Firefly Mountain (19 page)

“Have a nice drive,” Liz said as she waved.

Patrick had to adjust the passenger seat in the small pickup truck so his knees didn’t bump into the dashboard. Funny how that increase in space did nothing to lift the tightness in his chest. Cramped. Still so cramped.

Walter settled into the driver’s seat and started the truck. He backed out of Jonah’s driveway as if he could have done it blind-folded. As they turned onto the main road, Patrick took a quick survey of the interior of the truck. Two plastic cups half full of iced coffee sat in the cup holders between the seats. One straw had pink lipstick around it, while the other had been chewed to death. His and hers cups. Three maps were wedged in a side pocket of the passenger door next to Patrick’s leg. The first was a Vermont road atlas, the second a Rhode Island map, and the third was hidden behind the second. Behind the seats, tools rattled in wooden boxes, and nails of all sizes jingled in glass jelly jars.

“Do you woodwork, sir?” Patrick threw a look over his shoulder to the tools.

“Man’s got to do something when he retires, doesn’t he?” Walter’s eyes never left the road.

“What do you build?”

“Whatever needs building.” Walter grabbed the iced coffee and slurped up a mouthful. Patrick wondered how functional that chewed up straw was.

“Like framing, or furniture, or…” Patrick let his voice trail off hoping Walter would jump in with his reply. Instead, a long minute of silence stretched on in the cab. Patrick knew he sucked at small talk, but he couldn’t be this bad, could he?

Finally, Walter shook the contents of the plastic cup and put it back in the holder. “I prefer to make furniture, but I’ve done framing and finish work. A little plumbing and electrical too if the mood strikes me.”

A Renaissance man. Okay, good. Patrick could talk intelligently about these topics.

“Jonah said you’re fixing up that pit over on Hope Hill Road.” Walter eased to a stop at a red light.

“Yes. She needs some opening up and updating.”

“I remember when that place was being built,” Walter said. “I was about ten, and my buddies and I used to run wild in those woods until our mamas were near frantic with worry. We watched every inch of construction that took place over there. We were totally fascinated by the men, the tools, the vehicles, the process.” He shook his head as if coming out of a dream. “What made you buy the place?”

“The view and the woods mostly.”

Walter nodded. “Nice and quiet up there. Secluded.”

“Yes, sir. Very private.”

“Good place to hide were someone interested in hiding.” Walter turned into the station’s parking lot.

“I suppose so.” Patrick scratched at the back of his neck, hoping to get at the prickles there.

“You hiding, Patrick Barre?” Walter shut off the engine and angled himself to face Patrick.

He thought about saying no. He really did. Would have been the easiest answer to give, but that’s not what came spilling out of his mouth.

“We all have our secrets to keep, sir.”

Walter’s pale blue eyes widened. “Most folks would have just said no.”

“I didn’t want to lie to you. Didn’t feel right.” Patrick shrugged and put his hand on the door handle. Before he could push open the door, however, Walter rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe you’re okay after all, Barre.” Walter opened the driver side door and dangled a leg out. “Just don’t do anything to hurt Gini, or I’ll kill you.”

Patrick waited for Walter to laugh, but he didn’t. He eased out of the seat, closed the door, and walked to the station.

Hurt Gini? He wouldn’t hurt Gini, because he wasn’t getting involved with Gini. They’d shared one kiss and that was an accident. It wouldn’t happen again. His reflection in the bathroom mirror told him it wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t.

****

“Most people hate Monday morning at work,” Haddy said.

“Most people don’t have the best job in the universe.” Gini held up a picture of one of the firefighters. He was bared to the waist with a leash wrapped around a well-defined forearm. On the other end of the leash was Sarge, Haddy’s Golden Retriever, drinking out of the fighter’s helmet.

“Tasty.” Haddy held out her hand so Gini would pass the photo to her. Once she had it in her grasp, she adjusted her glasses and studied the picture. “If only we could make this calendar 3D.”

“Or a touch ’n feel,” Gini said. “Good Goddess, look at this one.” She held up a photo with a fighter holding himself up as if he were on a pair of balance beams only instead of beams, Gini’s horses were on either side of him. He balanced his palms on the backs of the horses and every muscle in his chest and arms was on display.

