“Me too!” He blinks, backing away. “So, I’ll . . .”
“See you later!”
“Right. Uh, you too.”
I disappear behind a shelf of canned tomatoes and despair. Right, because that really made things less awkward!
18
Everyone seems to be out, so I have the place to myself for the rest of the afternoon: sweeping, dusting, and cleaning in an effort to get at least one of the downstairs rooms into a habitable state. Soon, the dining room is sawdust-free, with the drapes from my bedroom blocking out the charming view of a cement mixer outside. Success. Before taking up residence in the bathroom for my hundred-year shower, I duck into Susie’s makeshift office to print out the pasta recipe, careful not to disturb the piles of paperwork she has laid out in precarious stacks.
Projected repayment schedule.
One of the titles catches my eye. I know it’s wrong to snoop, but I can’t help taking a quick look, scanning the chart. According to her calculations, they’ll have enough money to keep up with mortgage and loan repayments — as long as they have at least a quarter of the rooms full. Every week.
Frowning, I flip through the other papers. Bills, invoices, and there — the bookings schedule. The empty bookings schedule. I stare at it with trepidation. We’re weeks away from opening, and Susie doesn’t even have a single room booked. No wonder she’s running ragged to get this place finished.
I hear a voice calling me from out front. Guilty, I drop the papers and immediately push everything back into place. But when I rush out, breathless, I find Reeve setting a box down on the porch.
“Oh, hi.” I’m caught off guard. Quickly, I push my sweaty bangs off my face and adjust my tank straps, wishing I didn’t look like such a mess.
“Hey, sorry — did I interrupt? I was going to just leave this . . .” Reeve’s changed T-shirts since I saw him last: now he’s wearing a red one, emblazoned with CREEK COUNTY FIRE DEPARTMENT. I feel weird for even noticing.
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “What’s up?”
Reeve hands me the box with a lopsided smile. “I found some stuff you might want. I figured these might help with that dinner.”
“Wow, thanks!” I rummage through the carton. There are Christmas lights, little lanterns, and even some cute candlesticks. “This is great. Are you sure it’s OK — for me to borrow them? I can have them back to you tomorrow,” I promise.
“Don’t rush.” He shrugs. “They were only gathering dust in the attic.”
“Well, thanks,” I say again, touched by an actual show of friendship. “They’ll really help.”
He looks embarrassed. Running a hand over the top of his head, he begins to edge away. “Uh, I better go. I guess I’ll catch you later?”
“At Ethan’s, right.”
I watch him stroll back to his truck. Ever since that first night at the lake, I’ve had him pegged as moody and unpredictable, but now I wonder if I got him all wrong.
“Fiona, hi, and you must be Jenna! I’ve been dying to meet you!” The door swings open that evening to reveal a middle-aged woman, her hair blond and cut short in that soccer-mom style. She pulls me into a hug before I can even say a word, enveloping me in her huge knit cardigan.
“Umm, hi.” I detach myself and take a breath, laced with the scent of lavender and butter. “Mrs. Johnso —”
“Call me Katie!” she exclaims, before I even have a chance to finish. “Come in, both of you. The boys are down in the basement, but how about you come and talk with me in the kitchen? I made some pie, and —”
“Mom, they didn’t come to hang out with you.” Ethan thunders up the stairs and intercepts us. “Sorry,” he mouths in my direction before turning back to her. “You can’t just attack every girl who comes through that door.”
“It’s OK,” I pipe up as Fiona disappears quickly toward the basement. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Come on.” Ethan yanks me away. “Before she starts showing you the baby pictures.”
“She did that?” I ask, following him down the staircase lined with school portraits of him and Grady.
“For real. Fiona was trapped up there for an hour one time, and she only came over to study.”
I laugh. “That explains her quick escape.”
The basement room is surprisingly light and cheery, furnished with old brown couches and a big TV that has obviously seen better days. Fiona is already gripping one of the plastic guitars, while Grady and Reeve are sprawled on the floor among cushions, soda cans, and junk-food debris, focused intently on decimating each other in the violent fantasy realm on-screen.
“Hey, guys,” I greet them.
“Hi, Jenna.”
“Hey.”
They’re only monosyllables, but I’m impressed. Reeve actually looks up from the game and smiles, while Grady’s murmur is almost enthusiastic.
“Ha!” Suddenly, Grady jerks his controller up, and the screen explodes in an impressive firebomb. “Suck it, baby!”
“What? Aw, come on!” Reeve throws his remote down in defeat. “That was totally unfair.”
“And so is life, my friend,” Grady gloats. “The strong shall rise and the weak shall perish. Mwha-ha-ha.”
“I thought it was the meek who inherit the earth.” Ethan flops down on one of the couches next to Fiona, so I wander over to the La-Z-Boy, which is spilling its innards from a deep tear in the seat. I move around a couple of loose springs and sit, curling my legs up under me.
“Not in this world.” Grady grabs a handful of chips. “Might is right!” He turns to me and Fiona. “Want some?”
“Duh.” Fiona takes the whole bag. “So now that you’re done destroying this loser, can we get on to the real game?”
“I call drums!” Grady yells, spraying chip fragments everywhere.
“Dude, gross.” Ethan sighs.
“I take bass. Which means one of you has to sing.” Reeve grins at Ethan, pulling the rest of the instruments out of the corner.
“Don’t look at me.” Ethan puts his hands up. “Jenna, it’s all yours.”
“You’re going to regret that,” I tell them. “Seriously. I’m awful. Think American Idol auditions kind of awful.”
“That’s part of the fun.” Ethan laughs, passing me the mic. “And you can’t be worse than my brother, I promise.”