones with purple beads embroidered into the fabric to form little purple flowers. And she’d stored some of her favorite jewelry in her school backpack—a series of plastic necklaces which she draped around her neck and somehow attached to her hair. He’d never understood the hair-necklace bit, but she liked it, and for the first time all week she was happy. He let it go and took a miniature fashion model and a smiling Luke into Samantha’s office.

He had merely had as much of a bath as he could in the sink at the construction site and changed his shirt. Luke showed no signs of holding the side of his mouth and moaning this morning, but they already had the appointment. They were going. They’d all see Samantha again.

Joe caught sight of her before she spotted them, so he saw every bit of her reaction to them. She looked tired, he thought, and maybe a bit sad. Then she saw Luke and Dani and positively beamed. She fussed over Dani’s hair and drew a tongue depressor from her voluminous white coat that turned into a bouquet of flowers, which she presented to Dani.

But when she turned to Joe, she seemed to physically pull herself away, all without moving an inch. So, he thought, it was as hard for her as it was for him. Somehow that made things a little better and a whole lot worse.

“What seems to be the trouble now?” she asked, obviously working hard to put a smile on her pretty face.

“Luke has a toothache,” Joe said.

“Really?” She looked from Luke to Joe again.

Behind Luke’s back, out of Luke’s sight, Joe shook his head.

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” Samantha said, taking him by the hand and leading him into the stars room. “I have some medicine that I bet will fix you right up.”

“Medicine?” Luke said, making a face, maybe seeing some flaws in his plan for the first time.

“Yes. It’s great. There’s just one little problem.”

“What?” Luke asked cautiously.

“Where does the tooth hurt?”

Luke opened his mouth and stuck his own finger inside, then mumbled, “Here.”

Samantha snapped on the light and shined it into Luke’s mouth, then leaned down and peered inside. “Oh, no. That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What?” Luke sounded worried now.

“It’s an unusual problem.” Samantha nodded gravely. “I hardly ever see cases like this.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can fix it if it really hurts. But it would take a very special medicine I hardly ever use, and to get the special medicine all the way down to the spot that hurts…” She turned to the cabinet behind her and pulled out a very big-looking syringe with a long needle on it. “I’m afraid I’d have to use this.”

Dani squeaked and wrapped herself around Joe’s leg. Luke’s eyes got as big as saucers and he looked horrified.

“My tooth doesn’t hurt that much,” he said quickly.

“Oh?” Samantha was remarkably serious-looking. “You’re sure? Because I can fix it.”

“Uh-huh. It’s all better. See?” He opened up again and poked the end of his finger against the tooth. “It doesn’t hurt a bit.”

Samantha let him sweat for a minute. Joe had to smile—she knew what Joe and his kids needed from her, and she gave it to them. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I am.” Luke headed for the door. “Come on, Dad. It’s better now.”

“Do me a favor. Take your sister back to the waiting room so she can see the fairies,” Joe said, then remembered the perils there. “And don’t swipe anything this time.”

“I won’t,” Luke said, looking thoroughly disgruntled now but taking his sister by the hand. “Come on, Dani. Let’s go.”

“I wanna see the tooth fairy,” she said stubbornly as Luke pulled her down the hall.

“We will. You heard what Daddy said. I’m taking you to see them.”

“No, the real one,” Dani insisted.

“Come on.” Luke dragged her along until they disappeared through the door that led to the waiting room.

Joe watched them go and then turned to face the woman who’d haunted his every waking moment for a week. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Every bit as sweet and kind and genuine. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “He’s been complaining for three solid days, and I thought he was faking, but then I had to make sure. I kept worrying I’d go into his room one morning and find his mouth swollen up to three times its normal size and half his teeth falling out because I’d ignored something that was really wrong with him. All because I was so sure that all he wanted was to see you again.”

“It’s all right. It’s hard to know for sure sometimes.”

Joe nodded.

“Of course,” she said, “now I’ve traumatized him with my big needle, and he may well not tell you if he ever has something truly wrong with his teeth because he’s scared I’ll give him a shot.”

“I’m sorry, Doc.”

“I work hard to keep the kids from being afraid of me,” she said.

“I know, and I know it wasn’t easy for you to do what you did. But that’s what he needed. Otherwise, I’m afraid he’d have me trying to bring him back here every other day.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “He’s still collecting teeth?”

“Not that I know of. I talked to him about his mother and wishes and magic and how lousy life can be sometimes, but I don’t know if I convinced him of anything. I think he still believes you could bring his mother back.”

“Oh, Joe. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assured her.

“It is. Me and my silly costume. All these silly magic tricks.”

“No. It’s not that at all. He’s just dying to latch on to something to give him hope that his life’s going to get back to normal someday. If it wasn’t you, it would be something else.”

“I wish I could help him.”

“So do I,” Joe said sadly. “How ’bout you, Doc? How you doin’?”

“I’m okay,” she claimed.

He reached out and touched her cheek, his thumb sliding lightly along the underside of her eye, which had a grayish tone. “Gettin’ any sleep?”

She moved away, escaping even that light touch. “Not enough.”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he confessed. “I haven’t been sleeping that well myself.”

“Joe,” she protested, shaking her head. “I can’t…”

“Okay,” he said, stepping back. “If you’re sure…”

“I am. I don’t like it. But I am.”

“You gonna be okay?”

