Over the next few days, R.D. visited my shop regularly, checking on the status of the coffee table, offering up his services to help with flattening, sanding and sealing the wood.
Another thing he started doing regularly: using the hot tub.
Right outside my shop window.
He spent so much time in there, he’d actually asked for some scrap wood to create a perch for Tulip, where he set one of her old dog beds on the top platform so she could be outside with him. While he relaxed in the hot, pulsing water, she sat obediently, scanning the yard, when she wasn’t looking over at him with love in her eyes.
I, on the other hand, watched him with unadulterated lust in mine.
His firm torso and big, colorful arms on full display, wet and glistening in the sunlight.
The view: impressive. Enticing. Distracting.
My response to the view: complete disregard.
A lie. If only I were strong enough to achieve complete disregard. Instead, I peered out into the backyard every chance I got. Good thing about me being the boss of my workshop, I gave myself a lot of chances. Or maybe that wasn’t such a good thing because I had new orders coming in daily. So. Much. To. Do.
My Friday started with a folded cocktail napkin shoved between a grocery circular and an electric bill in my mailbox. I looked left then right in time to see what looked like the back of Kurt’s big white pickup turning at the end of my road. Weird.
Alone in the street, I took the opportunity to open my quote for the day:
Respect yourself enough to know you deserve the very best.
“I’d settle for decent, honest and faithful,” I said to no one. A few flaws I could deal with. Lord knew I had plenty of them.
An hour or two later, a quick knock and the door to my workshop opened. In walked R.D., dressed in a gray sweatsuit with black athletic slides on his big, bare feet and a towel slung over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Ready to attach the legs?”
“Have a good jog?” On my way to the worktable, I noticed I’d left the cocktail napkin out and quickly shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans, not ready to share my secret with him.
“Yeah.” He set the towel on a hook by the door.
“Tulip was not happy to be left behind.” As a result, she’d consumed way too many treats, provided by me, the trying-to-do-better-but-failing pushover, in an unsuccessful effort to quiet her down.
“I’ll take her out after my soak.”
In the hot tub.
“Where do you want me?” R.D. asked.
I wanted to say, “Flat on your back, in my bed, naked.”
I said, “Let’s start by flipping over the table.”
His muscles bulged impressively as he lifted the table, on his own, and carefully set it down. Caught staring, I turned to gather up the metal legs, screws and a drill. Working together, we were done in no time at all.
“One last thing and she’s done.” I walked over to where I had my electric branding iron plugged in. R.D. stood behind me as I burned my logo into the wood on the underside of the table.
When I pulled the iron away, he read, “Stargazer.”
“A type of Lily. My mother’s and my favorite flower.” I glanced up at him. “Have you ever seen one?”
“Not sure.”
I reached for my phone and pulled up a picture.
“It has all the shades of pink you love.”
“I do love my pink.” I turned off the iron and set it on a metal shelf to cool. “My mother used to call me her little stargazer because I spent so much time daydreaming as a child. Always planning my next art project or how I could improve the one I’d been working on. Back then, I worked in all different mediums, oil paint and watercolors, sculpting, ceramics, to name a few. Whatever resonated with me on any given day. Mom encouraged my creative nature, so much like hers.” I traced the now cool logo, the outline of the flower with Stargazer written in arced cursive above it, remembering. The joy we both experienced every time we visited an art museum or gallery together, something we’d done frequently, even driving down to New York City when a particular exhibit caught the attention of either one of us.
“Then she was gone.” The sadness made it hard to swallow, still, after all these years.
R.D. reached out to run a rough finger down my cheek. “I can certainly relate to losing a mom you were close with. I’m a full-grown adult. Can’t imagine what it would be like as a teen.”
