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Though, perhaps in the back of her mind, she was fearful of what disappointing him may have brought about.
“I would love that.”
28
THE BOX
The sun had begun its evening descent as Kenna biked to 673 Fairbrook. Blood orange and pink streaked the sky, melding with the remnants of blue and the sparse white of the clouds. She felt like a model mid-photoshoot in an eyelet tank and high-rise shorts, wild hair rippling behind her.
Dr. Merino hadn’t asked her to bring anything and so she brought only what he wanted most.
Herself.
Weightlessness claimed her as the mailboxes whooshed by in her peripheral. 655, 657, 659. She stopped paying attention to the addresses and focused on the scenery. Tiny homes with RVs parked in makeshift driveways of grass and tire tracks. Cape Cod style homes even though they were thousands of miles from Massachusetts. Impossibly green lawns that must have been subjected to endless bags of supplements and fertilizers.
It was a street she’d long admired, a kind of non-comforming suburbia. Back in Syracuse, she was lucky to see something similar in passing during her family’s monthly grocery trip. One of the few occasions she or her siblings were permitted in a car.
Kenna squeezed the hand brakes as she neared a black house with white tapered posts. The paneled station wagon was parked in the driveway. Modest gardens of salmon and eggshell azaleas lined the front of the home. Their presence was strange, and she was unable to picture the owner planting the feminine blooms. She eased her bike up the twin steps that led to the porch and propped it against the railing.
A warning whispered through her head but she ignored the pleading cry.
Footsteps approached from the inside as she reached for the bell. The door swung open and revealed a new version of Dr. Merino: bootcut jeans, a green and black flannel.
Her mind ventured all the way back to that bitter January morning when she’d first approached him, recalling how his disposition had mirrored what laid beyond the office windows that day. She remembered his cold and affectless gaze. It was hard to believe she was staring into those same eyes, reflecting only warmth.
A lopsided grin contorted his face, giving him a slight boyish quality as he scanned the length of Kenna and she felt bare before him, rooted to his welcome mat.
For one perfect moment, the memories of Charlee’s tears, Erin’s tragedy, Alex’s anger, all subsided.
“You better come in before the entire street sees you standing on my porch.”
Dr. Merino retreated within, branching off to the left, and she took a tentative step over the threshold and found herself standing, alone, in his entryway.
Entryway was perhaps a poor descriptor. It was a living room with a door.
Wooden beams lined the ceiling. The room was split between a traditional living area and an office. Bits of life littered the space and implied that he had not bothered to clean up. Mugs of tea on the desk, his muddy tennis shoes resting by the sofa, several stacks of books on the floor before their built-in shelves. Apples and cloves filled the air, a sweet yet spicy scent that made her feel at home in spite of her guest status. Kenna traced the scent to a candle burning on the coffee table.
Peering inside the frosted brown glass, she watched the flames dancing at the head of each wick, jumping at the sound of Dr. Merino’s voice from the next room.
“I hope Indian is alright.”
It was then she heard the sizzling of a pan. As she drew closer to the kitchen, the apple fragrance faded and was replaced with the smell of—judging by the array of shakers on the counter—every spice in the Merino household.
He looked like the host of some ranch-set cooking show in his flannel, at the helm of the gas stove, stirring and smelling and seasoning.
“You’re cooking?”
“Were you expecting takeout? I wouldn’t invite you into my home to eat out of paper boxes.”
She wasn’t expecting takeout. She was counting on it.
Whatever Kenna had done to dissuade herself from fearing their intimate dinner party vanished as Alex’s words blared through her head like a siren. He had made her dinner the first time they slept together.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she lied.
“Live alone long enough and you figure it out.”
Dr. Merino winked at her and she marveled at the intimacy it held. Their lips had brushed but once yet within the span of a wink he’d convinced her that they had been lovers for years.
