They’ve been in there for four days. Four, and it’s making me crazy. I’d even relented and slept next door during the final stages, but patience has never been my best virtue.
Surely, it’s safe to go in, right?
I’m about to find out.
As far as I know, everyone else is gone. Dexter, Jake, and Charlie headed down to Mammoth Lakes to check out some property. George is working covertly. I may not be able to get past Dexter and Jake, but George? He’s always been the weak link. It’s the impulsivity.
I open the front door and am struck instantly by the sound of music and the harsh scent of chemicals. From what I gather, he’s just doing touch-ups. And all I want is a peek. Just a peek.
I quietly walk down the hall past my new bedroom to my old one—my mother’s before mine—and pause in the doorway. Tears spring to my eyes. I mean, it’s not like I don’t cry all the damn time now, I’m an emotional wreck, but this? It’s too much.
The walls are a slate gray, the furniture a deep wooden brown. A crib in the corner and a bookshelf next to the closet. It’s all set up and arranged, framing the mural George is painting on the wall. It’s softer than most of his art, which can land like a punch in the face, this is an intricately detailed scene, on the slivers of wall beside and over the window. Tall aspens, tiny birds, rocks and hills.
George stands on a ladder, one paint brush between his teeth, another in his hand. He’s tall and lean and more handsome than he ever was before. How do my boys keep getting better looking? It’s not fair.
“Oh my god,” I say, covering my mouth. “It’s gorgeous.”
“What the—” he drops his paintbrush, turning in surprise. He leans back, like he’s going to fall, but manages to regain his balance. “You know not to sneak up on me when I’m working! And babe,” a crease line forms on his forehead, “you’re not supposed to be in here—the fumes are too much.”
He’s already crossing over to me.
“The window is open.”
“You can’t be too safe,” he says, pulling me down the hall.
“But I want to see.”
He links his paint-splattered fingers in mine and sighs. “Fine.”
I think he’s taking me back to the nursery but he goes the other direction. Out the front door. I follow him around the side of the house where he stops outside the bedroom window.
“You can look in that way.”
“But I can’t see the painting.”
He shrugs. “I know you think you can talk me into it, but there’s no way. The guys will kill me if I let anything happen to you or the baby.”
His hands cup my belly. They’re all fascinated with it. And my boobs. Oh my god, you’d think they’d died and gone to heaven.
“Well, from what I saw, I love it.”
“Good,” he bends and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m glad. I took a little risk with the colors and then Dexter told me I couldn’t use the gold leafing, so I was unsure.”
I laugh; it’s so good to have him home.
He takes a step back and studies the house behind me with a frown on his face.
“What?”
“You know, if it’s a girl, we’re going to have to do something about this window. Like put bars on it or something to keep the perverts from next door from crawling in and out of there all night.”
“And not a boy? We don’t need to keep them from harassing all the girls in Lee Vines?”
He thinks on it and nods. “Okay, bars either way.”
I lean against the house, his hands still on me. “I can’t believe all the stuff we used to do.”
“We were young and a little feral.”