Chirp(18)

Shades of purple and blue draped the forest like a veil. Blaze loved this time of day, when everything hushed and settled. Trees whispered their secrets, and the wind gathered the world’s wishes and carried them to heaven.

She’d stalled long enough. Closing her sketch pad, she stuck the pencil behind her ear, and climbed down the ladder. Even from this distance the fragrant aroma of essential oils permeated the air. The same as every night, Hanna was making soap. Blaze wished there was something she could do to help her friend get her products into the right market. She’d convinced her to get a website, and that was a start. Once she got the packaging designs finished and Hanna got them photographed, she’d establish an online presence.

Sunday nights must not be prime time for picking up women because when Blaze got back home, Rance’s truck and Harley were parked in the drive.

The place was quiet, so she eased open the door and crept inside. It was only eight o’clock, but perhaps the previous nights of wild sex had caught up with Rance and he’d turned in early. She tended the Lennon sisters and went to the kitchen. A box of crackers sat on the counter, and a dirty bowl and spoon cluttered the sink. On the stove were a pan and empty can. He’d made his own meal but left the cleanup for her.

A shadow on the back porch drew her attention. Rance. Even with his back to her, his action was clear. Peeing. She should turn away but didn’t. She’d never seen a man pee outside. To see him do that without restraint fascinated her.

He finished, zipped, and started toward his chair, but caught her staring. Her face burned. She twirled, grabbed the cracker box, and rushed to the pantry as he came inside. Cheeks flaming hotter, she grasped a can in each hand and spun to face him. “This is not right! This is not right!” She moved things around, clanking containers as she rearranged them.

He came closer. “What the hell?”

“Chili goes after chicken noodle!” she said, gritting her teeth and shoving her shoulder into his chest as she put the can in place. Any idiot could see the order. Fruit. Soup. Vegetable. “You’re messing up everything!”

“Well, fuck me. Didn’t know I had to alphabetize. You’ve got too many goddamn rules. Don’t feed the cats. Don’t get fucking crumbs on the floor. Dry the dishrag.” He set the whiskey bottle down with a thud. “I’m done following instructions. Live with it or leave.”

She wanted to say more, but he’d been drinking. Not a good time to argue. He could be a mean drunk. She’d seen one on Perfect Crime, episode 34. Alcohol sometimes brought out the worst in a person, and she didn’t want to risk it. She stormed past him to her room.

For the next two hours, Blaze put the final touches on the mural, then stepped back and admired the results. Clouds as fluffy as cotton candy floated across an aqua sky while a pair of bluebirds circled overhead. Twisting vines climbed the wall of the weathered shed, where stalks of pink hollyhocks rose above a mass of zinnias. Miss Dessie stood in the garden, hands on hips, cats at her feet. Everything the old lady loved. Blaze suspected that was the reason she and Dessie got along so well. Simple things made her happy.

By the time she’d cleaned her brushes and gotten ready for bed, it was almost midnight. Rance had gone into his room an hour ago. She slid the laptop onto her thighs, brought up the Danvers Daily classifieds, and scrolled to rental properties. Only seven houses listed. One by one she ruled them out. Too big. Bad location. Too expensive.

She snapped the lid closed and flopped back onto the bed. No. She had to stay here. This was where Dad wanted her to live. He and Dessie had an agreement. No matter what, Blaze wasn’t leaving.





Rance


The next morning Rance waited until he heard his unwelcome houseguest drive away before coming from his bedroom. She was nuts. He’d never seen anyone get so bent out of shape about chili in the wrong place. The fact she had the damn pantry alphabetized was crazy enough, but to go ballistic was another matter.

Later today the construction men would arrive, and if a can being out of order drove her into a fit, having strangers around should make her run away screaming. He turned on the coffeemaker. Next to it sat a saucer with two biscuits covered with plastic wrap, and a note.

Microwave 15 seconds.

Sorry I yelled at you.

Damn kid. If the pantry incident riled her, his next action was liable to give her a stroke. After breakfast he retrieved the animal carriers he’d bought in Danvers. Once he had the felines in the boxes, he loaded them, along with the remaining food and litter, then drove to the shelter.

He’d only been back home a few minutes when the first delivery arrived, followed by workers. As soon as Rance alerted the concrete company the forms were ready, they’d come.

By noon evidence of the renovation was everywhere. Pipes protruded from the framework. While Rance waited for Triple C Concrete, he constructed the outdoor shower he’d planned. Early morning and evening temperatures in March were still chilly but not unbearable. This way he wouldn’t have to swap rooms with the girl. One worker commented about the mural and how real it looked. A little too real for Rance. No way would he screw random women in a room with Gran staring at him all night.

At five o’clock the crew called it a day, and so did Rance. His back ached like a son of a bitch, but he didn’t care. It felt good to have his mind focused on the future instead of the past. He pulled out the Jack Daniel’s along with a glass from the cupboard and headed outside. He held the whiskey up to the light, then filled the tumbler. The bottle was almost empty, so he’d need to make another trip to town. Dealing with the kid meant he couldn’t afford to run out.