Running Through the Words, 6-7

Six.

Juli perches on the brewery’s porch steps, his calloused hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee and the brim of his baseball cap pulled down low to block the sun’s glare. He stares at the scuffed toe of his Converse sneaker as he puzzles over his offer to show Magnolia Fitzpatrick around the premises. Why had he volunteered to meet up with her one on one? And why is his stomach queasy with nerves as he sits waiting for her to arrive?

He glances around the yard, following a squirrel as it bounds over to the base of the cherry tree and scampers up the gnarled trunk, following it as it navigates the web of branches overhead. The last time he put himself in a situation where he was alone with a girl—alone with a girl who intrigues him, he corrects—was four years ago.

Four years ago was when he promised himself to be more careful when it came to matters of the heart. Because four years ago had hurt. He turns his attention to his right palm and uses the index finger of his left hand to circle the tiny 5 tattooed there, commemorating a nail gun accident that resulted in weeks of physical therapy. The specifics of the event have been permanently recorded on the bottom of his foot, along with seven other injuries that scarred him.

Only one of those scars is invisible. It is also the only scar that’s not physical.

The crisp crunch of tires on gravel alerts him to the approach of an advancing vehicle. A moment later, a grey Prius appears and slowly navigates the rugged parking lot. Nol smiles at Juli and waves before crookedly pulling into a spot and shutting off the engine. She’s still smiling as she climbs out of her car and traipses across the lawn.

Juli takes a deep breath, hoists himself to his feet, and fixes her with a half-smile. “Hey,” he says softly. “Good morning.”

Nol comes to a stop in front of the porch, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her cut-off denim shorts and squinting up at him. “Good morning! Do you have more of that?” She motions to the mug of coffee he’s holding..

“I do!” Juli laughs despite himself. “Would you like a cup?”

“I’d love some, actually. Bas and I were up until almost three o’clock this morning, just talking. We split two bottles of wine and half a sleeve of Double Stuf Oreos that I bought in a moment of weakness, and if I’m being one-hundred percent honest, I feel pretty gross right now.”

“You don’t look gross,” he says, speaking the words without thinking about them. Once he’s realized the sentence that’s tumbled out of his mouth, a blush warms his cheeks, but the statement is true. Nol may look a bit tired, but her tanned skin, glossy hair, and chipper attitude exude nothing but optimal health. Nevertheless, he tries to dismiss the potentially flirtatious compliment and proceeds, “Come on in. We’ll get you set up with some coffee and I’ll show you around.”

Juli leads the way inside, crossing the kitchen and slipping easily behind the bar. “Hey, Addy,” he says in acknowledgment of the young man washing vegetables at the sink. “Just grabbing some coffee. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“No worries,” he says agreeably. Glancing over his shoulder, he nods at Nol and says simply, “G’morning.”

“Hey there! Last night’s meal was incredible, Addy. Seriously some of the best food I’ve had.”

No words are employed, but his smile speaks for itself: he’s flattered.

Juli slides a steaming mug across the countertop. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both, if you’ve got ‘em.”

She doctors her brew, Juli warms his with a fresh splash from the pot, and then he motions for her to follow him into the living room. “So up until about five years ago,” he begins, slipping a hand into his pocket as he scans the couches and chairs surrounding him, “this place was owned by a man named Jasper Lane. He had a wife by the name of Isabella—she was an absolutely amazing cook—and a granddaughter by the name of Charley.” With the verbalization of these last two syllables, his voice seems to catch, but then Juli coughs, clearing his throat, and continues, “When Jasper died, his granddaughter inherited the old farmhouse and hired me to help fix it up.” A proud smile takes up temporary residence on his lips before darting away. “It was a lot of work, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“It’s an incredible piece of architecture,” Nol praises, allowing her eyes to dance across the high ceilings and the burgundy walls. The soft leather couches host an assortment of throw pillows in various shades of gold. “I like the color scheme. Very natural. It reminds me of an apple orchard.”

“Yeah… that’s kind of what Charley was going for.”

“But I thought Addy was the owner?” Nol confirms. “That’s what he told me last night.”

A shadow darkens Juli’s expression, although he does his best to dismiss it by answering succinctly, “He is. Charley left the Brewhaha to him. She, uh… she passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Juli.”

He shrugs, not wanting to dwell on the sadness. “We did a lot, you know? This place was so run down when Charley inherited it. We redid the floors, widened the doorways, painted the walls, installed a bar… It was a lot. And then, on top of it, we were… we were working in rooms that sorta…” But he trails off and heads into another section of the house.

Nol cocks her head, interested in hearing the second half of his sentence. “Rooms that sorta what?” she wants to know.

“Never mind. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Rooms that come and go?” she tries. “Because that’s what Bas told me.”

Juli peeks over his shoulder at her and smiles lopsidedly. “And did you believe him?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t really expect you to.”

“I didn’t believe him when he told me,” Nol clarifies, “but can I ask you something?”

Juli lifts his shoulders in a shrug, acquiescing to the request.

“What’d Charley call her grandparents? Jasper and Isabella, I mean.”

“Why does that matter?” he asks, obviously baffled.

“Just answer the question, Juli. What’d she call her grandparents? Was it Gramps and Noni?”

Shock registers on his face; his eyes widen and his jaw drops. “How did you…?”

“Let’s finish the tour, okay? I’ve gotta wrap my head around some things. But I, uh… I believe you about the rooms. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and I haven’t seen it for myself, but I do believe you, alright? I believe you. But I need some time to make sense of things.” Her eyes flit around this new space—an office adorned with cluttered bookshelves and several plush chairs—taking in the corners and the many nooks and lingering for a long time on a massive mahogany desk. In a voice little more than a whisper, she says, “I will eventually explain. I promise. But first… can we finish the tour? I think it’s important.”

Juli studies her for a long while, not entirely sure of the strange moment that’s just passed between them, but something tells him it was meaningful. And something also tells him to finish showing her around the house. He beckons for her to follow him through the next doorway and says casually, “The bathroom’s right down here. It’s got a claw-foot tub planted with herbs and all sorts of houseplants. Let me show you…”

Seven.

The house knew as soon the young woman placed her foot on its bottom porch step. Her energy, organic and magical and raw, could be felt deep in the structure’s joists. Its newells quivered with possibility; its beams carried a current charged with potential. And its walls, always watching and waiting, somehow sensed that the wait wouldn’t be too much longer.