hate moral people,” he said, turning around. “You’re so boring.”
“I’m telling Dave you were mean to me,” I said, grinning. “You know your boyfriend adores me.”
He turned around and smiled, his usually supercilious expression gone in place of a big smile. “Thanks for helping with that,” he said.
“You’re welcome. Buy me something fabulous.”
“You got it.”
And then I was alone again, sort of, breathing in the smell of Mark’s shampoo, telling my heart to wise up, despite it natural inclination to do otherwise.
ON SATURDAY, I SURVEYED my vast collection of fab shoes, wondering if bringing seven pairs on an overnight trip might be excessive, when Noah bellowed up the stairs.
“Got a second?” he asked. “I need some help in the shop.”
“Sure,” I called, glancing at the clock. Ian was coming at two, and it was only quarter after twelve, so I went downstairs, Bowie pattering after me, his steps light, looking up at me as if I were the most fascinating person in the world. Or as if I were about to give him some bacon, which was more likely.
Noah was working on a sea kayak, a long, beautiful boat with a razor-sharp bow and thin body. It looked like a suicide machine to me, but to each his own.
“Okay, just slide it down the side here,” Noah instructed, feeding me the piece of mahogany, which was so long it quivered.
“You don’t usually put trim on your kayaks, do you, Noah?” I asked, doing as I was told.
“No. But this flatlander wanted what he wanted, and he was dumb enough to pay me three grand extra, so here we go. Now can we drop the chatter and get this done?”
“Yes, Noah. And don’t forget I’m going to a wedding and I still need to pack.”
Ian had e-mailed me last night with our schedule, a rather matter-of-fact list of information. We’d be staying at the Capitol Hotel, a beautiful old place that was actually a former account of mine. (The grace of yesterday, the convenience of today.) I was glad Ian had chosen it … not that there was a lot to choose from, even in our capital city. Montpelier was only about an hour from Georgebury, but if Ian wanted to put me up in a gorgeous hotel, I wasn’t about to talk him out of it. Just come as my friend. The memory brought a smile to my face. I would. I’d be a great friend.
“So who’s gonna feed me while you’re gone?” Noah asked.
“No one. I expect to come home tomorrow and find your withered little skeleton, sitting all alone at the table, still waiting for dinner. If only you could walk or talk or use the phone or make your own damn dinner … wait a minute! You can!”
Noah growled, but beneath his white beard, a smile lurked. “You’re a smart-ass, anyone ever tell you that?”
“I get ‘saint’ a lot, especially when people find out I’m living with you,” I said. “But no, not smart-ass.”
“Maybe you’re not listenin’,” he grunted. “Now hold that there, sweetheart. Good. This is gonna take a sec.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall … 12:30 p.m. I had time.
Noah tapped, swore, hopped (he was going one-legged today), swore. It had been a long while since I’d helped my grandfather in the shop, and it was lovely, the smell of wood smoke and cedar, my grandfather nodding in approval, whistling tunelessly. Time seemed to stop out here, since so little had changed over the years. Ever since we were small, Noah had put us to work out here. He was a good teacher, explaining how wood fit together, why he did things a certain way. I’d always felt so safe when I helped him. Still did.
I checked the time again. 12:47 p.m.
“Go get me a C-clamp, darlin’,” he said, in a rare and fine mood today. I went to his workbench and scavenged around ‘til I found it, then returned.
“Okay, hold this again,” Noah instructed. We were on the other side of the kayak now, and after a few minutes, my hands tingled from staying in the same position. Noah then needed another bit of wood sanded, and I obliged. After a while, I glanced at the clock again. 12:51 p.m. But that couldn’t be right.
“Noah? Is that clock broken?” I asked, once more holding a piece of wood in place.
“Oh, yeah. Been broke for a while,” he said.
“What time is it? I have to pack! I haven’t even showered!”
He pulled out his pocket watch. “Five of two.”
“Noah! I have to go! Ian’s coming in five minutes! Can’t you call Freddie and have him come over?”
“You cahn’t just stop, Callie! I’m almost done.”
“I have to—”
“Shush, child! You let go now, I have to start over, and you don’t want that, do you?”
“I don’t want to be late, either …” My voice broke off as Bowie exploded into barking. Sure enough, I heard a knock.
“We’re in the shop!” I yelled.
“Christly, you’re loud,” Noah muttered.
The door to the shop opened. Sure enough, it was Ian, wearing khakis and an oxford. At the sight of my flannel pajamas, his face tightened.
“Ian, I’ll just be two minutes,” I said. “Noah,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “We’re going to a wedding.”
“Fine! One more nail … there. You can go, Princess, for God’s sake.” He looked over at Ian. “Afternoon.”
“Hello, Mr. Grey. Nice to see you. Callie, we need to leave.” His jaw was clenched.
“Yup! I know! Two minutes! Come on, follow me. You can carry my, um … my bag.” Which I hadn’t packed, thanks to my grandfather’s broken clock. And let’s be honest. I wasn’t exactly the “Let me just grab my toothbrush” type. I flew up the stairs, Bowie leaping excitedly next to me, Ian following without so much joie de vivre. “Come on in,” I said, flying into my room. “Or no, just stay … well. I’m sorry. Noah needed … forget it. Two minutes!” Leaving him scowling on the catwalk, I flew into my room, then into the bathroom.
Okay, I needed a shower, that was clear. I threw the faucets on and, while I waited for the water to heat, yanked open the drawer and took out my overnight makeup bag. Foundation, concealer, powder, blush, eye shadow (three shades of course, this was black tie), eyeliner, mascara, not this stuff, the good stuff, where was my eyebrow brush, ah, here it was, tweezers, lip gloss … no, lipstick … no, both … okay, and which shade …
“Callie! We need to leave.”
“Two minutes!” I lied. Razor. Shampoo. Conditioner, voluminizing mousse, styling cream, finishing spray, gloss.
I tore off my jammies, jumped under the spray and soaped
