Screwdrivered
Page 18

Now? It was a mess of weeds. The occasional volunteer carrot poked through here and there, but mostly it was an overgrown mess. That was something I was going to have to remedy. Might not be able to get it done right away, but it would be nice to have some growing going on back there again. I gazed out over the pasture on the other side of the barn, thinking back to how much land used to belong to this plot. Sold off in parcels over the years, it was still a nice spread, and the pasture still stretched over the hill. But so much less than it used to be. I sighed as I shuffled through the dusty soil, turning back toward the house. Lots of work to do. But no more tonight.
I spent the rest of the evening sprawled out in front of the old television, watching the one channel I could get with the rabbit ears. Honest-to-god rabbit ears. The TV was one of those old box ones, with the wood veneer surround and actual legs. The rabbit ears were made out of a wire hanger wrapped in aluminum. I was too tired to care, and I dozed in front of it watching Lawrence Welk on PBS. I began to doze off before he could get through the a-one-and-a-two.
Sometime after midnight, I headed up to my bedroom, automatically dodging the stacks and piles that littered the floor. Falling into the soft bed, I wrapped myself in the cozy blankets and fell asleep once more to the sound of waves crashing.
The next morning I slept in until 5:30 a.m.! Considering that was eight thirty back home, I pronounced it a triumph. I was planning on staying in this morning, having some cereal and getting a jump on the day, but then I remembered how antiquated the coffeepot was. Technically, it might even be a percolator. Technically, I wasn’t messing with it. I put “coffeepot” on my list of things to buy, and got dressed to head into town.
Deciding to walk again this morning, I said hello to the Bel Air in the garage. I needed to find the key to that beauty. There were several junk drawers in the kitchen that it could be in, to say nothing of the thousand other crazy places it could be in that house.
As I walked down the drive, I heard a dog barking nearby. I was suddenly struck with the realization that if I stayed here, I could get a dog! Not that I couldn’t back home, but I never liked the idea of keeping a big dog confined to an apartment. And big dog I would have, no tiny yippy yappy for me. And with this house and pasture? A dog would be perfect. I’d put a pin in it for now and think about it later, but it was definitely a plus in the Stay in Mendocino column. Which was growing ever larger the longer I was here.
Heading down the road into town, within minutes I was on my stool at the end of the counter, and ten minutes after that I had a plateful of breakfast and an earful of observations from Jessica.
“I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I have never seen him so worked up!”
“Don’t blow a gasket, he wasn’t all that worked up,” I replied, poking my sunny-side-up egg with a piece of bacon, making the yolk run all over.
“Listen, I’ve known Clark Barrow since we were in grade school. He never gets worked up. He is always Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected. The only time he was remotely this excitable was when they announced they were making the Lord of the Rings movie.”
“I think you’re making too big a deal of this. Tabasco?” I asked, forking up a mouthful of hash browns. “You’ve known him that long?”
“Girl, I’ve known everyone that long.” She handed me the hot sauce. “Clark was two years younger than me, but yeah, I’ve known him a long time.”
“Thanks,” I said, sprinkling the hot sauce liberally over my plate. “And he’s always been this uptight?”
“You know, it’s not that he’s uptight. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about him. He’s just . . .”
“Rigid? Unrelenting? Stick up his ass?”
“Studious. Methodical. Organized,” she said with a pointed glance.
“Okay, okay, if you say so. But from what I’ve seen—”
“From what I’ve seen, you can’t keep your brain from scrambling around Hank. What’s that about?” she asked before I knew what was happening. I crammed a forkful of hash browns into my mouth and made a show of chewing. She laughed out loud, pouring me and everyone else at the counter a hotter upper. Any time she made a move toward my end, I shoveled in another mouthful.
This thing with Hank had turned me inside out. I’d never acted like this in front of a guy before. But I was now living out my own romance novel, right? I mean, that’s what this had all been about. The mysterious phone call in the middle of the night, the move across the country, the cowboy riding a horse on the beach without a shirt on? Who has a tough exterior, but inside, down deep, deeeeeep, there resides a heart of gold? Right?
Was he the one? The man who would finally say those words I’d never before heard? Had I finally met my I Love You Man? My instincts were telling me yes, in fact I had.
Patience, Viv. Peel that onion. Reveal the layers. Anyone with a chest like that is worth waiting for. Worth sneezing for.
When the plate was metaphorically licked clean, I waved her over. She came quickly, eager to dish.
“Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me all about Hank.”
“Hmm, let’s see. I’ve known him about as long as Clark, he’s actually a year older than I am. Played football with John; they used to pal around back in the day. Hank is . . . hmmm . . .”
Handsome we knew. Incredible to look at was a given. Here came the real insight into the enigma that was Hank. Sweet? Kind? Passionate? Hung?
Get a grip, Viv.
“Simple,” she said, setting down my check.
“That’s it? Simple?”
“Mm-hmm. That’s all I’ll say for now,” she replied mysteriously, and walked away.
“Simple?” I yelled after her, causing everyone to turn and stare at me. I stared them all down. “Morning Mr. Martin.” I laid my bills on the counter and sauntered out the front door.
Back at the house I spent some more time in the second bedroom, steadily making my way down the hallway. I was leaving Aunt Maude’s room for last; I couldn’t even imagine taking that on yet. And besides, the Legless Knight seemed to have things pretty well under control in there. I kept the laundry moving, washing sheets for the bed even though I was pretty sure I’d picked my bedroom. As I cleaned and organized, divided piles, and sorted through years of accumulations, it felt better to be able to walk by two bedrooms that looked livable.
Clean white cotton sheets now covered the bed in the second bedroom. I’d washed them twice and added extra softener so they didn’t have that folded-in-the-linen-closet-for-years look to them. I’d lucked out in a hall closet and found stacks of lovely old quilts, folded neatly and encased in Aunt Maude’s favorite storage container, Hefty bags. They’d done their job, though; the quilts were in great shape. Now the old iron bed was dressed with a simple but very pretty nine-block piece in lemony yellows and dusty pinks. Not my taste, but chrome and black leather would be out of place here. In this house, quilts just felt right. And if I was being honest with myself, I liked the look more than I thought I would. I scrubbed the wood floors not only in the second bedroom, but down the hall as well. Slowly but surely, clean spots were starting to take over. I’d nearly used up my meager cleaning supplies, though, which meant another run into town.