The Guest House (11 page)

D
espite their attempts to beat the evening crowd, Flannigan’s was already packed when Edie and Jim stepped inside the brick restaurant that overlooked the harbor. Edie saw Connie at the bar and waved to her old friend as she steered Jim to a free table in the back. Within minutes, a waiter arrived with a pair of menus and two ice waters and left them to make their selections.

Edie glanced over the top of her menu and saw Jim studying her. “I still can’t believe you cut it,” he said.

She reached reflexively to the back of her neck, her fingers smoothing down the clipped hairs that hugged her scalp. “What is it with you men and long hair?” she chided, exasperated.

“The last time I saw you it was almost down to your waist. It was exquisite!”

“It was a
pain
,” she said, feeling a maddening flush heat her cheeks. She returned to her menu and squinted down at the blurry lines.

“Forget your glasses, did you?”

“I don’t wear any,” she said, squinting harder.

“Ah.”

She saw the smile creeping at his mouth as he scanned his own menu.

Edie skimmed the entrées, wondering how it was she didn’t recognize a single item. Had it really been so long since she’d been to Flannigan’s?

After another blurry and useless search, she slapped the menu closed.

“Decided?” he asked.

“Cobb salad,” she said, looking around the restaurant, seeing more evidence of time’s passage. They’d changed the decor, the color of the walls. And had there always been those valances on the windows? They were so gaudy. What had Connie been thinking?

Jim set down his menu. “I was very sorry to hear about Hank.”

“Thank you, James.” Edie took a sip of her water, glad for the ice. “What about you? Did you ever marry?”

“Twice,” he said. “Both divorces. Two-time loser is the official term, I think.”

Edie looked at him tenderly. “That’s an awful thing to say about yourself, James. Lots of marriages don’t work out.”

“Yours did.”

“Yes, but I was lucky.”

“As was Hank.”

She smiled. “I remember there was that girl you were crazy about that summer. Ellen, was it?”

“
Helen
,” corrected Jim. “Helen Willoughby.”

“I don’t suppose Helen was one of the two Mrs. Mastersons?”

“Sadly, no. Not for my lack of trying, of course.”

Edie grinned. “Of course.”

“That’s enough about me. . . .” Jim leaned forward. “Tell me about your life now.”

Their waiter arrived with their drinks, a gin and tonic for him, iced tea for her. Jim sat back and regarded Edie while she shared the news of her family, his study so outwardly admiring that she grew embarrassed after a while and finally demanded, “What?”

He grinned. “You haven’t changed. Not one bit. It’s remarkable.”

“I could easily say the same for you.” She shook a pair of sugar packets into her tea, stirring it briskly. It was true; time had been kind to him, she decided. He still had all his hair, curls now white as smoke. His eyes were a pleasant blue, not milky and filmy the way so many blue eyes seemed to turn in old age. His were crisp and playful. Attentive. Kind.

“So what keeps
you
busy now, James?”

Jim reached for his drink. “I turned over my law practice to my oldest son a few years ago, but I still pop in unannounced from time to time. Much to his delight.”

“Then you have children?”

He nodded as he took a small sip. “Two boys. Four grandchildren.”

“How nice for you.”

“What about you?”

“I have a granddaughter, Meg.”

“Alexandra’s daughter?”

“No,” said Edie. “My son Owen’s. Meg lives most of the year with her mother in New York City. It’s been terribly hard on him.”

“I can imagine.”

She scanned the restaurant, her thoughts swerving from wistful pleasure to concern. She’d been so eager to get there that she’d barely considered how it would look being out in public with Tucker’s best friend. Was she imagining it, or were the other diners looking at them? On their way in, she’d waved at old neighbors across the restaurant—had they appeared suspicious when they’d waved back, or was she simply reading too much in their sun-weathered faces? Would the news of her shared meal be all over town the next morning? No, she was being ridiculous. It was the summer season. She herself barely knew half the diners in the restaurant. They couldn’t have cared less about an old woman and her equally old companion. Sure, maybe a few familiar faces might look twice, might even inquire or make the connection over coffee at the market in the morning, but there was no great scandal in it. Who but she and maybe a handful of locals would even
remember
James Masterson?

