Whiskey Beach Part 10

"A can of soup, a sandwich, a bowl of cold cereal?" She carried in a laundry basket, sat in the breakfast nook to fold. "You don't have secrets from the housekeeper," she said easily. "Not about eating, showering and s.e.x. You need to put on about fifteen pounds, I'd say. Twenty wouldn't hurt you."

No, he hadn't been able to find his anger for months, but she was drawing him a map. "Listen-"

"You can tell me it's none of my business," she said, "but that won't stop me. So I'll cook when I have time. I'm here anyway."

He couldn't think of a reasonable way to argue with a woman who was currently folding his boxers.

"Can you cook?" she asked him.

"Yeah. Enough."

"Let's see." She c.o.c.ked her head, swept that green-eyed gaze over him. "Grilled cheese sandwiches, scrambled eggs, steak on the grill-burgers, too-and ... something with lobster or clams."

He called it Clams a la Eli-and really wished she'd get out of his head. "Do you mind read as well as make pancakes?"

"I read palms and tarot, but mostly for fun."

It didn't surprise him, he realized, not in the least.

"Anyway, I'll make up a ca.s.serole or two, something you can just heat and eat. I'll be going to the market before I come back. I marked my days on the calendar there so you'll have a schedule. Do you want me to pick up anything for you, besides more Mountain Dew?"

Her brisk, matter-of-fact details clogged up his brain. "I can't think of anything."

"If you do, just write it down. What's your book about? Or is that a secret?"

"It's ... A disbarred lawyer looking for answers, and redemption. Is he going to lose his life, literally, or get it back? That kind of thing."

"Do you like him?"

He stared at her a moment because it was exactly the right question. And the kind he wanted to answer rather than brush off or avoid. "I understand him, and I'm invested in him. He's evolving into someone I like."

"Understanding him is more important than liking him, I'd think." She frowned as Eli rubbed at his shoulder, the back of his neck. "You hunch."

"I'm sorry?"

"Over the keyboard. You hunch. Most people do." She set the laundry aside, and before he realized what she meant to do, she'd stepped up to dig her fingers into his shoulder.

Pain, sudden and sweet, radiated straight down to the soles of his feet. "Look, ow."

"Good G.o.d, Eli, you've got rocks in there."

Annoyance edged to a kind of baffled frustration. Why wouldn't the woman leave him alone? "I just overdid it yesterday. Clearing the snow."

She lowered her hands as he stepped back, opened the cupboard for the Motrin.

Partly overdoing, she thought, partly keyboard hunch. But under all that? Deep, complex and system-wide stress.

"I'm going to get out for a while, make some phone calls."

"Good. It's cold, but it's beautiful."

"I don't know what to pay you. I never asked."

When she named a price, he reached for his wallet. Found his pocket empty. "I don't know where I left my wallet."

"In your jeans. Now it's on your dresser."

"Okay, thanks. I'll be right back."

Poor, sad, stressed Eli, she thought. She had to help him. She thought of Hester, shaking her head as she loaded the dishwasher. "You knew I would," she murmured.

Eli came back, set the money on the counter. "And thanks if I don't get back before you leave."

"You're welcome."

"I'm just going to ... see what the beach is like, and call my parents, my grandmother." And get the h.e.l.l away from you.

"Good. Give them all my best."

He stopped at the door to the laundry room. "You know my parents?"

"Sure. I've met them several times when they've come here. And I saw them when I came to Boston to visit Hester."

"I didn't realize you came into Boston to see her."

"Of course I did. We just missed each other, you and I." She started the machine and turned. "She's your grandmother, Eli, but she's been one to me, too. I love her. You should take a picture of the house from down at the beach and send it to her. She'd like that."

"Yeah, she would."

"Oh, Eli?" she said as he turned to the laundry room and she walked over to pick up the laundry basket. "I'll be back about five-thirty. My schedule's clear tonight."

"Back?"

"Yeah, with my table. You need a ma.s.sage."

"I don't want-"

"Need," she repeated. "You may not think you want one, but trust me, you will after I get started. This one's on the house-a welcome back gift. Therapeutic ma.s.sage, Eli," she added. "I'm licensed. No happy endings."

"Well, Jesus."

She only laughed as she sailed out. "Just so we understand each other. Five-thirty!"

He started to go after her, make it clear he didn't want the service. And at the jerk away from the door, dull pain shot across the back of his shoulders.

"s.h.i.t. Just s.h.i.t."

He had to ease his arms into his coat. He just needed the Motrin to kick in, he told himself. And to get back inside his own head without her in it, so he could think about the book.