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I’ll find it. What time?
Seven o’clock?
Sounds great. You won’t stand me up, will you?
He can hear the plaintiveness echo through her text.No way.
Good. See you at Anthony’s next Saturday at seven.
Looking forward to it.
He disconnects, putting his ear to the door, hearing nothing.
And then he hears the soft squeak that tells him someone is standing on the other side. “Mrs. Lebowski?” he says, throwing open the door, expecting to see his increasingly dotty landlady on the other side.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” Imogene Lebowski’s daughter says, hands fluttering nervously around her face. “I was just about to slip this under your door.”
He takes the folded piece of paper from Jenna’s hands without opening it. “Is something the matter? Your mother…?”
“She’s not good,” Jenna says.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Yes, well, she’s been going downhill for a while, and I’ve finally persuaded her to come home with me. We’re just waiting for a spot in a long-term care facility to free up. She really can’t function on her own anymore. The other day, she left the stove on all morning. And she wanders. Well, you know.”
He nods, thinking how vulnerable Jenna looks, how easy it would be to get her out of her clothes and into his bed.
“I’ve been cleaning up all afternoon, getting her stuff together, trying to get organized.” There is a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll be putting the house up for sale at the end of the month, which I’m afraid means—”
“—I have two weeks before I have to clear out,” he says.
“I’m sorry. You’ve been the ideal tenant.”
He smiles. “I was planning to leave soon anyway.”
“Oh, well. Good. Then it all works out.”
“My mother used to say that everything works out in the end.” He recognizes that this conversation could have waited till morning, that the note was just a pretense. He knows she’s hoping he’ll invite her inside, but he has no desire to wrestle with those strong Polish thighs. No, Jenna Lebowski is a distraction, and he can’t afford to be distracted. Time is suddenly of the essence, and there is still a lot of work to be done. “Well, good night,” he tells her, holding up the note. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
He closes the door on her confused expression. Two weeks doesn’t give him a whole lot of time. There is much to accomplish.
He already has Audrey penciled in for next Saturday.
After that: Wildflower.
