Home Sweet Home Page 3

  Plus, living for another person was not how she wanted to live her life.

  “Hey,” said Jane, fingering Mary Beth’s business card. “Tell me again why we sent the guy with muscles away when we have a truck to unload?”

  Grace looked out the window at the rented moving truck. “I thought Dev was coming.”

  “Ha. You underestimate the number of distractions a four-year-old can provide when you’re trying to do . . . anything.”

  “Priya is good, she won’t get in the way.”

  “Again, I say ‘ha.’ I know you. You’ll get distracted by her cuteness and then Dev and I will have to do all the heavy lifting.”

  “You shouldn’t have had such a cute daughter.”

  “I still think we should chase Handsome Jake down and ask for his help.”

  “No!” Grace knew Jane was joking—sort of—but she couldn’t help the panic that seeped into her voice.

  Jane put her arms around Grace, rested her head on her shoulder. “Not all men are egomaniacal jerks.”

  Grace snorted. “So far, Jake seems to fit the bill.”

  “And not all love stories have to end badly.”

  Grace shut her eyes even though she knew Jane couldn’t see her face. Jane was less than two years younger than she was; how had she been able to do it? How did she have a normal, happy marriage while Grace still ran screaming from any sign of commitment?

  “Okay.” Jane swatted Grace on her butt. “No more pity party. You’re a successful writer, a brilliant professor, and the proud owner of the cutest money pit in town. Shake it off.”

  Grace shook, hokey-pokey style, like they used to do when they were little.

  “Good,” said Jane. “Now stop shaking and get those boxes moved, you crazy spinster.”

  Jake followed Mary Beth to her office, hoping to get out of the deal with the new professor. It was either that or change his cell phone number, and he didn’t want to do that. All of his friends and all of his business contacts knew his cell number. And a lot of women.

  On second thought, maybe he should change it.

  Not that he minded a lot of women calling him. He liked women. He liked talking to them and hanging out with them. He had a different relationship with his female friends than he did with his male friends, and he liked that. Even though his female friends tended to try to set him up with their friends. The women around here usually knew Jake from high school, or knew someone who did, and they were just out for a good time.

  He wasn’t complaining; he liked a good time. But sometimes he felt . . . cheap, maybe. Like they were just using him for his body. His head stepped in to remind him that he worked hard for his body; why shouldn’t he want people to use it? But there was another part of him, a deep, secret part he usually only let out when he was drinking alone, that wanted more. That wanted someone to want him for every part of him.

  Jesus, he was hanging out with his girl friends too much.

  All he knew was that Grace was a double-whammy—a woman who would just want him for his body, and a professor. His experience with professors was that they had a lot of smarts and no idea how to use them, at least not in any practical way. What was the point of speaking Latin?

  “I can’t believe you did that,” he accused, sinking heavily into one of the chairs facing Mary Beth’s desk.

  “You owe me, remember?” she said as she started up her laptop. He didn’t say anything back, just glared at her. She ignored him and started typing.

  “I don’t owe you that much.”

  “Sorry, are you still here? Darling brother, I have many appointments this afternoon, so while I’d love to sit and argue with you about how right I am, I’m afraid I just don’t have the time.”

  “You’re such a snot.”

  “You’re an ungrateful little brother. How many times did I bail you out? How many times did I say the beer cans under the couch were mine? How many times did I run out in the middle of the night because you got stranded somewhere by one of your meathead friends?”

  “Fine. Yes, you did all of that. You were a wonderful sister. But that stuff was in high school. How long am I going to have to pay for stuff that happened over ten years ago?”

  “Probably forever.”

  Dammit. Jake regrouped. Their mother always told him, when his temper got too hot, that he could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

  “You know,” Jake said, leaning back and folding his hands in front of him. Just real casual-like. “If it wasn’t for my bad behavior, you never would have met Todd.”

  Mary Beth just sighed. Jake hoped it was a wistful sigh full of love for her husband.

