Page 10 of Signed, Sealed, and Smitten
“You do,” Jay confirms. “Feel around for a sliding bolt on the right-hand side about a foot up from the bottom.”
“Got it.” It feels big and sturdy with the slightly rough texture of aged iron. The weak light filtering through isn’t enough for me to be sure.
“Go ahead and open it, then keep sliding. The door is actually the back of a wardrobe. Once you’re inside, you’ll probably see light coming through the doors.”
Sure enough, as soon as I slide the wardrobe panel out of the way, I can see a thin vertical band of light where the wardrobe’s front doors meet. There’s only one problem.
“Jay, is there a trick to getting inside the wardrobe?” The top rung is about two feet below the lip of the opening.
He pauses. “I’m trying to think of how to explain it. There’s no graceful way to climb out, but it’s easy if you have practice. You reach in and hold onto the walls and sort of boost yourself off the top rung.”
I feel around inside, and I get what he means. I could hook my hands on either side of the secret entrance and push-pull myself through, but I don’t love the idea of trying it for the first time when I can’t see what I’m doing.
“I should have asked more questions before I started climbing,” I say.
“I promise it’s not too bad.”
I reach to grab the inside, but the second I start to push off the top rung, I get a mental picture of how deep this ladder shaft is. I go right back to my safe rung. I clear my throat and force my voice to sound casual. “I don’t think I get it. Could you explain it a different way?”
He sighs. “I’m an idiot. I should have thought this through and gone first. If you’re okay with it, I can climb over you and help you in from the wardrobe side.”
I can’t think of anything more awkward. “How about a different way than that?”
“Let’s climb down and take the stairs to check out the wardrobe the old-fashioned way.”
There’s no judgment in his tone, but I bristle anyway. Climbing back down makes me feel prissy. It seems like if I’m going to oversee a stalwart New England historic home, I need to channel some New England stalwartness.
“It’s fine, I can do it. Taking my foot off the top unnerved me for a second, but I’ve got this.”
“Permission to give you a boost?”
“Permission granted.”
“On three. Ready? One, two, three.”
But when I push off the top rung, instead of feeling his hands beneath my foot, stirrup-style, I feel a big, firm palm on my butt giving me a shove. I yelp, but as the momentum works, I make it into the wardrobe. I’m glad it’s too dark for Jay to see my inelegant exit, but then I’m on my feet and pressing the wardrobe doors open to let in a flood of morning light.
I whip around to glare at his head rising above the entrance. “That was inappropriate.”
“I asked permission.”
“I thought you meant my foot!”
He stays on the ladder but folds his arms on the floor of the wardrobe, like we’re having a friendly chat over a fence. “How would that work if I have to hold onto the ladder?”
“But—you—still—my—” I stop. What I should say isDuh.Tomyself.Of course that’s how he’d have to do it, because boosting me by the foot would take both his hands to make a stirrup.
“Do you mind moving? I’ll show you how to get in, but if you don’t give me some space, I’m going to have more to apologize for.”
I don’t even want to know what that would mean but a quick calculation says his head would end up at, uh, crotch level. I nearly fling myself out of the wardrobe and into the room. It’s about a six-inch step down, and when I land and wobble, I have to catch my balance on the door. Maybe my second official act of the day after exploring a hidden passageway should be preparing a PowerPoint for Jay Martin titledPhoebe Hopper Is Not a Klutz: A Deeper Look at the Evidence.
I turn around to watch Jay demonstrate proper exit technique. He grips the inside walls and vaults himself into the wardrobe, landing in a crouch. A suspicious crouch.
“Are you doing a Spiderman impersonation?” I ask.
“Yes.” He grins and straightens. “I decided to give it some flair since I have an audience.”
Yeah, that fits. “That’s not fair. I kind of want to redo mine.”
