I watch the bartender out of the corner of my eye as she chats up an old guy at the end of the bar, her laugh long and genuine as he tells her some story about his grandson’s antics.
Lindy didn’t describe the mysterious Kali to me beyond saying that she’s a “good sort,” but the age is about right, and I wonder if this is Paul’s childhood summer friend.
When she makes her way toward me again to refill my water, I get up the nerve to ask.
“Yeah, I’m Kali,” she says, looking a little surprised by the question. “Have we met?”
“Nope, I’m new to the area.”
“Yeah, I guessed that by the silk shirt,” she says in a confidential whisper. “I’m betting it costs more than a car payment for most of us in here. Tourist?”
“Sort of,” I hedge. “I’m working over at the Langdon house.”
Her smile slips. “Paul’s place?”
“Yeah.”
She stands up straighter, her palms flat against the bar as she studies me, almost protective. “You don’t look like Langdon employee material.”
Her tone isn’t unkind, but it’s clear I’m being evaluated. “What do I look like?”
She shrugs. “A few years ago I would have pegged you as girlfriend material for Paul. But now…”
We make eye contact and have one of those weird moments of female understanding. We both know he doesn’t do girlfriends anymore. “I’m the new caregiver,” I say quietly. “Although that word never quite feels right.”
“Yeah, Paul’s never really been one to be taken care of. At least, not as I remember him.”
I lean forward a little, desperate to keep her talking, but not wanting to come off as prying. “You haven’t seen him since he came back?”
She shakes her head and needlessly tops off my wineglass—a good sign that she’s not trying to get rid of me. “Nah. My folks’ place isn’t too far from his house. The Langdons used to rent that place where they live, you know. Paul’s father only bought it a couple of years ago when he needed a full-time, um, retreat for Paul. I live closer to town now, but back when we were kids I lived for the day when Paul would show up for those couple of weeks in the summer.”
I quickly stamp down the surge of jealousy. They were just kids, for God’s sake. Friends. At least I think they were just friends. And not that it’s any of my business if they were more.
“He know you’re here tonight?” she asks, her tone casual. Too casual. I know what she’s really asking: Why hasn’t he come to see me?
“He, um…he’s not so much the social type,” I say.
“Yeah,” she mutters. “I gathered that after getting turned away at the door every day for a month after he moved in.”
My heart twists a little at the sadness in her voice.
What the hell, Paul? It’s clear to me now that he’s friendless and alone because he wants to be. Not because everybody shunned him.
“How’s he doing?” she asks. “I mean, we all hear things, but you know small towns and their rumors. It’s hard to pull out the facts.”
“He’s probably about like you’ve heard,” I say, maintaining eye contact. “Rude, angry, and generally unpleasant.”
“Well now,” a low voice says from behind me. “There’s something to make a guy’s heart skip a beat.”
I freeze at the familiar voice. Too late I realize that the place has grown mostly quiet, save for the music. I turn around and realize that the awkward staring I’ve been expecting has finally commenced.
Only they’re not staring at me.
They’re staring at Paul.
His eyes hold mine for several seconds, his thumb doing that slow stroking over the head of his cane before his eyes move over my shoulder and lock on the girl behind the bar. “Hey, Kali.”
Please don’t reject him, I silently beg of her. Please understand how big a moment this is for him.