silence speak.
“You can’t tell Vanessa.”
“No. I won’t.”
“I guess you want me to go.”
“Yes.” Carley looked at the clock. “It’s time for me to start dinner, anyway.”
12
• • • • •
I t wasn’t fair of Maud, Carley thought, for her to share her secret with Carley. It made Carley somehow seem to approve of the affair. Carley fretted about this, turning the problem around and around in her mind like a Rubik’s Cube, as she cleaned and made up the bedroom and bathroom off the laundry room.
Reverend Salter’s nephew was just her height, slender but muscular, with spiky brown hair, dreamy blue eyes, and a gorgeous smile.
Best of all, he was happy, and when he arrived in January, in his low-slung, faded jeans, his Aéropostale tee and hoodie, his braid necklace and his tattooed forearm, he brought fresh air into the Winsted household. Cisco and Margaret fell in love with him immediately. Carley’s friends developed mad crushes on him, too, and when they came over to visit, they wore sexy little shirts and more makeup than they usually wore.
They didn’t often get a chance to flirt with Kevin, though. He was almost always out at the historical association, doing research, or running or biking or ice skating, and, after only a matter of days on the island, he developed a wide group of friends, male and female, and spent all his free time with them.
She suspected he spent quite a few nights with one woman or another, but he never brought a woman back to his room, even though Carley hadn’t said anything about having an overnightguest. She hadn’t even thought about that sort of thing when she rented him the room.
Kevin used the bedroom at the side of the house, off the laundry room. It had its own bathroom and a good double bed and an almost private entrance leading from the side door through the mudroom. When she first offered the room to Kevin, over the telephone, she’d said that breakfast would be included with the room, just juice, coffee, muffins, cereal. He could fix it himself, she said, because she would be dealing with getting her daughters off to school. After she got acquainted with Kevin, she altered the arrangement: he was welcome to join them on Saturday and Sunday mornings, when she and the girls usually had what Margaret called a “fancy breakfast” of pancakes or French toast, eggs Benedict or cheesy soufflés, omelets stuffed with goat cheese and bacon. Kevin began to join them, occasionally. When he did, Margaret giggled through the entire meal while Cisco stared, smitten, at her plate.
He was twenty-seven. Carley was thirty-two. Yet she felt so much older than Kevin that she could be in his presence without feeling any kind of sexual attraction for him, even though she could appreciate how completely gorgeous he was. She felt relaxed and easy with him, as if he were her kid brother.
Most of all, she was very glad for the money he paid every month. It was enough to pay for Cisco’s ballet lessons, with a nice chunk left over. Carley hadn’t made any money herself since she waitressed back when she met Gus, and she liked the way it felt. She knew very well that she wasn’t actually making the money herself—it was the house that made the money.
It was the house that made the money
.
Suddenly, she thought, with a leap of her heart, maybe she and this grand old house could make even more money!
Carley wandered through the rooms, letting her imagination take her wherever it could. It
was
fun having Kevin around. She liked people. She liked cooking. She liked it when people stopped her on the street to ask where to go, which were the best shops and restaurants.
Maybe she could run a small B&B!
The thought glowed in her mind like the sun blazing out after a storm.
Margaret came down with a cold that sent her sniffling and whining to bed. Carley spent the weekend nursing her little girl, bringing her ginger ale and Popsicles to help her fever, filling and
“You can’t tell Vanessa.”
“No. I won’t.”
“I guess you want me to go.”
“Yes.” Carley looked at the clock. “It’s time for me to start dinner, anyway.”
12
• • • • •
I t wasn’t fair of Maud, Carley thought, for her to share her secret with Carley. It made Carley somehow seem to approve of the affair. Carley fretted about this, turning the problem around and around in her mind like a Rubik’s Cube, as she cleaned and made up the bedroom and bathroom off the laundry room.
Reverend Salter’s nephew was just her height, slender but muscular, with spiky brown hair, dreamy blue eyes, and a gorgeous smile.
Best of all, he was happy, and when he arrived in January, in his low-slung, faded jeans, his Aéropostale tee and hoodie, his braid necklace and his tattooed forearm, he brought fresh air into the Winsted household. Cisco and Margaret fell in love with him immediately. Carley’s friends developed mad crushes on him, too, and when they came over to visit, they wore sexy little shirts and more makeup than they usually wore.
They didn’t often get a chance to flirt with Kevin, though. He was almost always out at the historical association, doing research, or running or biking or ice skating, and, after only a matter of days on the island, he developed a wide group of friends, male and female, and spent all his free time with them.
She suspected he spent quite a few nights with one woman or another, but he never brought a woman back to his room, even though Carley hadn’t said anything about having an overnightguest. She hadn’t even thought about that sort of thing when she rented him the room.
Kevin used the bedroom at the side of the house, off the laundry room. It had its own bathroom and a good double bed and an almost private entrance leading from the side door through the mudroom. When she first offered the room to Kevin, over the telephone, she’d said that breakfast would be included with the room, just juice, coffee, muffins, cereal. He could fix it himself, she said, because she would be dealing with getting her daughters off to school. After she got acquainted with Kevin, she altered the arrangement: he was welcome to join them on Saturday and Sunday mornings, when she and the girls usually had what Margaret called a “fancy breakfast” of pancakes or French toast, eggs Benedict or cheesy soufflés, omelets stuffed with goat cheese and bacon. Kevin began to join them, occasionally. When he did, Margaret giggled through the entire meal while Cisco stared, smitten, at her plate.
He was twenty-seven. Carley was thirty-two. Yet she felt so much older than Kevin that she could be in his presence without feeling any kind of sexual attraction for him, even though she could appreciate how completely gorgeous he was. She felt relaxed and easy with him, as if he were her kid brother.
Most of all, she was very glad for the money he paid every month. It was enough to pay for Cisco’s ballet lessons, with a nice chunk left over. Carley hadn’t made any money herself since she waitressed back when she met Gus, and she liked the way it felt. She knew very well that she wasn’t actually making the money herself—it was the house that made the money.
It was the house that made the money
.
Suddenly, she thought, with a leap of her heart, maybe she and this grand old house could make even more money!
Carley wandered through the rooms, letting her imagination take her wherever it could. It
was
fun having Kevin around. She liked people. She liked cooking. She liked it when people stopped her on the street to ask where to go, which were the best shops and restaurants.
Maybe she could run a small B&B!
The thought glowed in her mind like the sun blazing out after a storm.
Margaret came down with a cold that sent her sniffling and whining to bed. Carley spent the weekend nursing her little girl, bringing her ginger ale and Popsicles to help her fever, filling and
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