Page 8 of Nothing Less than Magic
Knox is back. I’m in my bathrobe, drinking coffee at the kitchen table. He waves to me through the window. I open the top of the Dutch door and ask him if he wants me to top off his thermos.
“Sure.”
I go to grab the pot, and when I turn around, he’s standing in my kitchen.
“Oh, let me get dressed.” I hand him the pot and dash off to the bedroom. I wasn’t expecting him to come in the house.
The cabin is tiny, just a two-bedroom, one bath that Austin and I winterized after we bought it. The previous owner was a widower, who used the place on weekends and holidays for fishing trips, relying on the woodstove for heat. We had plans to add a second story at some point and to expand the kitchen and living room, which currently is a cramped space with dated appliances. What sold us was the location and views. You can see the lake from every room in the house, and the light is magnificent, even though the property is covered in large oak and pine trees.
We furnished the place with a few good pieces—a leather sofa from Ethan Allen, an overstuffed recliner Austin took from his office, and a cannonball bed we got at an antique store in wine country. But other than that, we’ve left the place mostly as is. At least aesthetically. Unfortunately, upkeep has been a constant money pit. Between replacing the old pipes and all the failed windows, we blew our budget for the good stuff, like replacing the hideous ’80s faux rock around the fireplace and the wagon-wheel light fixture that hangs over the dining room.
But I’m not complaining. From the day the real estate agent showed us the place, I knew it was magical. The coziness of the cabin. The fact that I can toss a stone from my back door to the lake. The constant smell of fresh air, the deer that graze in my front yard, the birds, the trees . . . well, it’s just majestic.
I hurriedly dress in a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater, swiping a brush through my hair on my way out, not even bothering to check my reflection in the mirror. It’s a relief not to have to dress up while I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, I like clothes. I like makeup and having my hair done. I even like shoes that kill my arches and squish my toes if they make the outfit. I may not be a fashionista like Lolly, but it’s always been important to me to keep up appearances and look the part of a successful woman. But here, I’d look pretty silly in a suit.
I return to the kitchen to find Knox is still here, sitting at my table, drinking coffee. I half expected—and half hoped—he’d be up on the roof, banging away. I’m not exactly in the mood for company.Then why’d you open your big mouth about coffee?
He looks up from his phone and gives me a thumbs-up. I have no idea why, but I self-consciously pat down my hair.
“The coffee,” he says, and may as well roll his eyes. “It’s good. Where did you get it?”
I think for a second, because it’s probably been here a while, and I didn’t bother to look at the label while I was scooping beans into the grinder. The bag is in the pantry, and I pull it out, look at it, and put it down on the table.
Knox studies the packaging, then slides it back to me. “Not from around here, I can tell you that.”
“It’s from a small roaster in San Francisco. If you like, I’ll get you some.” I’d offer him the bag, but it’s all I have.
“Nah, I’ll stick with Yuban.”
“Okay.” He’s the one who brought it up, but whatever. “How’s the roof coming along?”
“It’s coming, but it’ll take me a couple of days. It’s a multistage process. Luckily, there’s no rain in the forecast.”
At least something is going my way.
Knox drums his fingers on the table. “You still doing those TED Talks?”
He catches me off guard with that one. I am surprised he knows anything about my lectures. Sure, I’ve built a large following with my seminars and books, but it’s not like I’m a household name.
“You’ve been to one?” I ask.
“No, but I’ve seen you on YouTube.”
I surreptitiously glance at his ring finger. There’s nothing there, not even a band of pale skin. My TED Talks are about marriage, how to improve them, how to maintain them, how to compromise so that everyone is happy. Needless to say, the vast majority of my clients are married couples. Or couples on the precipice of divorce, desperately trying to save their marriages.
“Did you find it helpful?” I ask Knox, because the absence of a ring doesn’t mean he isn’t married or that he’s not trying to improve or save a relationship.
“Not in the least,” he says.
Again, I’m taken aback. Not just because of his bluntness, but because I’m good at my job. So good at it, that I don’t even see patients anymore, just lecture and write books full time. Next year, I have a line of calendars with aspirational sayings coming out. We’re also working on a marriage journal for couples to track their good and bad days.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.
“Why?”
“Uh . . . because the whole purpose of my talks is to help.”
“Okay, then can I get a refund?”
