Half-Sweet at Sunset

Chapter 2: The House Rules

The Ellis kitchen smelled like toast and coffee when I came down the next morning. June stood at the counter in her robe, reading a message on her phone. Cal sat at the table with a mug between both hands.

I chose the chair farthest from him.

"Morning," June said. "How's the ceiling?"

"Dry."

"Cal got up before dawn and checked it."

"I didn't ask him to."

"I know." She put her phone down. "I also know that doesn't mean he shouldn't."

Cal looked over his mug. I couldn't tell whether he was embarrassed or annoyed. His expression stayed blank.

June slid a plate toward me. "Eat. You're thin."

"I'm the same size I was last month."

"That's what I said."

I took the toast. The ordinary rhythm of the kitchen made me feel foolish for letting one sentence ruin anything. Cal had not promised me a future. He had fixed a leak and brought coffee. I had wanted those gestures to mean something, and now I could choose not to keep wanting.

"I found a room above the bakery," I said. "I'm going to look at it after work."

June's face softened. "That's great. Where?"

"Harbor Street. It's close to the water."

Cal set down his mug. "That building's got bad wiring."

"Do you know the landlord?"

"No."

"Then I'll inspect the wiring before I sign."

"It's not just that. The place gets loud before dawn."

"I can handle noise."

"I'm not saying you can't."

"You're saying it anyway."

June glanced between us, then reached for the jam. "I'll come with you if you want. I know the owner."

"I'd appreciate that."

Cal stood. "I've got a job at the marina."

His plate was almost untouched. He rinsed his mug and put it in the sink.

"Thanks for breakfast," I said.

"You made breakfast."

"Then thanks for the coffee."

He nodded once and left.

June waited until the side door shut. "He's not good at being wrong."

"Was he wrong?"

"He was wrong to say it that way." She lowered her voice. "And he was wrong to assume you didn't know what you were doing before he got involved."

"I don't need you to take sides."

"I'm not. You're both adults. I'm only saying the room over the garage is yours until you're ready to leave."

The kindness in that sentence almost undid me. I rested my fingertips on the warm toast.

"I am ready," I said.

June's eyes held mine. "All right."

My rental had one small window facing the bakery's brick wall and a staircase that creaked in three different pitches. The landlord, Mr. Hales, showed us a fuse box older than my mother's car and promised the wiring was "fine enough." June asked him for an electrician's report. He sighed, went to his office, and came back with a folder.

Cal's warning hadn't been useless. It just hadn't been a reason to stay.

The room was still available. The rent was high, but I could cover it with my radio contract and two shifts a week at the public library. The water had never reached my savings account, but the apartment repairs would. If I paid the deposit, I'd have almost nothing left for an emergency.

"I can give you until Monday," Mr. Hales said. "After that, I have someone else coming."

On the walk back, June asked if I wanted to look at another room.

"I want that one."

"It's small."

"I have two suitcases and a microphone."

"That's not the part I'm worried about."

"I know." I adjusted the strap on my shoulder. "I can make the numbers work."

June walked beside me without answering. At the end of the block, she stopped outside the bakery and looked up at the empty room over it.

"Your mother used to say you were stubborn," she said.

"My mother says that when she means persistent."

"She says it when she means both."

I smiled despite myself. The smile vanished when a truck rolled past, its tires hissing over damp pavement. The driver was Cal. He raised a hand from the window, an automatic greeting. I didn't raise mine.

Back at the Ellis house, I went upstairs and checked the ceiling. Dry. I began sorting my things into piles: keep, pack, throw away. The sound files took up the laptop. The books filled one suitcase. I put the cinnamon candle in a box.

At dusk, Cal knocked on my half-open door.

"June said you're looking at the Harbor Street place."

"She was right."

"It's going to be a rough winter in there."

"It's May."

"I know."

I put a notebook into the box. "Did you come to tell me not to rent it?"

"No." He stood in the doorway. "I came to say I didn't mean to make you feel stupid."

I kept my eyes on the notebook. "You didn't."

He waited.

"You made me feel like my feelings were an inconvenience you'd been assigned to manage," I said. "That's not the same thing."

His mouth tightened, but he didn't interrupt.

"I'm not asking you to change your answer. I'm asking you not to make me grateful for the answer."

"I don't want you to be grateful."

"Then don't act like I owe you for being here."

His gaze dropped to the boxes. "You don't."

"Good."

He nodded and stepped back.

I waited until his footsteps reached the stairs before I noticed my hands were shaking. I didn't want him to love me because I'd made leaving look difficult. I didn't want him to say the right thing because June had asked him to.

I wanted to know what he did when nobody had asked.