Beach Winds (5 page)

What had possessed him to agree to paint Will
’s house? He could’ve walked away. It wasn’t a big deal, but a paint job? Not his favorite pastime.

It was one thing to do favors for Will, but for this woman
? For a brief moment, he’d seen…what? A woman who was full of trouble, that much was obvious. Those two vertical lines etched between her eyebrows were an obvious warning sign. He felt some sympathy figuring she was torn up about her uncle.

T
hen she did what every woman ultimately did, except this one didn’t waste any time. Her true nature came out and her cold practicality outdid even a winter gale on the ocean. What had she said? ‘Either way?’ Like it meant nothing. As if whether Will Denman recovered or not was all the same to her.

Her own uncle. Will had said he trusted her. For her, this was
nothing more than business. To sell the place faster. She only wanted to run back to her soft, convenient life.

It didn
’t take long for a woman to forget a guy. Took even less time for her to replace him.

Brian grabbed his leather jacket from the handlebar and shrugged it on. He threw his leg over the motorcycle, jammed the helmet down on his head. Not
ideal weather for bike riding, but his mood demanded it.

He was almost a mile down the road when he remembered what Will had said about his niece. Aside from his elderly sister, Fran was the only blood relative, or relative of any kind for that matter, who was worth anything. Which, in Brian
’s opinion, was about the saddest thing a man could admit. The only thing sadder was when Will had also said if a man lives long enough, he outlives his friends and everyone he loves. To Brian’s way of thinking, that wasn’t all bad. At least, it meant you once had friends and loved ones worth keeping.

He parked his bike in the garage next to his apartment. The apartment was on the back of the garage. Now that was convenience he could appreciate.

His phone beeped. He pulled off his helmet and heavy jacket, and dropped them on the chair by the door. He stripped the sweatshirt over his head and tossed it over the back of the chair. The sudden loss of thermal warmth caused a shiver, yet it was a relief at the same time. One day he’d learn to wear the suit and protect his legs, too, so he could walk like a whole person, instead of limping along like he was still injured. He dropped onto the couch and put his boots on the coffee table, then touched the voicemail icon to retrieve the message. It was his sister, his well-meaning and interfering sister.

“
Are you coming to dinner tonight? Mom and Dad will be here and hoping to see you. Let me know. Give me a call. Come whether you call or not. Dinner’s at six and I’m making one of your favorite meals. If six doesn’t work for you, we can eat a little later. Please come, Brian. It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together.”

Unlike Will, he had family that was worth something, but he
’d lost the connection. He pulled off one boot and then the other, wincing at the pain in his thigh, and put his feet back up on the table. He laid his head back against the soft sofa, letting loose a groan since there was no one to hear. His back. His neck. His leg. The muscles had tightened up like a board, each twisting the other, even after a year. The cold didn’t help. He rubbed his thigh.

Someday maybe he
’d get his old enthusiasm back. He would welcome it, and his family, back into his life. There was more to life than what he was doing now. There had to be more. But for a long while now, he couldn’t remember what.

Now, apparently, he was a handyman
and a house painter. He stood abruptly, jolting his back and thigh. He paced the room, which only took about twenty steps. He was going to paint the inside of Will’s house. For this woman. Not for Will. Will was happy with his house as it was. But what would a coat of paint hurt?

He could watch out for Will
’s interests at the same time. Maybe intervene if she wasn’t living up to Will’s expectations.

He searched the freezer for the most likely looking frozen dinner. Salisbury steak and gravy? Beef tips and broccoli? He kept digging until he found the least objectionable one. He
’d make do.

He was a simple kind of guy and it didn
’t take much to make him happy. Well, not happy, but content. Enough, anyway. He knew the good and the bad and had learned that you have to be willing to live somewhere in-between.

****

The next morning, Brian stood in the middle of Will’s living room and scratched his head. If she’d started painting yesterday, why did everything look so completely in place? The ladder was standing in the corner with a few books stacked on its steps as if that were its true purpose.

Behind him, she cleared her throat and said,
“I didn’t move the furniture. I thought we might start with one blank wall and then move the furniture around as needed?”

“
We?” He was only half-kidding. She was wearing slacks and a soft-looking sweater, not the casual kind, but nice clothes as if she was heading into the office or maybe to church. All she was missing was a string of pearls like his grandma sometimes wore.

“
Or we can hire a helper? Whatever you think best.”

He nodded.
“I’ll need some help with the larger furniture. We should be able to manage it.” But even as he spoke, he noted she was on the thin side. Probably wouldn’t be moving much furniture, after all. Nice looking, though. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and dropped it on the sofa. He didn’t mind risking his T-shirt for the job.

“
Maybe you could take the pictures down from the walls?”

There was a cheap print of an ocean scene and another of a naval battle. She carried them down the hallway and then returned to gather up the framed photos. Next, she carried off armloads of books. He had to admit, she made herself useful and without complaint. When the drapes came down from the sliding doors, dust particles swirled in the light. She had a coughing fit.

She waved her hands to clear the air. “Apparently, Mrs. Blair draws the line at cleaning the draperies.” She coughed again.

He gathered the musty drapes and carried them down the hallway himself.

They saw the slip of folded paper on the floor at the same time.

“
Did you drop something?” she asked.

