Screwdrivered (Cocktail 3)

And when Caroline and Contractor Joe needed to discuss recaulking the windows on the second floor, going on and on about how for the best seal you needed a really thick caulk? Clark turned three shades of purple and I damn near bit through my lower lip.

But as the day stretched on, progress was made. At the end we had a clear plan for making the changes I felt were needed but also made Clark comfortable. Not only in terms of the historical register but meeting his mental guidelines for the integrity of the house. Caroline had walked a tightrope between the two themes all day, mediating and balancing the tension that was no longer ignorable.

The easy truce Clark and I had formed after the first few days, the friendship that had blossomed while I was back in Philadelphia, was gone. And in its place? Uncomfortable silence. Frustrated and stilted conversation. And worse? Caulk. Oh the caulk.

Once we said good-bye to Contractor Joe, Caroline excused herself to make a phone call and I was alone with Clark in the entryway.

Silence. More silence. Shuffle of shoe, puff of breath, and then again, silence.

Finally, we both started:

“So what do you think about—”

“So if it’s all right with you—”

Then we both backed off.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“No no, what were you going to say?”

“No please. You first,” I insisted.

“Ladies first, Vivian,” he insisted right back.

This would go on all night if our mutual stubbornness had its way.

“What I was going to say is, what do you think about Joe? He seemed to be the best of the bunch to me.”

“I think he appears to be very capable, and seems to understand what you’re going for here. I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”

“Good. I mean, I thought so too, but I wondered what you thought,” I rambled, filling the space. Which had never been necessary before. “So—yeah.”

More silence.

“What were you going to say?” I asked.

“Hmm?” He seemed distracted.

“When we both started talking at the same time? What were you going to say?” I repeated.

“Oh. Well, I was just going to say that it seems like Caroline and you have really worked things out, and this project is pretty well on track. I think everything’s going to work out just fine with the house.”

“I think so too. It’ll be fun to see some of these things take shape.” I moved a little closer to him and pointed to a cornice piece that separated the entryway and the living room. “I really liked your idea of trying to replicate these upstairs. It’ll really tie things together.”

“It seemed like a natural progression,” he said softly, pushing up his glasses.

“And I’m glad you liked the ideas I had about the master bathroom. I was afraid you’d veto my rain shower,” I teased.

He sighed. “Why would I veto your rain shower? Bathrooms need to be updated, Vivian. Even I know that.” His voice had changed again. He seemed tired, frustrated. Aggravated, but not in the way I normally seemed to get under his skin.

I’d teased Clark in the past to get a reaction out of him, but right now there was nothing I wanted more than to hear him say “impossible woman” in that deep voice of his. But that’s not what he said.

“I think it’s time I stepped back and let you follow through on the choices you’ve made here.”

He started for the door and I darted in front of him. “Hey. Wait, where are you running off to?”

“I’m not running off anywhere. I’m leaving,” he said matter-of-factly, looking anywhere but at me when I wedged myself between him and the door.

“Oh come on, Caroline and I were going to have a glass of wine, sit and watch the ocean for a bit, then maybe take the Blue Bomber out for a run up the coast.” Pressing back against the door, I smiled up at him in a winning way.

“You’re going to drink wine and then drive a car?” he asked sternly.

“No! If we did go for a drive it’d be much later, like . . . Dammit, Clark, you know what I meant!” I chewed on my thumbnail. “So come on. Stay. Okay?”

“I can’t,” he said, and moved to step around me.

I moved too. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Vivian.” He groaned when I matched him, bobbing when he weaved. Getting in his face and staying there.

“Can’t or won’t?” I repeated, unflinching. I stared into his eyes, molten chocolate and full of an emotion that was impossible to pinpoint.

“I have plans.”

“Plans?” I asked incredulously. Which was a bad idea.

“Yes, I have plans. Not all my evenings are taken up with thinking about you,” he spat out. “About you and this house, I mean.”

“Well, what are these plans?” I asked, frowning.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He licked his lower lip, and I stared at it.

Caroline’s high heels clicking across the floor made me glance away, and he pushed past me onto the front porch.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, and was down the steps just as Caroline came up behind me. We watched the Taurus leave at a sensible speed, like the pace car in a homecoming parade. No dust thrown up from his tires, straight down the middle of the road.

“Did you ask him to stay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I answered, heading for the kitchen. “Drink?”