“You do have a gift for catching the beautiful, Gini.” Haddy flipped through a pile of photos on her side of the worktable. “Where are Jonah’s?”

“Here.” Gini picked up a stash by her elbow and slid them across the table. “I was saving these for last, so you wouldn’t get distracted and dismiss all the other masterpieces we’ve got here.”

“Oh, I know they’re all gorgeous, but there does come a time when you have to choose one specimen and admire him in greater detail.” Haddy angled her head at one of Jonah’s shots and licked her lips. “Did Patrick survive?”

Gini caught herself chewing on the end of a pen. She tossed the pen onto the table, reminding herself not to be like Daddy and his straws, then looked at Haddy. “Survive what?”

“The drive to the station with your father.”

“Daddy drove Patrick to the station?” A sweat broke out on her forehead. She slipped off her stool and dove into her purse until her hands closed around a pack of gum.

“Yeah,” Haddy said. “Patrick dropped off Jonah’s car yesterday afternoon, then your father volunteered to take him back to the station.”

Gini let worry seep into her veins. It was better than anger. What was her father thinking? What did he say to Patrick? What did Patrick say to Daddy?

“Oh, dear.” Gini paced the length of the workroom. “You know how Daddy gets.”

“Yes, I do.” Haddy sat back on her stool. “And he was not being all that friendly to Patrick.”

“What? What do you mean? What was he saying?” She needed to breathe. Gini flopped onto the small couch that lined the floor to ceiling window in the workroom. She kicked off her sandals and drew in several deep breaths.

Don’t get angry. Daddy just wants to protect you. He knows you burned that bush because of Patrick. He doesn’t know that you’ve…kissed and made up, so to speak.

Gini counted to ten and turned her gaze to Haddy. “Can you tell me what my father said to Patrick?”

“Busting his balls. Like asking him if he could do the work of two men while Jonah was down for the count.” Haddy toyed with a string on the hem of her shirt. “Walter may have called Patrick a complication too.”

Gini let her head drop to the arm of the couch as she closed her eyes. “A complication. Like a complication to me?”

“Uh-huh.” Haddy moved Gini’s feet and sat where they had been. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but Patrick looks like a complication worth getting complicated with.”

Gini rose to her elbows and stared out the window. Complication. That was the perfect word for it. Having Patrick in her kitchen was a complication. Kissing him after maple walnut ice cream was a complication. Thinking about him around the damn clock was a complication. All of which she did not need.

Living day to day, trying to keep things from bursting into flames around her, was enough of an obstacle already. Adding Patrick to the equation was trouble. Something that would definitely tip one side of the delicate balancing act her life had become.

Her father was right. Patrick needed to stay away from her, but it wasn’t her father’s place to say such a thing.

“I should go to Patrick’s and apologize for my father’s behavior,” Gini said.

“There are several ways you could make it up to him.” Haddy ducked when Gini cuffed her on the head.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, Gini. I just watched you brood over Patrick right now. You’re interested. Admit it. So get something from your mama’s bakery and bring it over to him,” Haddy suggested.

Gini stretched her gum with her tongue and snapped it. “He likes blueberry muffins.”

“Excellent,” Haddy said. “I read online this morning that blueberries are good for the libido.”

****

Patrick adjusted the air pressure on his compressor. Time to fire up his trusty nail gun and put up some walls. He had closets to frame, door openings to erect, new rooms to define. Maybe he’d work all night. Just keep going until he dropped from exhaustion. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that. Sometimes he got so caught up in a project that time went unnoticed. The sun could set, the moon rise, and Patrick wouldn’t know the difference. There would only be the wood beneath his fingers, the vibrating buzz of the circular saw, the bang and hiss of the nail gun. All things that were familiar to him, things he had control over, things that wouldn’t mess with his practical mind.

A solid night of construction would purge Gini from his system. Then he could focus on the tidy, solitary life he had been living. He was all right with that life too. Sure, it was lonely, but it was also numb. Numb was good. He’d had enough pain—physical and emotional. He didn’t need any more. Didn’t need to open old wounds or make new ones.

