Cody has been back to school for several weeks now, struggling to maneuver around on his crutches but adept at collecting signatures on his casts. The drama from that night hasn’t seemed to affect his spirits, though.
Sometimes, when my students are busy with their tasks and my attention wanders out the window, I’ll turn back to find him watching me curiously from beneath his thick fringe of lashes, through familiar whiskey-colored eyes. And sometimes I get the distinct impression he wants to venture to my desk to strike up a conversation, but isn’t sure how. Or perhaps he’s been told not to. Either way, it’s probably for the best. He doesn’t need to hear about how much I miss his father.
The smell of apple pie envelops me as I step through my front door, escaping the blustering, early-December afternoon. I’m not foolish enough to think anyone around here would bake an actual pie. It’s just a candle. Still, it’s a welcoming scent, and it reminds me that I don’t live alone anymore.
I unwittingly claimed two roommates in the span of a week. One, I could survive living with in a four-by-four-foot cardboard box. The other, I may end up in a six-by-nine-foot prison cell for murder if she doesn’t move out soon.
Justine only went back to Newark to collect more clothes and give notice for the apartment. She’s also quit her job, though she’s agreed to stay on remotely until her uncle finds a replacement. Meanwhile, she’s been scouring the want ads for careers in this area. She’s serious about moving to Polson Falls, and reclaiming the tiny main-floor bedroom once my mother leaves.
Which is, thankfully, on the fifteenth of this month when Dottie gets her new apartment across town. They suspect the fire at Brillcourt was started by a space heater and allowed to grow due to a faulty smoke-alarm system. The building has since been condemned, unsafe to step inside, due to be demolished after years of neglect. Nothing of my mother’s belongings was salvageable, which has brought her much distress. Her wardrobe was something she prized and, according to her cries of frustration, not easy to replace. She’s been scouring the internet for her favorite animal-print stilettos to no avail.
I set my purse on the front hallway table just as a male grunt sounds from somewhere in the house.
“Hello?” I call out warily, my voice carrying an edge.
There’s no answer.
Elite Cuts is closed on Mondays; both Justine’s and my mother’s cars are outside. Justine is probably up in my room, working.
I hear a thump, followed by another male grunt. It’s coming from the kitchen.
My anger overwhelms my better judgment as I charge in, bracing myself for a reenactment of the Christmas pageant closet of horrors, or something equally jaw-dropping. “I told you, no bringing any—” I stutter over the sight, “—men home.”
Justine and Mom are in the middle of my kitchen, arms crossed at their chests, heads cocked as they hover over the man sprawled on my floor. Both wear admiring smiles.
I’d recognize that body anywhere.
My heart races. “What’s going on?”
“There was a leak,” Justine murmurs absently. “So I called Scarlet’s Sexy Neighbor.”
Shane’s abs strain as he pulls his head out from beneath the kitchen sink and sits up. “Hey, Scar.” He brushes the back of his hand against his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt behind. “I patched it, but you really need to get someone to lay new pipe in here.”
“Are you offering to lay some pipe for Scarlet?” Justine’s eyebrow arches playfully.
I shake my head at my best friend. At least she’s finally showing signs of her old jaw-dropping self. “Thanks. You didn’t need to come and do that, though.”
“I don’t mind.” He reaches for the rag on the floor next to my mother’s leopard-print-slippered foot.
“Well, you’ve certainly saved us,” Dottie purrs, stroking his ego. “We had no idea how to fix this.”
“By dialing a plumber,” I say dryly, in no mood for her damsel-in-distress act.
Justine gives my mom an elbow and a wide-eyed look. “Isn’t it our turn to get groceries this week?”
“Huh? Oh, right. Yes. It is.” My mom plays into it. “We’ll be gone for at least an hour.” She takes a long, leisurely, head-to-toe look at Shane. “More likely two.”
Really subtle, Mom.
They saunter down the hall and, twenty seconds later, with a lot of noise and theatrics about shoes and coats, they’re out the door, leaving Shane and me alone.
“They seem to be getting along well,” he says.
“Who? Dottie and Justine? Oh yeah, I knew they would. My mom’s really good at being that wild-and-fun girlfriend.” Being a reliable, responsible mother, not so much.
He shuts the cupboard door and leans against it. “I noticed their cars in the driveway every night. Are they both living here now?”
I haven’t talked to Shane since he called me that night about the fire. Is he checking my driveway for visitors as often as I’m checking his? My heart skips a beat with the thought that he still cares. “They are.” I settle into a kitchen chair. “My mom’s just here until her new place is ready, but I think Justine’s here for good.”