“Juliet was two years ahead, right? A nice girl.”
“My first child. She was the smart one. She’s in Boston now, working for some huge tech company. Theo’s out on the West Coast. He went to college there, but mostly he surfed.” Lisa paused, remembering. “My husband left us when Theo was nine, Juliet eleven. Thankfully, he set us up reasonably well financially. But he really left the kids. No phone calls, no visits, no Christmas cards, no birthday cards. We have no idea where he lives now.”
“What a shit,” Mack said. “Excuse my language.”
“Oh, I’ve called him worse,” Lisa said. “The thing is, I’ve always thought that Theo was such a wild kid because he had no father to show him how to be a man. And Juliet…it was hard on her, too.” Lisa ran her hands through her hair. “I sound like I’m at a therapist’s. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Everyone has family problems. Look at poor Atticus Barnes. I knew Paula and Ed. They were great people. They knew Atticus had depressive spells but never imagined he would commit suicide.” Mack paused, then continued. “Beth didn’t, and she was going with him.”
“I know. Theo was best friends with Atticus. The three of them used to hang around here sometimes, especially if fresh cookies were on the counter. Beth was such a nice girl.” Lisa looked down at her hands, as if she would find the right words there. “It was such a terrible time.”
“I remember. Well, I can’t forget.”
“And Theo and Beth…after Atticus died, they seldom saw each other. I think it was too hard. Atticus had always been the center of their group. The magnet. Then he was gone, and they drifted apart…”
For a moment, Lisa found herself looking at Mack, seeing him both as a parent and as a handsome and interesting man. She also saw how thick his blond hair was, how green his eyes were, and how tall he stood, only two feet away from her.
He appeared to be equally interested in her. His smile was gentle, his eyes warm. The connection took her breath away.
But he was ten years younger than she was.
“Oh,” she said, breaking the spell, “I need to show you the bathroom.”
“Sure,” Mack said.
She turned and led the way, hoping he hadn’t noticed how her cheeks were burning.
* * *
—
A week later, Mack arrived in the morning with a pair of young men and all their ladders and toolboxes and electric power tools. Mack introduced her to the workers, who looked like weightlifters.
“This is Dave and this is Tom.”
“Hello,” Lisa said. “Thanks for coming to help.”
Mack turned toward the men. “Okay. Here’s the first project.” He pointed to the ceiling.
Lisa hung around for a few moments, listening, as if she had any idea what they were talking about, until she realized she was really looking at Mack’s body. He was a gorgeous man, and she didn’t want to leave his presence. She was shocked. She hadn’t felt this way in years. Had she ever?
Lisa pulled herself out of her reverie. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she said.
But of course they didn’t need her. They carefully lifted the paintings off the walls and carried them into the living room. They brought large rolls of plastic into the house and covered doors and walls to protect the rest of the house from plaster dust. Mack drove off to get something, and Dave and Tom set up staging and brought out their power tools.
Lisa was grateful for the narrow back stairs leading down to the kitchen. She turned the kitchen into her everything room, which was fine, because the screened porch was off the kitchen, so she could wander out in the morning and listen to the birds waking up.
Her shop didn’t open until ten—nine once summer started—so she spent an hour or so working on her financials on her laptop at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee at her side. But having the men in the house altered the routine of her days. It was difficult to add and subtract when Mack entered the house. She couldn’t remember responding so physically to a man. She woke up happy, she was seldom hungry, problems were solved more easily, and it wasn’t simply spring. Mack was gorgeous, tall, muscular, strong, and wide-shouldered, with long thick blond hair he held back in a low tail with a piece of string.
She wondered what color his chest hair was…and all his hair. He always wore jeans, an old T-shirt, and worker’s boots. She fantasized about what he looked like in a suit.
Or in nothing.
Of course she knew she was being foolish, thinking of Mack that way. Nothing would happen between them…oh, but daydreams were so lovely.
* * *
—
Sunday morning, the workmen had the day off. So did Lisa, for one last luxurious Sunday before she geared up her shop for the summer crowd. Betsy Mason took charge of Sail this Sunday. Lisa lounged on her wicker sofa on the porch, sipping a glass of iced peach tea and reading a novel. It was her habit and her treat to slip over to the library on Saturday afternoons when Betsy was there to mind the shop. Lisa would go immediately to the new fiction section and browse, as content as a child in a candy store. This morning, she had four new books set out on the wicker table. For a few minutes, she studied each one, deciding which book to start with, and then she settled back in the sofa for a long, delicious read.
She was barefoot, in her kimono, when she heard the kitchen door open, and then Mack was there.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to drop some equipment off so the boys can start plastering first thing tomorrow.”
Lisa said, “That’s fine—good Lord!”
They both looked at the plastering stilts in his hands. Made of steel and rubber, they looked like artificial limbs, and in a way they were, because, Mack explained, the guys would adjust them to the height they needed, fasten them to their feet and knees, and easily reach the ceiling. They had springs for flexibility and rubber soles to make them resistant to skids.
“Very space age,” Lisa said.
“That coffee smells good,” Mack said.
For a beat, Lisa didn’t respond. He was here on Sunday when his crew wasn’t around. He said the coffee smelled good.
“Would you like some?” she asked.
“I really would,” Mack answered. “I don’t know why, but I make crap coffee.”
“Sit down,” Lisa told him, gesturing to a chair. “I’ll get you a cup. Cream, sugar?”
“Black works.”