The Husband Project. Kristine Rolofson
sip of the coffee and grinned at him. “Stealing wood from Lucia.”
“Ah,” Sam said. “She’s already complained?”
Jerry laughed and shook his head. “Twitter. You saw the babysitter? Thumbs like a machine, according to her grandfather.”
Sam’s head began to throb. “I mistook the shed for mine.”
“The photo of you in the snow was grim, but now that I know you’re okay—”
“Photo?”
“Told you,” Jerry said. “The kid’s technologically advanced. But I guess they all are these days. Sorry.” He reached into his pocket, which was buzzing, and retrieved a cell phone. “Hello?”
Sam drank the rest of his coffee as fast as he could without burning the inside of his mouth. He needed the caffeine. He also needed food. Lots of food. Enough food to last him until the first of April, when he could leave this place and go back to his day job.
“It’s fine,” Jerry was reassuring someone. “He’s okay, a perfectly nice guy. I’m here with him right now.”
So the incident yesterday had been blabbed all over town. Typical, of course. Sam had lived in villages along the Amazon and knew how fast news traveled.
“Tell you what,” Jerry said, radiating good cheer and agreeableness. “He and I are going to have breakfast.” He paused to listen. “Where else? You can meet him then.” Another pause. “Well, okay, next week then.” Pause. “Yeah, that’s Thursday at seven. You got the email.”
Sam heard Jerry say ”Fine” and “No problem” a few more times before Jerry clicked his phone shut and apologized. “Sorry. Member of the town council.”
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “I imagine you’re a busy man.”
“I just returned from L.A., as a matter of fact.” He set his coffee mug on the mahogany coffee table. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about our town project.”
“Uh, no.” Sam’s headache intensified, as did the ache in his chest. He really, really didn’t want to hear about the town project, whatever it was. Had he seen half a loaf of bread in the freezer? Was there any lasagna left? “Where did you say the market was, Jerry?”
“Two blocks away, around the corner on Main. But it’s closed on Sundays in the winter.”
“Damn.”
“What do you need?”
“Food, of any kind. I’ll call Theo and see if—”
“Hold on a sec.” He opened the phone and hit a number. A few seconds later he said, “Hey, Luce. It’s me, Jerry.” Pause. “Great. I’ll have a meeting Thursday to update everyone— Yeah, I’m home.” Pause, with a glance at Sam. “Thanks for doing that. Hey, you’re going into Lewistown today, right?” Pause. “What time?”
Luce? It didn’t take a genius to understand that Jerry was talking to the black-haired neighbor.
“Can you pick up some groceries for my renter while you’re there?” Pause. “Just the basics, I guess. He can give you a list.”
Sam caught Jerry’s eye and shook his head. Oh, man, he didn’t want to give her a list. He didn’t want her to do him any more favors. He didn’t want to be in her debt any more than he was, despite the fact that her kids and her dog cost him a painful night.
Okay, he’d slipped first, at the beginning of the attack. And he’d hit his own head on the wood when he fell. And he’d yelled, although more out of frustration with his own weakness than in pain. He’d been rude, which wasn’t how he usually conducted himself.
He was sure she was a very nice person—he knew she was, because she’d built up the fire and brought him dinner even after he’d yelled at her children. He expected her husband to knock on the rear door and tell him to back off. He would definitely apologize. Grovel, even. Because he would be living here for three months and maybe she’d make lasagna again.
“What do you want? Eggs? Meat? Milk? Bread? What?” Jerry asked.
“I don’t want to put her to any trouble.”
Jerry ignored him and spoke into the phone. “He doesn’t want to put you out. Just get him the basics, enough for a couple of days. I’ll drive him into Lewistown later in the week if he’s up to it. Okay?” Pause. “Thanks.”
He flicked the phone shut once again, tucked it into his pocket and picked up his coffee mug. “There, you’re all set.”
Sam realized he’d had no input in this. Frustrating. “I didn’t want to bother her,” he reiterated.
“No bother,” Jerry said. “She goes into town every Sunday to take her mother-in-law to church. They were just leaving. If she couldn’t do it, I’d drive over there myself. Can’t have my new tenant starving to death.”
“I don’t want Mrs. Swallow running errands for me.”
“Mrs. Swallow is her mother-in-law. You’re talking about Lucia, the goddess of baking.”
“The what?” First the “pie lady,” now a goddess. An interesting neighbor, all right.
“She went to school for it with Meg, who owns the café. Between the two of them, no one in this town goes hungry.”
Good news, Sam thought. “How far away is this café?”
“One block east and two blocks south. You can almost smell the bacon from your front porch.” Jerry leaned forward. “You’re looking a little rough there, pal. Are you sure you’re okay? Getting some food in you would help, but are you really up for a walk? I can get you something and bring it back here.”
“Food would be good, if the café’s not too far away. I could use the exercise.” He looked down at his sweat pants and socks. He could probably lace up his boots if he did it real fast. “Let me get some clothes on.”
“Good. Pardon the cliché, but we’ll kill two birds with one stone.” Jerry sipped his coffee and leaned back on the sofa as though he planned to spend the day there.
“What do you mean?” Sam paused in front of the bedroom door.
“You need to meet some of your neighbors and show them you’re normal, just a regular guy who’s not going to cause any trouble.”
“Why would I cause trouble?”
“For starters, your coming here is suspect. I mean, who moves to Willing in the winter?”
Sam shrugged. He wasn’t going to explain about the man he’d met on the flight to Miami. He’d sound like an idiot.
“Second,” the mayor cheerfully continued, “you’ve been searched for on the internet. People like the writer, adventurer, documentary-maker thing, but they don’t completely trust it. It could be a cover.”
“A cover for what?”
“Who knows? Criminal activity, insanity, government plots.” Now it was Jerry’s turn to shrug. “Hey, I’m just the landlord here. You seemed okay to me or I wouldn’t have rented the house to you.”
Sam doubted that. They’d traded emails and had one brief phone conversation. The check for three months’ rent had been cashed. Sam turned back to the bedroom, where the purple violets on the wallpaper greeted him.
“But the biggest thing,” Jerry said, slurping coffee, “is who you’re living next to.”
The violets would have to wait another minute. Sam gingerly turned around again. “What does Lucia have to do with it?”
Jerry cradled his coffee and looked very, very serious. “She’s a widow. She’s a good person. She doesn’t date. And her pie crust