Neighborly Complications (Stories of Serendipity #1) (8 page)

He shuffled his feet, looking down at them. “Um…the bar, mostly.”

“Mostly?” She was grinning now.

“What’s so funny?” He was so confused. She was sending him signals that were so mixed, he wasn’t sure how to take her.

“You’re uncomfortable talking about this. I guess I’m a little masochistic, but it’s fun to watch. You’re cute when you’re being all awkward and stuff.”

He expelled a long breath. “Okay, I’m sorry for finger fucking you in a bar. And I’m sorry for almost fucking you here and then stopping.” Claire was laughing full on at him now, and as much as Max enjoyed hearing her laughter, he was a little pissed it was at his expense.

He continued, “The real reason I came over here this morning was to ask you out tonight. Do you have plans?” The words come out more harshly than he’d meant for them to, almost as if he were demanding she go out with him.

Her laughter stopped, and she looked at him squarely. “Like, a date?”

“Yeah, like a date. I figured maybe we could get to know each other a little bit.” He dragged his hand through his hair, but it didn’t help his discomfort. “I need to talk to you about some stuff…”

“Before we fuck?”

“Shit, Claire. Are you trying to make me more uncomfortable?”

Her face dropped the smile, and her laughter in her voice was gone. “What do you want to talk about, Max?” Her voice was softer, and he realized the seriousness of her question.

“About us. And …me. There’s something you need to know before we…Hell, Claire. I don’t want to just fuck you.” He looked at his feet. “I really am sorry about last night. None of it should have happened.” He looked back up at her, and depth of her eyes took his breath away. “You do something to me, and I want to do this right. I want all of my cards on the table so you know what you’re getting into with me.”

She retreated a step, her eyes taking on a look of pity that told him Summer had already spoken about it. “I already know about Katherine.”

“Summer told you.” It wasn’t a question, and he was suddenly angry at Summer, and at Claire, but he couldn’t figure out why he was so angry. Just an impotent rage bubbling inside his gut.

“She didn’t tell me everything, just that you’re a widower.”

“A widower.” He hated that term. Widower held connotations of a devoted husband who did everything he could to protect his wife and lost her anyways. Widower brought to mind sad men who shut themselves away from society. It spoke of men deserving of someone else’s love. “Right.”

“I’m sorry, Max.”

He snapped back to Claire. “Sorry for what, exactly?”

She seemed uncomfortable, now. She couldn’t look him in the eyes, and for once, he was glad.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He scoffed at the empty words that he’d heard countless times before. “And I’m sorry that I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“How do you know who I want you to be?”

“I’m not relationship material, Max. I don’t think we’d be good together.” She crossed her arms in front of herself, in a gesture of self-preservation that Max was all too familiar with. “I came here to start over, to redefine myself as a woman. An independent woman.” She paused, and her words sank in.

“So you’re not going to go out with me?” His anger melted like an ice cube into a pool of regret. “Right.” He turned to go. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.” He walked the few steps down the porch, and started crossing the yard to the Azalea bushes that separated the properties.

“I’m sorry, Max.” She really did look apologetic, but Max couldn’t stop the hurt he felt any way.

“Yeah, you said that already.” He wished the bushes would swallow him into oblivion instead of just next door.

S
erendipity City Cemetery was located in the middle of town, but it was surrounded by acres of trees so that it seemed as though it was secluded. Adjoining the train tracks on one side, Claire realized it was the most serene place she’d seen since she’d been here.

She’d only been to the cemetery once, for Uncle Eddie’s funeral. In fact, that was the first time she’d ever even been to Serendipity. It wasn’t hard to find his grave, as the dirt and sod covering the top of it was still relatively fresh, although the flowers that still adorned it from the funeral were brown and wilted.

Claire walked over to the grave site, making a mental note to call someone about the flowers, or deal with them herself. There certainly wasn’t anybody else in the family close enough to do anything about it.

