Turning to Harper, I say, “See? Digger gets it.”
“Digger doesn’t know you like I do. You always wanted to get married, and you’re letting one bad experience change the entire trajectory of your life.”
“Trust me when I say I don’t want that anymore. I’m happy on my own. Really, I am. I don’t need you to set me up with anyone or try to talk me into getting back on that horse. I promise you I am doing fine on foot.”
Harper opens her mouth, but I hold up one finger. “Seriously, I’m good.”
After we say our goodbyes, I walk out into the sunlit evening and I take a deep breath. The mention of Paige’s name doesn’t bother me like it used to. She’s a distant, if bad, memory now. A cautionary tale, and nothing more.
I feel a shift in the breeze as I stroll down the path toward the parking lot. I have the same sense of rightness I did when I first arrived in town. I don’t know what’s going to happen while I’m here, but I have a feeling this place is going to change me.
Chapter5
Moira
It turns out I don’t know how to have a night to myself. My brain doesn’t seem interested in making my dream of taking a bubble bath while drinking wine and reading a romance novel become a reality. I get as far as pouring a glass of chardonnay and getting into the tub. Then I begin to obsess over the crappy condition of my bathroom.
Not only is the clawfoot tub in desperate need of reglazing, but the linoleum tiles are peeling and there appears to be mold growing on the far wall. Mold! How have I not noticed that before?
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to remember the last time I was home alone. It was last summer when Digger and Harper took the kids up the mountain to camp for a few days. I spent whatever free time I had sanding down and repainting the back steps. At this rate, I should have all my house repairs done by the time I’m three hundred and sixty. Good times.
My gaze shoots over to my book sitting on the toilet lid.His Willing Captivelooked promising online, but here in my house it looks ridiculous. I’m already captive to three little men who take up every free moment of my life. I don’t need to read about being some Victorian sea captain’s sex slave. Who’s got the energy?
Trying to empty my head of all thoughts, I focus on the soothing sensation of hot water inching up toward my shoulders. I’m about ready to turn off the faucet when the shower head starts shooting out icy rain. What the … I shriek as I jump out of the tub. My wet feet hit the floor, and I fly across the room like I’ve just rounded third base and am intent on sliding into home.
Throwing towels down to wipe up the puddles left in my wake, I briefly wonder if the house is haunted. That would be so much more interesting than the reality of the situation— the whole place is in the process of falling down around me.
Everett was never much of a DIY kind of guy, but he certainly knew his way around tools better than I do. I wonder if I should get Julia Simms out here to give me an idea of what this place is worth. I don’t have the energy, time, or money to fix it up myself and Ed Turner is getting too old to keep coming to my aid. Maybe I should sell and buy something smaller that’s in better shape. We’d lose some land, but as far as I’m concerned that would just mean less maintenance.
The only reason Everett and I bought this house was because it was the cheapest we could afford. There was already a load of deferred maintenance on it even back then. The amount has easily tripled.
Turning off the water, I climb back into the tub and add “check the water heater and shower head” to the growing inventory of things I need to take care of. An overwhelming sense of futility starts to pour out of my tear ducts. Twenty minutes later my eyes are puffy, and my head is full of snot.
The bath water is only just starting to cool—score one point for cast iron tubs—as I hurry to wash up before pulling the plug on the drain. After towel drying my hair and putting on a summer nightgown, I trod down to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. There, I’m met with chipped kitchen cabinets, stained countertops, and appliances so old I can barely stand the sight of them. You’ve got to hand it to the seventies: while their color choices left a lot to be desired—I’m talking to you, Harvest Gold—those buggers were meant to last.
Opening the fridge, I stare inside and try to decide what to have for supper. I have no interest in cooking, so I opt for cheese and crackers with a side of dill pickles and capers. I’m eyeing a Toaster Strudel for dessert.
After my first few crackers, the phone rings. “Hello.”
“Hey, Sis.” It’s Digger. “How about I keep the boys for the night? That way you can stay out a little longer.” Making it clear he knows I’m home, he adds, “The pub sounds quiet tonight.”
“Yeah, well, Tuesday nights in Gamble are pretty tame.”
“So, yes to my keeping the kids?” I hate the sound of concern in his tone.
“That’s fine, thanks.” Then I tell him, “I’m thinking about asking Julia to come out.”
“You want to sell?” Why does he sound so surprised? He’s over here enough to know what a mess this place is.
“I want less to take care of,” I tell him.
“Yeah, but the boys have so much land there to play and explore.”
I burst into tears for the second time tonight. “It’s just too much, Digger. I can’t stay on top of everything.”
“I’ll come by and look at your list. I’ll get started on it as soon as I can.” You’ve got to love big brothers who want to solve all your problems.
“You’re in the middle of building your own house, planning a wedding, and doing everything you do around the lodge. Don’t you dare take on my burdens.”