Something About You (Just Me & You) (9 page)

“Because you never loved the man, and because you didn’t
love him, you were blinded to the reality of your relationship.” Trust Nola to
be blunt. “
Divorce
is nothing to be ashamed of — See? I can say it! —
and I don’t blame you for wanting more than Jackson had to offer, Sabrina. It’s
just a shame that you had to figure it out after the eleventh hour. I hope
you’ve learned a lesson from this.”

“Never trust a man who keeps reminding you that his net
worth is more than yours?” Sabrina remembered how Jackson factored her salary
into their personal budget as though it were chump change. That’s what it
boiled down to in the end. Who held the money card.

Nola shook her head sadly. “I’m referring to your
self-inflicted obliviousness, dear,” she said. “But while we’re on the topic of
net worth, I recall that you told me you assumed the note for the house. You’re
a single woman living on a single income now. Can you afford to keep it?”

Sabrina mumbled an “I don’t know” into her next bite of
cupcake. Nola lifted a knowing brow and waited.

“Probably not.” Sabrina sighed glumly and put down the
sweet, defeated by her mother’s patient gaze. “I’ve been a renter all of my
life, Mom. I always thought that by the time I reached this age I’d be able to
afford my own home. I guess I was wrong.”

Nola stopped what she was doing, snapped her fingers and
smiled, struck by a light-bulb moment. “Why, you could lease the house and move
into Ella’s with me!” she exclaimed. “It’s way too big for just one person.”
The café wasn’t just Nola’s place of business; she had turned the boarding
rooms on the second and third stories into personal living quarters.

“Thanks for the offer, Mom, but I’ll pass,” Sabrina said,
tacking a mental
at least for now
onto the end of her sentence. There
was one thing more pathetic than a thirty-six-year-old woman who leased her
home to prevent foreclosure, and that was a thirty-six-year-old woman who lived
in her mother’s attic. 

“That leaves you with one other option.” Nola’s voice took
on a practical tone. “Ask Les for money so you can refinance it and lower your
mortgage payments. Heaven knows he owes you some stability.”

“Given the exceptional set of circumstances, don’t you
mean?” Sabrina added under her breath. She licked the pad of her index finger
and used it to pick up the cupcake crumbs on her plate.

Nola shot her a warning glance that said
Please don’t
take us down that road again
. The words lingered between them silently.
She
Who Shall Not Be Named.
Olivia, the mistress Lester March had kept in the
wings for as long as Sabrina had had sentient memory. The woman who eventually
became her stepmother after his skeletons conga danced out of the closet.

The woman who gave Les a male heir.

Which made Sabrina the spare, in reverse chronological
order.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to bring up bad times,”
Sabrina said. “But ask Dad for a personal bailout? No, just … no.”

“Why not?” Nola finally stopped beating the daylights out of
the meringue. “You never were a thorn in his side like the boy was. You flew
through college on merit scholarships and never asked Les for one thin dime.
You’re due for yours, Sabrina.”

“Asking Dad to help me would complicate things with the
partials. I have to see those people at Christmas, remember.” The partials
referred to her stepmother and half-brother.

“Damn, but you’re stubborn, Sabrina March. Proud, willful
and, right now, self-defeating,” Nola added for emphasis, shaking her head.

“That would be me, all right,” Sabrina agreed lightly. She
watched as her mother dumped equal portions of meringue on top of a tray of
custard tarts. Using a narrow spatula, Nola shaped them into perfect,
semi-circular domes.
This could be me twenty-five years from now.
Sabrina noticed the traits she and Nola shared. The deep-set, doe-in-the-forest
eyes. An irregular rift in the hairline that made their bangs fall over their
eyes at a strangely seductive angle. A slope in the small of the spine, which
gave both women the appearance of being slightly sway-backed.

The New Nola joined an online matchmaking service (“for
silver citizens only,” she made a point of mentioning), dated, and engaged in
monogamous relationships that lasted for a year or two before she and her
gentleman friend ended things on a chummy accord. She told Sabrina that she
didn’t intend to remarry.

“I’ll withhold my thoughts on the partials,” Nola finally
said. “But Les is still your father. You should cultivate a relationship with
him while you still can.”