Her eyes wandered over the landscape. Some of the markers were almost ancient, dating back to the founding of the town, she imagined. Looking nearer to herself, Claire saw the stone next to Uncle Eddies. She hadn’t noticed it at the funeral, as it was where the tarp holding extra dirt to fill in the grave had been. She remembered thinking the blanket of astroturf on top of the mound of dirt hadn’t disguised anything. Everyone present knew exactly what that astroturf covered hill had been.

Claire’s fingers traced the lettering on the stone.

Edith Dunlap, b. 6-6-1945, d. 12-27-1957

Rest in Peace, precious angel, watch over us all…

Claire sucked in a hard breath and fought back tears for this little girl and her family. She died two days after Christmas. That must have been hard for everybody.

Turning to Uncle Eddie’s grave, Claire heard a distant train whistle blowing through the breeze that rustled tree leaves.

“Uncle Eddie?” She felt stupid talking out loud, but at the same time, she didn’t think it would do any good to talk inside her head either. She knew he wouldn’t be able to hear her, but she didn’t know what had pulled her here in the first place, except she wanted to apologize to Eddie, and this was the best way she knew how.

“I wanted to thank you for the house. I really appreciate it, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay here.” She expelled a breath, and sat on the ground at the foot of his grave, cross-legged.

“For one thing, I can’t find the gold anywhere. Whoever told you there was gold in that house lied. I’ve looked everywhere that I can think to look.” A soft breeze fluffed her hair, and the train whistled again, this time closer. It was coming down the tracks next to the cemetery.

“And Edie’s still there. I’m not sure what she wants, and she doesn’t bother me that much, but she’s scared the boogers out of me a couple of times.” She paused. “Actually, she keeps me company a little. She’s not the problem.”

She ran her hands through her hair to straighten it, because the wind had messed it up a little. It was getting stronger. Claire hoped a storm wasn’t brewing. She really wasn’t in the mood to see if the roof leaked.

“The house is overwhelming, with the amount that needs to be done to it.” She looked at the tombstone with reproach. “You really let it go.”

“It’s Max, the guy next door.” Claire inhaled a cleansing breath. “He’s everywhere, and I don’t know what to do about him. I’m afraid I hurt his feelings this morning, but I came here to get away from everybody and start over, you know?” She played with a blade of grass, running it between her fingers, bending it at the seam, wrapping it around her pinky.

“And he’s got a dead wife. Even if I did want to start something with him, I would constantly be competing with the memory of a woman who’s probably perfect relationship fodder.”

She was feeling better about talking to him now. Gone were the feelings of stupidity, to be replaced with a growing peace. There was something to be said for visiting gravesites, she decided.

As she stood there, she could almost hear Uncle Eddie’s voice inside her head. He had led an impulsive life, one where he did what he wanted, damn the consequences. If she ever came to him with a question, a problem, or a difficult choice, he’d always asked the question, ‘Would it make you feel good?’

She heard his question now, even though she knew she was projecting the question to herself. ‘Does he make you feel good?’

“Yeah, unbelievable. But then again, so did Tom…” Truth was, Tom didn’t make her feel anything close to what Max made her feel. Compared to Max, her emotions and feelings around Tom were like a bad dream. Once you woke from it, all the details were gone and only impressions remain.

“Did I ever tell you what Tom said? He said I wasn’t relationship material.” She looked at her blade of grass again, and abandoned it for a fresh one. “I’m sure he was diverting attention from the fact that he was cheating pond scum, but I’ve been thinking that there might be something behind it, or else I wouldn’t have been hurt so many times. What is it about me that makes guys think they can use me, or hurt me somehow? I can’t do it again, Uncle Eddie. I can’t let Max hurt me.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she swiped at them. “I don’t want to keep hurting him, either.”

Desperate for a change of scenery, but not willing to leave the serenity of the cemetery just yet, Claire stood and continued talking while she cleared out the dead flowers and carried them to a nearby trashcan. Each trip back to Eddie’s grave, she would stop and tell him something else that had happened with the house. She talked about Summer, whose Nana Eddie had played with as a child. She talked about Edie, and her penchant for tucking Claire in at night. She talked about the Gin, and beating the snot out of Summer at pool. But she didn’t talk about Max anymore.

