Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
And that was that. Neal Drew had managed to find time for another pit stop in his daughter
'
s life, and now he was roaring back onto the race course of his career. Jane wondered whether, deep down, he ever got tired of it. He didn
'
t seem to. Every once in a while he
paused
long enough for
the equivalent of
an engine overhaul
—
that
cruise on the
QE II,
for example
—
but by and larg
e he seemed to thrive on speed.
He wouldn
'
t think much of
Nantucket
.
Jane
'
s mother called late that night to fill in the blanks on her father
'
s proposal and to get a rundown on Jane
'
s progress so far. Jane lied through her teeth about the progress and then was sorry, because her mother ended up offering to take the Volvo back to Connecticut for Jane the next time she visited, which was going to be in a couple of weeks.
Perfect,
Jane thought as she hung up.
If I don
'
t sleep between now and then and I hire a dozen good men, maybe, just maybe, I can bring Lilac Cottage up to her expectations.
But Jane didn
'
t have a dozen good men. All she had was Billy B., who showed up the next morning as he had promised. It was a rotten day out, raw and rainy and
"
typical,
"
as he said. They decided he should work on the kitchen first. After giving Jane a gentle lecture on the futility of knocking down a wall to save part of a contractor
'
s fee, Billy B. began trying to put the place together again.
In general, Jane was pleased. Billy B. wasn
'
t gabby and he kept on working while he drank his coffee. So things settled down into a kind of friendly domesticity. Jane worked her room and Billy B. worked his, and when they met in the kitchen for lunch, the conversation flowed easily. Billy B. was crazy about his new little girl Sarah, crazy about his son, crazy about his wife. If Jane really was headed for the poorhouse, she couldn
'
t imagine a nicer person sending her there.
On Friday the weather improved and Billy B., armed with metal flashing and a bundle of asphalt shingles, climbed up onto the roof for some selective patching and repair. As for Jane, she had decided to do just what Phillip Harrow warned her not to do: wallpaper.
She had nothing against white walls; she loved them in her condo. But for Lilac Cottage, nothing less than rich floral prints would do. It would cost her more, and it would take more time, and if it killed a sale, she had only herself to blame
—
but as far as Jane was concerned, painting the walls of Lilac Cottage in up-to-date white was like dressing Queen
Victoria
in a miniskirt.
Jane had managed to find a wonderful bird-of-paradise pattern in the same rich ivory, rose, and green as the antique paper in the fireplace room and was standing back, admiring the first laid strip of her handiwork, when she heard Mac
shouting a greeting to Billy B.
She
stayed where she was, uncertain whether Mac had come to see Billy B. or her. When she heard the heavy rap of the brass door knocker, her heart did a completely unexpected and uncalled for cartwheel in her breast.
"
I
'
m on my way over to my uncle
'
s place,
"
Mac said when she opened the door.
"
Were you serious about wanting to see his pickup?
"
No hello; no how
'
s things. Certainly no friendly smile. Disappointed, she said deliberately,
"
I
'
m fine. How
'
re
you?
"
"
Yeah.
"
Yeah? What kind of pleasantry was that?
Yeah.
He was impossible, always running hot and cold
—
well, warm and cool. She thought they
'
d begun to find common ground in the Quaker Burial Ground
—
where else, if not there?
—
but apparently she was wrong. Mac McKenzie had a bias against her, and nothing she could do on earth would change that. Well, nuts to him.
"
I was
quite
serious about looking at it, actually,
"
she said in a laughably snooty voice. She never talked that way. Why was she talking that way?
"
Well, then, if you
'
re
quite
serious
—
shall we go?
"
He gave her that look, the look that made her want to hit him over the head with a broom. God, he was infuriating! After a word or two with Billy B., she climbed into the
truck with Mac and they drove off. For a while, no one spoke.
"
Was it something I said?
"
she finally demanded to know.
"
Excuse me?
"
"
You seem particularly distant lately. In fact, I
'
d assumed this excursion was off. You never called to make arrangements.
"
"
I didn
'
t know you had a phone,
"
he said reasonably.
"
Bing knew. He called
information
.
"
"
Bing
'
s a man of the world. I
'
m just a humble islander.
"
"
Stop it! Stoppit stoppit!
"
she cried, her patience snapping like a little dry twig.
"
I
'
m sick of this bumpkin routine! Where do you get off with such arrogance? Who do you think you are?
