Love Songs (51 page)
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, then reached for the claw and continued his work.
She heard derision. But anger? Not really. “You knew about the roof problem.”
“Yup. I ordered shingles a month ago.”
“Why do you do this at night?”
He was silent. Then, “Why do you want to know?”
“Human interest.” She shrugged. “Boredom.”
He pried up several more shingles and tossed them back before saying, “Sun’s down. Wind’s down.”
“When do you sleep?”
Another shingle fell. “When I’m tired.”
“Studies show that the less sleep you get, the greater your chance of stroke.”
“Studies get it backwards,” he countered. “Insomnia is caused by stress, which causes high blood pressure, which causes stroke. I’m not stressed.”
She might have argued for the sake of argument, if he hadn’t made total sense. So maybe he worked all night and slept all day. “You don’t have a nine-to-five job?”
He worked on, finally said, “Nope.”
“How do you pay for the shingles?”
He glanced down, sounding annoyed. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. I’m just curious.” Looking around, she spotted the toolbox. “If you have another roof ripper, I could help.”
He snorted. “Dressed like that?”
“I’m not dressed any different from you.” A tank top and shorts. His tank was chopped unevenly at the waist, the shorts as dark and drapey as always.
“You don’t have boots.”
No, but her sneakers were designed for traction. She turned one to show him the sole. When he simply went at another shingle, she said, “Seriously. I can help.”
“You’ve done this, too?”
“I have.”
He worked on for a bit. Then, “Nah. Only one claw.” Moving to the right to reach a new spot, he said, “Want to make yourself useful, pick up the shingles that missed the Dumpster.”
With the floodlight aimed at the roof, the ground was dark. Only when her eyes adjusted did she see what he meant.
But she didn’t move. Climbing a ladder was one thing; groveling around on the ground with her arms and legs exposed was another. “Where’s the dog?” she asked.
“In the bushes.”
“Will he attack?”
“Not if you pick up the shingles and leave.”
Trusting that he could control his dog, she collected an armful of shingles and dropped them in the Dumpster. After a second, then a third, she was done. Brushing off her hands, she called up, “What else can I do?”
“Get away from the Dumpster. Stay there, and you’re gonna be hit.”
“You wouldn’t aim at me.”
He barked out what might have been a laugh. “If my aim was perfect, you wouldn’t’a had anything to pick up just now.”
He had a point. Moving away from the Dumpster, she folded her arms on her chest and watched him work. He must have been trying harder, because every shingle went into the Dumpster, so there was nothing to do. After a bit, she sat.
“You said you’d leave,” he charged.
“You said that. Not me.” Her curiosity was far from satisfied, and the dog hadn’t appeared. “What’s it like being in jail?”
He shot her a look. But he didn’t call the dog. “That’s a dumb question. It
sucks
.” He pried up several more shingles, tossed them down with greater force. One hit the ground, but he didn’t seem to notice. “How’d you know I was in jail?”
“People talked about it back then,” she said, standing, waiting. As soon as he tossed down the next shingle, she darted in for the one on the ground and tipped it into the Dumpster.
“You were here before?”
“Well, now you’ve hurt my feelings. I spent seventeen summers here. So I didn’t make any impression?”
He stretched to reach higher shingles. “I don’t remember much.”
“High on Cecily’s cures?”
Bracing the claw against the roof, he scowled down at her. “One of the reasons I work at night is because it’s quiet. If you’re gonna stay here, you have to shut up.”
At least he wasn’t harping on her leaving. This was progress. “I can shut up.”
“Do it. Please.” He moved farther right to work on a final swath of shingles. “And you’re wrong. I wasn’t high all the time. I was angry.”
“Seriously,” Charlotte mused. That scowl was what she remembered, but she didn’t hear anger. “What did Cecily die of?”
He worked for a bit. She guessed he was ignoring her, but she had interviewed reluctant subjects before. She was about to lob up an easier question, when he said, “Pneumonia.”
Pneumonia. That surprised Charlotte. Cecily would have known how to treat pneumonia. “I was thinking it had to be cancer.”
“It was. She went to the hospital for that. While she was there, she got pneumonia.”