She had already decided what to do about him.

M
ax was at the cemetery as well, but the other end, where the newer residents of Serendipity had been laid to rest. He leaned against Katherine’s gravestone, making daisy chains from the bouquet he’d brought her, a nervous habit he’d picked up on his weekly visits to talk to his dead wife. She was the one who’d taught him how to make them, when they were children.

“I really like her, Katy-bug. I’ve screwed it up somehow, but I can’t help myself. I lose my mind around her.” He twisted one daisy stem around the head of another, deftly making the knot that would hold them together. “I never did that around you. You were always so comfortable, so trusting. We never had arguments like Claire and I do. It seems as if we’re always fighting about something.” He silently fiddled with the flowers. “God help me, I like it.”

He plucked another daisy from the bouquet. “I did something last night that I regret. This is just one example of how I completely lose my mind around her. Remember that thing I did to you at the football game in high school?” He chuckled at the memory of Katherine’s flushed, awed face when she’d had her first orgasm at his fingers. “Well, I did it to her at the Gin.” He dropped the flowers. “I know. At least you had the luxury of bleachers full of people being overhead, not people all around.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why I did it, and I feel awful. I’ve apologized, although it didn’t help much.”

Max couldn’t stop thinking of it. As bad as he felt about fingering her in the bar, the memory of her ragged breaths, her muscles squeezing his fingers, her fingers whitening on the edge of the bar, all conspired to undo him physically. He’d wanted to make her lose control, to see what lay beneath her cool exterior. God help him.

He picked his chain up, and continued adding to it. “That’s what she does to me, Katy-bug. I want to know more about her, I want to go out on a date and talk. I want to figure her out.” He stroked the headstone with the daisy he had in his hand. “I never had to figure you out, Katherine. You were an open-book to me. Don’t feel like I’m going to forget you, because I can’t. That’s an impossibility for me. I will always love you. But I want to love Claire too.” He connected the last daisy to the first daisy, and reverently balanced the chain on the apex of the arched monument. “Can I do that? Is it possible?”

Max pressed his lips to the cool marble before turning to get into his car.

C
laire decided to go see Max. She wanted to apologize for her behavior, and let him know that she was going to sell the house, if he was still interested in it. He didn’t answer when she knocked, and as she walked around the side of his house, she noticed his dually pick-up was gone. So she went on around to the back to wait on his deck where there was seating and shade.

She perched on a canopied porch swing and lazily pushed herself, while admiring his deck. It was huge, and looked as though he were making it even bigger. A massive barbecue grill and smoker sat to the side, awaiting their new home. Claire sighed and allowed herself the brief self-indulgence of imaging what life with Max would be like. In her mind’s eye, she brought an enormous plate piled high with meat for him to grill, while Summer and countless faceless party-goers watched and waited eagerly.

Her imaginary Max took the plate of meat, and leaned over to kiss her tenderly before twirling the spatula in his fingers and getting busy.

She shook her head, clearing the images. She really couldn’t go there. She came over here to tell him she was leaving, so there was no use thinking like this. It was just torturing herself.

Claire heard the loud diesel engine of his truck, and turned to see him unfolding his enormous frame from the driver’s seat. He saw her immediately and froze, his face pale and strained. He began walking closer, and Claire noticed his eyes were rimmed with red, as if he’d been crying.

He stopped when he’d gotten about three feet away from her. Claire noticed he was keeping his distance.
As he should. Didn’t you snap his head off the last time you spoke to him, right after he brought you a gift that he’d made you?
His fists clenched at his sides, and Claire realized how pissed he must be.

“Hi.” His voice was tentative, not pissed, and Claire was relieved, then she felt a pang of guilt.

She stood. “I came over to apologize. I’m really sorry for this morning, and the way I’ve acted since we’ve met. You don’t deserve it.” She searched for words, unwilling to tell him the entire sordid story. “It’s been a rough month,” she offered hesitantly. She nervously rubbed her sweaty palms on her shorts. “I…I was supposed to get married this month.” She laughed nervously. “September weddings and all that. It was supposed to be lovely.”