Running Through the Words, 13

Thirteen.

“Is the vegetable garden still arranged alphabetically?” Nol asks, coming to stand beside Juli. The sun, hot on her back, feels good. She’s spent the past two hours inside, camped out at the tall oak table in the chilly kitchen while Addy and another staff member peel potatoes and debate how many chicken skewers to prepare. They’d been speaking quietly, making the conversation difficult to catch, but Nol hadn’t been especially interested in their words since the house was sharing a story of its own. Or maybe the narrator had been Noni herself, with her lilting accent and extra syllables added to the beginnings of words.

She’d arrived at the Brewhaha before eight, wanting to spend time in the heart of the farmhouse before it opened its doors to the public. Addy had invited her to join him on his side of the bar and she’d sat for a long time at the oak table, running her fingertips over its marred surface and wondering about all of the meals that had been served there. And then a strangely cadenced voice had whispered in her ear, “Far a-too many to count.”

After that, the tale of Isabella Crocetti and her relocation from California to Pennsylvania came in a rush. It was all Nol could do to keep her hands from cramping and her wrists from tingling. She’d pause periodically to shake out her arms, but it felt like such a foolish risk to break contact with her laptop for even a minute; she didn’t want to miss a single word of the house’s story.

Now, lingering at the edge of the garden, Nol watches as Juli squats to examine a leafy plant, plucking ripe strawberries from viney stems and placing them in a wicker basket. He’s wearing his standard Converse, their soles scuffed and dotted with splatters of paint, and a pair of faded jeans. His cotton tee appears equally well-worn, its hem frayed and a hole the size of a quarter residing in the vicinity of his left armpit. When he turns to face her, Nol can see the all-in-capitals words printed across his chest: I HATE REEL BIG FISH. “Everything on the property’s in alphabetical order,” Juli says, his eyes squinty because of the sun. “The orchards, the gardens, the hops.”

“How long’ve you had that shirt?” Nol counters, momentarily losing her focus and spontaneously redirecting the conversation.

Juli glances down at his chest in order to read the upside-down band name. When he realizes why she’s asking, his mouth forms a skewed grin. “A good fifteen years at least, maybe longer. Are they still your favorite band?”

“Of course! You don’t really hate ‘em, do you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be wearing this shirt.”

“Reel Big Fish was my first concert, you know. Bas and Bert took me to see ‘em in New York.”

“Oh, I remember. You told me all about it that day I stopped by to install a ceiling fan for your mom. Aaron Barrett signed your ticket stub and the only thing you could think to say was ‘Thank you.’”

“‘Thank you so much,’” Nol corrects, a flush coloring her cheeks. “At least I was polite.”

“True. So why’re you wondering about the gardens? Did something happen?”

“It did, but it wasn’t anything to do with Charley,” she answers before he can ask the question. “It was about Charley’s grandmother, Isabella… or Noni, I guess, since that’s probably what Charley called her. I have another question for you, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you have any idea where Isabella died?”

Juli thinks for a minute, tugging on his lip ring while he searches his memory for an answer. Eventually he shakes his head apologetically and admits he has no idea. “If Charley ever mentioned it, I’ve forgotten. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I think I’m going to head into town and drop by the library. I wanna do a little research before heading home.”

“Wait. You’re calling it a day already? Is it even noon yet?”

“It’s eleven-thirty.” Magnolia can’t help but notice the disappointment in his tone. At least, she thinks it’s disappointment. Maybe it isn’t; maybe she’s merely hearing what she would like to hear.

“Are you coming back after the library?”

“I doubt it.” She leans over to scratch a bug bite on her leg and explains, “Bas and I are gonna grab dinner later. I don’t know… maybe we’ll end up here? I was going to let him choose the place, though, and he’s partial to the Tavern.”

Juli adds another couple of strawberries to the basket, popping one into his mouth and rocking back on his haunches. His narrow eyes twinkle as he looks up at her. “So you’ll be here tomorrow morning?”

“I won’t have time. I need to get back to the city.”

“Damn… Short visit this time, huh? When do you think you’ll be back?”

Nol shrugs and tries to mask the smile threatening to reveal itself. She’s never been great at reading men, but the prospect of disappointment in Juli’s words is seeming more and more likely. “I’m not sure. July, possibly? It kinda sucks driving down here just to spend a night or two, so I might try to schedule a longer visit for sometime next month. It’s not like I don’t have the vacation time… I just don’t want to overstay my welcome with Bas and Lucy, you know?”

“You can stay with me,” Juli volunteers. “I’ve got an entire upstairs apartment that’s not being used. If you wanna borrow it for a week or whatever, just say the word.”

Nol isn’t sure how to interpret this offer. On the one hand, an invitation to stay at Juli Singer’s house sounds promising. On the other, an invitation to utilize the upstairs apartment screams friend-zone status. The enthusiasm she’d felt only moments ago quickly dissipates as she forces an appreciative grin. “Thanks. I’ll let you know next month, okay?”

She turns and heads back in the direction of the farmhouse, wanting to retrieve her laptop and other belongings before today’s lunch crowd infiltrates the Brewhaha, but pauses when Juli calls after her.

“Nol!”

She glances over her shoulder but doesn’t spin the whole way around to face him.

“I mean it,” he reiterates, hoisting himself to his feet and standing there with a basket of berries looped over his arm. He looks absolutely adorable… and equally unattainable. A crooked little smile flits across his lips before he says flatly, “The apartment is yours if you want it. You can stay there as long as you need. All summer if that’s what’ll help. Just… let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Tears prick at the backs of her eyes as she walks away, but she won’t let them fall.

