Bed and Breakfast (4 page)

“I don’t think you’re going to get your hot shower tonight,” I told him. I held up the bottle of wine. “Can I make up for it by offering you a glass of wine?”

“Of course,” he said. “And all is forgiven.”

I handed him a glass and refilled my own.

Brent and I were sitting together sipping our wine when Steve came into the living room. He had cobwebs in his hair from the basement. He glanced at Brent, and at Brent’s bathrobe, but didn’t say hello. Then he turned to me.

“Your hot water tank is nearly as old as I am,” Steve told me. “That thing should have been replaced decades ago. Not worth fixing.”

I sighed. “I suppose now I’ve got to buy a new hot water tank?”

He nodded. “I’ll pick one up from the hardware store tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

Steve took one more look at Brent in his bathrobe. “I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were doing,” he said. He looked angry. I could see that he thought Brent and I were sharing a lot more than just a bottle of wine.

“I’ll see you out,” I said.

“No need,” Steve said. “I know my way.”

I walked with him to the front door anyway. When we got there, I lowered my voice so Brent wouldn’t hear. “There was nothing going on between Brent and me,” I told Steve. “He was having a shower when he discovered we had no hot water.”

“What you do in your own home is none of my business,” Steve said.

“Then why do you look so angry?” When Steve didn’t answer right away, I said, “Brent thought you and I were married. Then he thought you and I were dating.” I paused. “Can you imagine?”

I admit I was testing Steve, to see what he thought of that idea. But right away I regretted what I said. I knew by the look on Steve’s face that I had hurt his feelings.

“Obviously
you
can’t imagine us dating,” he said. He turned to go.

“Steve,” I said. “Wait.” But he stormed off and disappeared into the night.

Brent was right. Steve wanted me, and he did see Brent as a threat. I wondered if I had just lost my best friend.

I went back inside the house. Brent was still in the living room, drinking his wine. “Everything all right?” he said.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “Everything is fine.”

“Steve was angry, wasn’t he?”

“He had no reason to be angry.”

“He wasn’t too pleased to see me in my bathrobe.”

“Think nothing of it,” I said. I tried to sound casual. “I want my guests to feel at home here.”

Brent leaned forward and took my hand. “But I’m more than just a guest, aren’t I?”

I felt weak in the knees from his touch. Yet for the first time that day, I wasn’t sure I wanted Brent’s attention. Not if that meant I would lose Steve’s friendship.

“I feel that we are kindred spirits,” Brent told me.

“Kindred spirits?”

“We’ve been through similar things,” he said. “I lost my wife, you lost your husband. We understand each other in a way others don’t.”

Steve understands me, I thought. Better than anyone.

Brent leaned back and crossed his ankles again. “Steve sees that connection between you and me. He’s jealous of it.”

Yes, I thought, I know. But how could I fix things between Steve and me?

Steve knocked on the front door again in the morning. I knew then that he was still mad at me. But I was determined to mend our relationship. I wanted our friendship to be as strong as it was before Brent arrived.

When I opened the door, I said, “You know you don’t have to knock.”

“This isn’t my house,” he said. “Walking right in would be rude.”

“That never stopped you before,” I said. I smiled, hoping to lighten his mood. He ignored my remark and went straight to the basement door. He would have to haul the old hot water tank up the stairs before putting the new one in.

“Wait,” I called, before he went downstairs. “Don’t you want a cup of coffee first?” We always
had a coffee and a chat before he started a job around the house.

“I’ve got other things to do today,” he said. “I expect you do as well. I assume you’re spending the day with your Mr. Henderson?”

“We have no plans. He’s hardly
my
Mr. Henderson.”

“Where is he, anyway?” asked Steve. “He hasn’t already left, has he?”

“He went for a walk on the beach,” I said.

“Without you?”

“He asked me to join him,” I said. “I told him I was waiting for you to arrive.”

“To put in the new hot water tank.”

“Well, yes.”

Steve grunted as if I had said the wrong thing. “I was looking forward to seeing you, too,” I added. But Steve still looked upset.

