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“That’s where I—”
She stopped because he had already drawn up short on the threshold of the catch-all room. She hadn’t yet tidied up when he arrived. The unmade bed and her nightgown, which she’d left lying on it when she went to shower, made it evident that this was where she’d slept. It was a private space, not intended for anyone else’s eyes.
Especially not his.
Feeling as though more of her had been exposed than her bed, she wanted to edge around him and jerk the bedspread up for concealment. Instead, she pretended to be unaffected and offered him coffee, hoping he would decline.
Still looking into the room, his back to her, he said, “Yeah. Thanks.”
The one modern appliance she had bought since moving in was a coffee machine that made various brews. Sensing that he had turned back into the kitchen, she asked if he had a preference.
“Nothing fancy. Just black coffee.”
She tipped her head toward the table. “Have a seat.”
He didn’t sit. He crowded in beside her at the counter to look out the window above the sink. He had to duck slightly. “That cypress grove blocks any view of the lake. Ever thought of thinning it out?”
“It’s so far from the house, I hadn’t given it any thought at all.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. How much acreage do you have?”
“Nothing significant. Twenty maybe?”
“Some would consider that significant.”
She didn’t see that the size of the property had relevance, but he seemed to make a mental note of it, then walked over to the back door and tested the lock as he had on the front door. It rattled when he jiggled it. He muttered something, but Arden didn’t catch what he said. He pulled open the door and looked out.
“Anything in the garage?”
It was detached from the house. A few days after moving back, she’d looked inside it, but, as remembered, it had been cleaned out. “Lisa and I had no use for tools, the lawn mower, and such. She either sold or donated everything.” She didn’t say, Including Dad’s car. Arden had cried when the new owner drove away in it.
She carried two mugs of coffee to the table. He joined her there. She had never considered the chairs around the table as being too small until he sat down in the one across from her. She remembered being struck by the proportions of the rocking chair on his front porch.
He didn’t use the handle on the coffee mug, but picked it up by placing his fingers around the rim. He sipped from it between his thumb and index finger. All this without taking his eyes off her.
“Who owns this place?”
“What do you mean?”
“Whose name is on the deed? Yours or your sister’s?”
“Both. We own it fifty-fifty. After our mother died, Dad had a local attorney draw up a will. He told us it was only a precaution. Should
anything happen to him, Lisa and I would be provided for.”
“So this will has been executed?”
She nodded.
“He’s dead, then?”
“Declared to be. Wallace had—”
“Who’s Wallace?”