🍁

“You probably think I’m completely crazy at this point in time. Am I right?”

Nol drags a sweet potato fry through a puddle of ketchup—a combination she very much appreciates and one Sebastian adamantly disputes—and glances sheepishly up at him, waiting for confirmation. She’s just finished sharing the details of her time spent at the Brewhaha, covering everything from the mysteriously whispered stories to the vanished room with its stained glass window, and is nervous to witness her almost-brother’s reaction. It seems probable that he will laugh, but she couldn’t continue to avoid the question; Bas has asked her about her visits to the old farmhouse on at least ten different occasions. He’d wanted an answer.

“Nol,” he says now, piercing her with his ice-blue gaze, “if you hadn’t written that story about my parents and Doc all the years ago…? The one with the princess and the minstrel and the—”

“I know which one you mean.”

“Yeah. If you hadn’t written that? If I hadn’t read for myself the story you continue to insist my mama shared with you? Then yeah: I’d probably think you were crazy. But you did write it, and I don’t think you’re crazy, and… I mean, the house showed one of its rooms to you.” He dunks a buffalo wing in a small dish of blue cheese and dons a smug grin. “Let me remind you that you were the one who thought I was crazy when I originally mentioned those disappearing rooms. Remember that?”

“I do.”

“But I was telling the truth.”

“You were.”

He gnaws off a big bite of chicken, chews thoughtfully, and eventually reaches for his beer. “So what’d you learn at the library? It sounds like you were there for a while. Anything interesting?”

“Well, I was mostly checking obituaries. Morbid, huh?”

Bas lifts his shoulders in a maybe-maybe-not type of gesture.

“The first one I looked at was Spencer Henry’s. He died on his land, right there in the orchard. His son found him. And then, somewhere along the way, someone sold the property to Jasper Lane.”

“Alright…”

“Get this, though: both Isabella and Jasper also died at home. It sounds like Isabella had been sick, and was in the hospital for a while, but when it became clear she was going to die, Jasper took her home. From what I can tell, she passed away while surrounded by family.”

“What about Jasper? He was a friend of Doc’s, you know.”

“I did know that actually! It was mentioned in the obituary!”

“I’m betting he could tell you some stories about Jasper and that old house if you wanted to ask him. He’s kinda tottery these days, but his mind’s still sharp as a tack. If you ever wanna visit him, I’ll tag along.” Bas smothers another wing in blue cheese, preparing it for consumption. Before embarking on the mission, he prompts yet again, “So what’d you learn about Jasper?”

“He died on the property too. In the barn. He was brewing beer at the time. That was his favorite pastime, it seems.”

“Hence the Brewhaha. ‘Good beer and good times.’” Bas wipes his fingers on his napkin, smearing wing sauce all over the polyester-blend cloth. Then he tosses it aside, plucks a final piece of celery from his plate, and crunches it in half. “Charley established the Brewhaha in order to keep her grandfather’s memory alive. I do know that. She was a cool person.”

“So you knew her?”

“Not well. I just met her a few times in passing.”

Nol stares at her plate, wondering if she has room in her stomach for the remaining handful of fries. Deciding she’s full enough, she lays her utensils across the dish. “Charley died at the farmhouse too. That’s what her obituary said.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sebastian lifts his beer, tilting it so the golden liquid seems to lean to one side. “She was out there among the hops,” he says softly, “and it was snowing. That’s what I heard, anyway. But, you know, maybe that was just a rumor.”

“Were she and Juli…” Nol wants to ask the question, but something prevents her from speaking the final word. Maybe it’s because she’s afraid to hear the answer.

Sensing this, Bas quirks his mouth in the subtlest of smiles. “Together?” he prompts, his voice barely more than a whisper. “They were, yeah.” He’s quiet for a few beats, measuring his thoughts and formulating how he’d like to verbalize them, and when he settles on the best possible wording, he says, “I think, Nol—and I doubt that you’re gonna wanna hear this—but I think she was probably the love of his life.” He gives her a sympathetic look and reaches across the booth to grip her hand. “And I think he’s still really hurting from the loss of her.”

Nol takes a shaky breath and holds her bottom lip between her teeth, biting it hard. She will not cry. She will not cry. She will not cry. And somehow, with eyes that are still remarkably dry, she admits, “I suspected as much.” Because she had.

Sebastian squeezes her hand before releasing it. “You know,” he says softly, considering the situation, “the person who probably knew Charley best is Addy. He and Juli are pretty tight as well. I’m not saying you should talk to him… but he might have some answers.”

“You don’t think that would be weird?”

“I mean, it would be weird if I broached the subject, yeah. But you, Nol…? You’re the person who used to bombard me with questions about menstrual cycles and the pull-out method. You’d ask me how many sexual partners I’d had and I’d actually tell you. Granted, I was basically bedridden and couldn’t get away from you… but you’ve definitely got a knack for exploring topics that aren’t normally discussed. Is it weird? Sure. But it’s also a gift.”

Magnolia can’t help but smile. It’s a watery smile, but it’s a smile.

“Thanks, Bas.”

“You’re welcome. You know I love ya, right?”

She swallows hard before nodding. “Yeah, I know.” And she does. She has never doubted Sebastian’s affection for her. She just wishes someone else, at some point in time, could appreciate her as much as he does.