Page 12 of Finding Silence
I shrug, surprised to find myself pulled into a conversation.
“Divorce, change of scenery. He’s working in the service department at a Chrysler dealership now. Fewer headaches, I guess. Anyway, a lot of folks go into Spokane for service, but I prefer Clem, he’s not gonna screw you over.”
“Good to know. Anyway, I’m sorry I was blocking the road,” she says, stepping back from the truck. “I’ll let you get on your way.”
She’s already heading up her driveway when I suddenly stick my head out the window to call after her.
“Actually, I was coming to see you. I mean, to drop something off.”
She doesn’t even stop walking, just turns her head and yells back, “Great! Come on in, I’ve got coffee.”
I have no choice but to pull into her drive and park beside the new wheels she mentioned. Then I grab the envelope I quickly shoved her underthings back into, and exit the truck.
She leaves the front door open and when I step up on the porch, I can see her moving around inside.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she calls out. “I’m pretty easygoing, so by all means, keep the boots and hat on if you like.”
I take her up on the boots—the rustic plank floor Savvy picked for the house was meant to withstand wear and tear—but my momma would roll in her grave if I didn’t take off my hat indoors.
I slip it off and give it a good whack against my leg to clear the dust, and run my free hand through my hair before I step over the threshold. There are a couple of wrought iron hooks mounted on the wall above a narrow bench in the entryway, with her daisy flip-flops haphazardly kicked underneath. As I hang my hat on a hook, I peek into her living space.
The first thing I notice is the large purple leather sectional sofa, taking up most of the living area. It’s like a big U, with a corner sofa and a chaise on one side. And it’s purple. I didn’t even know they made purple couches.
“I’m surprised you got an army-green vehicle.”
She looks up from behind the kitchen island and flashes that bright smile at me.
“How so?”
“Purple appears to be your favorite color,” I point out.
It makes her laugh, and right now, standing in her living room, looking at her purple couch, the sound of her laughing does funny things to my stomach.
“It absolutely is. Cream or sugar?”
“Black, please.”
I notice the rest of the room is pretty sparse: a coffee table, a small side table, and a sleek low entertainment center with a fair-sized TV, a stereo, and a decent collection of CDs. Some interesting art on the walls, one big fat candle on a rustic dining set table, and little else.
“What’s that?”
She’s pointing at the white package I’m still clenching in my hand.
“Oh, this. It’s your…uh…order from that store.”
I drop it on the kitchen island and try not to look at her as she examines the content.
“You really didn’t have to do this, but I want you to know I appreciate the gesture,” she graciously thanks me. “Now, how about we take this coffee out back? You have to try out these loungers I picked up.”
Next thing I know, I’m sitting back on her deck, my legs stretched out in front of me on what arguably is one of the most comfortable lounge chairs I’ve ever had my butt in. Not that there’ve been many.
“You’re right, these are comfortable enough to sleep on.”
“Oh, I plan to at some point.”
“Just beware we have bears out here,” I caution her. “They’re especially active August and September, when the salmon run.”
“I can’t wait,” she exclaims, undaunted. Then she points at a nice collection of rods I hadn’t noticed leaning against the small shed near the creek’s edge. “I cast a few times, but haven’t had as much as a nibble yet, I was wondering if I’d picked the one creek without any fish to live next to.”