Sabrina snagged a bottle of herbal tea from the café’s
cooler. “I see Dad twice a year for dental checkups. We email each other, send
each other birthday cards, and see each other over the holidays. We’re
cultivated.” She struggled with the cap. “Damn!”

“If you say so. Here, give it to me.” Her mother put down
the spatula, took the bottle, and popped it open with ease.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Counterclockwise, sweetie.” Nola handed it back to her with
a smile. “It’s all a matter of getting the direction right.”

Responsible Housemate Needed ASAP (Cadence
Corners-Central Austin)

Date: 11-07, 11:12PM CST

Reply to: [email protected]

Professional female, mid-30s, seeks gainfully employed,
same-age peer to share tastefully decorated historic home. Fully furnished except
for guest bedroom, adjoining bath (shower only) and unfinished attic. Split
space in two-car garage (please keep your side tidy). I have basic cable (if
you want a squillion channels, it’s on your dime). Will consider single pet if
properly vetted, impeccably trained, non-shedding, under 10 lbs. and crated or
boarded in your absence. Deposit is one month’s rent (plus cost of background
check). It is crucial to our respective welfares that you pay rent on time
every month. No couples, no breakfast cookers (have an aversion to grease
smell), no hoarders, no boozers, no indoor smokers, and no illegal drugs.

Contact Sabrina at sabrina@casadimarch… only if you meet
the above criteria.

**

From: gsloper@handyrandys…

To: sabrina@casadimarch…

I saw your ad on Craigslist. I don’t have a steady job or
nothing and don’t have money for rent but was wondering if you’d trade lodging
for handyman’s services. I can do anything, lay carpet, insulation, sheetrock,
plumbing, etc. I clean. Greg.

**

From: luvmyhubby@thedeedsfamily…

To: sabrina@casadimarch…

Dear Sabrina,

I am a single mother of three elementary-school-aged
boys. I’ve been out of the workforce for ten years, so it might be a while
before I get a job. But I have money left over from my divorce settlement, and
that should tide me over for a while. I know you’re probably looking for a
single gal without all that baggage. But would you consider me and my kids? The
boys could bunk in the attic. They would be happy living anywhere as long as
we’re all together. They stay with my ex-asshole, aka, “cheating bastard”, on
the weekends, so they would only be there during the week. The boys have a pet
(African Grey), but the damned parrot stays with the asshole, too.

Hope to hear from you.

Deanna Deeds

**

From: sl_ackerman@javathehutt…

To: sabrina@casadimarch…

Hey, my name is Seth Ackerman. Me & my GF r looking 4
a room close 2 downtown. Shes 20, I’m 22. No pets, my sugarglidder died last
wk. Me & my GF have worked @ the same coffeehouse 4 2 mos so we got $$.
Have wkend giggs as a drummer in teh Hostages. Can we use teh garage 4
rehearsal space? U said no drugs, but R U 420 frendly?

Sent from my SmartPhone

**

From: imloomie@attygen…

To: sabrina@casadimarch…

Hi, Sabrina!

I’m a single professional female, 35 years old,
nonsmoker, nondrinker, no drugs — you mean you have to ask? — and no
personal drama. I’ve worked as a paralegal for the Attorney General’s Office
for seven years and have a perfect credit score. Right now, I live in a small
rural community, and the cost of gas driving to work and back is just unreal.

There’s also not a lot for a single girl to do here. 

There is one thing you should know: I do pit bull rescue —
and sometimes I take in Rottweilers and other large breeds. Sadly, a lot of
people dump their precious pups after a biting incident without bothering to
work with a professional dog whisperer. This makes me ashamed to be a part of
the human race.

Don’t worry, I place my “kids” as quickly as possible and
don’t have more than six or seven orphans in my charge at any time. So it’s not
like I’m bringing in a zoo. I could keep the pitties in my room or outside, if
there’s a yard. I’d love to talk more with in person. It sounds like you’re as
picky as I am. I don’t blame you — there’s a bunch of crazies out there.

Regards,

Imogen

One-two-three-four.
Creak!

Sabrina bounded up the steps to the Parker house, the ball
of her right foot landing on the old wooden porch. It was like going back home.

