“I’m—I’m here.” He clears his throat, and the resulting voice is deep and commanding. It’s the kind of voice that could quiet an entire room. “I’m renting for the summer.”
Despite his confident demeanor, a flush of color spreads up his neck to his cheeks. It looks out of place on his otherwise masculine features, betraying him. When Rose says nothing, he continues, taking a few hesitant strides toward the house through the wooden arbor and onto the lush green grass.
I remain transfixed, frozen, incapacitated.
“My sister rented it for me,” he explains. His voice isn’t nervous but there’s an uncertain tilt to it, like he’s afraid of Rose’s reaction. “It was a Christmas gift.”
“Your sister? The name on the contract was Rachel Simmons, not Rachel Wentworth. I know your sister, I would’ve—I just mean—I would’ve recognized her.”
“She got married,” he says simply, still rooted in the same spot on the lawn.
“Oh,” Rose says. “Well, yes, of course she did. I suppose.”
I look between the two of them, trying to configure a cohesive narrative.
“As did you, I see,” says the man, nodding in Rose’s direction. “I mean, I didn’t recognize your name either. No longer an Elliot.”
I wait for a response from Mom, expecting her to perhaps tell the story behind the name change. I wish I could pull her aside behind the honeysuckle bush and force her to explain. It’s a rare sight to see Rose Gardner speechless. There is a long stretch of silence punctuated only by the sounds of the robins cawing by the rosebush behind us.
“We hope you enjoy your stay?” I say hesitantly, taking a cautious step forward.
My eyes dart back and forth between the renter and my mom, still trying to figure out the connection. I cross the short patch of lawn to hand over the basket. The renter looks at me with a little too much intensity as I approach. He’s doing his own calculation.
“Um.” I put the basket in his hands. “Here you go!”
I back away to rejoin my mom. What the hell is going on here?
Rose stays silent, staring blankly. The man takes a step forward. His hands are stretched toward her and he looks genuinely panicked.
“If I had known it was you, Rosie,” he says with a sudden urgency, the intensity lowering his speech, “I wouldn’t have come. I’m not trying to pull anything funny, I swear.”
He holds his hands up as a physical display of surrender. There’s another moment of profound silence.
“You still have all of your hair, I see,” Rose says with an ache in her voice, and then, as if shocked by her own words, she snaps back into focus. “I mean, it’s fine. The door is right here.”
She gestures to her left and hands him the bouquet she’s been holding. There’s an instant when their hands almost touch, and it seems to disproportionally embarrass them both.
“You can drop your bags off there. On the entranceway table, there’s a list of restaurant recommendations, instructions on how to work all of the appliances, a password for the Wi-Fi, and some suggested activities.” Her sudden businesslike tone startles both me and this strange man. We look at her, our faces full of question marks.
Rose turns and heads back to the house. She pauses with her hand on the doorknob before seeming to realize that she’s still holding the shell key chain. Without another glance, she throws the keys over her shoulder. They land on the grass in front of the renter’s feet.
I’m astonished by her rudeness, and for a few beats, I keep standing there. The renter stares at the keys on the ground, not bothering to pick them up. He looks like someone has grabbed him and physically shaken him. I fight the urge to turn and run: Emotions are Rose’s domain, not mine.
I’ve seen Rose Gardner lose her cool exactly two times in my twenty-five years on this planet. First was the day we lost Lottie. Today is the second.
“Um, do you want me to help you get settled?” I ask half-heartedly.
“No.” He bends over to grab the keys. “It’s okay, thank you though, dear. I’ll be okay.” He picks up his bags and heads to the screen door of the cottage with his head hung low.
Before he goes inside, the man pauses, turns around, and clears his throat. “Apologies, my manners have escaped me. It was reallynice to meet you. Please thank your mother for me, too. I promise to stay out of both of your ways.”
He has the diction and practiced speech of someone raised with exceptional politeness, and in an odd way, he reminds me of Rose, who is usually so sure of herself in every social encounter.
The renter gives me a tight smile and disappears behind the screen door, leaving me in the garden all alone.
Chapter SevenLily
The Summer House is a boutique hotel and restaurant only a fifteen-minute walk from our home.