Overwhelmingly catastrophic. But all I did was shrug. “A social worker dug up my father’s name on my birth certificate, which my mother had kept hidden in the pages of her will. A few phone calls and a paternity test and I was unhappily relocated to a penthouse in New York City, where I had to listen to my newfound father list all the ways I didn’t measure up to my older brothers and sister, a future doctor, a future lawyer and an MBA candidate, respectively. And all the plans he had to mold me into someone worthy of his last name, another daughter he could be proud of. Starting with a complete overhaul of the way I looked, the way I dressed, and the way I acted. He had no patience for imagination or artistic expression. I tried to please him.” To make him love me. “I really did. But he had ridiculously high expectations, and I’m not a fan of people trying to control my every thought and action.” I hesitated, not sure if I should share the last part.
R.D. waited me out.
Uncomfortable with the quiet, I finished the story. “About a month in, I was home alone when the social worker—who’d tried to convince me living with the father I had never met would be in my best interest—showed up at the door. Along with Katie’s dad.” I picked up my phone and slid it into my pocket, just to have something to do with my hands. “Turns out I was disrupting my father’s life and he wanted me gone. Without telling me, he’d surrendered his parental rights and arranged for Katie’s parents to adopt me.”
And he didn’t even have the decency to be home when they arrived to take me away. No chance to share my feeling on the matter. No closure.
I shrugged, embarrassed. “Paid them to take me off his hands.” Because he didn’t want me. “Anyway,” I wiped a piece of ash away from my logo. “I’ve been back in Colebury ever since. Katie’s parents were good to me. When college didn’t work out, they gave me the money my father had earmarked for tuition, which allowed me to put a down payment on this house.”
I glanced at R.D. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“It’s just that the word Stargazer brings back happy memories of my mom. When it came time to name my Etsy shop, it’s the first name that popped into my head.”
“I think it’s perfect.”
That made two of us.
After a requested Friday night off, R.D., Tulip and I left for Montpelier early Saturday morning to deliver the coffee table (which the customer loved!), and to meet Katie at the Capital City Farmers’ Market. Since Katie’s grandma lived in that area, she took her own car, planning to stop by for a visit afterward while R.D. and I had to hurry back to Colebury to work at Speakeasy.
At the farmers’ market, we met up at Griff’s stand, as planned. Then Katie and I set off to peruse the goods while R.D. and Tulip stuck around to hang with their favorite farmer.
“I’ve got a problem,” I told Katie as we walked to the next booth.
“Tell me everything.”
“I’ve got the hots for my roommate.”
In the process of sniffing a homemade lavender soap, Katie looked my way. “Honey, what heterosexual woman wouldn’t? That body. That virility.”
I laughed. “Stop. Virility? Did you really just use virility in a sentence?”
“Not sure that counted as an actual sentence, but hell yeah, I did. That man is sexy as hell in a strong, silent, fuck-with-me-and-I’ll-kill-you-with-a-toothpick kind of way.”
“You are insane.”
“You love me.”
“I really do.” Pretending to sort through a basket of scented bath bombs, I added, “That’s not my whole problem.”
Katie stopped sniffing soaps and turned to give me her full attention.
“I’ve also got a thing for whoever is sending me the motivational quotes. Not a physical thing,” I clarified. “Whoever it is, they see me, the deep-in-my-soul me. I feel connected to them in a way that transcends the physical.”
It was Katie’s turn to laugh. “Transcends? Look at us, two college dropouts tossing around SAT words in casual conversation.”
To our credit, our parent-pressured first semester ended prior to midterms because we didn’t care for the structure of college and the required core curriculum classes, not because we didn’t have the brainpower. Katie chose to focus on her writing, and I chose to focus on my art.
Also to our credit, Katie, a successful romance author—which probably explained her use of “virility” during casual conversation more so than any SAT prep—published her first book at age twenty-one. Four years later, she had nine bestselling novels and only worked at Speakeasy for socialization and inspiration to flesh out new characters.
As for me, while not as successful as my best friend, my resin coffee tables were finding a local audience. Between them, my Etsy shop, and Speakeasy, I made a decent living. If only there were more hours in a day.
“We’ve come a long way,” I said.
“Together.”
“If your parents hadn’t taken me in when my dad tossed me out, who knows where I would have wound up?” In foster care or a group home or some other horrible place devoid of the love her parents had given me. “My life would look totally different right now.”
