Arthur looks like he’s going to hug him but thinks better of it. “Rehearsals start Wednesday.”
“Let’s do this in the living room. We need room to move around.” And with that, they’re all business. I go into the kitchen to wash the dishes. I am trying to remember the last time an adult took over one of my responsibilities. Ben would sometimes run out for toilet paper or pick up the kids from school. It occurs to me now how long I’ve been doing this all on my own.
CHAPTER 5
It’s Monday and Leo’s holding Arthur’s copy of the Oliver Twist script while watching the sunrise. “Hey,” he says without turning his head.
I sit next to him on the porch swing, noting that he seems to have figured out the coffee system in my house. “It’s really nice that you did that with Arthur last night.”
“Don’t tell him, but he’s kind of a natural.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
We’re silent as the sun moves through a dark orange finale.
“Writing today?” he asks.
“Gonna try. What are you going to do?”
“I was thinking about going into town.”
Which is how I end up not writing and taking Leo Vance on a walking tour of Laurel Ridge proper. The town is pretty much one strip of shops, a small grocery at one end and a bookstore at the other. Leo buys cheese and a baguette at the grocery. And a jar of jam in a flavor he’s never seen before. He asks if he can taste the salami and buys a pound of that. He buys berries and kiwis like a kid pulling candy off the shelf by the checkout counter.
“Planning a picnic?” I ask as we walk out, laden with bags.
“Nope. I just liked the looks of it. Let’s go in there.” He motions to an overpriced housewares store that has no chance of surviving the year in this town. In fact, I’ve never been inside, on principle.
Two saleswomen are chatting behind the counter and go silent when they see Leo. So silent, in fact, that it’s awkward. “Hello?” he says.
The older one comes out from behind the counter. “Hello. I’m sorry. I was just so surprised to see you standing there. In my store.” I admire her honesty.
Leo puts out his hand and says, absolutely unnecessarily, “I’m Leo. And this is Nora. I’m staying with her for a while.” Both women look me up and down, probably trying to divine what sorcery I’m using to put myself in this situation. He gets naked in the bathroom across the hall from where I sleep, I want to tell them. Someone needs to know.
Leo looks around the store, fingering every coffee mug, every throw pillow, every set of salad tongs. “I’ll take these,” he says holding up a set of ivory sheets and evoking a gasp from the store owner. Then to me, “What do you sleep in? A king?”
“Queen,” I say in a small voice because （1） it seems like a personal question, and （2） it’s possible I was harboring a fantasy that these women thought he’d seen my bed.
He picks up a set of queen-size sheets and hands them to the lady. “I bet your sheets are crap,” he says to me. When I start to object, he puts up his hand to silence me. “Just let me.” He stares me down until I nod in agreement. “What else? Do you like your coffee mugs?”
“I do.”
“I do too.” He wanders around collecting small items until he finds the towels. “We need new towels. Don’t even start to argue.” Which, okay. He chooses four sets of the most luxurious towels I’ve ever felt. They’re a light aqua, a perfect match to the fading tile in the kids’ bathroom. He hands them to the slightly panting lady.
By the time he’s convinced me that my wine opener is “trash,” he’s got more stuff than we can carry. The ladies happily agree to deliver it all to my house.
“Well, my house feels like it’s had it’s Pretty Woman moment,” I say as we head to the bookstore.
“I don’t get to shop. There’s a woman Weezie hired who chooses my clothes. Someone else picked out everything in my apartment. Same for the other houses.”
“That’s weird.”
“It is. Like, it feels good to choose a towel color, decide which bananas look good.”
“Is that what’s at the heart of this suburban crisis you’re having? You want to make choices?”
Leo doesn’t answer, and I’m afraid I’ve pried. I also haven’t said “thank you,” and now it feels too late. We walk into the bookstore, and I introduce Leo to Stewart, the owner. He asks if he can take a photo with Leo for his Instagram account, and Leo is gracious.