That . . . that made a lot of sense. “Okay, so what do you think I should do?”
He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed while he thought, and it was overwhelming how present he was in this room. How much space he took up in my space. “Paint everything, definitely,” he finally said. “Maybe redo the carpets in the living room and dining room, you know, the high-traffic areas.” He’d still been looking idly around my room while he was talking, but now he turned his attention back to me. “Not that this house gets a lot of traffic, huh? You’ve never been the throwing-parties type.”
“Well, no.” My jaw clenched with annoyance. What business was it of his if I threw parties or not? I liked my own company just fine; I wasn’t going to apologize for that.
Something must have shown in my face, because he put up defensive hands. “Hey, nothing wrong with that,” he said. “You want to be antisocial, be my guest.”
“Thanks.” Acid dripped from my voice, but Mitch kept talking like I hadn’t interrupted.
“I mean on the one hand, I think more of the world should get to experience your cooking.” A smile quirked on his lips. “On the other hand though, that means more for me.”
I couldn’t suppress the laughter that burst out of me like a sneeze. “Thanks,” I said again, but this time the acid was gone. He had a way of doing that. “Anyway, that’s about it.” I pushed lightly on his arm, which was a joke; someone like Mitch only moved when he wanted to. But he followed my lead, leaving my bedroom and heading back toward the living room. I breathed easier once he cleared the door; he’d been a very large presence in my room. I hadn’t been ready for that.
* * *
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The timing couldn’t have worked out better. Mitch left and I went out into the backyard to clean up the cans of stain and rinse the brushes under the hose. I’d just turned the water on when I heard the familiar sound of Emily’s white Jeep pulling into the driveway.
“Back here!” I called once I heard the slam of the car doors. I turned back to the brushes, and I was almost done cleaning them when Caitlin appeared in the backyard, followed closely by Emily.
“How did the sign-ups go?” I addressed the question to both of them, not picky about who answered. I glanced up in time to see Emily about to sit on the steps and dropped my paintbrush, throwing out a hand. “Still wet!”
Startled, Emily windmilled her arms till she regained her balance, then retreated to sit on a patch of grass I hadn’t soaked yet. “Good,” she said, answering my question.
“Yeah.” Caitlin dropped her backpack next to Emily and then sat down beside her. “Coach Malone wasn’t there, so I think they’re doing the chess match stuff a different day. But I’m not doing that anyway.”
I gave a little start of guilt. Mitch had said he wasn’t needed at tryouts; that was why he’d come over here to help me instead. Should he have been there today? I didn’t like him missing something on my account.
But when I glanced over at them, Emily shrugged. “The chess match tryouts are a little more involved, since there’s all that fighting with weapons and stuff. Mitch said he couldn’t make it today, but I think he and Simon are going to get together on it later in the week.”
Nope. I still felt guilty. And relieved that Mitch had already left by the time these two got home. I cast around quick for a subject change. “Are you singing again?” Caitlin was somewhat of a dilettante when it came to the Faire. Her first summer she’d been a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. Next she’d helped Emily stage scenes from Shakespeare, and then last summer she’d participated in a five-part girls’ singing group called the Gilded Lilies. I all but expected her to announce that she’d be jousting this year. I pictured my kid on horseback with a lance and grinned down at the paintbrushes as I shook the water off them.
“Yep,” she said. “Syd wants to do it again, and it was fun last summer. Dahlia didn’t come back this year, so Mr. G asked me to help him decide who to cast.” Pride filled her voice, and with good reason. She’d gone from that tiny fourteen-year-old lady-in-waiting to being part of the casting committee. Good for her.
“You know, you can call him Simon.” Emily leaned over and nudged Caitlin’s shoulder with hers. “He’s your uncle now.”
“Yeah, I know.” Caitlin plucked absently at the grass at her feet. “Still feels weird sometimes, though?”
“That’s fair,” I said. There was no rule book for when a teacher in your high school married your aunt. Nothing wrong with letting her and Simon navigate their relationship in a way that worked for them.
The brushes were clean, so I tapped them against the railing to knock off some extra water before laying them across the top of the closed-up cans. “Here,” I said to Caitlin after Emily had gone home for lunch. “Help me pick all this up.” I grabbed the two mostly empty cans and brushes, then waved for her to grab the rags and other detritus.
“What’s this for anyway?” Caitlin followed me into the garage, where we put everything away.
“Oh, I was getting started on that to-do list from the real estate agent. You know, all the painting and stuff I need to do before I can sell the house.”
Silence answered me, and I turned to see Caitlin looking blankly at me, her mouth slack.
“You’re selling the house?”
“Honey.” I didn’t understand why she looked so stricken. “You were there the night the agent came by. We talked about this.”
“Yeah, I know, but . . .” She blinked a few times, quickly, and my heart sank. “I thought we were just talking. I didn’t know you were really going to do it.”
“Well, I am.” I didn’t know any nicer way to say it. I thought she knew my plans already. “You know that once you’re off to college, this house will be too big for me all by myself.”
That didn’t make her look any happier. “But this is home. And I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be coming home, you know. Like for Christmas and stuff. Where will you . . . where am I gonna go?”
“Caitlin.” I started to reach for her, but the look on her face said that it wouldn’t be a great idea. “I’m not vanishing in the night without a forwarding address. You’ll know where I’ll be. And you’ll always have a place wherever I am. But I . . .” Hate small towns. I couldn’t say that, not to my daughter. I couldn’t tell her that the only reason we’d lived here for so long was that she’d been happy here. That was no kind of guilt to put on a kid. “I’d love to live closer to work,” I finally said. Better.
Her face darkened. “Whatever. I’m going to have some lunch.” She turned away from me and headed inside, leaving me in the semidarkness of the garage, my first home improvement project finished. I should be feeling accomplished: something to check off the list. But my insides felt all jumbled in conflicted directions, and I didn’t know what it was going to take to straighten them out.
* * *
? ? ?
Caitlin wasn’t happy at all.