“If you’d stayed, your life would look totally different, too.” She made it sound like I’d had a choice, like my father hadn’t called the social worker to come and get me. “All that money. Think of the clothes. The shoes.”
Katie cared about fashion, designer grunge to be exact, much more than I did. Well, except where Tulip was concerned. “It came with strings, and I’m no marionette.” Mom and I visited a marionette exhibit once and took a workshop on puppetry when I was around ten. We learned about constructing a jointed marionette as well as performance techniques and manipulation skills. That night, I woke up hysterically crying after a dream, more like a nightmare, starring me as the marionette with threads attached to my body and some unknown person in the shadowed background, controlling my every movement, restricting my free will.
The memory still made me shudder.
“Hey.” Katie placed a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I tried to shake it off. “I’m fine.”
“Except for you have the physical hots for your hunky, temporary roomie and the spiritual hots for your as-yet-unknown secret admirer.”
She had such a way with words. “That about sums it up.”
“Who may or may not be male,” she clarified. “We still don’t know.”
“In my mind, in my heart, it feels like a man. Think about it, a woman would be more straight forward when supporting another woman.”
“Maybe.” Katie nodded. “It could also be some sixty-five-year-old guy with a pot belly.”
A possibility. Not one I wanted to consider, however. “Regardless, let’s focus on what we do know.” I slid my arm though hers and we began to walk to the next row of booths. “I get the quotes most every day.” Looked forward to them. Missed them when they didn’t come. “At home and at work.”
“Always on a Speakeasy cocktail napkin?”
“Yes. And always written in the same neat print in the same blue ink.” With precise formation and consistency of every letter. Not scribbled hastily. More thought out and…orderly. Initially, that had been the one detail that made me question whether the “admirer”—Katie’s label, not mine—might be a woman. I’d never met a man with neat handwriting, that I knew of. But as time wore on, he felt male to me.
“Do you have any thoughts on who it might be?”
“Someone from work.” I tugged her toward a raw honey display. “Only because how else could a note get into the cash register or the tip jar?”
“Maybe a customer secretly asked one of the bartenders to leave it for you.”
I’d considered that, too. “The notes at work always seem to come on days Kurt is working.”
“Blech. That guy is such a weasel.”
We completed our purchases with no break in our conversation. “I don’t see him as a guy in touch with his spiritual side or someone who would take the time to research motivational quotes to pick out ones that would have special meaning for me.”
“Have you considered R.D.?”
I laughed so loud, the woman next to us gave me a look. “Sorry.”
“Think about it,” Katie said. “He’s always around when you get them.”
“We live in the same house, work the same shifts, and drive into work at the same time in the same van. We’re together more than we’re apart.” I waved her off. “He thinks my motivational quotes are dumb. Could you honestly see him searching out and reading through dozens of quotes a day to find the perfect one?” I couldn’t.
“You’ve got a point. Okay, then.” We discussed some other possibilities among our Speakeasy coworkers, no one standing out. “Next time I’m at work, I’m going to do some sleuthing. See what I can come up with,” Katie offered.
“That’d be great. Just be discrete. I want to know who it is without him knowing I know who it is.”
“This is so going into a book.”
Katie warned that often.
“Oh, look! Speaking of…an author selling books! At the farmers’ market! I love that idea!” She tugged me in that direction. “Let’s check it out.”
By the time I said good-bye and returned to Griff’s stand, the shopping bag I’d brought from home bulged with legendary Lyon Honey, beautiful fresh veggies, homemade soaps, and some adorable silver jewelry I didn’t need but couldn’t resist. Also among my purchases, a book I probably wouldn’t read, but the author had been so nice, and a surprise for R.D.
Griff had a line of people waiting, his apples and hard cider were very popular in the area. Today he had some bakery items from The Busy Bean for sale as well. Behind the tables, he and two high-school kids hustled to help the customers. Even R.D. was helping out, albeit one-handed. In his other hand, he held Tulip tight to his broad chest.
“I thought you were going to keep her in the pet stroller.”
“That was the plan. Until she went all Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil in there.”
