Life and Other Inconveniences(94)

Together, we wooed Mac close enough to the boat to grab his collar and haul him in. Once aboard, he shook violently, then turned in a circle and lay in the puddle at the bottom of the boat.

“Two lives saved in one day,” Paul said.

“Let’s avoid self-aggrandizing statements, shall we?” I said.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He took off his ubiquitous flannel shirt, revealing a blue T-shirt, and handed it to me. I used it to wipe my face, removing my goggles, and then put it on and sat on the seat of the Whaler.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Can I take you home?”

“Please do.”

He started the engine and sat on the seat next to me, smoothly guiding the boat in a circle and heading back to Sheerwater.

“I’ve always loved the view of the house from here,” I said.

“It’s a looker, all right. So what were you doing out here?”

“I believe it’s called swimming,” I said.

“Looked like drowning to me.”

“As I said, I had a cramp.”

“You said crink, actually.” He cut me a look. “Losing it, are you?”

“I have a brain tumor, in case you forgot. Occasionally bungling a word is a symptom.”

“Maybe people with brain tumors shouldn’t go swimming alone. Just puttin’ that out there.”

“Point taken.” I glanced at him. He was an attractive man, his face weathered and wrinkled. Lovely crow’s-feet. I’d always liked that on a man. He looked a bit like that actor, the one with the deep, deep voice and mustache. Sam Elliott, that was it. That being said, Paul’s eyebrows were out of control, and tufts of hair stuck out of his ears. One could tell he was unmarried. A wife would’ve taken care of that. Those little, personal, rather endearing things that were only between a husband and wife.

How I missed Garrison.

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” I asked.

“Who’s cooking? That German woman who hates food?”

I huffed out a laugh. “No. She and Donelle are shopping.”

“In that case, yes. Is Emma home?”

“No. She’s working at Rose Hill today, and Riley is at Miller’s house.”

“That little one is quite a terror, isn’t she? I stopped by the other day. I’ve been doing a little work for Miller here and there to keep busy.”

“Have you?” I felt miffed that I didn’t know this. Miller was my friend. Then again, I did respect Paul for not sitting idle as so many people our age did.

“She is a terror,” I agreed. “Adorable, though.”

We were at the dock now, and Paul tied the boat up with a dexterity that bespoke experience. Mac jumped out on his own, apparently energized from his swim and brief nap.

“I gather you have a boat on Lake Michigan?” I asked.

“I did,” he said. “Sold it when the wife was sick.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

He got off and extended his work-roughened hand, which I accepted. As I stepped onto the dock, I stumbled, and he instinctively grabbed me, close enough that I could feel his warmth.

It had been years since a man touched me, other than a doctor. Decades, perhaps.

“Thank you,” I said, letting go. We walked up to the house. “Go on in,” I said, punching in the code at the back door. “I’ll rinse off and join you in a few moments. Make yourself at home.”

The outdoor shower was lovely; Miller had redone it a few years ago, and it contained a dressing room stocked with bath gel, shampoo and conditioner (Gilchrist & Soames Fresh Citrus collection), loofahs, razors, plush towels and two Genevieve London Spa Edition bathrobes (Beverly’s team’s design, but lovely Egyptian cotton). I’d forgotten what a pleasure it was to shower with the sun beating down. I washed my salty hair twice, breathing in the lovely scent of the shampoo. When I was clean and fragrant, I wrapped myself in one of the robes and went upstairs to change.

Putting on makeup seemed too much of an effort. My face was flushed from sunshine and exertion, and while my eyebrows had been gradually disappearing these past fifteen years, I just didn’t have the desire to sit down at my dressing table and put on my face. Instead, I brushed my hair back into a bun and pulled on a snug camisole to keep my breasts from rambling around like disobedient puppies. Chose stylish, loose-fitting, pale blue pajamas. I was sure Paul wouldn’t notice that they were actual pajamas, or care. They were very snazzy. What was the phrase Riley used? On fleek.

Paul was sitting at the kitchen counter, where I never sat, already eating (no manners, honestly), and indicated my plate. What appeared to be a grilled cheese awaited me; no napkin, no side salad, not even carrot sticks.

I took a bite and closed my eyes in pleasure. Paul had a point. Helga did hate food. This simple sandwich was delicious, abundant with melted cheese, a little hint of mustard and a few thin slices of tomato.

“Delicious,” I said.

“Emma’s favorite thing when she was pregnant.” He took another bite. “Still her go-to comfort food.”

The reprimand was gentle but there.

“I always thought she’d come back,” I said. He glanced at me. Brown eyes. I’d never noticed before. “I wanted her to,” I added.