How to Tell a Lie (15 page)

“Through here. Sorry, I have dirty dishes in the sink.”

There were only a handful of dirty dishes, apparently from a recent meal. The rest of the small kitchen looked tidy and spotless, the realm of either a compulsive cleaner or a man who didn’t spend much time in the kitchen. It was obvious the space had been extensively updated, possibly with some structural changes to increase the size. Allison noticed, with envy, that the small black range was an Aga. There were black granite countertops and the cabinetry looked freshly painted, with new hardware in a simple style but made of a sleek brushed nickel that gave it a contemporary edge. She wondered if the kitchen had been renovated by Seth or a previous occupant.

“I think all I have is some Earl Grey. My mom likes it, so I usually try to keep some.” He rooted around in the narrow pantry and unearthed a box of tea bags, one of which he hung over the edge of the public radio donor giveaway mug he had pulled out of a cabinet stocked with similar mugs and an assortment of plastic cups bearing the logo of the university. Allison had expected Seth would microwave the water for her tea, or maybe boil it in a pan. Instead, he clicked the gas on under a kettle that seemed to have a permanent residence atop the tiny stove.

“So this is the kitchen. You’ve seen the living room and dining room. Let’s go this way, through here.” He held out his hand and she took it automatically, relishing the warm feel of his skin against hers even in that limited contact. He curved his fingers through hers and squeezed gently—handholding with intent. They smiled at each other, still hesitant, and then the moment passed and he led her through the other door from the kitchen back out to the hallway that ran down the middle of the first floor.

On the opposite side of the hall from the living room, one of the original bedroom doors had been replaced with a French door, and the room looked as though it had been rebuilt into an actual study at some point. More built-in cabinets and bookcases, these clearly not original, spanned one wall and framed the window and a low window seat with more cabinets beneath. Aside from the built-ins, the room was empty.

“This is kind of cool. Why do you work out of the dining room?”

Seth shrugged. “I just haven’t gotten around to getting a desk.”

“It would have been my first priority, I think. The idea of having a study is so great. This was all like this when you bought it?”

“I got really lucky. It was a foreclosure. This was about two years ago, and I was renting a house just down the street at the time. I knew this place was empty. One night when I’d just started seriously looking for a place to buy, I happened to drive by right when the HUD guy was posting the foreclosure notice on the door. The guy who owned it before was an investment banker. He and his wife had all this work done to the place, and then she ended up leaving him for the contractor.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. It was sort of sad. He went into a terrible depression after she left, lost his job and couldn’t keep up with the payments.”

“How did you find out about all that?”

“The neighbors told me everything after I moved in. They liked her, but they never liked him. I get the impression he was sort of an asshole. And just a bad neighbor. I’m a little better, because I mow my lawn fairly often and I don’t steal people’s newspapers.”

“Good neighbor,” she agreed.

“So down here,” he said as he led Allison back down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, “is the guest room. I haven’t had any actual guests, but I’m ready for it if it happens.”

He was ready in a loose technical sense. There was a bed with a mattress pad but no sheets. It had two pillows and a blanket slung over it. Venetian blinds screened both windows. A cheap floor lamp provided the room’s only illumination.

“It’s very…adequate.”

“Thanks. I said I’m ready for guests, I didn’t say I was encouraging people to stay.” He squeezed her hand again, rubbing his thumb against her palm and looking down at their entwined fingers. “Show you the upstairs later, or now?”

“Well, you could just show it to me now, as part of the tour, but then the water will be boiling after that so—”

“Right. Time limit. Smart. I like the way you’re thinking.” He pulled on her hand eagerly, tugging her back along the hall and then up the rather steep switchback stairs. She could just hear, as they passed the kitchen, the kettle starting to tick and rattle, reassurance that it would heat up and blow the whistle on their tour of the master bedroom. Why she should feel so nervous about that now, Allison couldn’t say. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen everything, done everything, already. But the idea of sleeping together at his place, at his house, seemed entirely different. More serious. Not her own territory.

