A Season for Second Chances(35)

“That’s a touch grisly,” said Annie.

“We Willow Bayers like a bit of macabre.”

“You really love it here, don’t you?”

“I couldn’t ask for more,” said Paul. “My dad left the house to me. And between the window cleaning business and the carpentry, I make as much as I need. Being my own boss means I can get out on the water whenever I like.”

“Do you fish?”

“Me?” Paul laughed. “No, I leave the fishing to Ely and his boys. It’s the surf that calls my name.”

“You surf?” asked Annie.

“Kite surfing, wind surfing, you name it,” said Paul.

Annie got the impression Paul was trying to impress her. It was working.





Chapter 27



Penny for them,” said Paul.

Annie blinked and realized she’d wandered to the end of the gravel path that wound through the graveyard and was standing inside the wooden lych-gate.

“Sorry,” said Annie. “I was lost in my thoughts.”

“Anything I can help with?” asked Paul.

“I was thinking that you seem to have the work/life balance thing sorted,” said Annie. “I’ve never been very good at balance. I’m on the lookout for tips.”

“Well, you’re headed in the right direction,” said Paul.

“How can you tell?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” said Paul. “You left behind something that wasn’t working and struck out on your own. You’re finding your balance.”

“You make it sound like more of a determined effort than it was,” said Annie.

“Then what was it?” asked Paul.

“Running away,” said Annie. “Spur of the moment.”

“You need a perspective adjustment,” said Paul. “Every action can be seen as either a positive or a negative. You need to retrain your mind so that your reactions to your actions are positively charged.”

“Like, A smile is a frown turned upside-down?” asked Annie. She smiled at Paul and he laughed back at her.

“In its most basic terms, yes,” said Paul.

“Where do you learn this stuff?” asked Annie. “Do you have a guru sitting cross-legged in your living room?”

“I’ve read a lot of books and smoked a lot of weed,” said Paul.

Annie burst out laughing. She’d never really got into the whole weed scene. She hadn’t indulged since she and Max had after the twins’ fourth birthday party. It had been a disaster; she’d gotten paranoid and convinced herself that she was having a deep-vein thrombosis and was going to leave her children motherless and spent the next hour begging Max to let her call herself an ambulance.

“Should you be smoking weed and climbing ladders?” Annie asked.

Paul laughed. “It’s strictly recreational,” said Paul. “I like a smoke, like you probably like a glass of wine.”

He was smiling wryly at her. Annie felt suddenly very uncool. She imagined her eighteen-year-old self, drawing a square in the air with her fingers and then pointing at Annie, a look of disappointment on her young face.

“Oh God, yeah, sure, of course,” said Annie. “I’ve smoked weed before. Loads of times.”

She had no idea why she’d said that. Paul was looking at her with an expression that exuded both amusement and pity, like one might give a Chihuahua in a tutu. She inwardly slapped her forehead. Paul’s grin widened to a smirk.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked with mock chagrin.

“I’m trying really hard not to,” said Paul.

Annie gave him a playful nudge. It’s all becoming rather flirty, she thought, with no small pleasure.

“I didn’t have time for drugs,” said Annie. “I was a parent at eighteen!”

“Well,” said Paul, leading her away from the churchyard’s path to a wooded area. “You’re a big girl now.” He pulled a pouch of tobacco out of his jeans pocket and, to Annie’s horrified delight, began to roll a joint.

“It’s the middle of the day,” she whispered. “In public!”

Paul laughed softly and guided her to a fallen tree, motioning for her to sit down. Annie sat on the prostrate trunk and craned her neck to look around, but she saw nothing but trees.

“It’s a Saturday afternoon,” said Paul in a soothing voice. “We’re not working. To my knowledge, neither of us is planning to handle heavy machinery anytime soon, and we are nowhere near any of the public.”

He lit the joint. The pointed end curled and blackened and drifted to the ground. Paul sucked hard; the tip glowed orange and crackled. He breathed in, held it for a long moment, and then exhaled slowly. The creamy smoke plumed into the air, thick and pungently fragrant. He held it out to Annie.

“It’s not strong,” he said. “Think of it as an aperitif.”

Annie hesitated and then took the spliff from Paul. She tentatively sucked, pulling the fragrant smoke down into her lungs and trying to suppress the spasms that urged her to cough. She held her breath for a moment and let it go. Her head swam a little but not unpleasantly. She passed it back to him and let the sensation wash over her.

“Woah,” she said, feeling kind of spongy, as though she might melt into the tree trunk like candle wax.