True Colors

“You won’t find any disagreement here. If you’d buy pants that fit it would help.”

“Whatever.”

“That is such a useful word. I notice you’re particularly fond of it. I’d appreciate it, as your employer, if you’d speak in complete sentences.”

He glared at her. “Whatever . . . Aunt Winona.”

“And progress is made.” She started to explain to him yet again how to scrape the dried bird crap off when she heard a truck drive up. She tented her hand over her eyes to block out the sun and saw a large yellow moving van pull into the driveway next door. “I wonder who bought that place,” she said. “The construction crews have been there for weeks.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“As easy as that would prove to be, I’m going to check out my new neighbors.” She made her way up the steeply pitched ramp and cut across her shabby yard. Everything on this edge of her property was overgrown, almost primeval in size. Giant rhododendrons, sprawling junipers, hedges gone wild. She peered through the narrow break in the foliage and tried to see the house. Unfortunately, the moving truck was directly in front of her. Disappointed, she returned to her house and began power-washing the deck.

She was halfway through, covered in water and sweat, standing in rivulets of blasting water, when she realized that a man was standing just beyond her deck, smiling hesitantly. He was tall and stocky, with a pleasant face and hair that was actively in retreat. He was dressed in an expensive silk Hawaiian print shirt, khaki shorts, and leather flip-flops, and she knew instantly that he was a summer person, here for what tourists ridiculously called the season. Probably from Bellevue or Woodinville. No wonder he’d been able to pour so much money into remodeling the old Shank place without bothering to oversee construction. Beside him was a pretty red-haired girl of probably twelve or thirteen.

Winona flicked off the machine and set the sprayer down. It occurred to her in a flash that she looked like hell—old shorts, baggy, splotched T-shirt, damp hair falling out of its ponytail. The sight of her thick fish-belly-white legs was an image she tried to block from her mind. “Hello there,” she said, forcing a smile. “You must be my new neighbors.”

The man advanced toward Winona, his big hand outstretched. “I’m Mark. This is my daughter, Cissy.”

Winona shook his hand. Good, strong grip. She liked that. “I’m Winona.”

“Nice to meet you, Winona.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, looking around. Oddly, she was reminded of a king surveying his holdings. “It’s stunningly beautiful here.”

She pushed the sweaty hair out of her face. “I never get tired of the view.”

“It’s not one you forget, no matter how far you go.”

Winona saw Noah coming up the dock and figured that it must be noon. The kid might not grasp the idea of working, but break times he understood. At the top of the ramp he paused and then slowly shuffled toward them, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes.

“Is that your son?”

“No,” she said quickly.

Noah gave her a sullen look.

“This is Noah. My sister’s son. Noah, this is Mark and Cissy.”

Noah jutted his chin an almost imperceptible amount. “What’s up?”

Only it sounded more like whasup? Winona fought the urge to roll her eyes. He looked like a homeless person with his dirty, baggy pants and duct-tape knot at his waist. His ridiculously big skater’s shoes bloomed up around his feet like baking bread.

No doubt Mark would pull his preciously pretty girl close and run back to his house.

Instead, he said, “Cissy and I were going to take the boat out this afternoon, maybe do a little water-skiing. Would you two like to join us?”

Winona was surprised by the invitation. “Your wife—”

“I’m divorced.”

Winona saw him in a whole different light suddenly. He was older than she was, by five or ten years probably, but he had a really nice smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Noah has any shorts.”

“I got ’em on,” he said. “Under my cool duct-tape belt.”

“You’re wearing trunks?”

He shrugged. “I swim sometimes.”

Mark smiled. “It’s settled, then. We’ll go get stuff ready and meet you on our dock in, say, thirty minutes?”