Steve was cleanly shaven for the first time I could remember. His chin was smooth and free of beard stubble. He smelled good, of Old Spice aftershave. He had never used aftershave before.

“You look nice today,” I said. “You smell nice.”

“I see you’re all dressed up today, too. For that Mr. Henderson, no doubt.”

I glanced down at myself. I had on what I thought was a casual outfit, pants and a blouse. But the outfit was dressy compared to what I usually wore around Steve.

“Did you do something with your hair?” he asked me.

“I blow-dried and styled it this morning,” I said. “Do you like it?”

“I liked you better before,” Steve said. “You were all natural.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said.

“You could use a haircut,” I told him. “You would be a good-looking man if you took care of yourself.”

“So you’re saying I’m not much to look at now.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said.

“Is that how you see me, as just some slob? Is that all I am to you, the grubby local handyman?”

“No,” I said. “You’re my friend.”

“Your
friend?”

“Yes. You’re my good friend, my best friend. I don’t want to do anything to risk that.” I poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “I can see you’re angry with me,” I said. “I’m just not sure why.”

The look Steve gave me suggested that he didn’t believe me. “Think about it,” he said.

I shook my head. Of course, I did know why he was angry with me. I just didn’t know what to say.

“Why do I bring rhubarb or salad greens over every day?” he asked me. “Why do I forget my tools here? Why do I find excuses to visit you?”

I held my hands out. “We’re friends.”

He put his coffee cup down on the kitchen table without taking a drink. “We
were
friends,” he said, before turning back to the basement. “We’re not anymore.”

Brent arrived back at the bed and breakfast just as Steve was leaving. The two men danced from side to side at the front door, trying not to run into each other. Finally, Steve grunted in disgust and pushed past Brent. He stomped off up the road to his house.

“He’s in a terrible mood this morning,” Brent said as he came in.

“We had an argument,” I explained.

Brent followed me to the kitchen. I banged dishes around in the sink as Brent leaned against the kitchen counter. “I think I can guess what your argument with Steve was about,” he said. “I imagine I’m the problem?”

“None of this is your fault,” I said. “I handled things badly. I hurt Steve without meaning to. I simply didn’t realize he felt that way about me.”

“Well, it’s time for me to head home, anyway. I’m sure Steve will be in a better mood once I’ve left.”

I looked into Brent’s perfect face. “Do you have to go?” I asked him. “Couldn’t you spend another couple of days here? We’ve only just started to get to know each other.”

“I have to open the gallery in the morning,” Brent said. “My brother is away. He can’t fill in for me tomorrow.”

“When will I see you again?” I asked.

“I’m sure our paths will cross down the road.” He said the words so casually, as casually as he would say them to any stranger. I knew then that I would never see him again.

I turned away. I felt rejected, hurt. “But I thought . . . I thought there was something between us.”

Brent put a hand on my arm, so I would look at him. “Annie, you’re so beautiful, and the time I spent with you yesterday means everything to me.”

“But . . .,” I added, when he paused.

“But I’ve just lost my wife. I’m not ready to get involved with anyone. I thought you understood that. I thought you felt the same way.”

I did understand. When I first lost Joe, the last thing I wanted was to find someone new. That was a long time ago, though. I was ready for a relationship now.

“I feel so foolish,” I said.

Brent pulled me to him and hugged me. “Please don’t feel that way,” he said. “This is my fault. I’m aware of the effect I have . . .” He paused again.

“On women.” I finished the sentence for him.

“Yes. I should have been more careful with your feelings,” he said. “I just found you so comfortable to be around.”

Comfortable,
I thought. I didn’t want Brent to find me comfortable. I wanted him to see me as desirable and sexy.

“You can’t begin to imagine how good it was to talk to you,” Brent said. “I’ll never forget you.”

He let me go and stood back. “I really should leave,” he said. “It’s a long drive.”

I nodded. “Yes, of course,” I said. I felt so sad I thought I might cry. Brent had made me feel emotions that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Now he was leaving. I would go back to my ordinary life, living alone in my big old house.

