Page 26

T hree days later, Nico headed back to the Placard house in the pick-up truck to get Ginny and take her to the proposed new location for the house.

He still couldn't quite think of it as “Ginny’s house,” but maybe that would be easier once it was no longer the thorn in the side of his real estate deal.

At least traffic was reasonable for a Friday early afternoon. A soft breeze tickled the floating tips of the palm tree fronds visible through his open sunroof.

As he sat at a light, his phone rang. “Nico.”

“What’s up?” a familiar voice said.

Vince . In all the commotion of the past couple days, he hadn’t thought to call him. “Oh, hey, brother,” he said, trying to keep guilt from his voice. “Those Colorado fish still biting?”

“More than we could possibly eat. We’re catch and release now, which the kids seem to prefer.

” He cleared his throat. “But, bro, what’s happening with the squatter?

I got a call from the attorney, cause she hadn’t heard anything either.

I know the music torture didn’t work, but do we have a new strategy? ”

The light switched to green, and the cars ahead of him started rolling forward in fits and starts.

There was no reason he shouldn’t tell Vince about the plan to move the house to a new location, but it represented a complete about face from the bullying tactics they’d planned on using.

Explaining everything that had happened between him and Ginny in the meantime seemed…

complicated…especially when he was feeling more and more confused himself.

He'd waited a couple of days before calling to arrange to show her the lot because he needed some emotional space.

Never before had he felt an actual spark when touching someone.

Wasn't that just a stupid romance movie thing?

But when helping her up from the grass under the oak tree, a jolt had glued his hand to hers.

She was the one to finally break contact, after which he jammed his hand roughly into his pocket, reflexively trying to wipe the sensation away.

Then, as they sat together on that stamp-sized love seat, he had nearly slipped his arm around her!

He could hardly explain all that to Vince. Just thinking about it filled his mind with foreboding—roiling clouds before the storm that always accompanied his dating life.

Besides, he didn’t know whether she would like the lot. Much easier to wait till after today, when the plan would have a thumbs up or down from Ginny. “No. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. I’ve been…spending extra time with Mom while I let the squatter consider our financial offer.”

“And waiting for the squatter to leave, right? Smashy, smashy, bye-bye housie?”

“That too.” Nico could hear the hesitation in his voice, but hoped it sounded like he was concentrating on driving. “Sorry, I'm headed somewhere, and traffic is bad.”

“It’s been over a week though,” Vince said. “Should I head home to help with this? We’re leaving in two days anyway. The kids have decided majestic mountains and trout-filled streams are overrated.”

“No, no. It’s under control. Enjoy your family time. You looked forward to it for a whole year.”

“It would be no trouble. I am the one who got us into this mess. Maybe together we can lure her out. I’ve got the guys with the bulldozer on speed dial, so all we need is?—”

Nico dropped the pitch of his voice. He needed to sound convincing. “Vince, really, you don’t need to do anything. It’s all okay. I promise.”

There was a short pause. “You…sound different. Are you sure you don’t need me? You’re always saying I should trust my gut more, follow my instincts, and they’re saying?—”

Nico practically yelled. “Follow what I’m saying to you, okay? I’ve got it covered.” Then he clicked off.

It wasn't like Nico to yell at his twin, but this was a special situation, a delicate situation.

Vince showing up here could scramble everything.

All Vince knew about Ginny were the awful things Nico had told him.

He knew nothing about her finding the photo album and using it to recreate their childhood home.

Speaking of which, he felt just as badly about not telling Vince that their mom had recognized him, and they’d spent over an hour together talking and reminiscing. He would explain all that to him too— after things were settled with Ginny.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Placard house.

In ripped jeans and her army green work jacket over a black tee, Ginny sat on the front porch steps.

A backpack lay beside her. The expression on her face seemed anything but glad to see him.

Uh oh. Had he done something wrong again? He got out of the truck.

Slipping on the backpack as she stood, she walked down the front walk, arms crossed over her chest. “Is this a trick?”

He yanked his chin in in legitimate surprise. “Of course not. We’re agreed on a plan and I'm fully in support of it.”

Her lips remained pursed with the corners turned down. “But what do you get out of it that you wouldn’t get much cheaper just by luring me away and destroying my house?”

He put his hands in his pockets and lowered his head slightly. “First off, your sister tells me I’d pay a high fine for doing that. Second…” He looked down at the ground, feeling vulnerable. “…I was hoping I’d still be able to bring my mother by now and then, so the house can work its magic.”

Her shoulders softened. “Really?”

“Of course. Without this house exactly the way it is inside, I don’t think I’d ever get to talk to her that way again. But she won’t know the difference in terms of the location. She didn’t recognize anything about the outside.”

Ginny’s green eyes stared into his. It felt like she was crowbarring open a door and rummaging through the debris of his soul. Fortunately, he wasn’t worried about what she’d find there—at least regarding the house. He fully intended to move it.

Apparently at least somewhat satisfied, she stepped to the very end of the sidewalk and dangled a toe over the edge of the curb. “You swear?”

He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear on my mother’s love.”

“How about you swear on Aunt Cecilia’s marinara recipe too? It’s even better than peanut butter.” But to his relief, she abandoned the sidewalk and moved toward the truck. She looked back at the yard, where three dogs stared at them through the fence. “Are we bringing the band?”