“Everything all right, Edie?”

She looked back at Jim, seeing the concern in his eyes, his gentle smile. She sat up straighter, forcing her features to soften. “Everything’s fine,” she said, taking up her iced tea. “I was just thinking how different it looks in here; that’s all.”

“It doesn’t take long for things to change.”

She shrugged. “Some things,” she said. “Other things seem to take forever.”

Jim leaned in, his voice dropping. “We don’t have to stay, you know. If this is uncomfortable for you. Being here. With me, I mean. I can get the check and have them pack up our food to go. . . .”

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Edie said firmly, her earlier modesty shifting to petulance. Why shouldn’t she have dinner with an old friend, dammit? Despite what her children knew, that had been a special summer, and she was enjoying revisiting her memories of it, more so than she ever would have expected. She had nothing to feel bad about.

“You’re sure?” Jim asked.

Edie settled back in her seat, determined now. “I’m having a wonderful time,” she said as she snapped open her napkin over her lap. “So wonderful, in fact, that I might just order dessert.”

L
exi unloaded her gear from the car and set up in the great room by the bank of windows. She’d come with hot lights, not sure what natural light she’d be granted and knowing the cottage had been emptied of most of its artificial lighting. She’d focus her work on the first floor today, wanting to make the most of the sun while she had it for the home’s most impressive rooms and historic features, most especially for the stained-glass panes that would truly sing backlit by strong sunlight. In the morning she kept her field of vision small, focusing on details: copper heat registers, leaded-glass panels in the great room’s cabinets, the chair rail molding above the wainscoting, nickel-finished cabinet latches, hand-hammered escutcheons and finger loop pulls, finding just the right levels to make the textures come through.

She knew better than anyone that such careful composition was gratuitous for a straightforward registry application, but she didn’t care. Photographing interiors like these was too rich an opportunity to rush through or document with blown-out lighting. Cooper had agreed to pay her fee, no matter how long she took to shape her shots, and so she lingered lovingly over every detail, spending a half hour getting the settings just right on a copper light fixture, another half hour on the fireplace mantel.

She was so immersed in her work that she didn’t hear Cooper descend the great stairwell at three thirty, emerging for the first time all day from his “writer’s cave,” as he’d called it.

“Getting some good shots?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. “I just hope they’re as good as I think they are.”

Cooper ran a hand through his short hair. “I know that feeling. You pound out a couple thousand words and pray they sound as brilliant when you read them over again. In my case, they rarely do.” He grinned. “I find rereading them after a few beers helps.”

Lexi smiled. “I’ll have to try that.” She brushed a wave of loose hair behind her ear. “I take it your swim yesterday worked its magic?”

“I got a few good ideas,” Cooper admitted. “Enough to get started. Sometimes that’s the hardest part.”

She nodded, wondering for a moment whether his comment was strictly about writing. In the days since she’d accepted his job offer, her curiosity about his memory of their night together had lingered. It seemed she saw opportunity for confirmation in all of their exchanges. Once or twice she’d nearly come right out and asked him whether he remembered. Now she felt the same temptation. And why not? She’d been here a few days and she felt comfortable in his company—maybe
too
comfortable. It shouldn’t have made any difference whether he remembered or not, but it did to her, try as she did to pretend otherwise.

The clang of the kitchen screen rang out; Cooper glanced at the doorway. “That would be Jim back with a mess of lobsters,” he said. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’d love to hear more about your work.”

“I can’t,” Lexi said. “My best friend’s son has a Little League game tonight at six. Her husband’s on the road this week and I promised I’d keep her company.”

“Sure.” Cooper smiled. “Maybe some other time.”

