Page 27 of Center of Gravity

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The day wasgray and humid, all low-hanging clouds pressing the heat farther down into the earth. I took out a painter’s chisel and went from window to window in the living room, unsticking the sills from the re-painted trim.

“Think this room’s going to need one more coat.”

“Hmm?”

Rob leaned against the archway that led from the foyer. His gaze was fixed just past my shoulder, outside the window where the palm trees had started to sway.

“One more coat.” I pointed at the walls with the chisel, then I squinted at him. “You all right?”

A long moment passed before he nodded, straightening. “I’m fine.”

It was the kind of slow day where everything seemed to register a half beat too late. I had plenty of time, too much time, really, to think about last night. Nothing I’d said had been embarrassing, but I felt the faint sting of it anyway. If he’d just been some rando, I probably wouldn’t have thought twice. But now that I was back in his presence again, the whole conversation last night seemed underlined between us, which I guess lent some credibility to his argument about being around each other.

So I stuck with being professional and didn’t crack any jokes or try to flirt. Which meant I was silent.

We started on the second coat at opposite sides of the room with our rollers and brushes, but I was aware of every foot of old carpet between us.

“You might want to just replace this,” I said, just to break up the silence.

Rob considered the carpet, indented where furniture had been, stained in places. It gave off a musty, waterlogged scent, the perfume of coastal houses everywhere.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” He sounded noncommittal, though. His phone rang and he glanced at the screen with a frown before leaving the room.

I picked up a can of trim paint and a brush and went into the hallway to get the molding around the air register where I’d noticed some discoloration and chips before.

The vent cover was filthy, so I pulled it off and then the air filter, which was covered in an inch of dust. No wonder the house never really cooled. Leaving both off, I took a wet rag to the cover and just inside the air vent, mopping up grime and cobwebs. Right where the ductwork bent to spread through the house was a small shoebox also covered in a layer of dust. Flicking dust from the cover with my rag, I listened to the sound of Rob’s voice, then nudged a corner of the box open. It was full of letters and photographs, the letters addressed to Rob’s father, I assumed. I closed the box up and straightened as I heard Rob end his call.

I hadn’t been paying any attention to the conversation, but the same storm brewing outside was threatening on his face when I walked into the kitchen with the box.

“You all right?”

“Is that the only thing you’ve got to say today?”

“I told you you should think about replacing the carpet.” One of his eyebrows flickered, just a little. Maybe amusement, but I wasn’t confident. “I figure I said enough last night.”

“Yeah…” It seemed like he might say something else, then he registered the box in my hands. His chin ticked in the direction of it. “What’s that?”

“Old letters and pictures. I peeked, sorry. Found it in the air register while I was cleaning it.”

Rob drifted closer to take the box, opening it to flip through the stack of letters, his face confused at first, then perplexed.

“Map to buried treasure?”

He glanced up at me as he refolded the letter and tucked it back in the box. “Don’t I wish,” he said absently. Something was bothering him. I didn’t know if it was last night or the phone call, but it was bothering me now, too. But with ten minutes to get back to the office for the next scheduled move, I didn’t have time to try to pry it out of him. And he probably wouldn’t tell me anyway.

“My time’s up. I can be here tomorrow from three until whenever.” I dropped my paintbrush into the bucket in the sink.

Rob nodded, then shook his head. “It’ll have to wait. I’ve got to go back into Savannah for work tomorrow.” He paused, a frown etched on his face, did the sameI’m-about-to-say-morething he’d done earlier, then turned away, opening one of the kitchen cabinets. “I’ll text you when I’m back and we can go from there. Good?”

“Sure.”

He pulled down a glass and filled it from the tap.

I steeled myself in the doorway, arms crossing over my chest. “Did I make you uncomfortable last night?”

“What? No.” The tight smile that followed wasn’t reassuring.