She nodded. “I’ve decided to stay in town. I’m going ahead and buying this practice. And a house.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was renting a place month to month, and it sold right out from under me. I went out the next day with the real-estate agent and found something wonderful,” she rushed on. “Well, not wonderful yet, but it will be. It’s big and old and has a great backyard and big trees and…it reminded me of home. Mine, when I was a little girl. I felt at home there. So I bought it.”

He frowned down at her, not wanting to think of Samantha making a home for herself and who she’d fill it with.

“It was a bit impulsive, I know,” she explained. “But I can’t keep drifting along like this.”

“Of course,” he said. He wanted her to be happy.

“It’s over on Dogwood Lane, about ten minutes from here.”

“The old Baldwin place?” he guessed.

She nodded.

“It needs a lot of work, Samantha.”

“I know.”

“You had it inspected?”

“Yes. All that stuff.” She named an inspector he knew.

“Okay. He wouldn’t have sugarcoated anything.”

“He didn’t. And I may have to take it slow, doing a little bit here and there, but that’s okay. I have time. I just need to get a new roof before I move in and a few other necessities, and I’ll be fine.”

“You want me to come look at it? I’m booked up for the next few weeks, but I might be able to free up a crew to repair the roof.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just be careful who you hire.”

“I will,” she promised.

“If you want to call me and check ’em out…”

“Thanks,” she said.

But he didn’t think she’d call. He was afraid he’d never hear from her again, unless he stooped to faking a toothache himself. He wondered how long it would take before he’d consider that, just to see this sweet, skittish, magical woman one more time.

Something inside him was screaming not to let her go. Not to let this moment end. That there just had to be a way, even if he had as many reasons as she did to steer clear of any kind of involvement.

And the whole thing left him feeling even lousier than he had before. She’d given him hope, just for a little bit, that there might be a perfectly wonderful woman out there somewhere who’d be great not only for him but for his kids.

And maybe she was that woman, but they’d never know it, because she didn’t want them.

What a lousy day.

Samantha frowned down at the list of contractors she’d gotten from the local builders’ association, names she’d crossed off one by one. People were booked up. Spring had sprung, and everyone wanted to start working on their house right now. Some of the contractors couldn’t even take time to come look at the job. Some of them kept her waiting for hours when she made an appointment for them to come. No way she was hiring them.

In the end she didn’t have much choice.

There was Joe, whom she wouldn’t let herself call, and a man named Abe Wilson.

She hadn’t been that impressed with Abe. He drove the most battered-looking truck she’d ever seen, chain-smoked and no matter how hard she tried to make him stop, insisted on calling her “little lady.” He also wasn’t shy about telling her she should get herself a husband because he would understand all the things Abe was trying to explain to her about fixing up her old house. Still, Abe seemed to genuinely like the house and see its possibilities.

Samantha looked down at her list once again and at the calendar. She had to do something. Her deadline for getting out of the rental house was rushing ever closer.

She allowed herself one moment of longing for Joe—to call his number and have him fix her dream house for her. She could talk to him every day if she wanted. She could see him. But it would lead to nothing but trouble.

In the end that’s what decided her.

Anybody but him, she told herself. She’d hire anybody but him.

Which was how she ended up with Abe.

She worked frantically over the next few weeks, so frantically she hardly had time to think about Joe and Luke and Dani. By day she juggled frantic phone calls from her contractor, her real-estate agent, mortgage companies, inspectors and insurance agents, trying to get everything done. And by night she packed and pored over paint chips and wallpaper samples, fabric swatches and cabinet styles, tile patterns and other endless details, right down to the shade of blue she’d like for the grout between the kitchen tiles.

It was crazy, but she did it, and she was too busy most of the time to be sad. The day she moved in, she was happier than she’d been in a long, long time. Since before her marriage to Richard fell apart, in fact. She felt that good.

Samantha brought only the things she absolutely had to have to live for the first few weeks, because the place was still a mess. Abe and his men seemed to have made the house more of a mess than it had been the first time she’d seen it, but she’d been warned that the construction process was a messy one.

She bedded down the first night in her own room at the top of the stairs and to the right, trying to get used to all the little unfamiliar sounds of the house settling around her, still finding it comforting just to be here.

She felt good here. Good things were going to happen for her here. She could feel it.

Drifting off to the faint sounds of thunder in the distance and the smell of rain coming in the window she’d opened, she slept deeply, dreamlessly, peacefully.

Until drops of water started dripping onto her forehead.

She came awake with a wet face, jerked out of bed and wiped the water off her cheek. There was a damp spot on the bed beside her pillow, and when she leaned over to see it, another drop of water fell on the back of her neck.

She yelped and jumped out of the way. Looking up, she saw water dripping from her ceiling.

“Oh, no!” she cried.

She became aware of the sound of rain pounding furiously on the roof. Her leaking roof!

Looking around the room, she saw leaks coming down from other spots all around the room.

Samantha ran downstairs, grabbing all the pots and pans she had, the pitchers, even the cups. She hurried upstairs and placed them all around the room and in the bedroom to her left, which was leaking, too, but they wouldn’t do her much good for long.

Staring at the clock on the bedside table, she saw that it was shortly after midnight. On a Saturday night.

Who in the world could she call at this hour?

She tried Abe first. There was no answer. She got a machine at his office, a message that his cell phone was either turned off or out of range and no answer at his home. She let it ring and ring and ring.