August 16th
Sarah listened to another rumble of thunder and hoped Roz would arrive before the deluge. They'd been hit with one strong storm the night before, and now another was on the way. It was a damp, chilly evening, which made a good excuse to build a fire in the woodstove. The homely sound of seasoned wood as it burned would add a bit of ease to the proceedings.
Once the fire was well started, Sarah took her mandolin from its case, gave it a quick tune, then sat down and tipped the chair back. She began to play 'Soldier's Joy' slow and careful to get the notes and chords under her fingers. She enjoyed the sound of the melody mixed with the patter of rain against the window. In another month or so she'd be ready to join the bluegrass circle at the fire hall, though the thought intimidated her. Most of the players were well above her level of competency, and they'd known each other for years; she'd never really attempted to come into their group, she knew how clannish such meetings could be, and how they tended to treat outsiders.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she thought, and looked up as Roz came into the doorway. Her dark hair was spangled with rain but she looked otherwise unscathed. "Am I late?" She went over to take Greg's Eames chair.
"No, you're right on time." Sarah moved over to make room. "How was your day?"
"Busy." Roz eased into the chair and settled back. She looked tired, a little apprehensive.
"Would you like something to drink?"
"A bottle of whiskey sounds good about now." At Sarah's chuckle Roz rolled her eyes. "I'm not kidding."
"How about a little whiskey in some Coke?" Sarah said with a smile.
"Sounds absolutely terrible. I'll take it."
When Sarah returned, Roz held the mandolin as she examined it. "I heard you practicing when I came in," she said. "You sound really good. Gonna sit with the guys at the fire hall?"
"Maybe." She put the drinks on the desk and accepted the instrument when Roz handed it over. "I've got a little more work to do before I'm good enough."
"Don't worry." Roz sipped the Coke, made a face and took another swallow. "I've heard those guys play. You're as good as they are, maybe better."
"Seriously?" Sarah gave Roz a mock-stern look. "Don't kiss up."
"No way, I mean it. You should go." Roz set the Coke aside. "Okay, let's do this before I lose my nerve completely."
"Hey . . ." Sarah put a hand on Roz's knee. "It'll be okay. Jim's a good guy, you'll see."
"Yeah. Let's just get this over with."
Sarah gave Roz a pat and booted up the computer.
Jim was ready for them, as she'd expected; he'd always been a stickler for promptness. "Ladies," he said. He looked nervous too. Sarah gave him an encouraging smile.
"Jim," she said. "You and Roz have met before, but maybe introductions are in order here anyway."
"Sure." He managed a brief stretch of the lips. "James Wilson. Nice to meet you, Mrs—Mrs. House." He paused. "You have no idea how strange it is to say that."
To Sarah's relief Roz returned his attempt at a smile with a genuine one, though she was still apprehensive too. "Doctor Wilson. I'm Roz Lombardi House. Just call me Roz."
"Okay. I answer to either James or Wilson." He sat back, a hint of speculation in his dark eyes. "Do you mind if I ask how you met House?"
"He bumped into me at an auction. Literally," Roz said. "I accused him of copping a feel and he growled at me. We exchanged a few insults and then we parted ways."
"Huh." Jim sat back a bit. "A match made in heaven then." Roz laughed. Sarah hid a smile. They're more alike than they know, she thought.
"Between heaven and someplace warmer anyway," Roz said. She sat back in her chair, a little of the nervousness gone. "Most days it's closer to one or the other, but I've got no complaints."
"Then you're unique when it comes to dealing with House. That's—that's a good thing though," Jim said.
"It is," Roz said. "So how did you meet Greg, if I may ask?"
"Ancient history," Jim said with a twinkle in his dark eyes. "We were attending the same convention in New Orleans and House was bored. He saw me at the bar, carrying a FedEx package—divorce papers, but I couldn't read them and equally couldn't let them go. Some guy was playing a song over and over on the jukebox and it annoyed the hell out of me . . ." Jim shrugged. "One thing led to another and House ended up bailing me out of jail just because he thought I was interesting. We've more or less been friends ever since."
"That sounds exactly like him," Roz said.
"I understand you're an electrician," Jim said after a pause.
"Yeah," Roz said. "Mostly wiring houses and upgrades or repair, but I've also been known to fix the occasional toaster. I do industrial jobs too."
"That was how you got hurt, wasn't it?" The warm concern in Jim's voice was sincere. Roz nodded. "You're—you're all right now, everything healed okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks. Just a slightly shorter little finger and some scars on the arm, but nothing worse than that." She picked up her Coke and sipped it, made a face. Jim raised a brow.
"You all right?"
Roz nodded. "It has whiskey in it."
Jim laughed and held up a glass tumbler filled with ice and an amber liquid. "So does this. I guess great minds think alike."
