The After House (11 page)

Taking a shot in the dark, she cleared her throat, muttering that there wasn’t much for a degree in communications either. She looked up to find his gray eyes dancing with amusement, and she wondered if he knew what distracted her. She realized he was talking about dinner.

“Dinner. I asked if you would like to go for dinner Friday.”

“Um…”

“It’s not a trick question. We’ll eat, and then talk some more. I promise you’re going to like it,” he said.

Remy placed her used napkin on the plate and rose to her feet. “Thanks.” She held out her hand. “It was nice meeting you. I, um…I’m newly single, you see. It’s been a long time, and…I don’t think I’m ready.”

“How long?” Hugh asked gently.

“What?” she asked, her voice slightly raised. All talking had stopped. Remy looked around apologetically, repeating, “What?” in a lower voice.

“When did you divorce? How long have you been single? I make it a habit not to be the rebound guy.”

Remy stiffened. “How often have you been the rebound guy?”

“Often enough to know it’s not pleasant.”

“Well, I guess that’s that.” She shoved the chair under the table and turned to leave.

“What do you mean? I got the feeling from your mother that it’s been a while,” Hugh said as he stood. “I don’t know why I didn’t run when we banged heads in your studio. Not an auspicious start to our relationship, head butting.” He laughed.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” she demanded hotly.

“Oh no, our first fight,” he said with a smile. “Come on. That was funny.”

An unexpected chuckle bubbled up from her throat. He was absurd, but in a good way.

Remy opened her mouth to say good-bye but found the words wouldn’t come. It was funny. He was funny,
made her laugh. It was as though her mouth and head lost connection. Remy sighed in resignation and told him, “It’s been close to a year.” She didn’t like to talk about it but found herself slipping into a comfortable feeling with him. She struggled with her coat. It was hooked on the arm of her chair and she couldn’t get it off. “I am such a nerd,” she said with exasperation.

“How close?” Hugh easily lifted her coat off the back of her chair, then helped her into it. He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly.

“Eleven months, three weeks,” she said. She almost added five days, but her tongue instinctively stopped before she could utter it. She pressed her fingers to her temple. This was hard, meeting someone new. She wasn’t good at it when she was younger. She might as well hang a sign around her neck that said something like “loony tune ex-wife who can’t let go.” Or, “the rejected one.”

Next he was going to ask why. She knew it. What could she say? That she wasn’t enough for Scott, so he had to look elsewhere? She enraged her husband enough to strike her. He preferred another woman’s bed. He was in his new relationship for almost two and a half years with a Hooters waitress who looked happy enough. Why was it working for them and not for her? She had been so sure of Scott. Could she ever trust herself again? Maybe they should put a sticker on her bumper asking people to call to report bad wifing. She frowned, her face lost thought. She wanted to scream at him, “Run, I’m not normal yet,” but the words died on her lips. She paused, looking up at his concerned face. He stood quietly, considering her,
respecting the silence between them. There was no pity in his face, and he didn’t ask why Scott left. He patiently watched her struggle, then smiled encouragingly. Ice melted in Remy’s heart. They stared at each other, sounds around them muted, as though they were alone. Remy took a deep breath, allowing it to cleanse her soul. The serenity felt good—for both of them.

“I think it’s long enough,” Hugh said softly. “Maybe it’s time to join the living.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be the rebound guy,” Remy said, turning to look up at him. He had his hands in his pockets. Remy suddenly had the insight that he wasn’t all that comfortable either. It was liberating.

“I don’t plan to be. Just a dinner,” he said simply.

Remy looked at his lips, wondering why she couldn’t agree. She crushed the growing attraction into a hard little ball, tucking it away to dissect later. Even though it was for Friday, and she knew she would be free, she told him no. Olivia was spending the weekend with Scott and Prunella. She couldn’t do it. Shaking her head, her eyes downcast, she bade him good-bye. She was not ready to go out on a date yet.

emy started for the door to head back to work, annoyed with herself. She felt seventeen again, gawky, an uncoordinated mess. She wondered if Hugh had noticed it. He insisted on escorting her back to the studio. They strolled in silence. Every so often, their arms brushed each other. Once again, Hugh reached out to help her navigate the icy patches.

At first she edged away, but he moved closer, making her feel protected. “Give in to it. Don’t be afraid,” she thought, making a mantra in her head. They barely spoke, but the lack of conversation didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt comfortable.

“Didn’t I lock the door when I left?” she asked, picking up her pace on the sidewalk.

“I’m not sure,” Hugh said increasing his stride to keep up with her. A group of people were milling around the sidewalk leading to her studio.

