The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(55)

I ran a brush through my hair and noticed my little finger—the one Jim had broken when I dropped a dish—was limbering up, starting to bend. That bone had never been set, and the finger had healed crooked and stiff. Now here it was, straight as a pencil. I flexed my fingers. Even the twinge in the knuckle was gone.

What was it Olin had said? Get straight and strong inside. And apparently outside, too.

Jessie called up the stairs. “Joanna! Best set out now!”

I smoothed the skirt over my hips and gave myself a last once-over. Jim would never have approved of these clothes—not the cardigan that flattered me, not the skirt sized to fit, not the sleek pumps with their pointed toes.

But Jim wasn’t here.

I undid the top button of my sweater and headed downstairs.


*

The Periwinkle House had a tiny landing at the top of the side stairwell, with a lavender door under a striped awning.

I’d never met Bree’s fiancé and knew nothing about him other than his name and that he worked on a ranch. So I expected a polite and reserved young man sunburnt to beef jerky. But when the door opened, it was a young Navajo standing there, flashing white teeth in a handsome, round, inquisitive face. He wore cowboy boots, black jeans and a silver-tipped bolo with his dress shirt.

“Joanna, right?” he said. “Reuben. Let me help you with that.”

He reached for the cheesecake I’d brought as Bree called from inside. “Sweetheart, don’t leave her standing there.”

Reuben stepped aside, and I could see Bree at a little gas stove in a pink sundress and thick oven mitts.

“Look at you!” she said. “You should wear yellow more often. Reuben, honey, put that in the fridge.”

“Sure there’s room?” I asked.

The refrigerator was sized to fit the tiny apartment, which was a half story with sloped ceilings. The main room was an open kitchen and living room with a white couch and chair spaced around a Navajo rug. Off the kitchen was a small round table that was laid, I noticed warily, with four place settings.

Bree hadn’t mentioned another guest.

“Can I help with anything?” I asked.

“Just grab a wineglass,” said Bree. “Sweetheart, can you pour? Tell me what you think of the Riesling, Jo. It’s from Virginia. And the fish”—she lifted the lid off a narrow steamer pot—“the fish is domestic, too. The boys caught them.”

“The boys?” I asked.

She pulled off the oven mitts. “Reuben and Simon. He should be here any minute.”

And that explained the fourth place setting.

“How about some music?” Bree said.

There was a small stereo on a console behind the couch. Reuben switched it on and turned the knob, catching station after station. When he hit soft jazz, Bree smiled.

There was a knock at the door and Reuben answered it. It was Simon, and he didn’t look the least surprised to see me. He stepped in, kissed Bree on the cheek and handed her a small paper bag. She opened it and began to set cucumbers and tomatoes on the counter. Simon wasn’t wearing jeans this time, but a dark sports coat and slacks.

“Evening, Joanna,” he said as Reuben handed him a glass of wine.

“Why don’t you two have a seat?” said Bree. “Dinner won’t be a minute.”

Simon pulled out a chair for me and waited.

I found myself unsure how to act with him. This wasn’t a Saturday supper at the farmhouse, so what was it? A double date? A setup? I felt blindsided.

This was also the first time I’d seen him since the trail ride to his cabin. Since Davey.

Altogether, it left me feeling vaguely bruised and resentful.

“How’s Laurel?” he asked as I took the chair he offered. “Does she like her new school?”

I nodded.

“She making friends?” he asked.

“She’s my little helper,” Bree called from the kitchen.

“I want to thank you for the book,” I told him a little stiffly.

“Not at all,” he said. “Maybe it can help you find your voice again.”

Before I could answer, Bree was standing over us with a platter.

“All set?” she asked. “I hope y’all have an appetite.”

She and Reuben brought more food dishes, nearly overwhelming the little table. Reuben uncorked a second bottle of wine.

“My father says you’re getting to be quite the rider, Jo,” he said. “He’s not an easy man to impress.”