The Chateau du Parker had in fact been her home when she and
Molly were both in college. But even before then, it had been a haven to escape
to, far away from the toxic waste of sadness that was CherNola. Sabrina was
relieved when Molly decided not to sell the house after her parents’ untimely
demise in an automobile accident.

Molly also charged cheap rent.

The craftsman-style house was tucked away in a recessed lot
at the end of a dead-end street that was shrouded by a trio of large live oaks.
Sabrina ordinarily would have made her visit with Molly a stopping point during
a late-night run, but tonight a blistering cold front was steadily blowing in
from the north.

The windows were ablaze with a strange greenish-gold light
cast by the hideous chartreuse panels Mrs. Parker bought in the seventies and
Molly never got around to replacing. Sabrina rubbed her arms briskly. She
wished she’d thought to bring a sweater. Before she had a chance to knock, the
front door flew open. The next thing she knew, she was engulfed in a squishy
hug and the smell of freshly chopped herbs and garlic. Molly had to be one of
the most tactile people she’d ever met.

“I’m making spätzel with ham and Dutch apple pie — you’ll
stay for dinner, right? I want to be able to tell people that Sebastian and I
had guests. Well, at least one guest,” Molly said breathlessly as she closed
the door behind them. “First, tell me something. Be honest. Do I look any
different to you?”

“Different?” Sabrina asked as she followed Molly into the
kitchen.

“You know what I mean. Do I look married?”

“You look absolutely bridal,” Sabrina assured her. From the
moment Molly and Sebastian went exclusive, they could have been mistaken for
newlyweds. “But how do you feel?”

“Please, Brini.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Are we going to go
through this again? I will tell you the second I feel like I might be going out
of remission.”

“You know why I have to ask. Right?”

“Because you’re more overprotective than Mom ever was.”
Molly smiled. She had a large, mobile mouth and a mane of long, thick chestnut
curls that always looked slightly unkempt. Her skin was sun-kissed from
puttering in her garden. She projected the vision of perfect health. But
Sabrina knew that a walker was stashed in the walk-in closet of her old bedroom.

She’d seen what multiple sclerosis could do to Molly.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Molly fretted. “I haven’t gotten
around to tidying up.”

But Sabrina knew the house would look no different, despite
her friend’s cleaning efforts. When Sabrina roomed at the Chateau du Parker,
she quickly gave up trying to give Molly decorating and organizing tips and
abandoned herself to the clash and clutter. Molly decorated whimsically with no
reference to consistency. Overstuffed vintage sofas were paired with
streamlined IKEA end tables. Framed pieces of embroidery with sappy sayings
like “I Hope You Dance” hung next to lithographs of abstract art. Throw rugs in
all colors were tossed on the scuffed pine floors. Every square inch of kitchen
surface was covered with Sebastian’s books and papers, quilting magazines,
patchwork pieces and masses of tiny sewing stuff. 

“Tell me about Paris.” Sabrina pulled a bar stool up to the
counter and checked it for stray stickpins before she sat down.

“That can wait.” Molly stirred something simmering in a
large skillet. “I want to hear about my wedding reception first.”

Sabrina gave her a brief rundown of the events, describing
Cybil and Shuck’s reaction in great detail when she announced the elopement.
She told Molly about the part where Gage stepped in and omitted the rest.
Sabrina was sure that the vague
dénouement
would pique Molly’s
curiosity, but her friend seemed to be paying more attention to transferring
tiny sizzling dumplings into a serving dish.

“I turned into the most profligate shopper in Paris,” she
confessed, putting the sauté pan in the sink. “I discovered the most delightful
fabric stores in Montmartre. Come see.”

Molly had converted Sabrina’s former bedroom into a
combination sewing space and repository for spare furniture. Half-finished
quilts were strewn over a bed, along with cotton batting and quilting blocks.
Molly took craftiness to a whole new level. She had a particular flair for
taking throwaway clothing — scraps cut from antique dressing gowns,
kimonos and saris — and stitching them into intricate, asymmetrical
patterns. Sabrina, whose prowess with a needle and thread began and ended with
sewing on buttons, was in awe of her best friend’s skill.

“First things first.” Molly dug around in an ancient
rucksack and produced a small carrier bag. Sabrina’s eyes widened when she saw
the Les Salons Du Palais Royal Shiseido logo.

