What Lies Below: A Novel Read online

  Jake mumbled, “Good morning,” in return, keeping his eyes on his daughter. She was chattering away, something about the garden she and her classmates had helped plant adjacent to the playground earlier in the spring.

  “I helped my grammie in her garden yesterday,” Zoe said. “We weeded bad plants and squished bad bugs, little green ones with black dots.”

  “Did you?” Kenna was riveted.

  “Yes, like this.” Zoe hitched up her backpack and squeezed her thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate. “I deaded ten and weeded all around the merry, the merry—” She broke off, frowning.

  “Marigolds?” Kenna offered.

  “Yes! Merry-go-rounds!”

  Jake was grateful for Zoe’s chatter. There’d been a family cookout a few weeks ago with his neighbors, Mandy and Augie Bright, at their house that he and Kenna had both attended. Jake had gone with Zoe; Kenna had gone alone. Wyatt was a small town; it wasn’t unusual to run into Kenna at social gatherings. Jake had even gotten the sense that because they were both single it was expected that at some point he and Kenna would hook up. Maybe on a subliminal level even he had harbored an idea of that happening. At the cookout that evening, in a roundabout way, they’d talked about it—the whole living-alone thing, although Jake didn’t technically live alone. Kenna had said she didn’t either. After all, she had El Jefe, her German shepherd. She’d called Jefe the man of the house, making Jake laugh. It hadn’t been flirting, exactly. But something had passed between them, and whatever it was, Jake had felt awkward around Kenna ever since. Maybe it was the thought of kissing his kid’s preschool teacher, who was also the school’s owner.

  She found his gaze. “Are you still available to drive the van for the picnic?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Next Thursday, right?”

  The picnic was an end-of-the-school-year event that took place every May. This year it was being held at a local ranch, the xL. There would be supervised hay wagon and horseback rides and a barn tour that would involve a close-up look at sheep and cows. “I need to be here at nine that morning, right?”

  Kenna nodded. “It’s about a half-hour drive out there.”

  “Yeah, Zoe’s taken a couple of horseback riding lessons from Shea, AJ’s wife.”

  “Daddy said maybe I will get a horse,” Zoe said.

  “When you’re older,” Jake qualified. “And I’m rich,” he added, half under his breath.

  “Don’t forget to get your wallet, Daddy,” Zoe said. “It’s on your grandpa’s toolbox in the garage, Miss Gilly said.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “He would forget his head if I didn’t,” Zoe told Kenna, skipping away. “Bye, Daddy Radish,” she said over her shoulder.

  “See you later, Zoe Macaroni,” he answered.

  Kenna’s smile might have meant everything and nothing. She closed the truck door a bit hard, he thought.

  He checked in at work, telling his office manager, Mary Alice, the situation with his wallet.

  “You’d lose your head,” she said.

  “You’ve been talking to my daughter,” he said.

  “Zoe’s got your number.”

  Jake laughed. Mary Alice had worked for his dad for nineteen years, and she’d stayed on when his dad passed away a bit over two years ago—before Stephanie had left. His death had happened without warning. Ben Halstead had walked around the corner of the house to turn on the sprinkler, and Jake’s mom had found him there, ten minutes later, when she’d gone to see why he hadn’t reappeared. It had been such a shock. Jake had never known his dad to take a sick day. He and his mom, with Mary Alice’s help, had managed to keep Halstead Concrete going. Jake hadn’t planned to make concrete his life’s work. But the business was his dad’s legacy, and it was solid. He couldn’t see selling it, but he was thinking of expanding into building homes, using concrete forms. The idea appealed to him—that he might construct something that was not only beautiful and serviceable but long-lasting and incredibly strong. He needed design support, someone with the expertise to put down on paper the visions he had in his head. Someone like Gilly O’Connell, who for reasons unknown to him had quit being an architect to become a waitress.

  “So do you know where you left it?” Mary Alice’s voice broke into his rumination. “Or is this fixing to be an identity theft nightmare?”

  “Zoe thinks I left it in the garage yesterday, when we fixed the lawn mower.” No way was Jake going to mention Gilly had originally offered the theory.

  They talked a few more minutes, confirming that Jake would bring Zoe to the office after school so he could do his five-mile run, something he tried to do every other day. He said after he picked up his wallet, he’d be at the job site, Ferguson Hills, a new subdivision that was going in on the south side of town, if she needed him. “We’ve got trucks scheduled to pour over there through Friday. At least I hope we’ll be done Friday.”

  “Your lips to God’s ear,” said Mary Alice.

  Pulling into his driveway a bit later, he killed the truck engine and sat for a moment, looking at the garage. The way Gilly had rattled off the information had been so matter-of-fact. She’d recited his great-grandfather’s initials as if she’d known the man personally; she’d looked stunned, as if she didn’t know where her information had come from. It had been a weird experience. Unsettling.

  Jake punched the garage-door opener and got out of the truck. Ducking under the rising door, he paused for a second, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and he saw it right away. His wallet was sitting on his great-granddad’s tool chest, right where Gilly had predicted he’d find it. And he was relieved. Sure. Who wouldn’t be? He walked across the concrete floor to the back wall, where the tool chest sat next to his worktable, and he stood there for a second, looking at it.

  His wallet was near the center and half concealed the initials.

