What I Remember Most (24 page)

That day, though, I was on automatic as I waited for Kade.

Waited.

Waited.

My brain was hyperventilating.

He did not arrive until three o’clock. Which meant my brain had been semideprived of oxygen for hours. I heard his truck, and I made sure for the fiftieth time that all the lantern lights and the cowboy boot and steelhead lights were on and my desk was cleaned off, except for my computer and a vase full of pink freesias.

Kade opened the door, filled the whole doorway with his huge frame, and walked in. His eyes set on mine and I stood up, my hands clenched together in front of me. I tried to smile, but I felt it wobble in a strange and awkward way.

For a second he stood there, looking at me. Then he blinked, smiled, the hit man face softening. “Hi, Grenady.”

“Hi, Kade.” My smile wobbled again, probably freakishly so. My brain tried to breathe. If he didn’t like it, he would think I was incompetent and stupid.
Stupid.

He didn’t seem to notice the change for a second, but he kept on smilin’. Not a huge, pumpkin jack-o’-lantern smile, but . . . quietly pleased.

He took a few steps toward me, as if to chat, then stopped, surprised. His eyes went to the hanging lantern lights, then to the Hendricks’ Furniture wood sign on the wall behind my desk and his photo. I could see him taking in the trees. He turned and stared at the eight matted and framed photos of the furniture, the curtains framing the windows, the bird chairs, the wolf armoire, and the polar bear and raccoon leg tables.

When he was done, his eyes found mine again. I waited. I told myself to shut my mouth, as I knew it was open and I was breathing through it, probably like a drowning cow.

He looked stunned. “You did all this?”

“Yes.”

“You painted the walls, the trees . . .”

“Yes. I have a thing for . . . uh . . . trees.”

“By yourself?”

“I had help moving the furniture, and I hired an electrician. He’s an English major. Likes Shakespeare. Quotes Shakespeare. I don’t know why I said that, because you don’t need to know it.”

“It’s incredible, Grenady.”

I smiled, sagged with relief. “You think so?”

“Yes.” He walked toward my desk, still staring at the trees, the photos.

“All this in a weekend?” He shook his head. “Amazing. It’s totally different.”

“But you like it? It’s okay?”

“It’s more than okay. It’s . . . it’s . . . perfect. I can’t believe this. Nice job.”

He smiled. I like when he smiles. It makes me relax. I could not imagine that man mad at me. I think I’d faint, and I am one tough broad.

“I feel like I’m in a different company. Are you sure this is my company?”

“All yours. You have the best furniture line I’ve ever seen, Kade.” I brushed a hand through the air. “Wow. I sounded like an annoying suck-up there. Sorry.”

“No, never that.” He turned around to study the room again, those muscles straining against his shirt. “This is a hundred times better, Grenady. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“And I heard that you bought Debbie a chocolate cream pie the other night. That was thoughtful and kind.”

“She’s a nice lady.”

“So are you.”

“You are, too.” I bent my head. Why did I say stuff like that? He laughed. “Thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a nice lady.”

“I meant, a nice guy. Man. Gentleman.”

We shared a glance that went on a shade too long.

A shade.

Too long.

I smiled.

Cleo came over that night to practice her artwork. She painted a picture of a blue and pink dog who wore only hats with cats on them. She said her mom “had such a bad hot flash, she was covered in sweat, like someone poured a pail of water over her, but I didn’t do it!”

I was not looking forward to menopause. I’d probably be a melting woman, too.

I sketched out a collage on a four-by-six-foot canvas with a pencil.

My plan was to paint a huge magnifying glass. Inside the glass would be a girl with lilies wrapped around her body, like clothes. She would stand all by herself, her hands outstretched to the sides. In her right hand she would hold the Big Dipper, in the other a red, crocheted shawl, blowing in the wind.

Outside the huge circle of the magnifying glass I would paint another lighthouse. I don’t like lighthouses, even though I have painted many. They make me feel like doom is coming. They triggered something, but the “something” was hiding in some cavern of my mind and wouldn’t come out.