“
Rahat Loukoum
,” Sabrina breathed as she clasped the
Serge Lutens bell jar to her bosom. “I forgive you completely for ditching me
at your wedding.”

“I knew you’d be a pushover for the perfume. But that’s not
the only reason I asked you to come over tonight.” She gave Sabrina a worried
look.

“No dodging, Molls. I beg of you.”

“No dodging,” Molly agreed. She took a deep breath. “Your
house.”

“What about it?”

“Brini, you’re in deep.”

“You’ve been talking to Nola,” Sabrina grumbled.

“I always talk to Nola, remember? Sit. Talk to me now.”
Molly pulled one of the quilts away and patted the side of the bed.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sabrina told her as they
sat. “I should have never asked Jackson to sign over his interest. It’s just
that simple.”

“Well, Sebastian and I put our heads together,” Molly said.
“I think we might have a solution to your cash flow problem.”

Sabrina was moved. “That’s sweet, Molls. But unless you’re
planning a bank heist, I’ll have to put my home on the market. I can’t find
anyone to lease the spare bedroom to — at least no one sane.”

And no housemate would be permanent, she reminded herself.
There was the future to consider. It was unrealistic to assume that one person
would rent a room from her for a long period of time. Sabrina would have to
rely on one stranger after the next. Each would come into her home with her own
quirks, habits, and possibly a lot of terrible furniture.

She couldn’t abide it.

“Sebastian and I found you a boarder — a good one,”
Molly announced with a smile. “We’ll both vouch for him.”

“
Him
?”

“I know, I know. Having a man in your personal space isn’t
what you want right now. But it
is
a solution, Brini. He’s gainfully
employed, and he’s as honest as the day is long. He won’t make any passes.”

“Why not?” Sabrina wondered aloud. “Is he gay?”

“No.” Molly giggled. “He’s old-fashioned.”

“Just how ‘old-fashioned’ are we talking about?” Sabrina
asked. “Mr. Darcy? Professor Bhaer?”

“Think Richard Collier in ‘Somewhere in Time.’ Sebastian’s
known him since forever. Can you imagine any of his friends taking liberties?”

That was the problem. One already had. “Do I know him?”
Sabrina asked.

“Hmm.” Molly tilted her head and studied the corner of the
room. “I don’t think Sebastian and I have introduced you to him. Actually, I’m
sure we haven’t.”

“So what’s his story?” Sabrina asked, resigned.

“The lease on his place is up, and he wants to rent
something that’s less expensive. It’s as simple as that. Talk to him,” Molly
cajoled.

“I’ll think about it.”

“‘I’ll think about it’ means that you’ll do nothing of the
sort. Promise me you will,” Molly urged.

“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” Sabrina agreed reluctantly. “But
that’s all I’ll agree to.”

Molly smiled cheerfully. “Super! Because he and Sebastian
will be back any minute,” she said, jumping up. “Shall I make tea?”

While Molly was puttering around in the kitchen with the
teapot, Sabrina heard a car pull into the drive. She frowned. That kind of
ostentatious roar could only belong to the engine of a vintage muscle car.
Molly and Sebastian shared an ancient Volvo station wagon. Doors opened and
shut. Then she heard the men’s voices: Sebastian’s eloquent, measured timbre
and another that was distressingly familiar.

Sabrina peered through the slats of the vertical blinds and
saw two heads bobbing up the front steps. One had unremarkable brown hair with
a zigzag part. Predictably, the other was an odd shade of deep red.  

Richard Collier.
Right.

Was this their collective idea of a joke? Applying any
descriptor that alluded to old-fashioned male virtue to Gage Fitzgerald and his
alter ego, “Fitz,” created an oxymoron to rival that of “gentlemen’s club.”
Certainly Molly had snagged a clue before she orchestrated this little meet-up.
Knowing Molly, it wasn’t purely by happenstance.

A single word came to Sabrina’s mind:
Escape.

She darted into the main bedroom, but the double doors
leading to the back porch were blocked by a huge open trunk that seemed to be
regurgitating clothing. She heard the front door open. Hastily, she stepped
through the nearest open portal and closed the door swiftly. She stood in the
small, dark space motionlessly, her ears on alert. Maybe Gage Fitzgerald would
just go away, she hoped as something furry tickled her bare arm.

