The Language of Sand

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Nice isn’t the right word. Too general. Unique, maybe. Or striking. Or…”

Abigail couldn’t believe she’d admitted to not using a precise enough adjective. That was how nervous having Nat in the house made her.

“I’m planning to bring the desk into the study and the other pieces into the living room. Problem is, they’re too heavy for me. It would be such an improvement compared to what’s there. Did you get a load of that stuff? How dismal.”

Nat looked at her. “The breaker box?”

“Right. Over here.” She pointed it out, sensing that Nat was waiting for her to leave. “I’ll be, um, upstairs if you need me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Abigail retreated to the kitchen, muttering to herself, “Who does he think he is? This is my house. Or it’s sort of my house. What was Merle thinking, sending him here? Him of all people.”

“I owed him for some supplies from his store.” Nat was standing at the kitchen door. “I couldn’t pay him, so he told me he’d clear my debt if I’d take a look at your wiring.”

Embarrassed at being overheard, Abigail took a second to respond. “I had no idea you were an electrician.”

“I’m not. Anymore, that is. I was. Before.”

Nat shifted on his heels. Discussing any aspect of his personal life made him as uncomfortable as it made Abigail.

“Merle mentioned something about the bathroom light, that you were having trouble with it.”

“You could say that.”

She led him to the bathroom. “You’ll have to ignore the grout situation.”

“Forgot to wipe it, huh?”

“Yup.”

“It’s not hard to fix. What you do is get it damp again, remove the excess, reapply the grout, and wipe it fast. Like this.”

Nat wet a bath towel and started scrubbing the rigid swirls that were caked on the tiles. Then he began to respread the grout around the tub. He was deft with the trowel.

“I take it you’ve done this before.”

“I’ve done a lot of things before.”

Abigail understood how it felt to have a before and how distant it could seem compared to the present.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the Kozy Kettle. I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

Nat glanced at her as if to say, That’s the understatement of the year, lady.

“And I didn’t mean to stare last night when you were with Hank—”

He cut her short. “Don’t worry about it.”

Yet that was what Abigail thought she ought to do. Worry. Hank Scokes was evidently in pain and drinking to numb it. He had lost his spouse like she had. However, Abigail had her own worries.

“You mind?”

Because the bathroom was barely big enough for one person, Nat had to back out in order to finish. Abigail was blocking his path.

“Sorry.” She’d been peering over his shoulder, so she stepped into the hall, giving him a wider berth. “Listen, I really want to move that furniture up from the basement and I can’t do it alone. Maybe I could pay you to help me.”

He shook his head firmly. “Couldn’t take money for that.”

“Why not?’

“Just can’t.”

“Then we could trade, like you and Merle did.”

“What are you going to swap me for?” Nat said, incredulous.

Cooking was out. Cleaning too. He wouldn’t believe she was decent at either, based on the current state of the house. Abigail was stumped.

“You still thinking?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, what did you do before you came here?”

For a moment, Abigail genuinely couldn’t remember.

“I was a lexicographer. That’s a—”

“I know what it is.”