Charlotte had heard similar stories, but it suddenly made Leo more human. “That’s bad. I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am,” he said, grimacing against a stubborn shingle. “I was the one who dragged her to the hospital.”
Since Quinnipeague had no hospital, that would have been on the mainland, and what Charlotte heard went beyond regret to guilt. Gently, she asked, “Is that why you hang around here, to keep up her house and garden?”
“Among other reasons.”
“Like what?”
He looked down, annoyed again. “Don’t you need to be somewhere?”
“Actually, no,” though, sitting still, she was feeling a chill, so she unwound the sweatshirt from her waist. “Nicole’s in New York. It’s just me at the house.” She looped the sweatshirt around her shoulders.
“Should you be telling me this?” he asked.
“Why not?”
“I’m dangerous.”
“So they say,” she remarked, because she was still alive now after, what, four visits?
“You know different?”
She smiled. “I know karate.”
The movement of his cheek might have been a smile or a wince, though it was lost when he hung his head. After a minute, he straightened and took another drink of water. Then he climbed down the ladder.
Not trusting him, Charlotte stood. “Another few minutes, and you’ll be done,” she said, studying the small strip of remaining shingles. “What’s next?”
He stood an arm’s length away, seeming taller than he had the night before, when she’d passed him on the drive. “If you’ve done a roof, you know,” he warned. The slightest pat of his thigh caused a rustle in the bushes.
Tar paper was next. But the dog was at his side now, so she put a smile on her face, turned, and sauntered off.
Karate might protect her from the man, but the dog? She didn’t know which was more dangerous—or whether either was, certainly a thought there.
Also by
Barbara Delinsky
The Forever Instinct
First Things First
Straight from the Heart
The Scent of Jasmine
What the Waves Bring
Home Fires
Pictures of You
Don’t Tempt Me
Silken Sands
Hold My Heart
Call My Name
Amber’s Embrace
Warm Hearts
PRAISE FOR BARBARA DELINSKY …
“Delinsky is a first-rate storyteller who creates believable, sympathetic characters who seem as familiar as your neighbors.”
—Boston Globe
“Delinsky combines her understanding of human nature with absorbing, unpredictable storytelling—a winning combination.”
—Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“Delinsky has a knack for exploring the battlefields of contemporary life.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Delinsky does a wonderful and realistic job portraying family dynamics.”
—Library Journal
“A writer who continues to earn her bestseller status.”
“Delinsky never fails to entertain.”
—RT Book Reviews
… AND HER BESTSELLING NOVELS
ESCAPE
“Great summer read.”
—People
“Delinsky nails it in her trademark latest, a captivating and moving story about a woman who’s had enough of her life and wants a fresh start.… [She] keeps the story moving with some nice twists on a familiar plot, rich characterizations, and real-feeling dilemmas that will keep readers hooked.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Another appealing page-turner.”
NOT MY DAUGHTER
“A topical tale that resonates with timeless emotion.”
—People,
3½ stars
“Delinsky proves once again why she’s a perennial bestseller with this thought-provoking tale … Timely, fresh, and true-to-life.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Emotionally intelligent … Mother-daughter bonding, knitting, and a ripped-from-the-headlines plot from Delinsky offer her fans what they want—high drama and realism.”
—Kirkus Reviews
WHILE MY SISTER SLEEPS
“Graced by characters readers will come to care about, this is that rare book that deserves to have the phrase ‘impossible to put down’ attached to it. Delinsky does a wonderful and realistic job portraying family dynamics; the relationship between Molly and Robin, in particular, is spot-on. This touching and heartbreaking novel is highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
THE SECRET BETWEEN US
“Barbara Delinsky can be counted on to deliver straight-forwardly written, insightful stories about family relationships. Her new novel,
The Secret Between Us
,
is one of her best.”
—Boston Globe
“Relationships are brought to the limit in Delinsky’s splendid latest exploration of family dynamics.”
—Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
“[A] page-turner … In addition to being immensely readable, Delinsky’s latest is thought-provoking; readers will inevitably pause to consider what they would do … Highly recommended.”