The men’s voices grew louder. Sebastian the genteel academic
let out a hearty
bwa-ha-ha
in response to something Gage said.
Sebastian’s sense of humor was as esoteric as his intellectual meanderings.
Sabrina recalled having all of two conversations with him. One was about how to
properly recite
Cædmon’s Song
in Old English. The other involved a more
intense debate about whether Ray Bradbury’s work could be considered literary
fiction. None of their discourse had involved
bwa-ha-has
or even a
chuckle.

Molly’s voice finally chimed into the mix. “Sabrina? Brini!
Funny. She was just here a minute ago. Brini?”

The pine floors creaked as their footsteps grew closer.
Sabrina held her breath. Suddenly, the door swung open. She squinted into the
light.

“Sabrina, why are you standing in the closet?” Sebastian
asked seriously. Six-foot-four and reed thin, he loomed over her, his large
dark eyes perplexed. When Sabrina met him for the first time, her initial
impression was that he looked a little like an extraterrestrial.

“That’s a good question, Sebastian,” she gulped.

Molly quickly swooped into the walk-in and pulled the light
chain. “Sabrina asked to borrow a sweater,” she lied smoothly. “How ’bout the
red cashmere?” Molly made a big to-do of searching around in the racks.

“I’ve always loved the cashmere. Thanks, Molls,” Sabrina
said.

“Here.” Molly pushed the cardigan in her arms and nudged her
out of the walk-in with a warning look. “Let’s all be sociable.”

“Gage tells me the two of you met at our wedding reception,”
Sebastian mentioned as he traversed the area between the closet and his desk
with an easy stride. It took a practiced eye to discern his slight limp, and
Sabrina would have never known he wore a prosthetic limb if Molly hadn’t told
her. “He gave me the low-down on the hoopla. Apparently, Molly and I owe both
of you our firstborn for digging us out of deep shit at Green Pastures.”

“Yes. Hello again, Gage.” Sabrina said stiltedly.

“Re-salutations to the most unconventional maid of honor
I’ve ever met,” Gage said with a slow, sly smile. Dressed in faded jeans and a
flannel shirt flapping open over a natty gray river driver, he managed to look
even sexier than he did in a tuxedo, Sabrina noticed with irritation. What
appeared to be a black Celtic design peeped out of his shirt at the neckline.
Even more startling than the unexpected sexiness of Gage’s faded flannel shirt
was the way the crisp, black ink curled over his firm alabaster skin, like
calligraphy on parchment paper. She wondered if he acquired new bits of body
art as easily as animal lovers took in strays.

“I should probably take that as a compliment, since I found
her first,” Molly said. “Sabrina’s always had a way of bucking the trend. Well,
you do too, Gage. When Sebastian told me you were looking for a place to live,
she immediately came to mind.
And
,” Molly added pointedly, “her house is
practically within spitting distance of the station, right here in the
Corners!”

“What did we agree to? No hard sell,” Sebastian told his
wife, but a doting note had crept into his voice.

“Proximity is a plus,” Gage said. “But I don’t want to foist
myself on anyone. Our trend-bucker doesn’t look too happy about taking rental
applications, Molly.”

His gaze captured Sabrina’s.
Mongoose and cobra
, she
thought, mesmerized by the way his eyes seemed to twinkle even from a distance.
Was it the sweater, or was the house finally heating up?

“That’s not true, Gage. Is it, Brini?” Molly’s warning look
was her cue to snap out of it.

“Huh? Oh, sure,” Sabrina said. “I’m open to nontraditional
arrangements. But if I choose a male renter, he has to be a good fit.” It was a
poor choice of words. Her face flushed, and she watched a muscle tic on the
side of Gage’s mouth as he suppressed a smile. 

“You’ll want to confab one-on-one,” Molly said reasonably.
“Sit down over a cup of coffee. Who knows? You might find you mesh
wonderfully.”

“Ah, can Molly and I get something in writing that both of
you will still speak to us when this plan backfires?” Sebastian asked
distractedly from his desk, where he was sifting through student essays.

“Hell, Sebastian, you know me. I’m easy. But I’ll defer to
Sabrina. It’s her place, after all. And her decision.” Gage lobbed the ball
back into her court.