number two was definitely the wearer of the pine stench. With a blaze of hair and a matching copper beard, Red stood a few inches shorter than Hollywood.
Of course, her clueless mother probably hadn’t even noticed the hot Hollywood guy.
Mom used her private-with-other-people-around voice. “Do you remember us talking about renting out the studio?”
“Yeah-ha.” Hollywood caught her staring. He raised a hand in greeting and shot her a half smile.
Mom touched Darcy’s cheek till she redirected her attention to her mom’s eyes. “I found a tenant. Dr. Walsh, the taller man. He’s moving in tonight,” Mom said, and Darcy followed Mom’s gaze back to Hollywood.
Mom nodded. “His friend is here to help him move in. You okay with that?”
“What?” Darcy said, right when she finally understood. Mom had rented out Daddy’s studio. Which was weird since Mom had acted as though Daddy still needed the space. She’d even bought him a new futon last week. Darcy understood what her mother was saying, but it still didn’t make any sense. “That’s great, Mom.”
“Really?” Mom said, and she broke into a grin.
“Whatever, I—”
“Let me introduce you,” Mom said, using her formal voice to summon the guys. “Darcy, this is our new tenant, Dr. Walsh.” Mom turned to Hollywood. “This is my daughter, Darcy.”
“Aidan, Aidan’s fine.” You’re telling me. Aidan shook her hand, pumping three times and revving up his smile.
“And this is Mr. Smi—”
“Finn,” Red said. His pink hand nearly crushed hers.
“Oh!” Mom squealed. “Almost forgot.” From her pocket, she took two keys—the silver hardware-store-issue key that unlocked the studio from the outside of their house and the antique gold skeleton key that unlocked the inside door. “For you,” Mom said, and she placed the keys side by side in Aidan’s upturned palm.
Warm cocoa rose in Darcy’s throat and soured her mouth, and she swallowed.
Aidan turned the key. He and Finn slipped into the studio and shut the door behind them.
Daddy’s door. She’d practically memorized that door, with its worn finish, the permanent scratches. The lengthwise crack in the frame she used to peer through when she was little and Daddy wouldn’t let her in, no matter how hard she’d cried. Now what would she see if she looked through the crack? A red-faced doofus and Aidan, grinning like an idiot.
“Yoo-hoo!” Her mother’s dizzy friend, Elle, pushed into the mudroom with Maggie, middle-aged hippie woman, in tow of her tailwind. Oh, great, the goon squad had arrived. Soon Maggie would entice them into joining hands in a misguided attempt to conjure her father’s ghost. Count me out!
Mom hugged Maggie against her chest, squeezing the patchouli out of her. Maggie plucked a chunky knit cap from her head and shook out her gray curls.
Elle unwound her red scarf. “Saw Aidan’s truck,” she said, as though she were teasing.
Mom wagged a finger at Elle. “I don’t know whether I should kiss you or kill you.”
Elle hugged Mom and planted a kiss on her cheek. “It was Maggie’s idea.”
“I bet it wasn’t,” Mom said.
Troy flung open the storm door and said exactly what Darcy was thinking, “What’s going on?”
Mom rushed to Troy; she always rushed to Troy.
“Two guys just carried Dad’s desk out into the yard,” Troy said, sounding winded. “Are you giving his stuff to the Salvation Army or something?”
“Sweetheart, no, I rented out the studio.”
Troy’s voice reverted to his adolescent high-pitched croak. “No way.” He glanced over his shoulder out to the driveway. Aidan leaned into the bed of his truck and passed a guitar case to Finn. “Both of them?”
“No, just—” Mom leaned out the door. “Excuse me, Aidan!” She ushered Troy outside, and Darcy followed behind them. Not much cracked little brother’s voice. Darcy wasn’t going to miss this.
“I’d like you to meet my son, Troy,” Mom said.
Of course, her clueless mother probably hadn’t even noticed the hot Hollywood guy.
Mom used her private-with-other-people-around voice. “Do you remember us talking about renting out the studio?”
“Yeah-ha.” Hollywood caught her staring. He raised a hand in greeting and shot her a half smile.
Mom touched Darcy’s cheek till she redirected her attention to her mom’s eyes. “I found a tenant. Dr. Walsh, the taller man. He’s moving in tonight,” Mom said, and Darcy followed Mom’s gaze back to Hollywood.
Mom nodded. “His friend is here to help him move in. You okay with that?”
“What?” Darcy said, right when she finally understood. Mom had rented out Daddy’s studio. Which was weird since Mom had acted as though Daddy still needed the space. She’d even bought him a new futon last week. Darcy understood what her mother was saying, but it still didn’t make any sense. “That’s great, Mom.”
“Really?” Mom said, and she broke into a grin.
“Whatever, I—”
“Let me introduce you,” Mom said, using her formal voice to summon the guys. “Darcy, this is our new tenant, Dr. Walsh.” Mom turned to Hollywood. “This is my daughter, Darcy.”
“Aidan, Aidan’s fine.” You’re telling me. Aidan shook her hand, pumping three times and revving up his smile.
“And this is Mr. Smi—”
“Finn,” Red said. His pink hand nearly crushed hers.
“Oh!” Mom squealed. “Almost forgot.” From her pocket, she took two keys—the silver hardware-store-issue key that unlocked the studio from the outside of their house and the antique gold skeleton key that unlocked the inside door. “For you,” Mom said, and she placed the keys side by side in Aidan’s upturned palm.
Warm cocoa rose in Darcy’s throat and soured her mouth, and she swallowed.
Aidan turned the key. He and Finn slipped into the studio and shut the door behind them.
Daddy’s door. She’d practically memorized that door, with its worn finish, the permanent scratches. The lengthwise crack in the frame she used to peer through when she was little and Daddy wouldn’t let her in, no matter how hard she’d cried. Now what would she see if she looked through the crack? A red-faced doofus and Aidan, grinning like an idiot.
“Yoo-hoo!” Her mother’s dizzy friend, Elle, pushed into the mudroom with Maggie, middle-aged hippie woman, in tow of her tailwind. Oh, great, the goon squad had arrived. Soon Maggie would entice them into joining hands in a misguided attempt to conjure her father’s ghost. Count me out!
Mom hugged Maggie against her chest, squeezing the patchouli out of her. Maggie plucked a chunky knit cap from her head and shook out her gray curls.
Elle unwound her red scarf. “Saw Aidan’s truck,” she said, as though she were teasing.
Mom wagged a finger at Elle. “I don’t know whether I should kiss you or kill you.”
Elle hugged Mom and planted a kiss on her cheek. “It was Maggie’s idea.”
“I bet it wasn’t,” Mom said.
Troy flung open the storm door and said exactly what Darcy was thinking, “What’s going on?”
Mom rushed to Troy; she always rushed to Troy.
“Two guys just carried Dad’s desk out into the yard,” Troy said, sounding winded. “Are you giving his stuff to the Salvation Army or something?”
“Sweetheart, no, I rented out the studio.”
Troy’s voice reverted to his adolescent high-pitched croak. “No way.” He glanced over his shoulder out to the driveway. Aidan leaned into the bed of his truck and passed a guitar case to Finn. “Both of them?”
“No, just—” Mom leaned out the door. “Excuse me, Aidan!” She ushered Troy outside, and Darcy followed behind them. Not much cracked little brother’s voice. Darcy wasn’t going to miss this.
“I’d like you to meet my son, Troy,” Mom said.
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