Roz chuckled and relaxed even more. "Good to know." She hesitated, then went on. "Greg told me you're head of the Oncology department at his old workplace."
"I was. I'm not now." There was no bitterness in his tone, something Sarah noted with approval. "That's something I have to discuss with my boss and my analyst, whether or not I'll still be department head. I want it, but it's . . . it's debatable whether or not it's a good idea for me to have it."
"That must be a tough decision," Roz said softly, and Sarah did smile this time. Roz could be tough and uncompromising, but like her husband she had a deep sense of compassion that surfaced at exactly the right time and for the right reasons.
"I've got good advisors to help out," Jim said. He glanced at Sarah. "Including the one sitting next to you."
"Sarah's the best," Roz said simply. Sarah felt her cheeks grow warm.
"Thanks," she said.
"What's that you're holding? Is it—it's a . . . a mandolin, isn't it?" Jim peered at the screen. "Gonna serenade us with 'O Sole Mio' down the shore?"
"Very funny," Sarah said, and felt someone behind her. She tipped her head back and wasn't surprised to find Greg in the doorway. He leaned against the jamb, arms folded. Jim spotted him too.
"House," he said, his tone neutral.
"Wilson," Greg said in return. "All ready to go to Cape May. Got your meds packed and Nolan on speed-dial, no doubt."
"Yes and yes," Jim said. He sounded amused now. "How about you? I won't have my prescription pad with me so you're out of luck if you don't bring your own buzz."
Greg acknowledged this riposte with a slight nod. "How's the interrogation going?"
"The getting acquainted is going just fine," Sarah said before anyone else could answer. "Stop hovering and find something else to do at least twenty feet away from the office for the next five minutes. Please," she added. Greg stared at her, then unfolded his arms, straightened and took off.
"That was rude," Jim said mildly.
"It was necessary," Sarah said. "Now where were we?"
"Mandolin," Roz said.
"We can discuss that later," Sarah said. "Back to the two of you."
"Bossy-boots, isn't she?" Roz said to Jim.
"Always was a control freak," Jim said. "Even in college. She'd put her books in her backpack in a certain order every morning, and god help us if the teakettle didn't have hot water for a cuppa by seven sharp."
"You're one to talk!" Sarah said, indignant at this vile calumny. "Who had to have his lunch packed and in the fridge before ten p.m. every night? Who freaked out when he had to use a washcloth twice?"
"Hah," Jim said with a grin.
"Double hah," Sarah said, and jumped as something hit the back of her head—a peach pit. She turned to find Greg in the living room. He watched tv, but with a bowl of peach slices cradled against his chest.
"Sorry," Greg said loudly. "Sorry about that, gosh, it just sort of slipped out of my fingers. I didn't mean to interrupt that highly intellectual conversation you were having."
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. The situation was indeed out of her control; better she just let it run the way it needed to.
"Okay," she said, "I get it. Carry on." She set the mandolin aside, got to her feet and went into the living room, to stand next to Greg's chair. He didn't look at her. "Jim's right, I was rude," she said, and put a hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry." She left him then and went into the kitchen to get a peach for herself. When she came back Greg had taken her seat in the office. He sat next to Roz, and growled at her when she snitched a peach slice. She laughed at him and Jim rolled his eyes. Quietly Sarah settled into Greg's easy chair, picked up the remote and began to surf. After a moment she took a bite of peach and savored the sweet juices, as she did her best to ignore the conversation and laughter from the other room.
She went to bed shortly after Greg and Roz left. The room was damp and chill, so she built a nice blaze in the fireplace and sat by it for a while, lost in thought.
"Hey." A kiss on her temple brought her out of her reverie. Gene sat down on the bed facing her. "How'd everything go?"
"Pretty well," Sarah said and stretched. "Found out I'm a control freak."
Gene gave her a dry look. "Wow, news flash."
"Oh hush," she said. "No, I mean I was trying to keep things going the way I wanted them to, then they went the way they were meant to. Took a peach pit upside my head to get me to see it—"
"Greg, no doubt," Gene said, "figures he'd be the one to get you to see what was going on." He stripped off his tee shirt, and Sarah's attention moved from the welcome warmth of the fire to her husband's chest and shoulders. He wore only his jeans now, since he'd gone around the house barefoot all day.
"You must be cold," she said, and worked hard to keep her voice neutral.
"I could handle a little extra body heat," he said, his tone as mild as hers.
They ended up snuggled under the covers, to enjoy a leisurely game of slap-and-tickle exploration before they came together slow and easy. Their sighs mingled with the pop and sputter of the fire, the muted hiss of rain and wind.
"Things gonna be okay?" Gene asked later. Sarah was on the edge of sleep, that wonderful place between waking and dreams; Gene's long arm was draped around her middle, and his lean fingers cupped her breast. She put her hand over his.
"Yeah . . . I think so."