Page 3 of After Life
He huffed a small laugh. “Maybe. But the fact it’s remote without being cut off from the world, and on the beach without being swarmed by tourists in tiny swimsuits and carrying plastic coconuts full of sugar water mixed with rum helped.”
“You charmer,” I teased, and he kissed me again, slower this time. I made a noise of pleased surprise and slipped my arms around his neck, returning the embrace.
Sandra’s return—and the heavy thud of her dropping our bags—drove us apart. “The bedrooms are upstairs,” she said, her flat tone even more pronounced. She swanned past, keys dangling from her fingers, and headed up the wide, sweeping staircase leading to the second level.
“Are you sure you can handle the stairs?” I asked quietly.
“They’re shallow enough. And the PT that works with my doctor said I need to start trying them now.” We gingerly picked our way up the steps after Sandra, leaving our bags behind for the time being. I cast another glance at the window as we reached the landing, pausing to admire the expansive stained-glass design. “Is it original?” I asked.
Sandra made a flustered noise, embarrassed almost. “Mostly. Part of it was damaged during a hurricane in the late 1700s.” She pointed to an upper corner where a piece of glass that looked to be about the size of my hand shone bright and clear, the one uncolored piece in the image. “The original piece is long gone,” she added glumly. “It can’t be replaced.”
Julian was practically vibrating with the need to say something—no doubt about restoration techniques or the decorative style of the glass. He navigated the next few steps on his own, slipping his arm from my loose grasp. “You’re the caretaker, correct?”
Sandra nodded slowly. “Yeah. For a bit now.”
“Then you’re the one to ask. Have you read Doctor Colleen Sewell’s paper on color preservation in antique stained-glass using nondamaging UV blocking compounds?”
Sandra’s eyes widened for a moment before she set her expression into unimpressed lines and gave a sharp nod. “We were in grad school together. Haven’t spoken much since I left my research position though.”
Julian made an excited, happy noise suspiciously close to a purr—that’s my man, a giant cat with a PhD—and started excitedly talking at Sandra about the implications of Sewell’s research. Sandra unbent a bit more and started nodding. The pair of them perched atop the stairs on the narrow landing, leaving me several steps down.
My phone buzzed again. I took it out and glanced down to see a message from Ezra.
Ezra: I’m going to assume you died on the crossing in a very tragic, Victorian way.
Ezra: Death due to being rained on or something equally Dickensian.
I smirked, glancing up at Julian. He was rapt with the description Sandra was giving, despite her curt tone. I thumbed out a reply.
Me: Not Dead Yet: A Memoir by Oscar Fellowes.
Me: And excuse you, my death would be Austenite, never Dickensian.
Me: Just ignore the fact she wrote during the Regency and my aesthetic is more Victorian.
Ezra: Your retro is even retro. Or something. So how is the trip?
Me: Good. Ish. Did you know it’s perfectly legal to just carry mussels around like they’re not the gods’ most terrifying creatures?
I glanced up at Julian and Sandra. She was holding forth in a surprisingly genial manner about the history of the home’s restoration, and Julian seemed fascinated. My phone buzzed again to see Ezra’s response, and I frowned.
Me: Were that many laughing emojis really necessary? And there’s a fucking clam emoji? WTF?
Ezra: I think they’re oysters but yeah, totes necessary.
Ezra: G2G in a sec. We’re going to NOLA for the week! OMG!
Ezra: Harrison rented some fancy hotel room in the French Quarter. He’s being all cute and shy about shit.
Ezra: NGL I think I’m totally gonna put out.
Me: Slag.
Ezra: Love you too, Ozzy. Text me, yeah? Or call. Whatever. It’s weird not being in the same place.
I sent a string of hearts and weird smiling face emojis, which I guess was the thing to do because Ezra responded in kind. Then went quiet.
He was right—it was weird.
