Tymber Dalton (7 page)

She shook it off as nerves and put her mind to the job at hand.

“I don’t suppose this place came with a lawn mower?” Sami asked the next morning. She stood on the screened porch and looked at the property, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug and taking a sip. The slight chill in the damp morning air would quickly dissipate as the sun rose.

“Yeah, we brought our own.” Steve laughed and pointed at the geldings.

She looked at him. “Not funny.”

“Well, the entire property is fenced. All we have to do is rehang the gate, leave the pasture open, and let them roam.”

“I want a lawn mower.”

“Sure.” Like a lord, he surveyed his estate.

The worst of Sami’s initial unease disappeared with the morning sun. They’d bought enough groceries to get them through lunch, but Sami wanted time to plan before embarking on a shopping marathon. She went inside, into the remarkably cool air-conditioning—at least a few things about the house were modern—and sat at the kitchen table to make her list. She cornered Steve when he returned.

“Okay, listen. We need a local bank account for local checks. Agreed?”

He nodded. She knew he wasn’t paying attention. She tried to rein in her irritation.

“Steve, are you going to help me or not? This was your idea.” Not that it should surprise her if he disappeared. That was one of her pet peeves. He’d come up with great ideas and leave her to handle the details, like it or not.

“You can handle this. I want to set up my office and get the DSL connected.”

“You’re more interested in playing around on the Internet than getting this done?” She knew she was sniping but didn’t think it fair for him to unilaterally decide to move them for the summer, then saddle her with all the work.

“That’s not true. I just want to get back into my routine. If you really need me, I’ll help. You can do this stuff without me. I trust your judgment.”

Disgusted, she threw the pen down. “All right. Go do your thing. I guess I have to take care of everything.”

“Thanks, hon.” Her sarcasm apparently lost on him, he stood, kissed her on the forehead, and walked to his office, leaving her to angrily wonder how she let herself get cornered.

Again.

* * * *

An hour later, Sami had a lengthy list and most of their bags and boxes distributed. Since Steve insisted on her making the decisions, she decided to buy furniture.

I’ll be
damned
if I’ll be uncomfortable while I’m here.

The beds in the upstairs bedrooms would do fine. They’d ripped the plastic off the new mattress in the master bedroom before making it the night before. The antique four-post iron bed frame was battered, but ornate. The towels and sheets weren’t the best quality, but they were new and clean. The upstairs linen closet held enough linens for both beds and bathrooms. Sami wondered if they were left over from prior residents or courtesy of the real-estate company.

The old dresser in the master bedroom had potential. She decided to leave it where it was. The guest room had a nearly new, unpainted pine dresser that would suffice. She warmed up to the idea of buying the house. It would be fun to bring out the best in it. Not to mention what a great way to escape Ohio winters. Didn’t every famous horror writer need an old house with character?

It would mean not living close to Matt, but still…

She stopped herself. Chances were she wouldn’t even be married to Steve by this time next year. Maybe sooner.

In the warm light of day the exterior didn’t look nearly as foreboding as it appeared the night before, but it was still ugly and in dire need of paint. The only landscaping was four lonely podocarpus bushes, one at each corner of the house. Despite her notoriously black thumb, she envisioned a few flower beds, maybe a couple of citrus trees.

Which reminded her to make arrangements to get feed and hay for the horses. Armed with a phone book, Sami made her calls, noted directions, and shouted down the hall to Steve, “I’m leaving. You coming?”

“No,” he yelled back. “I want to finish setting up my office.”

She shook her head in disgust and grabbed her purse, keys, and list. At the gatehouse she stopped and talked briefly with the ranger on duty, not the same one who greeted them the evening before. The gatehouse held their mailbox along with eight others belonging to rangers and volunteers living in the park near the campground.

Thirty minutes later, she shopped for furniture in Brooksville. “It’s your lucky day,” she told the salesman. “Follow me.”

She pointed out what she wanted, told him it had to be delivered by the next day even if it meant getting the display models, and didn’t blink at the total. She produced her platinum AmEx, enjoying his astonished look when he read the name and finally made the connection.

Nothing like a little retail therapy on your husband’s dime to improve a girl’s mood.

They arranged delivery for the next morning.

From there to the bank. Next, the feed store, where she arranged to have a large round hay bale delivered. Last, the Winn-Dixie near the park and home again. She forced Steve out of his study to help her unload. By God he’d help, like it or not. While she had his captive attention, she filled him in on the day’s details.

“The furniture will arrive tomorrow morning. Until we decide for sure if we’re buying the place, we should keep the old furniture in case the owner wants it. There’s probably enough room in the basement for the old stuff, but I’ll need your help.”

With the groceries unloaded and covering the table and kitchen counters, Steve’s attention wandered. “Okay. I’ve got to get back to work. When you really need me, let me know.”

Sami stifled an outraged scream and forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading back to his study. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best.”

“The best what, doormat?” she muttered at his retreating back.

* * * *

With the groceries put away, Sami made herself a sandwich. Disgusted with Steve’s lack of help, Sami didn’t ask if he was hungry.

If he wants lunch, he can damn well make it himself.

She opened the basement door. She found a single light switch just to the left of the door. When she flicked it, a single bare bulb struggled to illuminate the stairs. A brand-new washer and dryer, a utility mop sink, and a fairly new electric water heater filled one corner. They had to get down there somehow—the stairs couldn’t be as rickety as they looked to support that kind of weight.