I outlined a dark forest around the glass, too. Towering pine trees, but in shadow, fog lacing the nettles.

I knew I had been found running down a road next to a forest. Daneesha had told me that, which she read in the police report. I didn’t remember that part.

I would get a black plastic circle of some sort to form the magnifying glass. I would add white glitter to the Big Dipper stars and paint layer after layer on the lilies, so they would be thick and lifelike. I would put a mirror at the top of the lighthouse. I would make the pine nettles thicker by using a pallet knife to goop on green paint.

I liked the draft. I liked the lilies, the Big Dipper, the shawl.

I hated it. The lighthouse made one of the scars on my head ache. I hated the fog, too, and the dark trees.

Pretty much how I felt about most of my art.

“I think dogs will fly one day, don’t you, Grenady?” Cleo asked.

“Yes. But not until they sprout wings first.”

She thinks I’m funny.

They kept calling, saying they loved me and that I should hide from that “flaming liberal government, out to get ya, in your business, making you guilty when our raccoon princess daughter isn’t guilty at all . . . tell that possum Covey he can come here to hide, and we’ll lure him into a weasel trap because that’s what he is, a damn cross-eyed weasel.... Swing me a cat, I got a hole we could dump him in. He’d be doggone lost forever.”

She called, too, offering friendship and tears. “I love you, baby.”

I loved them all so much, but I would not drag them into this mess.

They did not deserve it.

There was a check from Kade on my desk when I went to work on Tuesday. I actually said, “Whew,” out loud. I knocked on his open door.

“Hey, Grenady, come on in.” He stood up, ever the gentleman.

“Thank you for the check, but it’s too much.” I put it out for him to take. He put his hands up in refusal.

“No, it’s not. I would have had to pay one of those decorating people much more than that.”

“But I already had the furniture from here. I’m an obsessive bargain shopper, and it didn’t cost near this much. It was only frames and matting and paint and supplies, and some lighting. I put the supply bill and the electrician’s bill on your desk. You have it, right?”

“I have it, and I have your other receipts. Take the check, Grenady. You deserve it. You spent your weekend doing it, which means you don’t get a day off for two weeks. In fact, you can take a few days off here, anytime, full pay.”

“I don’t want any days off.” No way. Then he might get used to me being gone and think he didn’t need me. “This is excessive. I can’t take it, Kade.” I pushed the check toward him again. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Keep it, please. Everyone loves the lobby now, and so do I. I’ve had a whole bunch of people tell me how it’s a huge improvement, and it is.”

“It’s too much . . .”

“Don’t argue.”

“But—”

“I said I’m not taking it back.”

I stared up at him. He was resolute. Decided. I heard that hard tone.

“Fine. But you have to let me buy us a better coffeemaker with this money. The one in the employees’ lounge is terrible. I think the machine turns regular coffee beans into high-octane sludge.”

He laughed. “Okay, Grenady. But only a coffeemaker. Then we’re even.”

“A coffeemaker it is, then.”

We grinned at each other. I wanted to hug him. I didn’t. He was huggable, though. It would be like hugging a bear. Warm and strong, wrapped all up, protected.

I left before I reached out and embarrassed myself by hugging the bear.

I looked forward to lunch every day. Rozlyn, Eudora, and I all have lunch at one o’clock. We’re all swamped before that, but around one things start to get less hectic.

“Hey, I’m having a sex toy party at my house next Sunday night,” Rozlyn said. “You two are coming. I have to prepare in case I date Leonard. I stalked him yesterday at the grocery store, swung my cart around twice so I could go down the same aisle as him, and I said hello both times, and he smiled back and said hello, then I had a hot flash and had to leave.”

“Why couldn’t you go to the next aisle, wait till the sweat dried, and then meet up with him again?” I asked.

“Because I think he was triggering the hot flash. I don’t want to meet him and sweat, unless we’re naked.”

