The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,64
circumstances had been different. But they weren’t. Honestly, it was just as well. I had plenty on my plate as it was. Plus, he wasn’t speaking to me.
“No boys or men,” I said. “Period. End of sentence. Trey’s a nice guy. A little earnest maybe. And a terrible dresser. But I’m not in the market for a guy. Also, he seems to have a jealous streak. I called him the morning after the party and he still hasn’t called back.”
Yep. Just as well.
“Besides, the whole estranged brother, Cain versus Abel thing is a major red flag. I’ve plenty of family baggage of my own, thank you very much.”
“Uh-huh,” Calvin said. “You seem to have spent an awful lot of time thinking about this man you have no interest in.”
“No, I’m just being clear. And focused. I’m serious, Calvin. I know it sounds weird but I feel like I’m on some kind of mission.”
“You’re still having the dream.”
It wasn’t a question. Calvin knew me so well.
“Every single night,” I said. “It’s got to mean something, don’t you think? I’m not just talking about me or even the baby. It’s all mixed up with my family and this house. I feel like I’m meant to bring it back to what it was. Or maybe what it never was but should have been. Does that sound crazy?”
“Yes. A little,” Calvin admitted. “But hey. Just because something sounds crazy doesn’t necessarily mean it is. We’re all here for some reason, aren’t we? There has to be some purpose to all this, don’t you think?”
Only a few months before, I’d have said no. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
Dear Peaches,
I keep thinking about the inscription on my parents’ grave, “Until the times of restoration of all things, whereof God spake . . .”
Maybe this is my time. Maybe that’s why I’m here, to find what is lost and restore what was.
Maybe that’s why we’re all here.
Chapter Twenty-One
It’s quarter after five,” I reminded Pris. “Shouldn’t you be heading out?”
The day after Beau and Felicia’s party, Pris had gotten her wish and met her bad boy. Larson Benning was a twenty-three-year-old, bedroom-eyed tattoo artist with an attitude and huge gauges in his ears. He sounded creepy to me but Pris was head over heels. She’d gone out with him every night of the following week and spent a big chunk of every day talking about him. That was why I’d decided to work on the dining room by myself that day. Listening to her sigh over Larson was exhausting.
“We broke up,” Pris said, angrily slapping packing tape onto a box. “Turns out he already has a girlfriend, they live together. She spotted us at the club, poured a beer over his head, and stormed off. Lars followed her and left me with the tab.”
“Ouch. You okay?”
She bobbed her head. “I knew it wasn’t going to last.”
“Very convincing. I almost believed you.”
Pris laughed and then sniffled. I patted her on the shoulder.
I couldn’t say I was sorry that the interlude with Lars had come to an end, but I remembered what it felt like to be twenty and have a guy you thought might be the one tell you lies and make you look stupid. I remembered what it felt like at thirty too. And thirty-five. And thirty-seven . . . Everything I’d said to Calvin was true. The last thing I needed right now, and possibly ever again, was to get involved with a man. It wasn’t worth the heartache and it never worked out, at least not for me.
“I’m sorry, Pris. Men suck.”
“I’ll get over him.” She shrugged. “Those gauges were kind of gross.”
That wasn’t what she’d said a week ago, but whatever.
“You should knock off early,” I said. “Go out and do something fun, maybe with your mom. Bet you haven’t spent much time with her lately.”
“Yeah, well . . . Fun and my mom aren’t words I generally use in the same sentence. What about you? I thought you were trying to take breaks at night.”
“I know. But I’m kind of over Christmas movies at the moment. I’m kind of over The Blacklist too. The story never really goes anywhere and James Spader isn’t really as cute as I thought. Besides, I want to finish the dining room. Being able to see the table is highly motivating. I’ve only got a few more boxes to go.”
“Of books,” Pris reminded me, tossing me a pointed look. “You know it’ll go a lot quicker if you quit