She tentatively stepped down, holding on to the railing, and to her immense relief found it much sturdier than it looked. Flicking another light switch at the bottom brought two sets of four-banger fluorescents to life, illuminating the half of the basement near the washer and dryer.

It felt cooler down here, due to the insulating effect of the ground. The basement windows were filthy, and she mentally added that to her rapidly growing list. It appeared she’d have very little time for her own writing over the next couple of weeks.

A sudden chill swept through her. She turned, taking in the entire basement. An old pine plank bookcase lined the far wall, filled with a variety of books. She walked over, rubbing her hands over her arms to smooth the creeping gooseflesh, and noticed this side of the room seemed cloaked in shadows, as if light retreated from the bookcase.

She strained to read many of the spines, an eclectic mixture from the occult to Bibles, old reading primers, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books.

She realized despite the thick cobwebs lining the ceiling, someone in the not-too-distant past had painted the basement walls light gray. A rolled-up carpet lay on the floor on the far side of the room, and an old table tennis table, folded in half, rested against one wall.

Creepy place for a game room.
The air felt
wrong
.

There was a pile of boxes stacked under the stairs, and more around the other walls. She would have to sort through them eventually. She didn’t want to store someone else’s junk. Hating to admit it, Sami read the handwriting on the wall—Steve was in love.

With the house.

Using a stepladder, she managed to open the windows and let in a little more light. Resisting the urge to rifle through the boxes, she neatly stacked them along one wall, leaving plenty of room for the old furniture. She collected her newly purchased cleaning supplies and spent the next two hours knocking down cobwebs, sweeping up dust, and cleaning the windows. By three o’clock she was filthy, tired, but feeling a little better about having a clean basement.

The basement door opened and Steve poked his head in.

“Sami?”

“Down here.”

He looked around in awe. “Jesus! You went through here like a white tornado. It looks a hell of a lot better.”

She held her tongue and tried to keep the worst of the sarcasm out of her voice. “You’re just in time to help.”

“I haven’t helped you much, have I?” he asked sheepishly, walking over to her.

“No, you haven’t.” He looked remorseful. She felt her irritation slip away. “I know you want to work, but I need some help. Once it’s livable you can lock yourself in your study all summer. Deal?”

He hugged her. “Deal. I’m sorry I’m a schmuck.”

She sighed. “But you’re my schmuck.”

* * * *

They started in the living room, moving the largest pieces first. The couch being the heaviest, Steve took the lead going down the stairs, shouldering most of the weight. The rest of the furniture was fairly easy to move, although traipsing up and down stairs quickly grew old.

“What about the stuff in the kitchen?” he asked.

“No, it stays. I bought a big set for the dining room, but this is good enough for now.”

Not that they would have large dinner parties, but she couldn’t stand the dining room’s empty look.

And it made her feel good to spend the money considering all the bullshit Steve had put her through over the years.

Dark descended as they moved their last load of furniture into the basement.

“I’m done,” she announced. “I’m going to have a good soak.”

He hugged her. “I’ll take care of dinner.”

“Feeling guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She didn’t care if she sounded bitchy. She was tired, sore, filthy, and wanted him to share her misery for once. She was tired of trying to put on a good show for him so he didn’t feel guilty for acting like a prick.

She settled in the steaming water and groaned as her aching muscles soaked. It allowed her a little time for contemplation, too.

I’m as bad as Mom was.
How many years had she witnessed her mom playing peacemaker and giving her father second chances?
Fuck me, I joined the codependents club without even knowing it.

She sank lower in the water and wished she was back in Ohio.

By the time she finished, Steve had perfectly cooked steaks and baked potatoes ready.

“Sami, I appreciate you being such a good sport.”

She stared across the table, hoping maybe the bad feelings she’d had for the past several months would be nothing but distant memories very soon. “I wish you’d helped more.”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes brightened. “But wait’ll you hear the great ideas I’ve got for the book…”

Aaannnnd they’re off!
He launched into an excited monologue about the novel’s plot, certain the change of scenery must have helped because his mind felt so much clearer, the words flowed into cohesive thought—on and on until she tuned him out, nodding when necessary, wanting to do little more than eat and vegetate.

He picked up their plates. “You relax. I’ll do the dishes.”

Sami didn’t argue. She set up their portable stereo and put in a jazz CD to soothe her nerves. Taking her laptop upstairs, she lounged on their bed, listening to the music drift up from below.

When her eyes drooped, she shut the computer off and stretched out. She didn’t know anything else until her eyes flew open, alone in bed, her heart racing, the house dark and silent.

Fumbling for a moment, she found the light button on her watch and realized it was after midnight.

“Steve?”

She shivered as her voice echoed off the bare walls.

She climbed out of bed and made her way down the hall. “Steve? Where are you?”

Downstairs felt empty, too. He’d shut the stereo off. The door to his study stood partially open, light spilling into the hallway from the desk lamp, but his computer sat dark.

No Steve.

She opened the door to the basement and suppressed another shiver. Despite the lights being off she called out, “Steve? Are you down there?”

He wasn’t in the kitchen. She stepped out onto the porch. The truck was nosed into the carport where she’d left it. Across the yard she spotted Mutt and Jeff in the corral, their heads hung in sleep. She walked the porch, circling the house, still no Steve.