Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 11 of 57

Scarlett woke with Clayton's arm heavy across her waist and the sun already high. He was still asleep. She slid out from under him and stood at the window in his shirt. His truck sat in her yard. The greenhouse waited past the ridge, glass catching light. She had given him last night. That was not the same as giving him something back. The thought sat down in her chest and stayed. She made coffee. When he came into the kitchen he kissed the top of her head and took the mug she handed him. He drove home to feed his stock. She watched the truck cross the low water and thought about what a person builds for another person over a year. A building. A place. Something you could stand inside. She called Cora. Cora called Maya. An hour later Maya's small car pulled up to the porch. She got out with her long braid over one shoulder and a bakery box in her hands. Clayton's sister. The same brown eyes as him, quicker on the draw. "You sounded like a woman with a plan," Maya said. She set the box on the porch rail. "Tell me." "He built me a glass house," Scarlett said. "I have nothing that size to give him." "Then don't match him. Match what he needs." "Which is what." Maya sat on the top step. "He has been talking about you for a year. Name at every holiday. He told me last night he doesn't want to sleep at his place anymore. He didn't say it like a joke." Scarlett sat down beside her. "He said that." "He said that. He is scared to ask for more. The last one left him for a city." "I know." "So ask him first," Maya said. "Clear a drawer. Clear a hook by the door for his hat. Tell him this cottage is his, too, when he wants it. That is the gift. You give him a place to land." Scarlett looked at the porch. At the two rocking chairs. At the hook by the red door where only her jacket hung. "That's not a thing wrapped in paper," she said. "No," Maya said. "It's better." After Maya left, Scarlett worked through the afternoon. She emptied a dresser drawer. She cleared half the closet. She drove a second hook into the wood by the door at the right height for a tall man. She set a spare mug beside hers on the shelf. He came back at dusk. He stopped inside the door and saw the hook. He looked at her. "That for me." "If you want it." He took off his hat and hung it there. He did it slow, like he was signing something. "I want it," he said. He kissed her at the door. His hat stayed on the hook all night.