"
"
I
'
m just a humble
—
"
"
Stop it!
You can just start acting like the rest of us and brag and make a fool of yourself and just
—
be normal, dammit! You
'
re a thoughtful, smart, well-read man and what you
'
re doing is the worst form of reverse snobbism, and I for one am just
—
tired of it! Spare me! Please!
"
With a sigh of frustration,
Jane leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Let him stop the truck if he wanted and boot her into a ditch. She really didn
'
t care anymore.
Mac was broodingly silent. Then, as he turned onto a well-traveled road dotted with surprisingly humble houses, he allowed himself a very small, very private chuckle.
"
I do wonder what the hell to do with you,
"
he murmured.
Jane
stole a quick, sharp glance at him
. Mac was looking straight ahead, so she couldn
'
t read his eyes. Not that it mattered: his look was impenetrable anyway. As a result, her feelings went into a kind of free float: first rising, then falling, then settling on some vague middle ground.
Mac pulled up in front of a
plain little ranch house clad
—
like everything else on
Nantucket
—
in weathered gray shingles. A plastic Season
'
s Greetings wreath still hung in the picture window. Two flat-topped yews, one on each side of the stoop, were the only concessions to landscaping.
Probably Mac doesn
'
t offer a family discount,
Jane thought wryly as she waited with Mac for his uncle to answer the door.
When his uncle finally opened it for them, Jane was surprised to see that he looked nothing like Mac. After seeing Jerry, she
'
d assumed all the males came from the same cookie cutter. But this man was thin, frail and bald, and as outgoing as Mac was reserved.
"
C
'
min, c
'
min. Well, Mac, if you
'
re gonna sell my truck out from under me, at least it
'
s to a looker.
"
He winked at Jane, found out her name, and introduced himself before Mac had the chance.
"
Ebeneezer Zingg. You call me Uncle Easy. Can
'
t think of anyone who don
'
t.
"
"
E-Z?
"
she repeated.
"
He
'
ll say it
'
s because of his initials, but don
'
t believe it,
"
Mac said with an affectionate shake of his head.
"
We started calling him Uncle Easy when we were kids, because he was so easy to shake down for a dime whenever we came around.
"
"
That was just to make
'
em go away,
"
Uncle Easy said with another wink.
"
Buncha pests.
"
"
Don
'
t believe that, either,
"
Mac said with a grin.
"
Uncle Easy rigged a big swing set out back for us, and bought us a pool; it was a real status symbol back then.
"
"
You
'
re talkin
'
about the
old
place,
"
he said with an instant faraway look.
"
Yeah. But it was only a twelve-foot pool.
"
He ran his hand over his bald head, as if he
were
wondering, still, where all his hair went.
"Listen, Mac, I got
a problem,
"
he said.
"
You remember when that nor
'
easter knocked down O
'
Riley
'
s tree next door. I never noticed but yesterday that it took out a gutter bracket when it went down. Do me a favor and drive the damn thing back in. On the southeast corner of the house. Then we
'
ll look at the truck.
"
Mac glanced at Jane, and Uncle Easy said with another of his winks,
"
Don
'
t you worry about her. She
'
s all set.
"
Jane smiled politely and Mac went out in search of the ladder. Uncle Easy shuffled with quick, stiff steps into the kitchen and put a pot of water on for instant coffee.
"
He
'
s a good kid,
"
he said.
"
Always a handful, though. Defiant. Never would take
'
Because I said so
'
for an answer. Drove his mother crazy that way. I suppose that
'
s how it is when you
'
re the last one through the gate. Don
'
t know; never had kids of my own. That I know of.
"
His hands shook badly while he spooned Sanka into two stoneware mugs. Jane wondered how old Uncle Easy really was.
"
Mac
'
s divorced, you know,
"
he went on without looking up. Jane heard him make a tisking sound as he shook his head, obviously reliving the scandal of it all.
"
That marriage never shoulda happened,
"
he added bluntly.
"
Me, I never took to the gal myself. She didn
'
t want to share him with any of us, was the problem. But Mac, well, he don
'
t forget family. When my furnace went out last month, he kept my wood stove goin
'
for me night and day
'
til the new burner finally come in. I coulda done it myself,
"
he added,
"
despite what Mac says.
"
Jane remembered Mac
'
s repeated forays in and out during her first days on the island.
So much for my Colombian cartel theo
r
y,
she thought, marveling at her simplemindedness.