“Would you mind, Simon? I get so emotional when I think of what she went through. I might make it worse. I’d really feel better if I knew she had a good meal, maybe a little company.”
How was it, Simon wondered, that some women could talk you into doing the opposite of what you wanted to do?
His mother had the same talent. He’d watched her, listened, attempted to evade, maneuver, outfox—and she could, without fail, nudge him in the opposing direction.
Sylvia was cut from the same cloth, and now he had a Crock-Pot and a loaf of bread, an assignment—and that contemplative walk on the beach was over before it had begun.
Was he supposed to let Fiona cry on his shoulder now? He hated being the shoulder. He never knew what to say or do.
Pat, pat, there, there. What the fuck?
Plus, if she had any sense—and he thought she did—she’d want solitude, not company.
“If people let other people alone,” he told Jaws, “people would be better off. It’s always people that screw things up for people anyway.”
He’d just give her the food and take off. Better all around. Here you go,
Maybe she wasn’t back yet. Better. He could just leave the pot and loaf on the porch and be done with it.
The minute he turned into her drive, Jaws perked up. The pup danced on the seat, planted his paws on the dash. The fact that he could without doing a header to the floor caused Simon to realize the dog had grown considerably in the last couple weeks.
He probably needed a new collar.
Reaching over, he slid his finger between the collar and the fur. “Shit. Why don’t you tell me these things?”
As he drove over the bridge, the pup’s tail slashed—door, seat, door, seat, in a jubilant rhythm.
“Glad somebody’s happy,” Simon muttered.
The truck sat in the drive; the dogs raced in the yard.
“We’re not staying,” he warned Jaws. “In and out.”
He let the dog out first and considered that what with stump hauling with Gary and Butch, a visit to town, the adoration of women and now the unscheduled playdate with pals, this had turned into the canine version of a day at Disney World for Jaws.
He retrieved the pot and the foil-wrapped bread.
Fiona stood in the doorway now, leaning casually on the jamb. And to Simon’s puzzled surprise, she was smiling.
“Hi, neighbor.”
“I had to go in to Sylvia’s. She asked me to drop this off.”
She straightened to take the lid off the pot and sniff. “Mmm, minestrone. I’m very fond. Bring it on back.”
She moved aside to let him pass and left the door open as she often did.
The fire crackled, the whiff of soup spiced the air, and she smelled like the woods.
“I heard you got your stump.”
“Is it out on the newswire?”
“Grapevine’s faster. I ran into Gary and Sue on my way home. They were heading to their son’s for dinner. Just set it on the counter, thanks. I was going to have a beer, but Syl’s minestrone requires a good red. Unless you’d rather beer.”
The plan to get in and out shifted, weighed by curiosity. The grapevine
She crossed to a long, narrow cupboard—she really could use a wine cabinet—to select a bottle. “So, a sink?”
“What?”
“The stump.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a corkscrew without any rooting around. “Gary said you’re going to make a sink. A stump sink. It’s going to be the talk of the island.”
“Because not that much goes on here. I’ll get your tree planted in a couple days.”
“Works for me.”
He studied her face while she pulled the cork, saw no signs of distress, shed tears, anger. Maybe the grapevine had broken down after all.
She poured the wine, plugged in the cord on the pot. “Let’s give it a few minutes,” she said, and tapped her glass to his. “So, a solarium.”
“A what?”
“You said I should think about a solarium, south side. Open the kitchen. How would it work?”
“Ah... that wall.” He gestured with his glass. “Load-bearing so you’d need support. Maybe a couple of beams, columns—keep it open but give it a sense of entry. Wall out, beams up. Take it out ten, twelve feet. Maybe pitch the roof. Skylights. A good, generous window would give you a view into the woods. Maybe wide-planked floors. You’d have room for a table if you wanted an alternate to eating in the kitchen.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’d be some work.”
“Maybe I’ll start saving my pennies.” She took a sip of wine, then set the glass down to get a jar of olives out of the refrigerator. “You know about the article.”
“Apparently you do.”
She transferred olives from bottle to a shallow dish. “James read it before we met up this morning—and passed the word to the rest of the unit. They were all so worried about bringing it up, not bringing it up, nobody could concentrate. So they finally told me and we got started on our work.”
“Did you read it?”
“No. This is my version of an appetizer, by the way.” She shoved the olives toward him. “No, I didn’t read it, and I won’t. No point. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened before, and nothing I can do to change what’s happening now. I knew it was coming, now it has. Tomorrow it’ll be yesterday.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“Syl sent my favorite soup. She thought I’d be upset.”
“I guess.”
Fiona picked up her wine again, pointed at him with her free hand. “You know very well, as she’d have told you—and maneuvered you into coming by so I wouldn’t be alone.”
The dogs rushed in then, a happy pack of fur. “You’re not alone anyway.”
“True enough.” She gave everyone a rub. “You figured I’d be upset—and probably couldn’t outmaneuver Syl.”
“Does anybody?”
“Not really. I am upset—but in a controllable way. I’ve already had two brooding days this month, so I’m not allowed another one.”
He found himself unwillingly fascinated. “There’s a limit?”
“For me there is. And now I have soup and...” She peeled back the foil. “Mmmm, rosemary bread. This is exceptional. I have a stepmother who’d take the time to make it for me, a neighbor who’d bring it by even though he’d rather not, and my dogs. I’m not allowed to brood. So we’ll have dinner and conversation. But I’m not going to sleep with you after.”
“Cocktease.”
She nearly choked on the wine. “You did not just say that.”
“Say what?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “See? This is better than brooding. Let’s eat.”
She ladled out bowls of soup, put the bread on a board and poured some sort of dipping sauce into a
