Page 109 of Lies and Lullabies
In March, Vivi and I had driven up to get the deed and the keys. It had been just the two of us, because Jonas had been touring Australia.
Mrs. Wetzle had cried at the closing, even though it was her idea to sell the house and move into an upscale retirement community in Portland. “I’ll miss the place,” she’d said, dabbing at her eyes.
“We’ll take good care of it,” I’d promised.
“I hope your musician comes back to you,” she’d added.
“He’ll be back on Tuesday,” I’d said in what was probably a testy voice.
“Well. I sure hope so. Musicians are special, but they don’t stick around. My Harry was a pianist. He loved me, but he loved the big life more.” She blew her nose. “He left me when I was thirty-two. I never loved another man.”
Just like that, all the irritation drained out of me. I’d always thought her dislike of musicians was a character flaw, like her bad cooking. It never occurred to me that it was personal. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I’d said, chastened.
“At least you got a baby out of it,” Mrs. Wetzle went on. “I was alone all these years.”
Just when you think you know a person.
A few minutes later, the keys to the B&B had been in my purse, and the property lawyer had finished collating the documents. I’d wished the older woman luck, and I’d gone back across the street to see how many cookies Vivi had conned out of her grandfather.
The following week, a pack of contractors had descended on the place, transforming it into a nearly unrecognizable space. The room Jonas had rented six years ago used to have a separate entrance. It had been reconfigured to be a first-floor bedroom, just off the open-plan great room.
“I don’t care particularly where everyone sleeps this weekend,” Jonas had told me over the phone this morning. “But that room isours.”
“Really?” I’d asked. “Back to the scene of the crime?”
“Hell, yes. That was the hottest night of my life. Nobody else gets that room. Ever.”
Of course, the bedroom looked completely different now. The new bed sat against the opposite wall from where it had been before. The old carpeting was gone, revealing pretty oak floors. Yet outside the windows the lilac shrubs still grew. They were blooming now, filling the room with their heady scent.
The place was familiar, yet totally different. So was I, for that matter.
I wandered upstairs, looking into each bedroom in turn. Most had queen-sized beds in them, but one bedroom had two sets of bunk beds instead.
“We have to have four children to make that worthwhile,” Jonas had joked. “I don’t want you to complain that four beds is too extravagant.”
“You crack yourself up,” I’d quipped. Though he often told me that he wanted more children. Usually when we were both naked.
Satisfied by my inspection, I wandered back downstairs into the scene-of-the-crime room and sat on the bed. There was a brand-new magazine waiting there for me—I’d bought it to celebrate the end of exams, which had finished only a week ago. But makeup tips and celeb gossip just couldn’t hold my attention, not when Jonas was about to show up. We hadn’t seen each other in three weeks, and I was feeling almost more impatient than Vivi for Jonas to arrive.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, I heard the sound of bus tires on gravel.
Grinning like an idiot, I forced myself not to dash around like a kid on Christmas. Calmly, I walked through the house to the back door. Slipping on a pair of flip-flops, I stepped out onto the long front porch.
The bus doors swung open, and Jonas jumped down first, a huge smile on his face. “Yeah, baby! I’m back.” He jogged toward me, and then we were holding each other tightly. I buried my face in his neck, and he whispered in my ear. “Missed you, sweetness.”
“I missed you, too.”
He stepped back and grinned at me. “How does the house look? Show me everything.”
“Shouldn’t I greet…” I pointed at the bus.
He shrugged. “They’ll understand. Besides, I think Nix and Quinn were asleep when we pulled up.” He tugged my hand and led me inside. “Wow,” he said right away. “The new living room looks great.”
“It really does.”
“The old one reminded me of a Depression-era movie.”
“Why did you buy it if it reminded you of the Depression?”