Remy started to trot, taking in the crowd in front of the walkway of her studio. They had to go down a narrow path, since the door was in the alley between two buildings.

“What happened?” Remy called out.

“Someone broke the windows. There’s smoke coming out of the storefront.” A man pointed to her entrance.

Remy started to run, but Hugh’s large hand pulled her back.

“Slow down. Did anyone call the police?” he asked the crowd with authority.

“Police and fire departments,” said someone in the crowd.

“Ah, here they come,” Hugh said. Sirens filled the air, which had turned bitter cold. Hugh touched her elbow. “Come into the church.”

“I don’t want to go to church.” Remy was annoyed. “I have to see what’s going on.” She was concerned, her attraction to Hugh moved to the nether spaces of her brain.

“Sam.” Hugh nodded to an officer walking briskly toward them. “Any idea what happened?”

The cop nodded, and his partner dispersed the crowd as a spanking new fire truck pulled up, with eager firemen pulling out a hose to clamp onto the hydrant.

“What are you, the mayor or something?” Remy demanded testily. She was worried about her studio.

Hugh’s face turned crimson, and his feet shuffled. “As a matter of fact, um…yes. Come on. It’s cold. We’ll wait inside.”

“I can’t.” She craned her neck around him to see her studio. “It’s all I have. I have to see if the studio is all right.”

Hugh rested his warm hands over hers. “Sam, can we get closer?”

The officer bade them to wait until he had checked it out, and then he motioned for them to move through the crowd to the entrance. Broken glass littered the sidewalk. Hugh took Remy’s hand and led her to her studio. Firemen milled around the small space.

“It didn’t catch,” the fire chief stated, pointing to a small charred cloth that smoked on the floor. They gathered around it. Hugh crouched next to a policeman, who poked it with his club.

“Looks like something a kid would do.” They all looked up at Remy

She shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a rock soaked in turpentine. Some kid lit it and threw it at the window.” The officer considered Remy. “Is there anyone who has a gripe with you? A landscaper? Boyfriend?”

Remy shook her head mutely. “When can I clean it up? I have clients coming at four.”

“It seems you’ve doubled the crime in Cold Spring Harbor,” Hugh told her with mock seriousness. He turned to the policeman. “You are calling in detectives?”

“Yeah. They plan on joining us after they finish chasing the Canadian Geese off the library roof,” The officer said snidely. “It shouldn’t be longer than an hour.” The policeman looked at Hugh. “They may have a few questions.”

“All right, then.” He stood and straightened his long legs. “You’ll find us at my office.”

The cold was seeping through the thin soles of Remy’s shoes, making her toes numb. She let Hugh take
her hand again. Instantly she snatched her fingers from his grasp.

“I’m not easy,” she said. Then she covered her mouth. “Oh, my God. I don’t know what—”

“It’s OK.” Hugh smiled. “I am.”

he small church was just a little larger than her own studio. The ceiling arched upward toward a vaulted roof. Hugh explained that it was built in the Greek Revival style, which meant nothing to Remy. All she noticed was that the walls were whitewashed a shabby chic, and the interior was rather plain. Each wall was taken up with rows of locally made furniture.

Six or eight display cases took the place of the pews. They were staggered, placed in a chevron style, so that you saw a little bit of each artifact across the room. Folk art pictures of locals, their faces frozen in time, stared back from the top portion of the tall walls. Remy blew on her hands while Hugh checked his thermostat.

“It’s an old building, but I promise you’ll be warm in a minute,” he said. “I don’t know why it’s so cold.”

“Why?” Remy looked up at him.

“Why is it so cold, or why am I mayor?” Hugh shrugged. “I’m a trust fund baby. Do you know what that means? Ah, I see that you don’t. There are generations of money, seven in fact, put away for my use. I refused to go into banking like my father and his father before that.”

He pulled out a folding chair for her. “I love history. Any history. So I bought this church. They were going to turn it into a clothing store, so I purchased all these artifacts, and voila.” He snapped his long fingers. “I turned it into a museum. I’m a major contributor. The town was having an election and asked me to run.” Hugh had the grace to blush. “I never expected to win,” he said, sounding faintly embarrassed.

“Mayor Matthews.” Remy curtsied.

“Just Hugh, ma’am.” He leaned against a display case. “Can’t I get you something to drink?”

“Please.” Remy placed her palms on her flat stomach. “Any more, and I’ll float away.” She turned to the door as if to leave. “What’s taking them so long?” She bit her lower lip. She walked down the aisle, rubbing her hands against her arms. “Is this where the pulpit was?” she called back to him.