An unexpected disappointment settled over her; she suddenly wished she had been free to accept his invitation. The hours of dusk had always been her favorite in the house, watching the evening sun slip lower through the windows, feathering the floors with shades of lilac and silver, bringing with it the gentle breeze of coming night and the luscious smells of earth and sea settling into sleep. It was a sexy time, full of secrets and promise. She’d always thought so. Now, here with Cooper, she felt the stirrings of that promise again. Somehow she suspected dinner with him, their table basking in the lavender glow of sunset, would be a deeply romantic experience.

Not that she had any business having a deeply romantic experience with Hudson’s younger brother.

She smiled, as if to hide her thoughts.

“Maybe some other time,” she said.

•   •   •

T
he smell of burned food was evident even before Lexi had stepped inside the house, assaulting her senses the moment she climbed the steps. Her mother, seemingly oblivious to the stench, sat at the kitchen table amid a sea of supply catalogs and receipts, fitfully tapping at a calculator.

Lexi walked to the stove and peered down into a pot, her nose wrinkling at the charred ropes of what was once pasta clumped at the bottom. “Please tell me that wasn’t your dinner.”

“That wasn’t my dinner,” Edie muttered absently as she continued to enter numbers.

Lexi wandered over to the table and took a seat. “Is that the quote for the guest house?”

Edie glanced up, wearing a guilty look. “Just say it already.”

“Say what?”

“I’m a hypocrite.”

“You’re not a hypocrite,” said Lexi.

“Of course I am. One day I’m chastising you for going back down there, and the next day”—Edie flung her hand at the chaos of paperwork—“I’m right on your heels. Shit . . .” Edie set down her pen and cradled her face in her hands. Lexi had always loved her mother’s hands; they were tiny but strong, with round nails that she would still catch her mother chewing on in times of stress. Tonight Lexi noticed several were unusually ragged and short. Lexi leaned in to survey the spread of papers. “So how bad is it?”

“Bad,” said Edie, picking up her phone and showing Lexi the pictures she’d taken that afternoon. “Water’s been everywhere. We’ll have to tear down to the studs. All new wiring, plumbing. Nothing’s up to code. And don’t even get me started on the roof. . . .” Edie took a breath, the tension in her features softening suddenly, turning wistful. “He’s grown into quite a handsome man, hasn’t he?”

Lexi flushed instantly, knowing who her mother meant.

“I suppose,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the small screen of the phone.

“He looks so much like his father I nearly fell over,” Edie said, then added with a wry smile, “and not a damn thing like Hudson.”

T
he home team’s dugout reminded Lexi of the bleachers at her first middle school dance, where all the boys sat slumped, looking bored in their fathers’ ties and too-shiny shoes. At the top of the eighth inning the Harrisport Harriers were down fourteen runs to the Sandwich Seals.

Lexi caught the eye of Kim’s eleven-year-old son at shortstop and waved.

“I see Miles found his lucky socks.”

“They’re lucky, all right,” said Kim, gesturing to the scoreboard.

“Sandwich always had better teams,” said Lexi.

“Yeah, but we have better popcorn.” Kim grinned as she scooped up a handful out of the bucket on Lexi’s lap. “So how’s it going down at the house? Still no sign of Hudson?”

A curious question, Lexi thought, unsure of how to answer. What sort of sign did Kim mean? Hudson may not have yet appeared in the flesh, but there was no question there was evidence of him everywhere Lexi looked, memories of their romance catching her off guard when she’d focus her lens on a part of the house. She’d simply have to work harder to ignore them.

“No Hudson,” Lexi answered finally.

“Thank God for that. How’s your new boss?”

“Cooper’s not my boss, Kim.”

“He’s paying you, isn’t he?”

“That’s the idea,” said Lexi, watching a base hit.

“Then he’s your boss,” said Kim. “So, no girlfriend’s come on the scene yet?”

“No girlfriend. Just an old friend of his father’s.”

“And Cooper doesn’t wear a ring, right?”

“No.” Lexi felt a keen sense of embarrassment that she knew the answer. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means plenty,” said Kim. “It means he’s either not married—or he’s married and he’s not happy about it.”

“Will you stop?” Lexi whispered harshly. “Can we just watch the rest of the game, please?”

“You watch the game,” said Kim, suddenly grinning. “I’ll watch the hottie who just walked up.”

