Page 4 of Midnight Valentine
2
The movers arrive early the next morning, and I’m occupied for the rest of the day sorting through boxes and getting things organized in the house. I barely slept, as usual, tossing and turning on the air mattress I brought with me in the car.
The sound of breaking waves isn’t nearly as soothing as I’d imagined it to be.
The Buttercup Inn sits on a massive dune near the ocean’s edge. Whatever color the old Victorian used to be, it’s a dingy gray now. The windows are rimed with a layer of salt, and everything smells of sea and sand.
And mold. The inspection showed none of the toxic black mold that can cause illness, but various walls have been colonized by patches of the furry green version of the stuff, and when I opened the basement door, the odor was so strong, I quickly slammed it shut.
I probably should’ve taken Suzanne’s advice and rented a house while work was being done on the Buttercup, but I’ve never been good at taking advice. And despite its state of disrepair, this crumbling old inn feels like home.
We’re both in ruins. We can keep each other company while repairs are made to our insides.
There are six guest rooms in the inn and one larger master suite upstairs with its own wraparound balcony. Fortunately, the master is in the best shape. It only needs mopping and some scrubbing of the bathroom countertops to make it habitable. A huge, claw-foot porcelain tub dominates the bathroom. When I run water from the tap, it comes out rusty brown, but in a few minutes turns clear. This is lucky because I love baths the way I love breathing.
I decide to leave the bath for later and give Suzanne a call about the contractors. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Suzanne, it’s Megan Dunn.”
“Hi, Megan! Did you arrive safely?”
“Yep. Came in last night.”
“How was the trip out?”
I think of gas stations and bad coffee, endless hours of staring at the tailgates of eighteen-wheeler trucks. “Long.”
“Yeah, that’s a hell of a drive. But I’m glad you made it. If it’s okay, I’ll come over later. I’ve got a little something for you.”
Realtors and their housewarming gifts. She better have bought me something nice, because though I got a good deal for the Buttercup due to all the repairs it needs, two acres of beachfront property still ain’t cheap.
“Sure, I’ll be here. Come over any time. I was calling to get the numbers of those other contractors in Portland you mentioned, but you can bring them with you if it’s more convenient.”
A short pause follows. “Theo wasn’t available?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t call him.”
“Why not?”
“I stopped at Cal’s Diner on the way in, and he was there, sucking up all the happiness in the place like a black hole. No matter how good a contractor he is, I’m allergic to assholes.”
Suzanne’s tone turns defensive. “He’s not an asshole. He’s just…been through a lot.”
Why is it that when a woman’s been through a lot, she’s expected to handle it gracefully with fake smiles and a stiff backbone, but when a man’s been through a lot, he’s given full license to storm around like a giant baby throwing a tantrum?
“Everyone’s been through a lot,” I tell Suzanne, my voice flat. “If you make it to thirty, you’ve got enough emotional scars to keep a therapist in business for the rest of your life. That’s no excuse to go around glaring at strangers like you want to chop off their heads.”
Her voice rises in surprise. “He glared at you?”
“Let’s put it this way: if the man had a chainsaw available, I’d be missing a few body parts.”
“You must’ve misunderstood. I mean, he’s not what you’d call friendly, but I’ve never heard him described as a glaring asshole before. He’s very hands-on with all his projects, oversees everything from start to finish, and is totally trustworthy and reliable. I recommend him to all my clients and have never heard a complaint.”
“Great, so it’s just me. Even more reason not to call him. I’ll see you later.”
I hang up before she can answer, because I know more defense of this Theo, Moody Raincoat Guy is coming, and I know I’ll only get more and more irritated listening to it.