  “If you didn’t have to bail me out so many times, you would be a lonely old spinster, just like Professor Grace. You’d probably have a whole collection of cat sweatshirts.”

  “Jake,” Mary Beth warned, “don’t make fun of my clients. And don’t make fun of new people in town! I think she seems nice.” Jake snorted. “Well, she seemed nice the other times I met her. She’s very smart, and she’s actually pretty funny. I think I’m going to ask her to join my book club after all.”

  “MB, no English professor is going to want to join your dinky book club.”

  “Well, thank you, Jake, for your confidence in my intelligence. Don’t let your phone die—you’re going to have a lot of calls to answer.”

  “Is this guy bothering you?”

  Jake didn’t even look up. He knew that voice, and he knew that joke. Todd Brakefield, Chief of the Willow Springs Police Department and Husband to His Sister, made the same joke every time he saw Jake and Mary Beth together. Todd insisted that it was so not-funny that it was starting to get funny again. After more than a decade of it, Jake wasn’t so sure.

  Not that he’d argue with the man wearing a gun.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” said Mary Beth, getting up from behind her desk.

  “No, don’t get up,” said Todd, as he always did. Then, as always, he walked around her desk and gave her a peck on her cheek, and stood there a second, hovering over her, until she turned her head and he kissed her gently on the lips.

  Since Jake had seen this every time he was with Mary Beth at work and Todd stopped by, Jake had to imagine it happened every time Todd came in. His sister was six years older than he was, and Todd was only four. And yet the two of them had turned into old farts.

  “Well, if you two are going to start making out,” Jake said, standing up.

  “No, don’t go,” said Todd. “I just stopped in for a little sugar.”

  Jake threw up.

  Metaphorically.

  But still.

  “Todd, you’re making Jake sick.”

  “I’m not going to lie, that was part of my goal,” Todd said. “That, and some sugar.” He leaned down and kissed Mary Beth again.

  “Okay, seriously. I’m leaving now.” Jake really stood up this time.

  “Wait, what’re you going to do?” asked Mary Beth.

  “I’m just going to go home, change my phone number, and move to Arizona where my sister won’t pimp out my immensely impressive home repair skills to every person with a bad attitude who moves to town.”

  “What’s this about?” asked Todd, and Mary Beth filled him in on Grace and the state of the house, with Jake interjecting rolled eyes and sarcastic snorts.

  “Wait, the Spinster House?” asked Todd. “You sold the Spinster House?”

  “No,” said Mary Beth. “The Spinster House is over on Walnut.”

  “That house? Baby, you know I hate to interfere in your business, but that pile of crap is a meth lab waiting to happen. That’s not the Spinster House.”

  “Yes, it is! The logging heiress built it on the outskirts of town and then left with her new husband before she could move into it. And it was scandalous because she built it on one of the out-of-the-way streets so people assumed she was up to no good.”

  “No, that’s the house built by her no-good brother. It was a broth
el. That’s why it has all those porches and those tiny rooms.”

  “Todd, I hate to disagree with you, seeing as you’re carrying a gun and all,” said Jake, “but I’m pretty sure my sister’s right. Look how big that place is. And, yeah, it’s falling apart now, but it has big money written all over it. The house that Mary Beth sold Grace is just . . . weird.”

  “You ever heard of an eccentric millionaire?” Todd asked.

  “Todd, I’m sure you’re wrong.” Mary Beth started clicking through on her computer. “See? It has a Wikipedia entry and everything.”

  Jake joined Todd behind Mary Beth’s desk and they scanned the article together. Sure enough, the Spinster House in Willow Springs, Kentucky, was a dilapidated brothel-looking house on the outskirts of town. Not a cute but strange mini-Victorian in the center of town.

  “You believe everything you read on the Internet?” asked Todd.

  “That’s one thing I love about you,” said Mary Beth, wrapping her arms around her husband. “You’re always willing to admit when you’re wrong.”

