Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“We’re only custodians, dear. Spirits passing through. This house won’t always belong to you,” she said. “One day, you’ll pass it on to your nearest and dearest. Just as Susan passed it onto you. By the way, I love what you’ve done with the floor.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s all Lars and his helpers.”
“Speaking of which, be extra careful today. I have a feeling,” she warned Lars.
“Right,” said Lars, with a frown. Messages from the great beyond were really not his thing. “I better get to work.”
Miss Lillian waved her fingers at him.
Once he was gone, I asked, “Is this house haunted?”
“Have you experienced anything that would make you think that?”
“No,” I said.
She looked around the kitchen with interest. “Major changes like this can certainly stir things up. Restless spirits and echoes from the past. But I don’t get the sense that anything here means you harm.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either, dear.”
“What do you suggest we do about the divorce certificate?” I asked. “Are we doomed if, on the off chance, we do get involved?”
Her smile was gentle. “The future is a fluid thing, Susie. Little is definite. We’re born and therefore one day we’ll die. That’s unavoidable. As for everything in between...”
“But what about fate?”
“What about it?” She patted me on the hand. “Just do your best, dear. That’s all any of us can do. But I will say, you’re going to need a lot of patience.”
Suddenly we heard Lars yelling out a curse in the living room.
“What?” I yelled back.
More swearing, followed by a begrudging “Hit my thumb with the hammer.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he grumbled.
Miss Lillian just shook her head.
It wasn’t funny and I shouldn’t have laughed.
* * *
“It’s not like Miss Lillian didn’t warn you.”
Lars sat on the front steps with a bottle of water. “Have I ever happened to mention that you talk too much?”
“No. You did say I’m overly and somewhat unnecessarily honest.”
“That’s the polite way of saying you talk too much.”
“Maybe you listen too little,” I said. “Have you ever thought of that?”
Silence. Which meant I won.
Since the house stank of primer and plaster, it was more pleasant outside. I’d been sitting on one of the porch chairs and working on my laptop for hours. Mateo already left for the day. The cat wandered out from behind the lavender bush and peered up at Lars. Then she climbed up the steps to sniff at his boot. Happy with whatever scents she picked up, she commenced rubbing her face against his jeans-clad leg. What a hussy.
The divorce certificate had been returned and was in my pocket. For some reason I felt better having it with me. Like it had become a touchstone or something.
“Hello,” he said.
I smiled. “She likes you.”
“I’m a very likeable person.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Among other things.”
He snorted and reached down to scratch behind her ears. “I’m having a few drinks with friends tomorrow for my birthday. Nothing big. I was wondering if you’d like to come.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “You want me there?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. It wouldn’t be weird?”
“No.”
Not quite sure that I believed him, I um’ed and ah’ed for a minute. “Well, not that I want to willingly admit that I don’t have Saturday-night plans, but I’d love to.”
“Great.”
“Are we becoming friends?” I asked, bemused.
“Weren’t we already friends?”
I took a moment, choosing my words with care. “If we were friends, we’d have made some effort to keep in contact after I broke up with he-who-shall-not-be-named. But we didn’t. We were more like acquaintances.”
“Right.”
“It’s nice that we’ve started talking this week. That we’re getting along independent of...all that.”
“Yeah.” He held up his thumb, inspecting the poor bruised thing. “She had a feeling.”
“And she was right.”
He gave me an indulgent smile. “She saw that I was hungover and distracted. That’s what people like that do, they read body language.”
“Are you saying she was correct when she said we’re horny for each other?”
“There’s no way in hell I’m answering that.”
“You’re smarter than you look.”
“Thanks.” He laughed. “Why are you always picking on me?”
“Why are you always picking on me?” I asked. “It’s like that old nonsense about how the kid in third grade who pushes you over is secretly crushing on you. They’re not. They’re just an asshole. And yet, we cannot seem to stop poking at each other.”
He grinned. “Maybe we’re both assholes.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Isn’t it nice that we have things in common?”
* * *
The birthday drinks were held at a whiskey-and-meat joint near the water downtown. I wore a black silk tank, blue jeans, and black leather slide sandals with a high heel. My hair was in a messy bun, my lips were shiny, and I felt good about myself. It was great to be out and about. The last six months mostly involved hunkering down and hiding.