Change of Heart (Edilean 9)

He started to say something but when Chelsea turned, she seemed to get dizzy. “Sorry, I missed lunch,” she said, her hand to her forehead.

Eli came out of his trance. “I think we better get you out of the sun.” His T-shirt was draped across a handle of the wheelbarrow and he pulled it on over his head.

“Darn!” Chelsea said.

Eli started to ask what she meant but then told himself that Jeff would probably know. With him, it was usually sex. Oh, right. His shirt. Jeff would probably say something self-deprecating. “I don’t want to scare the neighbors,” Eli murmured.

“I think they may show up with cameras.”

At her flattering words, Eli felt warmth flow through him—and oddly, he felt a bit taller. He moved ahead of her to go up two steps toward the porch, then held out his hand to her. It was ridiculous to think that she couldn’t climb a few steps by herself but it’s what Jeff would do. Eli remembered one time when Pilar had brought some papers to him. Jeff had made a fool of himself over her—and she had giggled like a teenager.

Chelsea didn’t seem to be offended. Smiling, she took his hand and walked up the stairs with him.

“I want you to sit here,” he said, indicating the big wooden seat. The cushions on it were fatly stuffed and the fabric faded from years of use. “And take off those shoes.”

“But they’re—” she began, but stopped. “I’d love to, but I don’t mean to take your time.”

At the thought of her leaving, Eli felt a sense of panic. What would Jeff say? “A beautiful woman and a day full of sunshine. How could that be a waste?” Eli held his breath. Surely she’d tell him his words belittled her as an intelligent being.

But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled at him. It wasn’t the smile she used to give him after they’d completed some quest together. It was the smile she used to direct toward the boys who were wearing some absurd uniform for sporting events. When he’d seen that look in high school, he’d told her it was false and didn’t suit her. But right now, when it was directed at him, it felt quite good.

He went into the house to the kitchen and, with extraordinary speed, made her a sandwich and poured a glass of lemonade. Minutes later, he pushed open the screen door and went back onto the porch. She had taken off her ridiculous shoes—why women wanted to misalign their bodies with them was beyond him—and put her legs up on the cushions. Her eyes were closed.

He stood there for a moment, looking at her. She was indeed very pretty, but Eli had always looked beneath her exterior to the person underneath. Right now he thought she was thin to the point of emaciation and she looked tired.

When he put the dishes down on the coffee table, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Look at all this food! It’s more than I eat in a day.”

You’re too thin, he started to say, but caught himself. That’s what Eli would say. Jeff would say . . . “Personally, I think women should look like they were meant to. Curves in the road and curves on women make them both more dangerous.”

Eli held his breath. Surely that remark would offend her—or send her into hysterics of laughter.

But Chelsea gave a sigh. “What a nice sentiment. Maybe I will try just a bit of something.” She picked up the plate with the tuna-salad sandwich and bit into it. “This is great. I haven’t tasted mayonnaise—or, for that matter, bread—in about three years.”

“You have an allergy?”

“No,” Chelsea said. “The style for women now is to be as thin as a broom handle. And that’s what modern men like. Or at least the ones I know do.”

“The polo player?”

“Yes! How did you—?” Chelsea put up her hand. “Don’t tell me how you know about him. Yes, Rodrigo the polo player.” She glanced at Eli sitting there in the chair, his face a study in concentration. One thing she’d always liked about him was the way he listened. “We had a big fight,” she said.

Eli wanted to say that since she’d never been an animal aficionado, of course she’d quarrel with a man whose livelihood dealt with horses. But Jeff wouldn’t say that. He’d say . . . “So what was it? Another woman?”

“Yes!” Chelsea said, her voice almost fierce.

Eli saw that she’d finished her sandwich and all the corn chips he’d put on her plate. He stood up. “What was she like?”

“Which one? Minnie, Esther, Firebrand, Hector?”

Eli had a moment of confusion. “Oh. The horses.”

“All twenty of them.”

Eli went into the house and quickly returned with a tray. In the center was a chocolate cake thickly covered with chocolate frosting. Two plates, two forks, and two glasses with full-fat milk were beside it.

“Chocolate cake?” Chelsea said. “I haven’t eaten dessert in years. And no dairy at all.”

Eli cut two big slices of cake and put them on the plates, then settled back in the chair with one of them. “He couldn’t possibly have liked his horses more than you.”