Seth, meanwhile, seemed gleeful about his own territory. At the top of the stairs was a broad landing with one door straight ahead and a
linteled
archway to either side. He led her first through the one to the right. It was not a bedroom, as she had expected, but what seemed to be a dressing room. There was a wide upholstered bench in the center of the room. Full-length mirrors hung on one wall, flanking a long vanity with a sink. On the other wall were two doors and since one was open, she could see it was a closet. Seth was busy pointing out the floor.

“I wouldn’t have been able to afford to get most of this done myself, but it’s pretty amazing. See? They had the original floors restored, and then this over here is actually salvaged wood they got to match it. They did some major structural work to turn this floor into one big master suite with a bathroom, instead of two little bedrooms and a half-bath. Part of it’s built over the addition where the kitchen is, so it’s a lot bigger than the original space. Here, look at these closets. I don’t even care about closets and I think this crap is amazing.”

The walk-in closets, which had probably been designed as “his and hers”, were enormous and elaborately fitted out with drawers, sliding rods and a variety of other costly-looking custom details. The work was done in what appeared to be oak, with hardware that looked like brushed steel or aluminum.

“It’s like something from a magazine. Is this really just sitting here empty?” Allison had to stop herself from gaping openly. Seth’s clothes, shoes and other things occupied only a scant half of one of the large closets. The other, slightly larger space was completely devoid of clothing or shoes. She thought of her own tiny closet and tried to imagine having so much space to spread out in.

“I don’t have all that much stuff.”

“I can see that you don’t. Is that the kettle?”

“No, it’s really loud, you’ll know when it goes off. Come look at this.”

Back out to the landing and through the only proper door was the master bathroom, which had also benefited from the unfortunate investor’s remodeling efforts. Slate, glass tiles and more oak. Simple design but rich materials made the space, though clearly modern, blend seamlessly into the Craftsman-style architecture. There was a second door that Allison assumed connected directly to the bedroom. She glanced at it then turned away to study the tile more closely.

“They had wonderful taste.”

“I think maybe the wife did, the husband not so much. I gather it was all about increasing the potential resale value with him. The designer made all the decisions. So says the widow Abernathy next door, anyway.”

“You call her that?”

“Not to her face. When you meet her you’ll see what I mean. She’s kind of a throwback, but she’s a great old lady. Perfect neighbor. I would never dare have a loud party, though.”

“You’re a professor, you’re not supposed to throw wild parties anymore.”

“Oh, you saw that in the handbook too?” He cocked his head. A high-pitched noise like a harmonica blast was issuing from downstairs. “That’s the kettle.”

The master bedroom, which presumably lay beyond the second archway upstairs, hadn’t been covered on the tour. The omission lay unspoken between them as they made their way back down to the kitchen. Allison suspected the room would turn out to be similar to the rest of the house, the furnishings nice enough but nothing remarkable. Some girls might see a blank canvas. Allison was feeling nervous enough that she saw only expectations she might have trouble meeting.

“Sugar? Milk? Wait, I take that back, I don’t have any milk right now.”

“Just sugar.”

He flipped the lid up on the kettle, cutting off the noise of the whistle, and poured the water before retrieving the sugar from the pantry. Allison was surprised to see sugar cubes, still in their box.

“These are also for Mom. She likes them and I don’t ever use them, so they’re always here and I don’t run out.”

“Dare I ask how much time your mother spends at your house?”

Seth laughed easily. “Not all that much. She comes over to check on me about once a month or so. I go over there sometimes. My folks live in
Bridgehaven
, I grew up there.”

It was a town similar to their own
Dinsdale
, only without the addition of a large university. Another quintessential small town, with charming houses and main streets that still functioned as main streets. Allison had grown up in an even smaller and slightly less prosperous version of the same town, and knew the type well.

“Well, you already know I’m from Cranston. I grew up there, and my dad still lives there.”

