Page 11 of Salvaged Heart
Hushed whispers roused me out of my spiral into despair. They were coming from one door up, which housed what used to be a small music room when Aunt Millie was still alive. I’m unsure what compelled me to tread lightly, but I snuck along the rest of the corridor, pausing just to the left of the open door. If someone had been in the far corner of the room, they would have seen me approach, but Margery, Beckham, and Laurel were huddled at a small table directly behind the wall I was leaning against.
“…couldn’t believe it when I saw it,” Margery was saying. “We’d only gone in there to see what could be taken to goodwill.”
“You could open an entire jewelry store with what she has squirreled away. We will have to get it appraised. Maybe the antiques guy you found could help or at least put us in touch with the right person?” Laurel added.
“I’ll ask.” The last voice was Beckham’s, and my heart stuttered in its eagerness to be back close to him.
I stepped forward heavier than needed to alert them of my presence, and as I rounded the doorway into the room, Margery and Laurel shot away from each other like they were pre-teen lovers caught holding hands. Laurel sent Beckham a 'don’t you dare say a word' look before turning to me with a smile so sweet it gave me a toothache.
“Anders!” Her voice was like thick, sticky honey. “We left you some food.”
I gave her a half-smile before grabbing a plate to gather what was left. It turns out “some food” equated to two pieces of bacon, half a pancake, and approximately a teaspoon of scrambled eggs. I looked down at my scraps, wondering if I glared at them long enough, maybe the food would start to multiply.
“Here.” Another container appeared under my nose. “I kept this one to the side for you.”
I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t often someone thought of me enough to do something nice, so I settled for a long questioning look but quickly found myself trapped in his hypnotic stare. “Thanks.” This came out so quietly that I doubt Beckham heard it. He just scooped the plate off my lap, dropped the container in its place, and strolled away.
7
BECKHAM
As predicted, Anders didn’t stick around long after he finished eating. He hovered in the doorway for a moment with a sheepish expression as if awaiting my permission before finally turning on his heels and heading upstairs. Now wasn’t the right time to try to get answers out of him. He still looked wrung out from whatever happened at Sunrise Bistro, and I had a full day of errands with Laurel to look forward to.
Margery, Laurel, and I finalized our plans for the house’s renovation over breakfast. Anders sat quietly at the table with us, and although he was withdrawn, his eyes scanned over all the samples we laid out before us, taking in every word we said. Only once did he speak, and that was to give his opinion on the paint color for the primary bedroom.
“This one.” That was all he offered, pointing to a navy paint swatch in the middle of the table.
Margery hummed in agreement. “I think you’re right.” They nodded at each other once, and that was that.
The rest of the house would be done in a palate of light grey, cream, and soft yellow to avoid taking away from the naturalbeauty outside the giant windows. We made long lists of all the various supplies that would be needed. Margery quizzed me on how much paint should be purchased and then grimaced at my answer before transferring forty-thousand dollars to Laurel’s checking account like she was spotting her money for gas. Being from money herself, Laurel looked at her new account balance like it was chump change and told Margery she’d be back in touch when we needed more. A few minutes later, Margery left to catch her flight back to Colorado while Laurel and I headed off the peninsula in the direction of the hardware store.
We meandered around the aisles, filling cart after cart with paint brushes, tarps, rollers, grout, wood varnish, and cleaning supplies. I’d brought with me all the tools I inherited from my dad, but I found myself lusting over new sanders, drills, and tile cutters, which seemed to cause Laurel endless frustration.
“Beck, you already have all this stuff.” She sighed, pulling my attention away from the box I had been reading the back of.
“I know, I’m just looking.” I placed it back on the shelf. “But some of it could use an upgrade if…”
“If what?” She cut me off. “After the renovation on the manor is complete, it’s not like you would use any of this crap again.”
It was easier not to argue with her, so I said, “Yeah, you’re right,” and followed her into the next aisle.
The girls had placed orders for most of the bigger items on their expedition the previous day, including all the bathroom and kitchen fittings, but that left tile to be ordered and about twenty gallons of paint to be poured. The employee we roped in to assist in mixing all the paint looked like they would rather peel their fingernails off than help us, but eventually, we deemed we had everything needed. I wandered off when it came time to check out to avoid hearing the total and instead went to discuss a van rental to lug all this stuff back. When we were grabbingitems off the shelves, neither of us had considered that it would take at least five trips in Laurel’s Mazda.
By the time we made it back to the manor and unloaded, I was utterly exhausted. I flopped down on the couch while Laurel made spaghetti on the hot plate she’d grabbed from Walmart on our way home, and inhaled it the moment it was ready. The combination of carbs and a long day of running around had left my eyelids heavy. If I sat there any longer, I’d fall asleep. Something my shoulder would not thank me for in the morning. Plus, I had someone I needed to check on before I could finally call it a night.
“I think I’ll turn in early.”
Laurel looked up from where she too was becoming one with the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, and a battered paperback resting on her knee. Some dollar-store romance, no doubt. I swear she was obsessed with those things. “Let me finish this chapter, and I’ll join you.”
“Honestly, I’ll be asleep before my head hits the pillow. Stay.” I stood slowly and entirely too stiffly for a twenty-three-year-old to scoop the last of the spaghetti into a chipped bowl. “I’m going to make sure Anders eats something, then it's lights out.”
Laurel scrunched up her nose in displeasure. “You know he can take care of himself, right?”
But I wasn’t sure that was quite the truth. After this morning, the need to set my eyes on him and ensure he was okay was too great. The look on his face as he’d crumbled into himself in the passenger seat of Laurel’s car had been on my mind all day. The broken sobs that had burst from his chest as he tried to get his breathing under control played on a loop.
“I’m just being friendly.” I hoped she didn’t hear any concern in my tone.
For a worrying minute I thought she might call me on my bullshit but she simply nodded and held out her hand to beckonme closer. I came willingly, bending to kiss her pretty lips. It was soft—lukewarm at best—but I didn’t have it in me tonight to take things further.
