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Jessica nods, the wariness firmly in place, and she crouches in front of Butterscotch. “Hey, boy.” She lets him sniff her hand and strokes him. Her hand shakes, but the trembling subsides after a few moments of petting him.
“I’m almost finished getting ready.” She stands and steps aside. “You might as well wait for me inside.”
I toe my shoes off and follow Jessica into the living room. A shitload of magazines fills the space, the numerous stacks hijacking much of the floor.
“You really like magazines, don’t you?” I walk to the nearest stack and check out the top issue.Vogue, September 1952.
“They belonged to Iris. This is nothing compared to what it was like when I first moved in.”
The individual magazines in the stack next to the coffee table are stored in plastic bags. Two books lie on the table. According to their subtitles, one is about America’s greatest female spy during World War II. The other is about how breaking the Nazi code helped the Allies win the war. Both are library books.
I pick up the books and read the blurbs. “I hope these aren’t Iris’s, because damn, that will be some overdue fine.”
The light chuckle from Jessica swirls around us like silk, sending a wave of desire through me. “I borrowed them from the library, not Iris.” Jessica takes them from me and puts them back on the table.
“You’re interested in the Second World War? Is it just that war or wars in general?”
“Just World War II.”
“You’re a history buff?”
Her gaze goes to the magazines in the plastic bags. “Not really. That time period’s a new interest of mine.”
The magazine on top proclaims in big bold font:50th Anniversary of D-Day. “Why the sudden interest in the topic?” I pick up the magazine. The next issue is also about the war.
“I saw the books in the library this morning. They looked fascinating. S-so I borrowed them.”
“They do.” I know a little about the war. Mostly from what I learned in school. But what I know about spies—male or female—during the war, and the Enigma machine, amounts to very little. But she’s right. The books do look interesting.
“I’ll be right back.” Jessica disappears from the room.
I look through the magazines in the Ziploc bags while she’s gone. Every one of them seems to have some connection to the Second World War, whether it’s a single article or the entire magazine dedicated to the topic. I’d say Iris had more than a passing interest in the subject.
I’m flipping through the issue on the fiftieth anniversary of D-Day when Jessica returns.
“I’m ready to go,” she says.
I don’t glance up from the old photos of soldiers and civilians who were involved in the resistance against occupation. “Are these also Iris’s magazines?”
“Yes.”
“I guess it makes sense she kept them. She might have lost friends and family over there during the war.”
“You’re probably right about her friends and family.”
I return the magazine to the Ziploc bag. “It’s different for me. I fought in Afghanistan, but I have no intention of buying magazines or books on the topic. I’ve witnessed firsthand the pain and loss that war caused. I’m not interested in revisiting it through a journalist’s eyes.” Jessica doesn’t offer any insight or hand me empty words, and I put the magazine back on the pile. “Okay, Butterscotch. Should we go visit Jasper now?”
Jessica grabs the bottle of wine that’s sitting on the side table in the hallway. “Give me a moment. I’ll meet you outside.”
“Sure.” Butterscotch and I go out on the porch and wait for her to come out.
She joins us a few minutes later, locks the front door behind her, and jiggles the doorknob to make sure it’s locked.
“Have you given any thought to hiring me to renovate the house?” I ask.
“I’m still going to do it myself.” She turns away from the door without looking at me.
“Why? If you hire me, you know I’ll do a good job.” We walk along the path to the driveway. “Okay, maybe you don’t know that,” I continue without missing a beat. “But if you want, I can take you to some of the recent projects I’ve worked on. It’ll give you a taste of what I can do.”
