“I’m desperate for the last book but dreading it all the same. Leah won’t give us the tiniest hint. She’s a veritable fortress for information, that one,” Hazel huffed into her teacup.
“They’re called spoilers for a reason,” Leah pointed out.
“Well?” Marjorie put Jackson back under the spotlight. “What do you think of Esther’s books?”
He’d looked uncomfortable before, out of place, like a work boot among flip-flops. But now the thunderclouds rolled over his face. And just like that, his patience was gone.
“I’m not a big reader.” Jackson abruptly pushed back his chair and stood up. “Please excuse me. I have a million and one things to get on with.”
Those sexy shoes of his click-tapped their way with purpose across the living room and out of the door. He might think he was striding but Leah knew he was running away.
Hazel and Marjorie gazed after him in confusion. “Was it something we said?” Hazel mouthed, bewildered.
“It couldn’t have been the shortbread.” Marjorie checked her Tupperware. “He ate three pieces.”
Leah began to gather up the china. “Nope, that’s just Jackson. I think you used up his quota of conversation for the whole month.”
Chapter 8
Jackson
Life at Amity Court was proving aggravating in ways Jackson hadn’t anticipated. He’d expected to find the isolation, lack of facilities, and unwanted tenant frustrating, to say the least. But, even worse, Leah had turned out to be annoyingly easy company. When he expected her to pester him with questions or needle him with her presence, she was a surprising mixture of chatty and quiet.
Yes, she was untidy. He was forever falling over her shoes and she left half-finished glasses of watereverywhere. Scraps of paper littered most surfaces, covered in random fragments of pencil sketches. An eye here, some lips there. And was that a twisted crown of flames? They intrigued him, even as he forced himself to huff when he added yet another one to the pile on the dining table.
“If I ever need to find you, I’ll just follow the paper trail you leave behind,” he groused.
Leah raised an eyebrow. “When might you need to find me, Jackson? I thought I was the soggy lettuce in your taco.”
She was right. And yet she was wrong at the same time.
Somehow, he found himself looking forward to the smile she gave him each morning. There was an ease in the gradual familiarity of knowing that she’d appear in the kitchen around half past eight,twisting her curls into either a ponytail or a careless heap on the top of her head. She was always a riot of color, dressed for comfort and warmth in a hodgepodge of clothing. Jackson felt stuffy and buttoned-up in comparison, wearing the smart pants and shirt he tugged on by rote, Monday through Friday.
He wanted to cling to his exasperation, but Leah made it difficult to remember she’d been foisted on him by the circumstances. She was upbeat, thoughtful, and friendly—when he gave her the slightest opportunity. She didn’t seem like someone to take advantage of an elderly lady; she’d clearly been extremely fond of his grandmother.
In fact, she was infuriatingly appealing. And the only way he knew how to deal with her was to avoid her as much as possible.
“Can I ask you something?” she’d say, opening one of the granola bars she seemed to think counted as a meal.
“Got a call coming through in a minute.” He cut her off every time. Other times he’d just leave the room without answering.
If it was important, he assumed she’d try harder.
And it wasn’t just her he avoided. Jackson turned his evasion of Hazel and Marjorie into an art form. When they knocked at the kitchen door, he escaped through the hallway. If they came to the front door, he disappeared upstairs or into the backyard. He didn’t want to field their questions on his family or hear them reminisce about his grandmother. It stirred up a black and murky swirl of something too closely linked with guilt in his belly, and he had enough to deal with already.
Over the next three weeks, electricians, plumbers, and heating engineers came in to overhaul the ancient systems. A new boiler was installed, and every time he took a steamy shower, Jackson offered up a prayer of thanks to his efficient team of tradespeople. Amity Court would never be considered cozy through the wintermonths, but the improved central heating was already making it way more comfortable.
And in the evenings, when everyone left and the house fell quiet again, he found the secluded location of the grand old house a balm on his overwound senses. It provided a barrier between himself and his father’s domineering presence, and the relief was immeasurable.
Feel the peace, his grandmother’s letter had said. Jackson understood the invitation a little more as each day went by.
He felt a connection to the property he’d never expected. His fingers itched with the desire to save it from disrepair and breathe new life into its rooms. And with long-forgotten memories of his brother in almost every corner of the house, he felt closer to Dominic than he had in years. But every day, his father reminded him of the loan and his responsibilities. Every day, Jackson passed Leah on the stairs or in the kitchen and, even as he grew more used to her company, he resented her contribution to this mess. They continued to circle each other in the house like satellites.
But then, after he’d ordered a delivery of logs, Jackson found the living room fire too much of a draw to resist after dark, and the grip he had on his reserve weakened. Despite knowing Leah would gravitate toward it as well, he craved the warmth and relaxation of staring into the flames with something mindless on TV for just an hour or two.
The night before his month at Amity Court was due to end and he could finally go home, Jackson lounged in an armchair, flipping through the channels, freshly showered and brain-weary. He heard the microwave ping as Leah heated up a portion of something that smelled delicious. She appeared in the doorway as the opening credits of a movie began rolling onscreen.
“Mind if I join you?” There was a tentative note in her query.
