searching for a word. “Guest.”
That seemed as good a word as any, Noah figured. Although, guests didn’t kiss the hostess. Guests were smart enough to eat the pie instead of thinking about devouring her lips.
Well, if that were true, then where had that kiss come from? Definitely out of left field. He’d merely been sideswiped by dinner, swept up into a moment he’d never intended.
Obviously Charlie hadn’t been the only one overwhelmed by the roast beef.
“Mrs. Witherspoon,” Victoria prompted, “did you come by for something?”
“Oh, yes. I did indeed. I’m putting in a greenhouse and I need to knock down a wall.” She put a finger to her chin. “Maybe two. Can I borrow a sledgehammer?”
“Did you finish the patio already?”
Mrs. Witherspoon waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m going to turn that into a garden. Who needs all that space to sit around anyway?” She took a step forward, studying Noah. “How long are you staying, young man? And what are your intentions with our Victoria?”
Beside him, Noah could see Victoria cringe. He knew the look. He’d had a neighbor like Mrs. Witherspoon when he’d been a kid. Playing games at the knees of the local bridge club seemed to give them ownership when he got older, as if he were part of the extended family of every little old lady who had ever sipped tea at his mother’s dining room table.
Or at least it used to be that way. Then his parents’ marriage had run aground, and eventually, the neighbors had stopped calling, as if what had happened in the McCarty house was contagious. The weeds had taken over the front gardens and the friendly waves had been replaced by distant stares.
But now Mrs. Witherspoon was looking at him expectantly. “Uh, just until tomorrow,” Noah said. “My truck broke down and Larry—”
“You’re staying here? With Victoria?” Her shocked face told him what she thought of that. Apparently social mores hadn’t changed since Noah had been a kid.
“He’s renting my vacant room,” Victoria cut in.
Mrs. Witherspoon harrumphed, removing her enormous hat and using a free hand to smooth her gray hair. “I had a man ask to rent one of my rooms once. He didn’t want the extra twin, let me tell you.” She pursed her lips and eyed Noah. “You come with me, young man. I’ll put you to work knocking down a wall.” She thought again. “Probably two.”
“I’d love to help, ma’am, but I’m heading to Maine in the morning.”
“Maine? Whatever for? I’ll tell you something—” at this, she wagged her feathered hat “—there’s nothing in Maine you can’t find right here.”
“Well—”
“Besides, this won’t take much time. It’s always good to keep busy, don’t you think?”
“Well—”
“Now, go on, get that sledgehammer,” Mrs. Witherspoon said, waving Noah in the direction of the garage, “while Victoria and I have a little chitchat. Then I suppose you can come back here and stay with our Victoria.” She eyed him suspiciously. “After I give her some advice about handling strangers, of course.”
For a second, Noah thought of protesting, then changed his mind. Mrs. Witherspoon was right about one thing. Knocking down a wall would be good for him. For one, it would give him something to do, something to fill the hours until morning—something other than kissing Victoria again—and for another, it would help him work out a little of the tension building in his shoulders, bunching his muscles like coiled wire.
But an hour and a half and two walls later, Noah hadn’t found relief in the destruction of plaster and lathe. He was sweaty and dusty, his body aching, his chest heaving, but the demons that had traveled with him from Rhode Island were still hanging stubbornly on his shoulders.
“Noah?”
Victoria’s soft voice behind him. He turned, laying the sledgehammer against one of the remaining studs, swiping off the bead of sweat along his brow. “Hey.”
“I brought you more lemonade. And, you have a call.” She held up his cell phone, which he had left behind when he’d come over to Mrs. Witherspoon’s. He hadn’t thought to tell Victoria not to answer it. He hadn’t thought to turn it off. He hadn’t thought at all.
He stared at the Motorola, as if it might bite him. The small silver phone looked innocuous enough, but Noah knew better. Whoever was waiting on the other end would have questions. Questions Noah didn’t know how to begin to answer.
“He said he’s your boss,” Victoria said, “and he told me to tell you that if you think you can get away without answering the phone, he has ways of making sure you hear him.”
At that, Dan Higgins let out a roar through the cell line. “McCarty, pick up! I can hear you breathing, damn it!”
Despite himself, Noah grinned. Dan always did know how to motivate his employees.
Since there would be no getting rid of Dan, Noah crossed to Victoria and took the phone, then the lemonade. “Thanks.”
She gave him a shy smile. “No problem.”
As he swallowed a big gulp of the icy beverage, he told himself not to be touched that she’d gone to the trouble to make it. He’d seen her empty the pitcher earlier, which meant she’d had to make another one. Once again, lemon slices tangoed with the ice cubes, telling Noah this wasn’t some store-bought mix he was drinking.
“I hear ice cubes,” Dan shouted. “So don’t play dead, McCarty. Talk to me.”
“I’m here,” Noah said. Reluctantly.
“Good. Now, you may think you quit, but you didn’t.”
“Which of those two words didn’t you hear when I walked out this morning? I’m done, Dan. D-O-N—”
“You’re on vacation. Leave. What do you call it…hiatus. Whatever. You’ll be back.”
Across from him, concern filled Victoria’s face. Noah turned away, toward the expanse of Mrs. Witherspoon’s yard that had once been blocked by a wall. He closed his eyes and gripped the icy glass tighter.
“Dan, I’m not coming back.” He couldn’t face another failure, not one where people’s lives were at stake.
“Justin wasn’t your fault,” Dan said softly. “Sometimes—”
“Don’t say it,” Noah said, the words a growl. “He was my responsibility and I let him down. Now he’s probably on the streets selling his soul for drugs, or, God Almighty, something worse. And all because I didn’t do my damned job.”
“If you come back—”
“If I come back, all I’ll end up seeing is Justin’s face on a rap sheet. Or on a slab in the morgue. I can’t do that, Dan. I can’t—” Noah’s voice broke on the last few words, splintering and cracking into shards sharper than those of the old wood that littered the