Since the answer was obvious, he
didn’t respond, but reached down to pick it up. He knew what this was. He called them Will’s fortune cookies, but without the cookies.

“
What is it?”

Brian held it out, but she stayed back, so he
left the paper on the counter. “It’s Will’s. He salts these around the house.”

She walked
over and picked it. “2
nd
Corinthians. Why does he do that?”

This woman, Fran Denman, asked a lot of questions. He shrugged and went to move an end table out of the way. He
’d already said enough. He wasn’t going to discuss Will’s quirks, not even with his niece.

When the room had been cleared of stuff, the woman
went to stand in the kitchen with the counter between them. After all the running around, now she stood very still, like a rabbit trying to vanish into the background. When he looked at her, she blushed.

“
You okay?”

She waved her hands around.
“I’m fine. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“
Tea,” he repeated back to her. “Iced tea?”

“
A cup of hot tea. I have several blends.”

Hot tea?
“No, thanks. Not for me.” He went to work rearranging the drop cloth and then positioned the ladder.

“
Do you have spackling?”

“
Spackling? Oh, for patching holes. No, I’m sorry.”

She had tea, but no spackling.
“I’ll bring some tomorrow. I’ll start the trim work today. Where’s the tape?”

“
I didn’t buy any.”

He frowned and stared.
“Was I supposed to bring it with me? I assumed you’d have the supplies since you were already prepared to do the job yourself.”

“
I didn’t think I’d need tape.”

Her
ready-to-run rabbit stance was changing. He heard a danger warning in her voice. He almost smiled. She was so perfect, so cultured. So ladylike. As if nothing could rattle her. It gave him some satisfaction to shake up that composure, so he didn’t answer. He turned his back and began painting, cutting in the corners.

He tried to focus, to keep it all in perspective, but after a while he was dissatisfied. Something was bugging him. He must
’ve given signs of it because she spoke, asking, “Is there a problem?”

He replied smoothly
, “Nothing that can’t be fixed tomorrow with tape and spackling.”

“
Should I go get some? I can drive over to the mainland. Or the grocery store might have them.”

He grunted.
“By the time you get back, I’ll be ready to stop for the day. I have to leave by mid-afternoon.” He stopped and turned around. “I guess we should have discussed it. I can only paint part of each day. I have other obligations, so this project may take a while.”

Was that a look of approval on her face? Did she actually sigh? As if in relief?
Odd, since this woman seemed to have more hurry in her than most.

“
That’s fine. Really, there’s no rush.”

She
’d come around the end of the counter like she was ready to usher him right out the door.

“
Maybe I’ll wrap up for now. I might as well wait until I have the supplies.”

He expected her to object
, to ask why he couldn’t get more done today using what he had, but she didn’t.

“
No problem at all. Totally understandable. I’ll help you clean up.”

He looked around. Clean up what? The
work area was only now ready.

“
Can we leave the ladder and other supplies out? Maybe fold over the plastic a little so you can walk around?”

“
Certainly.”

Did she want this place painted or not?
“I’ll pick up the other stuff later today.”

“
Thank you. Do you need cash up front or will you bill me?”

“
Now that I think of it, I’ll roll a couple of the walls first.” He couldn’t help himself. “I’m already here. It’d be a shame to waste the whole day.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as he bent to pick up the three-pack of rollers. He tore the plastic, still watching. He saw her dismay and felt a little guilty. It wasn
’t his purpose in life to torture this woman. He hadn’t meant it as torture anyway. Something about her irritated him. And those two lines between her eyes—yeah, those eyes. They were deepest blue he’d ever seen.

“
Yep, shame to waste the day, that is, unless you have something you need to take care of. If so, I’ll get out of your way.” That was her opportunity. Would she take it?

A moment of stillness, then she spoke, but in a voice that sounded measuring, maybe a little suspicious.

“As a matter of fact, I do have a couple of errands to run, but you can stay here and work if you want to.”

Bravo, he thought. Score one for Fran Denman. Did she
know there was a game on? Now, he was embarrassed. He didn’t recall Will asking him to give his niece a hard time.

“
Up to you, ma’am.”

“
Please call me Frannie.”

He nodded.

Her phone rang. “Excuse me.” She went straight to it. “Hello?”

Brian heard only her side of the conversation and had no idea
who she was speaking with. He tried not to eavesdrop but went ahead and put the roller cover on the frame and got the tray situated.

“
Yes, please.” She paced a bit, concentrating on the call. “Can he afford it?”

She stopped, standing still while she listened.

“I see. Well, I’m having the house painted.” She grimaced at Brian and mouthed, “Sorry”. “When it’s time to sell, the house will be ready.” She paused, listening, and then continued, “Whatever we need to do. I’ll be here on and off. Thanks for the update.”

Brian
pretended he wasn’t interested, but it was obvious who and what they were talking about. Ready to sell whenever? That so? He stopped short of taking the lid back off the paint can.

“
I’ll pick up again tomorrow, after all,” he said.

“
Whatever you want.”

“
See you about ten a.m.?”

Leaving so early in the day, he went straight up the road and across the bridge to the hardware store. He was on his bike. He should
’ve gone home first. Should’ve worn warmer clothes. Should’ve. By the time he made it home, the wind chill and damp air had worked into his thigh and he could barely walk.