The visual made me smile. “Who’s the pushover now?”
“Your dog needs discipline.”
“Seems you had an opportunity to teach her some, but you gave in and now you’re carrying her around.” In her super-cute, pink faux-fur doggie jacket. “Which is exactly what she wanted. So, I repeat. Who’s the pushover now?”
“I got her to stop howling to come into my room at night.”
At his suggestion, for a few nights we made it a point to both go to bed, each in our own room, at the same time, closing our doors and leaving Tulip out in the hall, which she did not like. At all. After a few minutes of her howling at R.D.’s door, I opened my door and she happily came into my room to go to sleep. “Okay. I’ll give you that.”
“Yes, you will.” So proud of himself.
Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a long-sleeve, green and gray, tie-dyed “I Love Vermont” shirt. “I got you a present.”
He looked it over. “Thank you.”
“Aaaand.” I whipped out another one. “They had a matching shirt for Tulip! For when you take her out. Isn’t this the cutest thing?” I held it up.
“The cutest,” he deadpanned.
“Wow.” Griff walked up beside us. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“Didn’t see what coming?” I asked.
“The two of you.” He motioned between R.D. and me with his index finger. “Getting together.”
“We’re not together,” shot out of R.D.’s mouth so fast and so finite and so…hurtful, like I wasn’t good enough for him.
“Wow,” I shot back. “I didn’t realize you found the idea so distasteful.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You said it without actually saying it, but I heard you loud and clear.”
He took me by the arm and guided me away from the customers. “Do you hear yourself? You’re talking crazy.”
“I’ll have you know there are dozens of guys who would jump at the chance to be in your situation.”
“Guys like Dorian? Who took advantage of you emotionally and financially? Or opportunists like Kurt? I bet he wouldn’t mind being your post-breakup ego boost or your convenient cock across the hall. Until he’s had his fill.”
I sucked in a breath. “How dare you?”
“I dare because I care. You like motivational quotes? Here’s one for you: If you keep doing what you do, you’ll keep getting what you get. Guys who are not worthy of a woman like you. I’m sorry if my trying to be a better man than those who came before me has hurt your feelings.” He shoved Tulip at my chest. “Take care of your dog. I’ll meet you at the van.”
I watched him limp away, gutted. Guys didn’t talk to me like that. They teased and flirted and…lied.
Not R.D. His honesty hurt.
“He’s changed,” Griff said, coming to stand beside me, staring after R.D. “In some ways, for the better, although you may not agree right now.”
“Am I so bad?” I asked, looking up at Griff. My eyes filling with tears.
Without hesitation, he opened his arms and I walked in for a hug. “I think you’re great, Lily. But I’m guessing I don’t know you in the same way R.D. does.”
I didn’t confide in a lot of people. Katie, of course, knew me better than anyone. While I’d shared different aspects of my past with different boyfriends, I’d never shared as much with any one of them as I’d shared with R.D.
“He’s a good guy,” Griff said, patting my back.
“I know.” I stepped away, needed to stand on my own, to get myself together.
“He’s got a lot going on.”
“I know that, too.”
Griff studied me, looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t. “Give him time.”
How much time? How much longer did we have?
“I’m worried about him,” Griff said.
“Other than just now,” when I’d pushed him too far, “he seems…happier than when he first came here. He’s exercising every day. He takes long walks with Tulip. He’s helping out around my house and in my workshop. He gets tired and naps a lot. I’m not sure how he’s sleeping.”
Griff’s stern features softened. “He’s lucky to have you in his life.”
“Right about now I think he’s regretting ever meeting me.”
“Don’t give up on him.”
The alarm on my cellphone went off. R.D. had set it that morning to remind me I needed to leave in the next few minutes to make it to work on time. “I’ve got to get going.” I walked to Tulip’s stroller and zipped her inside.
Griff followed me. “He has to go back to California at some point.”
“I never expected him to stay.” Maybe I’d wished it a time or two, but I never expected it.
“I’m just saying, even if he wanted to stick around to give you both some time to figure out what’s going on between you, as long as he’s still in the military, it’s not his decision to make.”
