She looked at the fence, then at me for not leaving immediately after the board dries. I should have laughed. I almost did, but her voice had too much honesty under it, so I said, "That depends how good the coffee is." She held my gaze. It's better than Laurens. That surprised both of us.
Diane looked away first, color rising lightly in her cheeks. "I shouldn't compare." "No," I said, opening the stain can. "But you're not wrong." For the next hour, I worked on the fence while she moved around the yard, deadheading roses, carrying clippings, pretending to stay busy. Every few minutes, we found reasons to speak. She asked about a porch restoration I was supervising.
I asked about the garden. She told me the hydrangeas were dramatic and unforgiving. I said that sounded familiar. She laughed, then tried not to. That was how the whole morning went.
Laughter pulled back just before it became too easy. At one point, she stepped close to hand me a clean rag. The wind shifted the brim of her hat, and I reached up without thinking, catching it before it blew off. My hand brushed the side of her hair barely. Diane froze.
So did I. Her eyes lifted to mine and for one breath the whole yard dropped away. No fence, no stain, no old history. Just her standing close enough for me to see the small flexcks of green in her hazel eyes and me realizing I had not felt that awake in a long time. Then she stepped back.
Thank you, she said, for the hat. for not pretending that didn't happen. I set the rag down slowly. I don't know what happened. Yes, you do. The honesty in that answer was almost cruel.
I turned back to the fence because wood and stain were safer than Diane Whitaker with sunlight on her face. When the last board was done, she poured coffee on the porch. We sat in two old chairs angled toward the yard, close enough to talk easily, far enough to look respectable from the street. respectable. That word was starting to feel like a fence of its own. Diane held her mug with both hands.
Lauren called me again. I figured she thinks I'm being foolish. I looked at her. For hiring me? For inviting you back.
The porch went quiet. Diane stared into her coffee. She said people will talk. Will they? Probably.
I leaned back. Then let's not give them anything true. She looked at me quickly. I regretted how that sounded the second I said it. I didn't mean I know what you meant.
No, I said I'm not sure I did. Her expression softened, but there was sadness in it. Caleb, I need to say something clearly before this becomes something we hide inside jokes and coffee. I set my mug down. She took a breath.
I cared about you when you were with Lauren, but not like this. Her voice stayed steady, though her fingers tightened around the cup. Not in a way I allowed myself to look at. You were kind to my daughter. You were good in my house.