“This is beautiful.” I skimmed my fingertips over the white flowers.
“Jethro built it a few years ago, and I trained the vines to climb the lattice. This is my favorite time of year to be outside. There’s nothing quite like the smell of jasmine and a starry summer sky. Plus, in a little bit, the lightning bugs will come out and give us a good show.”
I inspected the craftsmanship of the gazebo, noting the small details along the rail: vines and long pedaled flowers etched into the cedar. “Did Jethro do the carving, too?”
She nodded proudly. “Yes he did. That boy can do just about anything with wood.”
I lifted an eyebrow at that, how it sounded, but knew she’d meant it innocently. The carvings were beautiful.
“This must’ve taken forever,” I mumbled to myself. How long had he spent working on this gazebo? Claire’s house was finished and perfect, meanwhile his own home wasn’t even half restored.
The silence stretched. I felt Claire’s eyes on me, so I lifted mine to hers. She wore a small smile, her blue eyes clever and assessing. I had the distinct impression she could read my thoughts.
She gathered a deep breath and sat on the swinging bench, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m really glad I had the opportunity to meet you.”
Her voice sounded different. Deeper. Wiser. Her giddy silliness now subdued.
I strolled to the swinging bench and sat next to her. “We should get together again before I leave. I can cook next Sunday if you want. If you don’t mind my tagging along—not all the time, I don’t want to impose—but I’ll still be here for a month or more and—”
“But I won’t be.”
“You won’t be?” I frowned at her, not understanding.
“That’s right. I won’t be here. I was called last month by a friend of mine who works for a community college in Nashville. They’re looking for an adjunct, to teach music theory and drama. She thought I might be a good fit. I interviewed two weeks ago and . . .” she shrugged, her eyes drifting over my shoulder, “I got the position, and I’m going to take it.”
“Oh.” I blinked at her. My heart sunk. “Jethro didn’t say anything.”
Claire studied me, the side of her mouth hitching with a soft smile. “Jethro doesn’t know yet.”
I felt my eyebrows jump. “Jethro doesn’t know?”
“No.” She shook her head, her soft smile dropping from her lips, but lingering behind her eyes. “I’m so happy for Jet. I’m so happy he found you. His heart was lost. Lonely. And now it’s not. And that’s because of you.”
Perhaps my time in Hollywood, spent amongst image-obsessed double-talkers, had changed my expectations of conversation, but the emotion, sentiment, and sincerity behind Claire’s words caught me completely off guard. I opened my mouth to respond but found myself at a loss.
She reached forward and covered my hand with hers. “I hope I’m not putting too much pressure on you or making too many assumptions.”
“No! No, not at all. Where Jethro is concerned, please put all the pressure on me. Pile it on.”
She chuckled. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. He deserves to be happy, and so do you.”
We shared a smile then swung in silence, turning our attention to the stars in the sky. I used the time to organize my thoughts regarding Claire while endeavoring to stealthily scrutinize her. This woman in Jethro’s life was on the precipice of leaving it. I suspected that as much as she’d been a constant for him, he’d been a constant for her.
So why was she leaving town? Why now?
Before I realized I was speaking, I thought and asked at the same time, “Claire, when did you decide to take this new job?”
Her bright eyes cut to mine, seeming to glow like sapphires with their own internal brilliance. “I guess I made up my mind on Tuesday.”
“When will you tell him?”
“I don’t know. Not yet. Probably not ’til my bags are packed, and I’m on the other side of the state. I don’t really like goodbyes, so he’ll understand. I’m not leaving the country, just the county. I’ll come back to visit.”
I inspected her open features, deciding that if she could be assertively candid, then I could, too. “I hope this is a silly question, but you’re not leaving because of me, are you?”
“No,” she responded too quickly, sighed, then amended, “not really. Not in the way you think. There’s no reason for me to stay here. There hasn’t been a reason for a long time.” Her gaze moved to her fingers and she fiddled with the Band-Aid wrapped around her thumb. “Has Jethro told you about my, uh, husband? About Ben?”