of his best paintings had evolved from brushstrokes with no direction, just moving his arm intuitively and watching to see what evolved on the canvas. If he kept getting out of bed each morning and facing each day, one after another, would his life begin to take some kind of shape? He couldn’t be certain. But in the absence of an actual plan, he supposed he’d find out.
KENZIE THROBBED everywhere—muscles she hadn’t realized she possessed were angrily making their presence known. She had a ton of unpacking to do, but all she really wanted was a long, hot soak in the bathtub. There wasn’t time, though. Ann had called from her cell phone to say she was en route with the kids and “backup brawn.” Besides, Kenzie was scared to test the bathroom’s hot water. If it, like the building’s elevator, the ceiling fan in her bedroom and the stove’s faulty pilot light, neglected to work, she might cry.
Reminding herself that those were all minor inconveniences easily fixed, Kenzie grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Heck, she’d already relit the pilot light herself, and the worrisome smell of gas had dissipated. She sat on the brown living-room carpet, a shade probably chosen because it wouldn’t show stains. That could come in handy with two kids. When the knock sounded at her door, she wasn’t sure her legs would cooperate enough for her to stand, but she managed. Just barely.
Instead of the relatives she’d expected, it was Mr. Carlyle, a short man of indeterminate age. His thick hair was the color of freshly fallen snow, unmitigated by gray, and he had exchanged the navy track suit he’d worn this morning for an Atlanta Braves T-shirt with jeans and a tool belt.
“Afternoon, Miss Green.” He peered past her at the cardboard boxes stacked beyond. Her apartment looked like an elementary student’s homage to Stonehenge. “You settling in okay?”
“More or less.”
“I won’t bother you long, just came up to tell you the elevator’s working again.”
Oh, happy day! She and Forrest would need to bring the mattresses up through the stairwell, but the elevator would make everything else easier. “That’s wonderful news. Thanks, Mr. Carlyle.”
“Just doin’ my job—and call me Mr. C. Everyone in the building does.”
It’s what JT had called the man this morning. For a moment, it was on the tip of her tongue to ask the property manager about the handsome mystery man. She assumed JT lived here, but didn’t know that for sure. What was his last name? Did he ever smile? She ignored the random thoughts, telling herself they stemmed from exhaustion. Normally she was too worried about taking care of her own household to be nosy about others.
Kenzie had just finished giving Mr. C. a rundown of small repairs needed in the apartment when the elevator at the end of the hall dinged. The doors parted, and a teeming mass of cranky humanity spilled forth. Blond Leslie and dark-haired Drew led the way, bickering and power walking, each apparently determined to reach their mother first. Behind them, Ann’s infant daughter, Abigail, was screaming bloody murder in her car seat. As Ann approached, Kenzie saw two wet circles on the front of her sister’s shirt and tried not to feel relieved that Ann looked harried for a change. With them was her husband, Forrest. At first glance, he seemed to be talking to himself, but Kenzie quickly realized that he was wearing an earpiece attached to his phone and was trying to set up a tee time.
Amidst the noise—perhaps because of it?—the door directly behind Mr. C. opened, giving Kenzie a clear view of the person framed in the doorway. JT.
JT lived in the apartment across from her?
Her eyes locked with his, but calls of “Mom! Mom!” broke the spell. She looked toward her two kids and, in her peripheral vision, saw JT quickly shut his door. No doubt he was hiding on the other side, thinking, There goes the neighborhood.
FROM THE TWO HOPELESS expressions aimed at Kenzie as she set paper plates on the coffee table, one would think the kids were being served their last meal.
She sat cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side—tomorrow, she’d get around to assembling the white pine dinette set. “Guys, you know this is only temporary. Everything will get better soon.”
“Easy for you to say,” her son said morosely. “You’ll meet new people at your job. How are we supposed to make friends this summer?”
Kenzie knew from asking Mr. Carlyle that, of the twelve units in the building, ten were currently occupied, including hers and Mr. C.’s, which was on the first floor. He’d said there were a few teenagers in the building and one toddler, but no other elementary-school-aged kids.
Drew heaved a dramatic sigh, sounding for a change just like his sister. “We’ll practically be shut-ins until school starts!”
The twins had protested that they were too old for day care. Kenzie had grudgingly said they could stay here by themselves for the duration of summer break—with her coming home each day for lunch and Ann making habitual drop-ins to keep them on their toes. Yet even after they’d begged permission to stay alone, Drew managed to make it seem as if a form of torture was being inflicted on them.
“School starts in a few weeks,” Kenzie told them. “It will be here before you know it!”
Leslie picked at the crust on her tuna fish sandwich. “I miss my friends.”
After less than twenty-four hours? “North Carolina isn’t far. We can visit sometimes. Once we move into the house, we’ll invite Stacy to come stay for a weekend.”
“What about Paul?” Drew demanded from around a bite of sandwich. He never let being depressed stand in the way of his appetite. In fact, if Leslie continued to ignore her own food, he’d probably ask if he could have it.
“Sure,” Kenzie said. “We could invite Paul, too. If the two of you behave, and after we’re all settled.”
“You mean once we have furniture again?” Drew asked.
With a spring starting to poke through the ugly upholstery, their thrift-store couch hadn’t been worth the trouble to move. At this precise moment, just about everything seemed like more trouble than it was worth. But, as she’d promised the kids, it would get better. She had a few more days before she was due at work; maybe they should check the budget and spend half a day on something fun.
“There’s lots of cool stuff to do around Atlanta,” she stated. “Stone Mountain, the aquarium downtown, the Coke Museum, a planetarium.” When she received only halfhearted murmurs of agreement, she played her ace. “Six Flags?”
Leslie glanced up with shining blue eyes. “Really? You never let me go anywhere with roller coasters!”
“Well, it’s not like we had any theme parks in Raindrop.”
“You promise you’ll take us?” Leslie asked skeptically.
“Yes, but I’ll need to get my first paycheck before we go.”
“At least that’s something to look forward to,” Drew allowed before his face fell again. “We may not have had roller coasters back home, but I could have spent the summer swimming at Paul’s. What kind of apartment doesn’t have a pool? I thought that was, like, standard.”
Instead of a pool, there was a communal balcony area on the roof, complete with grill and a couple of lounge chairs, which spared her the arguments about
