Uncle Gid hadn't always lived there. He'd been gone a lot of my young childhood, traveling all over the world as a touring back-up musician. But when my grandparents died in a boating accident, he'd come back home again because he and my dad didn't want to lose each other after losing their parents so quickly. As far as I knew, the question over whether he should get the big house never came up. He knew that us five kids needed the space, so he gladly stepped aside and took the small house down by the creek. And every time I came home from touring, I'd go see him there. He was always there for me.
But the shed was empty now.
Completely.
I stood there, frozen in place as I tried to slow my suddenly panicked breathing. Even the air smelled empty, just frozen cold blankness that filled my lungs and made me cough.
The complete panic that gripped me made no sense. The shed had been cleaned out before. When we used it as our studio back when we were auditioning, it was empty.
But not truly empty, not like this. Emptied not only of Uncle Gid's stuff but of his spirit too.
I reached out and gripped the door frame with my gloved hand, my fingernails digging into the soft wood. It didn't help with the spinning in my head at all. I leaned back and pressed my back against the cold wall and slid down to sit on the freezing ground.
There was no box here. Nothing. Nothing was left. It was like Gid had never even existed except as a memory.
I took another deep breath.
But that wasn't true, his voice lived on. I could play the music he'd written for those little kids to sing. And I could listen to him, hear him like a whisper from the afterlife.
Because Ruby had his tapes.
I could listen to him. I just had to do it with her. That was her only condition.
Why had that idea bothered me so much yesterday? Why was I so unwilling to share him? He'd clearly trusted her. They were friends. And she was kind, and good, and kissed like she was on fire.
I should be happy to share him with her.
She was amazing.
I dug my fingers into the wood, this time for a different reason. And then suddenly stood up, brushing my hands against my pants. A soft film of dust left streaks like ash on my jeans, but I didn't even bother to try cleaning up. I slammed the door shut on the empty shed and headed to Ethel, keys already in my hand.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ruby
Ginger was in the ceiling.
When I bought this little house, the first project I'd wanted to tackle was the awful drop ceiling in the basement. Whoever had installed it was either blind or drunk, because the tiles all hung at different levels, leaving just enough space for a tiny kitten to nose her way into.
I hadn't had the time of the money to fix it yet, and now I was cursing myself
"How on earth did you even get up here?" I demanded. "Cat, I am trying to help you, ow!" I complained. Her little kitten-daggers were still dainty enough not to draw blood but they still hurt. "I'm going to clip those nails as soon as I get you out of there."
As if she recognized the threat, she backed away from me, twisting and compressing her little body into a small space back by the duct work and completely out of my reach.
I stepped back on the chair I was standing on, and sighed....then sneezed out some of the ceiling dust. "I bet I just got a lungful of asbestos because of you, cat," I muttered. "I should just leave you there."
But she and I both knew this was an empty threat. I scooted the chair under the next piece of tile and pushed up. "Got you...oh, come on!" I cried as she somehow managed to worm her way out of what seemed like a pretty solid neck grab. "Why do you want to be up here anyway? It's full of dust and mouse poop. Oh that's probably exactly why you want to be up here right?" I sneezed again, and tried to bat the floating filth away from my face. "I'd say I gotta clean up here but we both know that's a lie, so you'd better come down or the dust bunnies will eat you."
I reached for her again. She stretched her little neck towards my outstretched fingers, sniffing tentatively. "That's good," I cooed. "I'm the person who feeds you, you know who I am. Come on and..."
A loud pounding sent her scurrying into the farther reaches of the ceiling. "Oh fucking hell cat!" The pounding sounded again and I realized it was someone at the front door. "Stay right there," I told Ginger. "I just have to go yell at whoever scared you and then I'm coming back to drag your orange butt out of there."
Ginger, safe in the farthest reaches of the ceiling, licked her paw.
Grumbling, I jumped down from the chair as the pounding came again. "The house better be on fire!" I shouted as I came up the basement stairs. "Because otherwise I - "
I opened the door and froze.
Jonah's eyes met mine. Then they traced up to take in my asbestos covered head, dust streaked face, and the long rubber gloves I'd bee, wearing in anticipation of plunging Ginger into the bath. "Is...this a bad time?"
"The bad time already happened when you pounded on the door and scared my cat even further into the basement ceiling," I huffed, stepping back.
"Is that why you -"
"Look this way? Yes. Yes it is."
"I was going to say look like you want to murder me, but then I remembered that was your usual expression."
"What do you want, Jonah?"
He pressed his lips together like he was catching his words before they got him in trouble. "Do you need help?" he asked.
"With what?"
He looked at me like I was daft. "Getting your cat."
This time it was my turn to take him in. His hair looked wild and needed a trim, his eyes were bright, like he'd been outside in the wind and the cold. The unbuttoned flannel shirt that poked out from under his puffy jacket was not the fashionable, hip kind of flannel. It was the kind of flannel that was sold in outdoor stores next to the tractor parts. It looked like something his dad would wear.
It actually looked like something Gid wore, a lot.
My insides felt like someone had poured warm honey over them. "Yeah, sure," I said, trying like hell to keep my composure, so he wouldn't know I was melting at the sight of that shirt. So he wouldn't see the tears in my eyes and mistake them for sadness when they were actually the happiest I'd felt in a while. "Basement."
"You said that."
"Right."
Jonah in my house looked way too big. Just standing there, he seemed to take up all of the sparse space, making my house feel full and furnished instead of meager. I looked around with him, wondering what he was making of my stacks of books, the overflowing yarn bin and the overall lack of furniture except for my grandmother's rocking chair.
"This place looks like you," he commented.
"And what does that look like?" I wanted to know.
"Clear. Uncluttered." He pressed his lips together and looked back at me. "Truthful," he finished.
That shouldn't have made a damn bit of sense, but I was starting to understand Jonah, and so it did. "Thanks?" I wondered.
"It's definitely a compliment."
"Okay."
"Ruby?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry I was a dick yesterday," he said. "But I sure liked kissing you." He coughed and looked away. "Where's the basement?"