“Cranston,
Bridgehaven
. Practically neighbors. So your dad lives there, how about your mom?”

Allison felt her jaw clenching. She still hated to be asked, hated the inevitable responses she had grown so familiar with over the years. “She died when I was sixteen.”

Seth paused, clearly thinking about his answer before speaking. “Sometime I want you to tell me about it, but I don’t think this is that time.”

Allison nodded, surprised at Seth’s reply. Nobody had ever done that, not expressed sorrow, not asked for details. Nobody had ever instinctively gotten that she might not want to talk about her mother’s death in the middle of a social event, just to satisfy somebody’s curiosity or to be polite.

She dangled the tea bag on its string, dunking it into the steaming water and enjoying the rising smell of bergamot. Earl Gray tea was her favorite, her standby. Her own mother had liked it too. If her mother were still alive, she wouldn’t need to make a special effort to have it on hand for visits because she always had it on hand anyway. Would her mother have made the trip once a month, driving the hour or so to see her? Her father had only visited her a few times since she had settled in
Dinsdale
. Usually Allison went home to see him.

“So…you came over. How’s it working out so far? You doing okay?”

Allison looked up at him warily, looking for sarcasm and feeling relieved when she saw none. Amusement, maybe. A little rue, perhaps. She felt bad about that. Seth had nothing to feel rueful over, her issues were her own and no fault of his.

“I’m sorry.” There, it was said, not enough but at least a start. “I guess I just panicked. This whole thing is kind of backward from the way I usually do things, and I don’t really know where we are.”

“Backward?”

“Well, you know…we didn’t know each other, and then we just jumped into bed. Well, not into bed because it was on the computer, but still. And then we went on a date that wasn’t really a date and then I freaked out because I realized you didn’t even have my number and then we hopped into bed again. And the whole thing has been like that. And just so fast.”

He considered her words, frowning a little. “I don’t see it that way.”

“What do you mean? That’s what happened.”

“I think we knew each other and flirted for a few months, had a friendly lunch sort-of-date with some more flirting, and then I introduced you to a lot of my friends. So what if it was on the computer? I know most of them in real life. And then we got a little tipsy and went a little further than was probably wise, but I wouldn’t call it sex. And then I took you to breakfast the next morning, which most certainly was a date. Where you met my brother in person, also, although that part wasn’t planned. And then I found you online, because I didn’t want to wait until Monday to call you at work, which was the only phone number I had for you. And then I called you after you gave me your other numbers, and we texted, and then we got silly online again. Which was dumb, but still not sex. And then two days later we talked and I came over. And yes, at that point we just hopped into bed. Which was maybe a little soon, but I can’t say I regret it.”

“I didn’t say I regretted it.”

“Why wouldn’t you come over?”

She sighed, looking down at her tea. She had no idea how to articulate all the reasons she’d thought were so vital at the time. “I don’t really know.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you ever want me to make lasagna again for you.”

“Seriously? You made lasagna?”

“Yes. It was fucking delicious too.” He smirked, leaning over the island and flipping the tag on her tea bag string back and forth like a cat batting at a dangling toy. “I only make it like once a year. So you’re going to have to hang around at least that long to find out what you missed.”

“So what else did I miss out on?” She deliberately ignored his mention of a timeframe. “Can I have a spoon for this?”

“Sure.” He reached into the drawer closest to the sink and pulled out a spoon. Allison was grateful to have another prop to work with while Seth was talking. “I had dinner and wine. Nice Chilean red. It was just chilly enough to have the first fire of the year, and it was drawing really nicely by about nine, nine-thirty. Before that it was just a little smoky, I admit.” He was circling the island slowly, coming to a halt just behind her. He put an arm on either side of her, boxing her in against the counter’s edge and continuing to talk into her ear. “My plans included feeding you some dark chocolate for dessert, sitting in front of the fire with the last of the wine.”

“Feeding me?”

“Yes. By hand.
Shh
, you’re ruining the story.”