Not true. If something’s important to you, you find a way to make it work. You talk about it. You make plans.
“If he’s holding back with you, I’d bet it has to do with him not wanting to hurt you when he leaves.”
“Among other things,” I mumbled. “…wouldn’t mind being your post-breakup ego boost or your convenient cock across the hall.”
Had I really made R.D. feel like that? And, even feeling like that, he still managed to be so good to me? I deserved his scorn.
“I’ve really got to run, or I’ll be late to work. You know how I hate getting called into the boss’s office.”
“One last thing,” Griff said seriously. “Be prepared. He doesn’t do good-byes. One day he’ll be there, acting like he always does. The next he’ll be gone. Always left his mother a note, though.”
I tried to smile. “At least that’s something.”
As I heaved my shopping tote over my shoulder, Griff handed me a paper bag filled with apples and two bottles of Audrey. “For later.”
I’d need a lot more than two bottles of hard cider to figure out a way to fix things with R.D. If they even were fixable. “Thanks, Griff. Give Audrey a kiss for me.”
“Will do.”
After a quiet, tension-filled ride back to Colebury, during which I did not dare try to engage R.D. in conversation, meaningful or trivial, he left to walk to Speakeasy while I changed my clothes and got Tulip settled.
At the bar, I pulled out the cocktail napkin I’d received the prior day to transfer the motivational quote to my whiteboard. As I carefully formed each letter, the importance of the quote, combined with R.D.’s earlier words, really hit home. I did need to respect myself more. While I hadn’t yet reached the point where I thought I deserved the very best, I could agree that I deserved better than the guys I’d settled for in the past. And if I didn’t change my behavior and make amends, I would definitely lose the friendship of the very best guy I knew.
R.D. was his quiet self, speaking with the customers when spoken to, nice and helpful enough but not necessarily friendly. Me? He ignored unless something required work-related conversation.
“That guy in the yellow dress shirt ordered an Icelandic mule,” he said. “Is that a thing or is he shitting me?”
“Vodka, ginger beer, apple cider and simple syrup.” While I mixed the ingredients in the shaker, saving the ginger beer to add at the end, I motioned to the cabinet under the cash register. “Would you grab me a cinnamon stick?”
Without a word, he retrieved what I’d asked for then returned to his taps.
When I needed beer or cider, he delivered my orders without eye contact and without comment.
At the end of the night, with the bar cleared of customers and only a few staff finishing up, Hamish, our resident ghost who used to own the mill building that now housed Speakeasy, made his presence known in the form of a random, ice-cold, full-body chill that stopped me in my tracks. “Hi, Hamish,” I said quietly, used to his surprise “appearances.”
One corner barstool often remained empty, even during the busiest times, as customers who sat there reported an odd, uncomfortable feeling they couldn’t explain. Sometimes small items moved or went missing. Alec, one of the owners, surmised Hamish stuck around because of unfinished business of some sort.
I had unfinished business, too. With R.D. I needed to talk to him. Would talk to him. Tonight.
As if I’d conjured him, the man occupying my thoughts for most of the night appeared at my side. “Ready when you are,” he said, short and to the point.
Deciding it’d be best not to start an important conversation on the short drive home and needing more time to organize exactly what I wanted to say, I kept quiet in the van, letting R.D. drive in peace. A nice, long shower helped me focus and come up with a plan. Hopefully, the hot water would regenerate while R.D. and I talked, before he took his shower, which he always did after me on nights we worked.
Wrapped in a fluffy robe, my wet hair up in a towel, I stopped at R.D.’s door on my way back from the bathroom. It stood ajar the slightest bit, per usual, his light on as he listened for me to get done. Not wanting to miss my opportunity or lose my nerve, I talked into the opening. “Can we talk? I have a few things I’d like to say to you.” His lack of response made me want to cry. “I can’t fix this if we don’t talk.”
My words were met with silence. Apparently, he didn’t care.
“Fine.” I returned to my room, would not beg.
Sleep took a long time coming.