Brent went to the guest room and got his overnight bag. I followed him to the front porch to wave goodbye. Before he left, he rolled down his car window. “Tell me something, Annie,” he said. “I’m curious. Why haven’t you gone out with Steve?”

“You mean on a date?” I asked. “I don’t know. I guess I just never saw Steve that way.”

“You should take a second look,” he said.

“After this weekend, I’m not sure I’ll have the chance. I think my friendship with Steve may have come to an end.”

“Oh, I think you’ll see Steve later today,” Brent said.

“Why do you say that?”

Brent pointed at the house behind me. “He left his toolbox by the front door.”

Brent was right. Steve turned up later that afternoon.

“Annie, I’ve come for my toolbox,” Steve called through the screen door. But I didn’t bother to get up from the kitchen table. I was sitting there, sobbing into a Kleenex.

Steve opened the screen door and came inside. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

I turned my back to him so he wouldn’t see my red face. “Nothing,” I said.

“You can’t tell me you’re crying over nothing,” he said. “This has something to do with that Brent character, doesn’t it? Where is he, anyway? Is he going to be gone long? I came when I saw that his car was gone.”

“He went back home,” I said.

“Ah,” Steve said. “That’s why you’re crying.”

“No, that’s not why I’m crying.”

“Why, then?” he asked.

When I didn’t answer, Steve poured us both a cup of coffee. He sat down at the kitchen table with me. He patted my hand. “There, there,” he said.

“I really made a fool of myself this time,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Which moment are you speaking of?”

“Brent wasn’t interested in me at all,” I said. “He just wanted someone to talk to.”

“Is that right?” Steve didn’t sound surprised.

“You knew!”

“I figured he was the kind of man who is lost without the company of women,” said Steve. “Men like that need a woman’s attention or they fall apart. You were handy.”

“Handy? You’re saying I was simply convenient?”

“You said it yourself: he wanted someone to listen to him. You were there.”

“He wanted someone to listen to him talk about losing his wife,” I said. “She just passed away a few months ago.”

That was news to Steve. I hadn’t told him that Brent’s wife had died only six months ago. He sat back in his chair to think for a moment. “I guess
you can’t fault him for wanting to talk about that,” said Steve. “You’ve been there.”

“Did you feel sort of used when I talked and talked about Joe after he died?” I asked.

“No, of course not,” said Steve. “You needed to talk. Joe was my buddy, remember. I was also grieving at the time. Is that why you’re crying? You feel used?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“What then?”

“I’m crying because I’m all alone in this house. I’m tired of being alone.”

“Is that all?” Steve leaned forward across the table. “Annie, you’re the smartest woman I know. But sometimes you don’t see what’s right in front of your nose.”

My Kleenex was wet, so I wiped my nose on my sleeve. I never would have done that in front of Brent. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

Steve didn’t answer. He pulled me up from the table. Then he took me by the shoulders and pushed me gently towards the stairs. “Go upstairs and clean yourself up,” he told me. “You have makeup all over your face.”

“I do?” When I wiped under one eye, I found mascara on my finger. My tears must have made my eye makeup run.

“And put on something pretty,” said Steve. “A dress, if you like. But make it something you can move in. Not that tight black dress you had on last night. You looked stuffed, like a sausage.”

“That’s a fine thing to say,” I said, offended. “Especially right now.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “You were all curvy and sexy in that dress. You just looked uncomfortable. Now go put on something you feel at ease in.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he said. “I’ll be back in one hour.”

“Where are you going?” I called after him. “Are you taking me somewhere?”

But Steve didn’t answer my questions. “Just get yourself ready,” he told me. He left the house and jogged up the street to his place.

Steve was true to his word. He knocked on my door exactly one hour later. I hardly recognized him. He was freshly shaven. He smelled of expensive aftershave, and it wasn’t the Old Spice he had worn the day before. His hair was neatly styled, combed away from his face, and he wore a nice suit.

“Wow!” I said. “Steve, is that you?”