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“No, just some books,” I said.
“Books?” asked Barnaby, intrigued.
“Books for you or for Tom?” asked Priscilla.
Did she think since I wasn’t the writer that I also couldn’t read? “For me.”
“Have you been to the new and used bookstore downtown?” she asked.
“Yeah, but they didn’t have what I was looking for.”
“Then you should tell Frank Bittler. He’ll order what you need. They’ll bring new books in for you, if you place a request,” said Priscilla.
“I thought it would be easier to just order what I needed online,” I said.
“But you need to support local businesses,” Priscilla reminded me with a sad frown.
Unable to endure keeping our new besties in the dark any longer, Tom broke in: “She’s gotten really into Feng Shui. These are probably more books about that. Right, Court?”
I glared at him. It was none of their business.
“Feng Shui. Now there’s something you don’t hear much about anymore,” said Barnaby, king of keeping up with trends.
I shrugged. I was surprised he even knew what it was.
“So, is your house kind of… laid out using Feng Shui right now?” asked Priscilla, her wide, pretty, flat face with its blatantly obvious expressions scrunching as she tried to make sense of the mismatched furniture and disjointed arrangements.
“No,” I said, humiliated. “Just the opposite. I want to arrange things in a way that feels more comfortable, and I need a little help with that. So far it’s not really coming together.”
“Maybe some of the crystals and healing incense you ordered will help,” said Tom. He patted my arm. There was no way the McGhees were going home now.
“Tom! You’re teasing!” exclaimed Priscilla.
“Am not,” he said to her.
“Courtney, is this for real?” she asked. Her eyebrows were so far up that her forehead was getting pushed into her hairline like a crinkled white field of linen. What I’ll say in her defense is that she wasn’t particularly judgmental. I felt in that moment that she was truly just curious about this foreign, un-Pottery Barn world we were talking about. Honestly, I didn’t feel criticized; she seemed to delight in everything about us.
“I’m just trying to make our home cozier. You know. A little more tranquil and relaxing,” I said. Because it still wasn’t any of those things. Even though we’d cleaned it and were settled in, it wasn’t like our old apartment. It was ten times bigger, had been vacant and crawling with spiders and mice for years, and had both electrical and plumbing issues that affected the decisions I’d come to take for granted in Seattle. Ironically, problems I hadn’t had since childhood had returned. Should I make some toast? Not if the microwave was going, or we’d blow a fuse. Should I take a shower? Not if the washing machine was running, or there wouldn’t be enough water pressure and hot water to rinse my hair.
“Well… Let us know how it goes,” said Barnaby, giving the shipping box I was holding a little pat pat pat.
“I can’t wait to,” I said, smiling a stiff, plastic smile.
“See you soon,” said Priscilla. And then she noticed something else on the porch. A thick manila folder resting on one of the cushions of our wicker loveseat. “Deuce!” she exclaimed. “You set this here?”
“Oh, I guess I did,” he said. “That must have been a couple days ago when we stopped by and I put it down when I tied my shoelace.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Priscilla picked it up and handed it to Tom. “It’s that packet of information about your house that Tom let us borrow that first morning,” she said to me.
“What?” I asked.
“You were still asleep,” she said. “After you two spent the night at our house? The three of us all took another tour after breakfast. Deuce wanted to see the basement and get another look during the day.”
“Really?” I said.
She nodded. “Thanks, Tom. It was interesting reading! Though I’m sure it has nothing on your novel.”
