Woodlands (8 page)

“Sounds like exactly what I was looking for. I knew you would know where to go.”

“I could fix a picnic breakfast,” Leah suggested. “Do you have any preference of what you like to eat?”

“You don’t have to bring anything.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up nice and early. How does four sound?”

“Early,” Leah said.

“I’ll find a map, and we’ll figure out how to get up that hill.”

“We can ask Shelly and Jonathan,” Leah said, gathering up a basket of plastic toys. She planned to take them home to wash and then bring them back Sunday. “The hill overlooks their camp property.”

“Okay.” Then with a grin he added, “I knew you would be interested in an adventure like this.”

“Why do you say that?” She stopped and looked at him.

He came closer. “My great-uncle told me you have the makings of an Amelia Earhart.”

“He said that?”

Seth nodded.

Leah turned out the lights and closed the door. Seth walked with her to her car.

“Amelia, huh? That’s interesting. What else did Franklin tell you?”

“He said you visit him about once a month and that you’ve been doing that for years.”

Leah unlocked the back and shoved in the basket of toys. “I like Franklin. He has the spirit of a twenty-year-old.”

Seth leaned against the Blazer and looked at her curiously. “So what’s in it for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you in Glenbrooke serving Sno-Kones and visiting old people and running the church nursery? Why aren’t you flying off to parts unknown?”

Leah looked down at her hands. Her weathered, always busy, giving hands that never had experienced a manicure. “It’s kind of a long story, Seth.” This was the first time she had said his name aloud to him, and it warmed her to hear the way it sounded coming from her lips.

“I’m not doing anything the rest of the evening,” Seth said. “Do you still need help to decorate those eggs?”

“No, the eggs are finished. But you’re welcome to come over, if you would like.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Do you want to follow me? Or do you remember how to get there?”

“I’d better follow just to be sure.”

Leah climbed into her Blazer and subtly checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks weren’t flushed red. She looked calm. She felt calm. This all seemed so natural. Did it really matter that Seth had left in a rush the night before? He was back. She didn’t have to throw parties or bake cookies for him. Seth Edwards was pursuing her. This was nice. No, more than nice. It was amazing.

When they reached her house, Seth asked, “Are you a tea drinker or a coffee drinker?”

“It depends,” Leah said. “If I make the coffee, I’m a coffee drinker. I usually don’t care for other people’s coffee. I like it darker and stronger than most people.”

“It’s never too strong for me. In Costa Rica, we used to brew true java—I don’t know where we got those coffee beans, but they were the best. Where do you keep your coffee? I’ll make you a cup ‘Rica’ style.”

Leah opened the cupboard next to the oven and displayed her collection of coffee paraphernalia.

“Grinder, natural unbleached filters, perfect,” Seth said, taking inventory. “Are these your bags of beans here? You look like you’re running low.”

“I don’t drink that much coffee. It seems pointless to buy a lot that will sit for months. I’d rather buy the beans fresh every few weeks. You’ll find a bag of decaf and a bag of regular in there. Which do you want?”

“Leaded, of course,” Seth said. “I want to hear your whole story.”

Leah smiled. “I don’t think it’s going drag on into the middle of the night.”

“I’ll be ready, just in case.” Seth went to work preparing his gourmet coffee while Leah checked on Hula in the mudroom. She contentedly wagged her tail when Leah entered.

“You need some more water, girl,” Leah said, filling the bowl. Then she went out the back door to her car and brought in the basket of toys so she could soak them in the basin sink.

Returning to the kitchen, she found Seth loading her dishwasher. “You don’t have to do that. Come on, let’s sit down in the other room. Is the coffee ready?”

The coffee was not only ready, but it also was the best Leah had tasted in a long time. “What did you do to make this so good?”

“Nothing special,” he said. “You had good beans to work with.”

At first Leah thought he said “good genes,” and her sister’s comment about her having “neither the frame nor frame of mind to attract a stable man” sprang to her mind. If she had good genes, then she would have inherited the “right frames,” the ones her sisters had all inherited. Despite all that, she seemed to have attracted someone. A very appealing someone. He didn’t have to be here, making coffee for her, loading her dishwasher, and inviting her to accompany him on sunrise hikes. She had done nothing to coerce or lure him.

Leah leaned back as Seth made himself comfortable on her denim blue loveseat. Actually, it was her parents’ old avocado green loveseat, which had sat in the upstairs guestroom of their house and had very few visitors. Since it was such a sturdy piece of furniture, Leah had covered it with a denim slipcover that matched the blue in her recliner. It was the only furniture she had room for in her small sitting area, but it was all she needed. Instead of a coffee table, she had stacked two old
brown suitcases she had found at a garage sale. The one on top still had the original antique travel stickers affixed and in good condition.

“Cairo,” Seth said, reading the sticker nearest him before placing his coffee cup on a coaster on top of the suitcase. “Now there’s a place I’d like to go someday.”

“Me, too,” Leah said.

“Where else would you like to go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Tell me why you never took off with your Amelia spirit and left Glenbrooke behind.”

Briefly, Leah told him about being the youngest of six daughters and how she ended up being the one to stay home and care for her parents.

“How did you finish college?” Seth asked.

“It took me seven years. All part-time. Driving back and forth to Edgefield. But that’s the only place I went. Edgefield. Not Paris. Not … what is that one?” she said, tilting her head and reading the stickers. “Roma.”

“Your parents have been gone a year, right?”

Leah nodded and sipped her coffee.

“Why don’t you go to Rome now?”

“I don’t know,” she said after a pause. “I might go. Later. Not right away. I bought this house, and I have all kinds of commitments and obligations here. I don’t think it’s my turn to leave Glenbrooke.”

