Page 10 of Finding Silence
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“Okay, I’ll admit, this place isn’t half bad.”
I grin at Grace over my coffee cup.
We’re sitting outside on the back deck, taking in the scenery and listening to the flowing water in the creek. We’ve just had a visit of my resident deer; at least I think it was the same one, but how does one really tell? In any event, the sight of the graceful animal gingerly walking up to the water and scanning her surroundings before taking a cautious drink clearly made an impression on my manager.
“It’s heaven, and you know it.”
I lean back in one of the two lounge chairs we picked up in Spokane yesterday. We were able to bring those home in the back of my brand-new vehicle. Well, not exactly brand-new, the army-green Toyota 4Runner I spotted in the car lot was a 2020 model. Grace had been mortified I’d buy a second-hand, mid-range SUV, rather than one of the new luxury ones on the lot, but I’d been adamant.
I bought an average house in the mountains, way off the beaten track, why the hell would I need some shiny, ridiculously expensive vehicle in my dirt driveway? That would make no sense to me. This vehicle I can drive into Silence and no one would take a second look, which is fine and dandy with me. Besides, I’m colorful enough by myself, I don’t really need my car to draw attention.
Anyway, I was able to drive the 4Runner off the lot, and seeing as its back seats fold down and allow for a pretty substantial load in the back, I figured, while we were in the city anyway, we’d do a little shopping. So, I picked up these crazy comfortable lounge chairs that go with an outdoor dining set I’m having delivered, along with a host of other things I discovered my new place needed.
Grace stayed for three days, helping me unpack the boxes and organize the house. For someone who appears as bland as the business attire she seems to wear all the time, Grace certainly has a flair for design. Something I discovered quite by accident when I was struggling redecorating my living room a few years back.
She’s pretty handy with a hammer and drill as well, and by dinner last night, all my furniture was in the right place, my things were safely tucked away on shelves, in cupboards, closets, and drawers, and my pictures and artwork were all hung to their best advantage. She’d even overseen the installation of my new alarm system which, surprisingly, was done by a local company.
This is what I love about Grace, she is a true Renaissance woman, she runs my affairs like a well-oiled machine and I don’t even have to look at anything. Which is just the way I like it.
“All right, I should probably grab my things and get on the road,” she announces, unfolding herself from the lounger.
I get up as well. “I meant to tell you; I blocked Dunk on my phone.”
“Why?”
“Because he can’t take no for an answer and was getting nasty.”
“The reunion tour thing?” she asks, leading the way inside.
“Of course. Has he been calling you at all?”
I can guess the answer before she gives me a reluctant, “Yeah.”
“Please, don’t indulge him. He’s an accident waiting for a place to happen. In all the twenty-some years I’ve known him, he has not matured or evolved in any way. He still believes the world owes him, and likely landed himself in another pile of shit he’s hoping this tour will buy him out of.”
“Possibly,” she contemplates. “But don’t let that be the only reason you’re turning this down. Your royalties aren’t what they used to be, and other than money from the occasional license to use your music, or the sporadic payments from songwriting, the income is slowing down.”
I’ve followed her into the guest room she’s been using, and stand in the doorway, watching her pack the last few things in her suitcase.
“One three-month tour could put you back on the radio, it could revive your career and you’d be set for life,” she advocates.
“Oh, come on, you know as well as I do, even if there wasn’t another penny coming in after today, I could live comfortably off the interest on what I already have. You forget, I don’t have kids to send through school or a family to sustain.”
I turn my most disarming grin on her, because I don’t really want to end her visit here on a sour note.
“And now I don’t have an expensive lifestyle to maintain anymore either.”
When she tries to pass me with her suitcase, I catch her in a big bear hug, which she endures stiffly. But as usual, she’s cracked a smile by the time I let her go.
“You’re lucky you have me looking after you,” she grumbles when we walk out the front door.
“Yes, I am, and it’s a comfort to know if ever I were to forget, you’d be right there reminding me.”
She opens the back door and tosses her suitcase in, closing it again with a disgusted look on her face.
“I’m never gonna get the smell of goat out,” she complains. “Thanks a lot.”
