Page 90 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
31
Chapter 31
Adam
Three days have passed since Caitlin and I had our conversation, and we haven’t broached the subject of Mount Pella or Millie again. She comes to help with the house every day, but our conversations don’t go beyond surface level. I tell myself that she just needs time to process everything I told her, but doubt creeps in during the quiet moments when it’s just me, alone with my thoughts.
I’m kneeling in what used to be the kitchen pantry, prying out damaged flooring, when I hear the crunch of tires on gravel. My heart jumps as I stand, wiping sweat from my forehead with my forearm. I cross to the window, expecting to see Caitlin’s blue Corolla, but instead, I see Peter’s truck. And behind it, Charlene’s SUV. My stomach tightens with a mixture of anticipation and nerves.
By the time I make it to the front door, Caitlin is already climbing out of the truck. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few strands escaping to frame her face in a way that makes my breath catch. Behind her, Peter is reaching into the truck bed for what looks like a toolbox. At Charlene’s SUV, Rachel is helping her mother remove a large cooler.
“Surprise,” Caitlin says as she approaches, a tentative smile playing at her lips. “Everyone wanted to come help today. And Aunt Charlene insisted on bringing food.”
“Of course,” I say, stepping aside to let her pass. She smells like vanilla, and I ache to pull her into my arms. “The more help, the better.”
Peter follows her, nodding at me with what seems like warmth. “Adam.”
“Mr. Hughes,” I reply, standing a little straighter. “I’ve made some progress since you were here last.”
“Let’s see it, then,” he says.
Charlene bustles up next, her arms full of what appear to be extra containers of food. “Adam,” she says warmly, leaning in to kiss my cheek before I can react. “You look thin. Have you been eating properly? Working on a house like this is hard labor, you know.”
“I—yes, ma’am,” I stammer, unused to this kind of maternal attention. My own mother’s version of care was always more about appearances than substance. “I’ve been eating.”
“Sandwiches and takeout, I’ll bet,” she clucks, pushing past me into the house. “Well, I’ve brought a proper meal today. Caitlin, come help me set up in the dining room and bring that basket.”
Rachel approaches more slowly, her eyes assessing me coolly. There’s something in her expression that reminds me of a cat watching a mouse, deciding whether it’s worth the effort to pounce. “Adam,” she says, her voice sweet in a way thatimmediately puts me on edge. “Looking good. The house, I mean.”
“Thanks,” I reply cautiously. “I’ve been focusing on the kitchen and pantry so far.”
She nods, still smiling that too-sweet smile. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve done while they set up lunch?”
Before I can answer, she’s hooking her arm through mine and steering me toward the kitchen. Caitlin catches my eye over her shoulder, a mixture of amusement and apology in her gaze.
In the kitchen, Rachel releases my arm and turns to face me, the sweet smile dropping from her face like a mask. “So,” she says, her voice low enough that it won’t carry to the dining room. “You and my cousin seem to be spending a lot of time together.”
“We’re working on the house together,” I say carefully.
“Right. The house.” She steps closer, and despite the fact that she’s nearly a foot shorter than me, I have the distinct impression that she’s looking down at me. “Let me be very clear about something, Adam. If you ever make my cousin cry again…they will never find your body.”
I blink, caught off guard by the baldness of the threat. “I—”
“I’m serious,” Rachel continues, her voice still conversational, almost friendly. “I know places in the marshes where the mud is so deep it could swallow a body whole. No one would ever find you. Do we understand each other?”
I swallow, finding my voice. “Perfectly.”
“Good.” And just like that, the sweet smile is back. She pats my arm. “You’ve made great progress so far, by the way. Dad said you found the original hardwood in the kitchen?”
“Yes,” I manage, my head spinning from the abrupt shift. “I found it under the linoleum. Most of it was salvageable.”
“Brilliant. Caitlin will love that. Now, tell me what you’re planning for the rest of it.”
For the next ten minutes, Rachel is all enthusiasm and helpful suggestions, as if she hadn’t just threatened to bury me in a marsh. By the time Peter appears in the doorway to call us for lunch, we’re deep in a discussion about paint colors.
“Lunch is ready,” Peter announces. “Charlene’s gone all out, so you’d better come eat while it’s hot.”
“Coming!” Rachel chirps, then leans in to whisper, “Remember what I said. Marshes. Deep mud. No body.” She squeezes my arm, then saunters to the dining room.