“We don’t have to, but I think they’ll love the place. They probably need a change of scenery as badly as you do.”

They fetched the dogs, put them in the back seat, and headed out.

Ginny looked especially small and delicate in the big truck as she pulled the thick seat belt over herself, like one of those little flower fairies he saw in picture books as a child.

As they drove, her hair began to lash her cheeks from the wind coming through the sunroof. He pressed the button to close it.

She frowned lightly. “You don’t want that open?”

“It’s okay. Most women find it annoying to have their hair flying around.”

“Annoying things remind you you’re alive.”

He pushed the button to open it again. “Then let’s live it up!”

“How long is the drive?” she asked next.

“About an hour if the traffic God smiles on us. It’d be a little quicker on the 101, but something tells me you prefer the scenic route.”

Ginny reached up and placed her hands into the stream of wind whooshing over the truck’s roof, wiggling her fingers in the current. “Always.”

Nico imagined her as a flower fairy, weaving strands of air into a never-ending invisible braid growing longer and longer behind them as they drove.

That was weird. He never imagined fanciful things like that.

“Monique called me yesterday,” she said.

Nico nodded. Vince had mentioned she’d called him too. “What did she want?”

She pulled her hands back in and rested them on her lap. “She’s worried about me.”

Nico looked over at her, trying to gauge her body language. “Why?”

Ginny returned the glance, a cheeky smile on her lips. “I’m just kidding. She’s worried about you. Apparently, for days it’s been,” she made air quotes, “radio silence.”

He chuckled as he shifted his hands on the steering wheel. “I guess that’s true. What did you tell her?”

“I was going to tell her you’d traveled back in time to talk to your mother, but that would have confused her, and it’s never a good idea to confuse my big sister.”

“Let me guess – she can be a bull in a China shop when she’s looking for answers?”

“Bulls are surprisingly light on their feet. Monique has all the delicacy of a tornado in a trailer park when situations seem out of her control. I avoided the question, but then she accused me of putting a hex on you, so I said my curses don’t work that fast.”

Nico entered onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “Thank goodness for that. I’d be a lowly beetle or something by now. Something squishable.”

Instead of laughing, Ginny swiveled in her seat to face him.

She made a square shape with her fingers and squeezed her right eye half-shut.

She appraised him through this imaginary frame for a few seconds, then lay her hands back down and faced front again.

“You’d make a very handsome beetle. That was actually going to be my senior thesis topic. ”

“Really? Curses or beetles? I thought your major was art history?”

“Insects in ancient art. There’s quite a lot of bug-themed antiquities if you look for them. My favorite is a gold Hellenistic headpiece from 300BC. It’s a circle of life-size, paper-thin oak leaves, and tucked into them are shiny gold cicadas.”

“Wow.”

“I know. It’s all hand-worked of course and so detailed. I hope to see it someday, but it’s in the British Museum, and it’s usually not on display.”

“No, I mean, I’m surprised you like insects. Most women don’t.”

“Oh. We’re taught to fear them, but insects are evolution’s jewelry. In art they represent the delicate and the grotesque, and their involvement in decay gives them cachet as omens of death.”

For the next hour, as they sped down the Pacific Coast Highway with its scrub-dotted, rocky outcroppings and vistas striped by white sand and blue water, she told him about the surprising influence of insects and other fauna on the development and form of art through the centuries.

Their crushed bodies were even used in paint.

He’d never thought of himself as someone who cared about art (other than its price tag), but the discussion fascinated him.

She had a way of bringing the topic to life.

By the end, he was hoping to visit the British Museum himself to see that golden cicada crown.

Leaving the highway, they headed up Pacifico Street to begin the breathtaking series of twists and turns that would bring them to their destination.

Driveways split off every two or three hundred feet to homes perched above or below the quiet canyon road.

Some were visible, but most were set deep into their acreage.

She stared at the hills surrounding them. “You sure you’re not whisking me off somewhere discreet to…uh…take care of your problem.”

“What?”

“Some shack in these hills where no one will hear me scream?”

“If you know of a shack around here, I’ll buy it. These are all multi-million-dollar homes.”

“All the more reason why it makes no sense we’re driving this way.”

He smiled to himself as he stretched a little in his seat, feeling like a satisfied cat. For once, he might have gotten a bit of the upper hand with Ginny Heppner. “Just wait. You’ll see. We’re almost there.”

Right where the road dead-ended at a small cul-de-sac, one final driveway split off. It was gravel—and pock marked and poorly cared for gravel at that. This was why he’d brought the truck. They drove slowly and bumpily along a gradually climbing, finger-tip ridge.

Ginny rolled down her window and leaned her head out, her eyes huge. “That’s quite the drop off.”

“There’s a matching one on my side.”

There was a click, and he looked over to see that Ginny had locked her car door from the inside. He let out a nervous laugh. “People who think they’re being kidnapped don’t generally lock themselves in!”

“But people who worry they might ‘accidentally’ be pushed into a remote ravine do!” she said sharply.

He let out a sigh. They were almost at the lot. The final thirty feet or so climbed steeply, and the truck tilted in response. The sooner they got there, the sooner Ginny could relax. He pressed his foot on the gas, and they jolted upward. “Seriously, I’m not going to?—”

Ginny interrupted him with a terrified scream.