“I’ll call Mrs. McGruder,” I said. “How is the job?”
“It’s going great. It helps when you give a damn,” he added, and laughed.
Yes, I thought. It does.
He called me from the highway later. He had already asked Michael Thomas to drive me home so I could get ready to go out. I saw the half-surprised, half-suspicious look on his face when he came to get me.
“Now, I’m not judging you,” he said, smiling, when we got into his truck, “but talk about your fast workers. It’s like a tornado ripped through this place, but not a destructive one,” he quickly added. “What have you done to Liam Dolan? The man looks and acts like he cares. I know Ken is walking straighter.”
“My father used to say you can be told a hundred times to pick up after yourself, but until you tell yourself to do it, you won’t change, not really. Maybe something sleeping inside him finally woke up.”
“Yeah, right. Maybe you woke it up,” he said.
I smiled like a conspirator, and he laughed.
“I hope my daughters have a little of what you have,” he said.
Whenever I received any compliment in Quincy, my first r
eaction was guilt, because I felt like a phony and a liar. I was deceiving them all. Could I tell Michael that he would never want his daughters to have any of what I had? Of course not, but something inside me wouldn’t permit me to accept such strong compliments gracefully. The best I could do was smile and maybe say thank you, but I was afraid I was going to appear arrogant, conceited, or too indifferent.
“From what I see, I hope they have a lot of what you have, Michael.”
He brightened like Christmas lights. “If only I was eighteen again,” he sang, and we rode on, laughing.
When I entered the house, Mrs. Winston came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a small dish towel, to greet me before I started up the stairs.
“Now, your canceling your dinner can’t be to have another date with my great-nephew, can it?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“Very likely,” I said.
“Well, I trust you have good judgment. Oh,” she added after she had started to turn away, “the new gentleman has arrived and has taken Naomi Addison’s old room. He’s aware that he’s sharing the bathroom with you. I would have put him on the other side, but that bathroom has two already sharing it, and—”
“I’m fine with it, Amelia. Don’t worry.”
“If there’s even the slightest problem, don’t hesitate to tell me,” she said.
I smiled and headed up.
As soon as I turned to go down the hallway, the new tenant stepped out of his room.
I stopped as he lifted his head slowly and looked at me. He wore a dark green long-sleeved shirt with jeans and a pair of white running shoes. Although he had long licorice-black hair, he kept it smoothly brushed and with trim bangs. When he looked at me, his silvery-gray eyes brightened the way someone’s eyes would when they had run into someone they had known years ago. There was nothing immediately familiar about him, and if he was truly who he was supposed to be, there was no way we could have ever met. He had a light, almost pale complexion and was not ugly but not terribly good-looking, either. His nose looked too thin, his lips a little too thick, and his oval face emphasized his round, weak chin. He was stout, with a soft-looking belly, and about Jim’s height.
“Hi,” he said, moving forward with his hand extended. “I’m Collin Nickels. And yes, I get kidded a lot. You know, like can I put more than two cents in, or are there five in my family. Stupid stuff like that. You’re Lorelei. I was told we’re to share the bathroom. You’ll have no problem with me,” he continued, as if once he started to talk, there was no way to stop him. He seemed not to need a breath. “I’m up so early in the morning, almost always before the sun rises. Most of the time, you won’t even know I’m here. I keep my stuff in my room, too, so there’ll be no clutter, and don’t worry about any noise. I’m up late reading and working on my laptop and out most of the day doing my research. I’m working on a doctoral thesis. My parents call me the constant student because I’ve been in school since age five and never had a real job.”
I realized he was still holding my hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, taking my hand back.
Was he babbling out of nervousness? I thought he was amusing, but I was afraid to let down my guard. Paranoia was the sister who would never leave my side. Would I ever meet a stranger or be introduced to anyone without going into some defensive mode, always anticipating trouble? This young man seemed to come from some casting director looking to fill the part of a college male nerd in a B-movie. If he was a Renegade or even someone in my father’s clan, I would have to give up any hope of being prepared for trouble. I’d never recognize him.
“Yes. If you ever have any free time, I’d like to tell you about it. I like to tell anyone about it. I’m sort of proud of what I’m doing, even though my parents are waiting for me to tell them I have some sort of job out of all this money they’re spending on me. Parents. Are your parents proud of you?”
Obviously, no one had told him much about me, and I wasn’t in the mood to go into my fictional background.
“If they are, they haven’t said so yet,” I replied.
“Well, that surprises me. Don’t give up hope,” he said. “See you at dinner?”