After looking over his blueprint, Patrick headed to the garage where he’d had Mason and Raina stack some of the reusable studs that had been removed on Saturday. Using his tape measure, he selected several two-by-fours long enough to frame the new master bedroom wall. He hoisted them up to rest on his shoulder and carried them to the sawhorses he’d set up as a workstation in the great room. After setting them down, Patrick measured the lengths, marked cut lines with his pencil and square, and pulled down the safety glasses resting on the top of his head. He plugged his ears and grabbed the circular saw. As it cut the studs, a flurry of sawdust sprayed like silent, wooden snow.

Patrick spent the next two hours on the bedroom wall and framing two closets. Midas checked in with him every now and again, but construction didn’t interest the dog. The loud noises from the tools irritated him, and with Patrick oblivious to everything besides what he was building, the chances of getting some attention were slim. Besides, this house had plenty of little nooks for sleeping in.

As Patrick maneuvered another wall into position, his doorbell rang. Midas shot out from wherever he’d been hiding and sniffed at the bottom of the front door. Patrick lowered the wall to the floor and peeked out one of the wide windows in what would eventually be an enormous kitchen. Raina stood on the landing, a brown bag wedged under her left arm. She saw him in the window and waved.

Damn. Caught.
Had to open the door now or he’d never hear the end of it.

Patrick pulled off his safety glasses and set them, along with his earplugs, on the windowsill. He brushed at the dust and cobwebs on his black T-shirt and opened the door.

“Covered in sawdust,” Raina said. “How usual.” She rolled her eyes and stepped into the house.

“Interrupting my progress,” Patrick said. “How usual.”

“Ha, ha.” Raina smirked and wiggled the brown bag. “I brought Chinese, because you haven’t eaten.”

“Who said I haven’t eaten?”

Raina leveled her gray eyes on Patrick and waited.

“Okay, I haven’t, but I’m in the middle of stuff.” He motioned to the great room, which now that he really looked at it, was a disaster zone. Stud ends he’d cut off and other wood scraps littered the worn green carpet. Actually, the carpet was more beige with sawdust than green at the moment. A level, two hammers, a tape measure, a utility knife, some shims, and several drywall screws left a breadcrumb trail of where Patrick had been.

“My, my,” Raina said. “You’ve been working like an animal.”

“Is there any other way to work?” Patrick picked up his notebook and crossed off some items he’d completed.

“Not for you, I guess.” Raina shrugged and stepped over the mess. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”

She led the way to the interim kitchen beyond the master bedroom. Patrick looked longingly at his tools, silently waiting for him to make use of them, and shook his head. His stomach growled. Maybe he was hungry now that he’d stopped working. The projects would still be there after he’d eaten and sent Raina on her way.

By the time he entered the kitchen, Raina had the containers out of the bag, silverware on napkins, and two beers on the table.

“It ain’t fine dining, but it’s better than the nothing you were going to have.”

“I would have stopped to eat.” Patrick washed his hands at the sink and dried them on a dishtowel.

“Oh, really?” Raina pulled open the refrigerator and waved her hand toward it. “Eat what?”

The empty shelves were too white. He’d cleaned the refrigerator on his first night there and had bought a few groceries. He hadn’t shopped for food since, and now the refrigerator showed signs of neglect.

Staring at those empty shelves made Patrick feel empty too. If he’d had someone else living there with him—someone who needed dinner cooked for her so she wouldn’t eat crackers out of her purse, for example—he’d have made sure that refrigerator was filled.

“Jesus, Patrick.” Raina shut the refrigerator door and came over to him at the sink.

“What?” He blinked several times and focused on his sister’s face.

“I’ve never seen you look so…lost.” She cupped his cheek and ran her thumb back and forth.

“I’m not lost.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m hungry.”

Patrick skirted around Raina and sat at the table. He cracked open his beer and tapped it to Raina’s unopened one.

“C’mon. Let the eating commence.”

Raina sat across from Patrick and opened her container of chow mein as Patrick opened his Szechwan chicken.

“Halfsies?” Raina asked.

Patrick nodded and they both removed heaping spoonfuls of their own selection. In a move choreographed over the years, they swapped half their food without spilling a single water chestnut. They ate in silence until Raina sat back and patted her stomach.