  They started whispering in each other’s ears and Jake knew it was time to get gone.

  “I knew my sister was right,” he said, heading toward the door. “Otherwise, I would’ve bought that house and fixed it up. But I’m not touching anything called the ‘Spinster House.’ Not for a million bucks and a life free from professors.”

  “Ah, yes—my brother, the confirmed bachelor.”

  “I think that’s a euphemism for being gay,” said Todd.

  “You wish,” said Jake.

  “Boys,” said Mary Beth. “Jake, go away. And close the door behind you. I want to make out with my husband.”

  Jake got whiplash on his way out the door.

  “Oh!” Mary Beth called after him. “Mom wants to know if you’re coming to dinner on Sunday. Will is making lasagna.”

  Jake scowled. His mom knew he couldn’t resist her husband’s lasagna. “Fine.”

  “And Jake, be nice to the new girl.”

  Jake growled.

  Mary Beth laughed and put her arms around her husband. “She’s probably not going to call anyway,” she told her brother’s retreating back.

  Good, thought Jake. He didn’t want her to call.

  Chapter 4

  Grace held out for almost two weeks before she called Jake. Jane and Dev helped get her moved in, despite Priya’s best efforts to distract them with cuteness. There was a freezer full of homemade food from Dev’s mother, who had absolutely no confidence in Grace’s ability to feed herself, which was fine with Grace. Her books were still in boxes until she painted, her clothes were mostly in the closet, and she finally found her favorite moisturizer after a week of going without. She met with the head of the English Department, got a university-issued laptop, and set up her office in the creaky old brick building in the middle of Pembroke’s campus. She rode her bike into town for coffee, for lunch, for library books.

  She was especially impressed with the Willow Springs Public Library. It was small and dark, but it had an amazing stained glass window that took up almost the entire south wall of the building. It was an abstract design, a jumble of colors and shapes that shouldn’t make sense, but did. It kind of reminded Grace of a Jackson Pollock painting—it looked haphazard and easy, but there was an unconscious order to the madness that drew her in. The Library Window, as it was cleverly called, was impressive, and so was the library’s collection of DIY books. Grace had a pretty good selection checked out: How to Maximize Small Spaces, The Modern Chick’s Guide to Home Improvement, You Don’t Need a Man, You Need a Hammer, and, just for fun, The Greek Tycoon’s Virgin Secretary.

  She had used the books to guide her through fixing a wonky kitchen cabinet. She found instructions on how to replace her broken toilet seat, which made her very proud, even if she almost snapped her cheap-o wrench trying to get the rusted old bolts off. The process for replacing a loose top piece for the newel post on her banister seemed too complicated, so she just glued it, which seemed to work.

  But none of the books, not even her new home-repair confidence, was helping. She sat at her kitchen table, her panicked gaze switching between the pages of The Home Plumber’s Guide to Home Plumbing and her misbehaving kitchen sink. She was working up the courage to identify the source of the leak, which would entail turning the water back on. If she turned the water back on, her kitchen would flood again. She wasn’t sure if the checkerboard linoleum could handle another rush of misbehaving kitchen water.

  But the plumbing book made no sense to her. There were diagrams and pictures and words, and those three things had gotten her through other projects. But anxiety made the augers and pivot balls and bibs swim before her eyes. Plus, she needed a pipe wrench. All she had were pliers.

  They didn’t work. She’d tried.

  And when she called Jane to freak out and maybe get her much-more-practical-and-handy sister to come down and fix her sink, Jane told her that the two things she never messed with were plumbing and wiring. Because only idiots messed with plumbing and wiring when they didn’t know what they were doing.

  “But you know who does know what he’s doing?”

  Grace hung up before Jane could tell her to call Handsome Jake.

  So, instead of calling someone who would help her out, Grace sat at her kitchen table with her legs crossed (no water meant no toilet, she soon realized) and risked a glance at her refrigerator, where Jane had tacked Mary Beth’s card with Jake’s number on the back.