“Are you serving wine?” Eudora asked.

“Uh, yeah. Hello?” Rozlyn shook her head, all those black curls flying about. “I said that it’s a sex toy party. Did you think I would serve milk? You gotta seize the day and seize the sex toy party.”

“Double checking. I don’t want to waste my time.” Eudora examined her nails. “I like having long nails that are capable of scratching.”

“No time will be wasted. And why do you need scratchy nails?”

“You never know when you’ll need to defend yourself,” Eudora said. She took my hand. She was wearing two diamond bracelets. Gorgeous. Old design. “Grow those nails out, Grenady. Nails can be weaponry.”

“I’m familiar with that concept. Thank you.”

“What about you, Grenady?” Rozlyn asked.

“Well . . . uh . . . I don’t know . . .” I thought of Covey. That killed any thought of sex. Kade strode by the employees’ lounge, black cowboy boots on. “I’ll be there.”

“If I have to hold edible underwear and vibrators and know that no man is on my horizon to help me enjoy them, you’re comin’ too.” Rozlyn leaned over and patted my hand. “And you have to promise me if you get laid you’ll tell me all about it.”

“Sure. I’ll send photos to you at work via e-mail.”

“Perfect.” She high-fived me, then wiggled her impressive chest. “Come to me, Leonard! Come to me!”

“Make sure it’s high-quality wine,” Eudora said. “I don’t want my palette ruined.”

Three days later, Eudora broke two of her toes skydiving. “It was worth it. There is nothing like falling through the sky. Nothing. That was my fifty-sixth jump, although it’s been years since jump number fifty-five.”

“Your fifty-sixth jump?” I asked, impressed.

“Yes.” Eudora arranged her necklace. Turquoise stones, which matched her earrings, which matched her turquoise heels.

“Did you used to skydive with friends?” Rozlyn asked.

“No, for work. Some of them were friends, but mostly we got things done.”

“What sort of things?” Rozlyn asked.

“Things.” She winked at us. Then she said something in Russian.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“I said that the Cold War was quite cold, but the Russian men knew how to warm a woman up.”

Was she serious? I darn well thought she was.

Rozlyn said, “I’ll drink to that. I could do with a warm Russian man named Leonard. Is Leonard Russian? I don’t think so.” We clinked our water glasses.

You never know about people, do you?

Kade was, as everyone always said, a good man.

I felt bad for not being truthful about who I was and the trouble I was in.

I would tell him.

Soon.

I didn’t think he knew, but I wasn’t sure. The Internet looms like a big brother, even though I was living under my real name, not Dina Hamilton or Dina Wild. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something? But if he knew, why would a smart man like Kade hire me without asking me about it? Who would? Tons of people want jobs, and you hire the flippy gal who’s been arrested for fraud and money laundering?

Didn’t make sense.

I would have to assume he didn’t know.

I smashed down the voice in my head that said he would fire me if he knew, even if I told him I was innocent. I had lied to him, and to Tildy, by omission. That’s reason enough to fire someone.

I had been living in my car when I applied, but that didn’t cut it.

I cringed at the thought that he and his company might receive bad publicity from my working here. I don’t think I’m interesting enough for the press to track me down and make an issue of it, but they could.

My insane hope was that the charges against me would be dismissed when Covey pulled his head out of his pissed-off butt and admitted my innocence or if Millie could prove it, despite the five papers I signed. I could stay in Pineridge and continue my new, quiet life under Grenady Scotch Wild and no one would know.

If I went to jail, which was certainly a possibility, then I would obviously have to quit. I’d have to tell Kade. Would there be media attention around him or his business as I headed back into the slammer? Probably not.

I groaned. Did I honestly think that? Or was I rationalizing and minimalizing what would happen because it suited me and my need to be employed? Was I being a selfish fool to think that Hendricks’ and The Spirited Owl wouldn’t get dragged into this? Was I in denial because that’s where I wanted to be?