Seated behind Liv’s desk, Jasmyn surveyed her domain. Behind the computer monitor was a round crystal vase filled with flowers she had picked that morning: alyssum, daisies, a white rose, and a fern. The sunshine, with its peculiar October slant, came through the back window in the kitchenette area and touched her shoulder.
She wasn’t sure how she had gotten to this place in life, but it seemed strangely natural. Liv and Keagan acted as if they just assumed she would step into the manager’s role. Once, while still in the hospital, Liv had said, Jasmyn, dear, would you mind organizing the mail and checking on Coco? And Tobi probably needs an extra cuddle or two.
One thing led to another. No one else indicated they wanted to do it or that Jasmyn was a poor choice. Of course, they all had lives to continue, whereas Jasmyn didn’t exactly have another life.
And so there she sat, Temporary Manager of the Casa de Vida.
She might not be perfectly tuned in to Liv’s way of seeing and doing life, but she couldn’t be happier trying. It gave her a purpose for staying in California, at least for three more weeks. She had just rebooked her flight home.
Not caring to dwell on that schedule, she turned her attention to the computer. Managing the complex was easy-peasy. Automatic online rent deposits and bill paying required little beyond getting Liv into the office and at the computer now and then. Beau Jenner—a delightful guy about Jasmyn’s age—came daily now and made his own maintenance lists.
The Casa was a well-oiled machine. Technically speaking, it could go on without Liv for a while. But heart speaking? Well, that was a different matter. And that was her biggest challenge, filling in the other.
The other…Such a small word, but it encompassed everything else which was, really, the essence of Olivia McAlister.
Not that Liv had asked Jasmyn to consider such things, but that acronym Sam created had grabbed hold of her imagination and would not let go. WWLD. Keagan had called it a woman thing. Jasmyn called it complicated.
There was Liv’s mothering influence on most of the residents. How could Jasmyn, a childless thirtysomething, mimic that? Little Tasha was not a problem, of course, but wild Chad? Confident Piper? Cool Sam? And Keagan? Yeah, right.
Then there were Liv’s relationships with countless others, from the mail carrier to the trash collectors to the baristas down at Jitters to vendors at the farmers market to street people. Some of them recognized Jasmyn and asked about Liv. Already she was giving medical updates to virtual strangers.
But the toughest of all was following in the footsteps of Liv’s prayer life.
Jasmyn tried. She still felt like a flake and a fake, although she was getting pretty good with the gratitude. Who wouldn’t, considering her situation: a wonderful home in a hobbit-like garden with an instant community of likable folks?
She thought of blessing people late at night, not in the moment. She didn’t know if that still counted. And the bit about asking for things from the One who created the ocean? That remained far, far fetched.
But, as Sam would say, she was not Liv. She was Jasmyn Albright. She might mimic Liv, but it would be in her own way, which had always been a little backward.
She hoped it was enough.
“Hey.”
Jasmyn looked up from the desk where she was sorting the mail and saw Keagan in the open office doorway. “Hey, yourself,” she said.
“I have a surprise for you.”
Jasmyn blinked a couple of times, unsure what to reply. In recent weeks, he would appear as he had at the airport and in the alley, out of nowhere, quiet as a mouse. He would ask about Liv, Casa matters, how Jasmyn was doing. Sometimes she imagined she heard a wink or a smile in his voice, though his face never outwardly expressed such things.
The guy was a little bit disturbing and a little bit comforting with no space in between the two.
“I don’t like surprises.”
He stared at her for a moment. The slanted sunlight caught in his eyes, making the unique blue-green color sparkle. “I imagine you don’t. I apologize.”
She shrugged. The tornado had been the biggie of surprises. Before that it had been her grandfather’s volatile anger, her grandmother’s sharp and embarrassing tongue, her mother’s illness at such a young age. The car theft.
“I could go an entire lifetime without another surprise.”
“This is a good one, though.” He ducked outside and immediately returned, a suitcase in his hand.
A large, grape-purple suitcase.
Keagan set it down, pulled up its handle, and wheeled it around the desk to where she sat. “Good surprise?”
She gasped. “How— What—? Oh my gosh!”
“The police found your rental in a parking garage. Your luggage was still in the trunk, apparently not touched.”
She leaned over, unzipped a front pocket, reached inside, and pulled out her purse. “They didn’t take my purse?” She unzipped the big yellow-and-orange handbag she had splurged on for the trip. Her wallet and cell phone were nestled in their special pockets. She gasped again.
She laid the suitcase down and knelt. It felt heavy, as if everything she had packed so many weeks ago must still be in it. She unzipped the top and lifted it. Beneath were neat piles of clothing strapped in. Her clothing. Her jeans. Her tops. Her pajamas. Her sweater. Her cosmetic bag. Her shoes.
“Oh, Keagan. It’s all here.” She looked up. “How did you get this?”
“A friend.”
“A friend?”
He tilted his head, obviously done explaining.
“How can I thank him? Or her?”
Jasmyn looked again at the luggage before her. Never in a million years would she have thought she would see her things again. Not that there was anything special in the suitcase or her purse. Just everyday necessities that had been replaced easily enough. Still, it felt like a treasure.
“Keagan, thank you.” She stood.
He wasn’t there.
She hurried out the office door and scanned the courtyard.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Typical Keagan. He wouldn’t hang around for a thank-you.
She wondered what sort of thank-you would mean something to him. Cookies? Cake? Liv would know.
Jasmyn turned to go back into the office and spotted her door. Like all twelve cottages, it was painted its own unique color. Hers was purple. Of course she knew that. Purple being a particular favorite of hers, she had seen that right away. What she hadn’t noted until that very moment was its shade of purple. It was not lavender. Not violet. Not orchid.
Nope. It was grape. Deep, luscious dark grape, a Concord variety ready to be plucked off the vine. It was an exact match to her luggage.
What a curious coincidence.
Even more curious was the rush of sweet contentment flowing through her now, as if matching door and luggage mattered.
Jasmyn shook her head. This was like having a conversation with Liv.
Honestly, filling in for the woman was affecting her in really, really strange ways.