  She shouldn’t ask him for help. She should just call a regular plumber. She could just get a recommendation. But the only person in town she knew well enough to call so early in the morning was Mary Beth, and if she did that, Mary Beth would just send her brother over. That would save Grace the trouble of calling Jake herself, which would limit her exposure to his patronizing tone. But then Jake would know she was, too—what was she, annoyed? Intimidated? Chicken?

  Yes.

  But she was going to have to be able to use her kitchen and bathroom eventually.

  Letting out the kind of heavy, self-pitying sigh that she only indulged in when she was alone, Grace got up from the table and plodded miserably to the refrigerator. She pulled the horse magnet, which apparently came with the house, off the clean, white surface. She held the card to the fridge with one finger.

  “Grace Williams, you are being ridiculous,” she told herself. Out loud. Because she’d rather start talking to herself out loud than call a perfectly competent person who was sort-of-willing to help. She bopped her head on the refrigerator door once, then once more, then she peeled off Jake’s number and started to dial.

  Jake’s head was buzzing.

  He shook himself awake, but it still took him a second to recognize where he was. Brown plaid couch, neon beer signs on the wall. Kyle’s house.

  Kyle had been on call all weekend, and, in solidarity, Jake had behaved himself. He was gone so much with work that he couldn’t join the Willow Springs volunteer firefighters, but he could do his part by commiserating with his best friend who was, frankly, a drama queen. Of course, no fireman wants a house to catch on fire on account of lives endangered and property damaged. But Kyle was an adrenaline junkie and a rowdy, and being on call meant he had to stay close to home and sober. He used to spend his weekends on call with the other guys and gals at the fire station, but the captain had begged Jake to have mercy on all of them and babysit.

  So Jake was doing his part for the citizens of Willow Springs.

  Kyle was particularly grumpy because while he was on call, sitting around and not drinking like a normal red-blooded American man, Missy was out at the bars with her girlfriends. Kyle and Missy had only been dating for a few weeks this time, but they had dated for a couple of weeks on and off since high school. Jake wasn’t sure why, if they drove each other so crazy, they couldn’t just quit it. He liked Missy well enough, but he really couldn’t see going out with someone who drove him as crazy as she drove Kyle. He
asked Kyle about it once, and Kyle had slugged him. So they didn’t talk about feelings anymore.

  Missy was out and Kyle was home, and he’d been a beast all weekend, torturing himself with the kinds of trouble Missy was getting into without him. She wasn’t helping, sending pictures of herself doing shots, hugging the bartender. If Jake didn’t know Missy so well, he would’ve said she was being cruel. Well, she was being cruel, but Jake knew she was just giving Kyle hell. And Kyle had moped and whined, and Jake finally had to hide his car keys so Kyle didn’t go out and chase Missy down.

  So on Monday, no longer on call, Kyle staked out the hospital where Missy worked, finagled her into the car when she was done with her shift, and Jake didn’t hear from either of them until Tuesday afternoon. By then, Kyle was feeling tied down and claustrophobic, and Missy was sick of his crap, so Jake invited himself over to Kyle’s house where they basically did what they’d done all weekend, but this time with beer.

  Jake had spent more nights than was probably healthy on Kyle’s couch. He had even gone out and bought his own pillow to keep in Kyle’s linen closet. It was the only remotely linen thing in there. But last night Jake had had too much whiskey on top of his beer, and he’d made do with the scratchy throw pillows and his sweatshirt.

  Which was now buzzing on his cheek.

  He dug around the mess until he found the pocket, then pulled out his cell phone. He didn’t recognize the number, which usually meant he shouldn’t pick up. But he was tired and hungover and wanted to take it out on someone, so he picked up.

  “H’lo?”

  “Hi, is this Jake?”

  A woman. He squinted across the room at the neon Schlitz clock. It was awfully early for him to be staring at neon, let alone for a strange woman to be calling.