“Or do you mean it’s not your turn to leave Bedford Falls?”

Leah gave him a quizzical look. “Bedford Falls?”

“You know, in
It’s a Wonderful Life
. Jimmy Stewart. Donna Reed. You sound to me like the female version of George Bailey.”

It took Leah a moment to make the connection. When she did, she laughed. “You think I sound like George Bailey?”

“A little.”

Leah shook her head. “I’m not that discouraged about my life in this small town. Just don’t try telling me you’re really my guardian angel, and I’m your ticket to a pair of wings.”

Seth laughed. “I don’t hear any bells ringing, do you?”

Leah laughed with him and felt captivated by the man sitting on her couch. Did he have any idea that
he
was the reason she wanted to stick around Glenbrooke?

Seth reached for his coffee cup and said, “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Leah felt open and unguarded.

“Tell me about the Glenbrooke Zorro.”

T
he Glenbrooke Zorro?’ ” Leah repeated. “What about the Glenbrooke Zorro? I mean, what have you heard?”

“I’ve heard someone in town loves to give. And that someone is generous and random and—” he leaned forward for emphasis—“has managed to keep his or her identity a secret for many years.”

“That’s what I’ve heard, too,” Leah said, pulling her coffee cup to her lips. She downed the last sip and stood up. “Is there more coffee?”

“Let me get it for you,” Seth offered. “Would you like me to fix it the same as the first cup?”

“Yes,” Leah said, fidgeting in her chair. All her happy, secure feelings had flown.

What is this man doing in my house? What does he want? It’s one thing for me to entertain the thought of an innocent little crush on him. But it’s something else for him to pry into my personal life
.

Leah couldn’t sit still. Hopping up, she joined Seth in the
kitchen. “I feel funny having you serve me. Why don’t I get that?”

Seth was pouring the thick, dark brew into her cup. “Is it hard for you to let other people serve you?” he asked without looking at her.

“No,” she answered immediately. “It’s just that you’re my guest. I should be serving you.”

“All done,” he said, holding a mug in each hand and heading back into the other room. “Come on.”

“Would you like to watch a movie?” Leah asked, trying to sound casual.

“I’d rather talk. I want to hear your take on the Glenbrooke Zorro.”

Leah sat down on the loveseat this time, thinking Seth would take the recliner. Instead he sat on the loveseat with her. She didn’t know how she could feel so at ease with Seth one minute and so uncomfortable the next.

Sipping the fragrant brew and drawing up her courage, Leah decided she had no reason to be nervous. This was her house, her couch, her good coffee beans. This was her life he had stepped into, uninvited. She didn’t have to make room for him. She could, should, and would stand her ground.

“Look,” Leah said, “you obviously have a point you want to make. Go ahead and make it.”

Seth looked surprised. But not too surprised. “Okay, here’s my point. I think you are the Glenbrooke Zorro.”

Leah looked at her coffee cup and ran her finger around the white ceramic mug’s rim. She had met her match when it came to standing her ground. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she said, “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, no. Uh-uh. No,” he said, shaking his head and giving her a subdued smile. “If I can’t be coy with you, you can’t be
coy with me. Come on, George. Level with me.”

“George?” she repeated. As soon as she said it, she realized he was making reference to their George Bailey-Wonderful Life conversation.
Did he just give me a nickname?

The small gesture warmed Leah in an unexpected way. While she was growing up, she always wanted her dad to give her a nickname to prove his affection. She thought a boy’s name would be the best because then she would know he had come to consider her equal to the son she should have been. But her father only called her Leah. Everyone only called her Leah. She didn’t even have a middle name.

“You’re the Glenbrooke Zorro, aren’t you?” Seth pressed her again.

Leah impulsively decided to risk everything for the sake of being honest with this man. “Yes, I am.”

Seth slapped his knee. “I thought so! I was almost positive.”

“Why?” Leah asked. “Why do you even need to know? What does it matter?” It struck her that she had just confessed to him something she had never told anyone. Was this level of vulnerability the price she had to pay for a relationship with someone “stable”?

I don’t know if I’m ready for this
.

“Some guys were talking about it at work today. One of them said his sister just had a baby, and her husband had surgery a few days later. He said someone left groceries for them on their doorstep and that the Glenbrooke Zorro was back. That’s when they gave me the history on this invisible superhero. Or should I say superheroine?”

Leah felt as if Seth, who was practically a stranger, had just run in and stolen something vital to the core of her identity. Her secret deliveries all these years had been her one private,
silent source of delight. The secrecy allowed her to feel that even though she was only a “Leah” she could do noble things.

This is my secret. What is he doing sharing my secret?

“You probably feel pretty proud of yourself, don’t you?” Leah said, pulling back and crossing her legs in the other direction to put a definite distance between them.

“Why?”

“Because no one else has figured it out. You come to town, and three days later,” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, “you solve the mystery.” Leah crossed her arms and gave him an angry look, which was not completely in jest.

“Oh, come on,” Seth said, playfully tagging her shoulder. “Do you mean to tell me that no one has ever challenged the identity of this anonymous gift-giver?”

Leah shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Seth sat back and in a more serious tone said, “You know what? Your secret is safe with me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Leah tried to relax. This was what she wanted: a close friendship with someone she could trust, someone with whom she could be open and honest. If self-disclosure and vulnerability were the price she had to pay, maybe it was a fair price.

“About a year ago,” Leah began, leaning back, “Kenton at the
Glenbrooke Gazette
wrote an editorial. He was the one who used the term, ‘Glenbrooke Zorro.’ ”