Lexi looked toward the end of the bleachers where Kim’s eyes had landed and drew in a quick breath to see Cooper climbing the steps, knowing she should say something before he reached them, but unable to find her voice.

“Hi.” Cooper arrived and took a seat beside Lexi. “I hope you don’t mind a last-inning crasher.” He leaned forward, extending his hand to Kim. “I don’t know if you remember me; we met out at the house a long time ago. Cooper Moss.”

“Cooper, of course! I didn’t recognize you,” Kim said, shooting Lexi a knowing look, then turning her smile back to Cooper. “Welcome.”

“I would have been here earlier,” said Cooper, “but I stopped in at four other games before I found y’all. I had no idea there were so many Little League teams around here. Which one’s your son?”

Kim pointed. “Shortstop in the red socks,” she said. “Don’t ask. It’s all my husband’s doing. He thinks Miles needs lucky socks.”

“That must be why I’ve been having such a hard time with my novel,” Cooper said to Lexi. “No socks.”

“You’re working on a new book?” Kim asked, leaning over. “What’s it about?”

“You know, I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” Cooper admitted.

“Does anyone fall in love?” asked Kim. “Because someone has to fall in love for me to read it. Oh, and they have to have lots of sex in the process.”

Lexi sent Kim a disapproving look; Cooper laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned to Lexi. “You missed a good dinner.”

“I’m sure I did.” Lexi could feel Kim’s questioning eyes on her as the crowd cheered an out at home plate, and they all turned their attention to the field.

“I could really use a Coke,” Cooper said, nodding to the shingled snack bar at the end of the bleachers. “Can I get either of you ladies anything?”

Lexi and Kim shook their heads.

“Well hello, handsome,” Kim breathed when he’d left. “No wonder you took the job. And when were you going to tell me he asked you out?”

“He didn’t ask me out,” whispered Lexi, glancing around. “He asked me to have dinner with him and his old friend Jim at the house. He was obviously just being polite because I was still there when the food arrived.”

Kim looked unconvinced. “So which would you rather it was?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you rather he was being polite, or would you rather he wanted to rip off all your clothes and feed you lobster in bed?”

“How can you even ask me that? He’s Hudson’s brother.”

“So what?” Kim argued. “He’s sexy as hell, and he’s obviously hot for you. He drove around for God knows how long to find you tonight, didn’t he?”

“He doesn’t know anyone here. I’m sure he was probably desperate to get out.”

“Why are you making excuses?”

Was she? Lexi scanned the snack bar for Cooper, finding him already at the counter.

She turned to Kim. “He kissed me.”

“What?” Kim stared at her. “When?
Today?
”

“No, the night Hud and I broke up. He kissed me in the car in front of my apartment.”

“Wait—like,
really
kissed you? Like on the lips?”

Lexi nodded, feeling utterly infantile having to describe it that way. How old were they, for God’s sake?

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” demanded Kim.

“Why do you think? I was twenty-three; he was eighteen. It was probably against the law.”

“Oh, please.” Kim smiled wickedly. “You brat, I can’t believe you never told me.”

“Shh, he’s coming back,” Lexi said, her eyes fixed on Cooper as he slipped through the crowd with his drink.

“So was he a good kisser?”

“Shh.”

“He was, wasn’t he?”

Cooper arrived and took his seat. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” said Lexi, wanting to answer before Kim sneaked in a telling comment.

He pointed to the board, the Harriers’ zero still unchanged. “Any chance the home team might score tonight?” he asked.

Kim gave Lexi’s thigh a discreet but pointed nudge. “Hard to say,” Kim replied. “The away team might be too hot for them to handle.”

Lexi returned the nudge firmly, feeling her cheeks burn and hoping Cooper wasn’t picking up on Kim’s innuendo. Leave it to her best friend to reduce them to a pair of tittering twelve-year-olds.

“I’m an incurable optimist,” said Cooper with a smile. “There’s still plenty of time.”

Kim grinned at Lexi but didn’t say a word.