  Gilly’s first guess, AJH, was the right order. His great-granddad, Andrew Jake Halstead, had built the chest in 1919. He’d carved his initials into the lid. Jake was named for him.

  The chest was solid. Fashioned out of pine, it was hand planed, with mortise and tenon joints, a flip-top lid, and three drawers. All the old tools were inside, worn smooth by his great-granddad’s hands. They were cool to the touch, weighted with time. Jake loved them. But Gillian O’Connell, a waitress and resident of Wyatt, Texas, for a mere six months, with whom he had had only a handful of encounters one-on-one, had never laid eyes on the chest or the tools inside it. She’d never been to his house, and the handful of times he’d dropped in at Cricket’s and sat with Gilly over coffee, he had never mentioned the tool chest’s existence, much less spoken to her of his great-grandfather. He picked up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket. The experience confounded him, and he didn’t like being confounded.

  He hoped someone else—April or Cricket—would be at the cash register when he returned to the café to pay his tab. But when he arrived, Gilly was the only one out front, and the dining area was mostly deserted.

  “You found it.” Judging from Gilly’s reluctant tone, Jake thought she was as disconcerted as he was by the outcome.

  He handed her a twenty. “Yeah, right where you said, in the garage, on the tool chest.”

  She plucked his ticket from her apron pocket and made change.

  He waved it away. “Keep it,” he said. He tried a smile. It felt stiff. “You have time for coffee?” He hadn’t known he was going to ask. He felt his cheeks warm; he felt like a kid, and it half annoyed him.

  She nodded. “It’s pretty quiet. If you want to sit down, I’ll bring it.”

  “How did you know? Where my wallet was, I mean?” he asked when she set down their mugs of coffee and slid into the booth across from him.

  She met his gaze. Her eyes were the gray of dark smoke. Shadowy. Bottomless. Something in them pulled at him. She shrugged. “Fluke?”

  “I dunno,” he said. “Maybe you can go through walls, too, like K
itty Pryde.”

  “Kitty Pryde?”

  “The X-Men?” Jake said. “Her code name was Sprite. She could go through walls.”

  “Ah. Never read comic books.”

  “Really?” Jake remembered she’d never seen Finding Nemo either.

  “My mother has a thing about them. She’s convinced they can permanently damage your brain.”

  “If you can’t go through walls you must be—what’s the word? Psychic? Clairvoyant?”

  “No.” Gilly was emphatic now. “It was a coincidence, that’s all.”

  “A one-shot deal.”

  “Yeah.” She picked up her mug, then set it down without drinking.

  A beat became two. There were sounds from the kitchen: a burst of laughter, followed by the clang of pans like cymbals. Jake met Gilly’s gaze; the smile they exchanged was awkward.

  “So, I’ve been wondering,” Jake began, and even to his own ears he sounded lame, “do you think you’ll ever go back to it?”

  She raised her brows.

  “Being an architect?” God, what a fool, he thought. It was none of his business, was it? “You mentioned once, that you were in the profession.”

  “I did?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s just I’ve been thinking about getting into building houses myself.” The jolt of excitement Jake felt, giving it voice, the gist of his dream, eclipsed his misgiving. He’d never talked about it to anyone. Instinct said he should shut up, but he didn’t listen. “Not conventional homes. I want to try something more innovative, more environmentally responsible.”

  “Really?” A sparkle came into her eyes, an animation that, if it was possible, made her even prettier.

  Jake bent forward on his elbows. “Have you ever seen a house built out of concrete?”

  “No, but I’ve read about them. We were really into that sort of thing, the trend toward greener housing, making it affordable for less affluent folks. Concrete was one of the materials we wanted to find out about.”

  “We?” Jake didn’t like the sound of it, the way she’d said we.

  “My—my husband and I. We had a firm, B&G Architects in Houston. He died—suddenly.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Jake was taken aback. He hadn’t known she’d been married. Hadn’t heard so much as a whisper of it around town. But word was she kept to herself.

  She thanked him for his condolence, and Jake waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he went on, babbling like an idiot, filling the silence. “Quite a change for you from designing buildings to waiting tables.”

  “Some things—you know, drastic times call for drastic measures.” Her smile wobbled. “Listen, I need to get back to work.”

  Except for a woman bent over her laptop in the back corner, the café was empty, but Jake went along, saying he had to get going too. He slid out of the booth and, producing his wallet like a trophy, he asked, “What do I owe you?” He was jittery again, like a kid out of high school. He barely knew Gilly, but she had that effect. It was unnerving.

  “Coffee’s on me,” she said, taking their mugs behind the counter.

  Now it was Jake’s turn to express thanks, and she nodded, but her glance was shuttered. The glimmer of enthusiasm was gone, as if it had never been there. It had been dumb, telling his plan to her, a virtual stranger, a woman who’d lost her husband. But he’d known there was something, because with a female there was always something.

  Back in his truck, he keyed his ignition, and glancing through the windshield, he saw her standing there, watching. Gilly had come to the plate-glass window, and she was looking at him.

  The moment lingered, becoming prolonged. A sense of unease drifted through Jake’s mind. What did he know about her? Nothing, really.

  And it was odd in this town, where everyone talked about everyone else, that no one was talking about her.

  3

  He’s good-looking, isn’t he? Jake? That’s his name, right?”

  With a start, Gilly turned from the café window, feeling her face warm slightly at having been caught watching him drive away. She gave Liz a quick hug. “When did you get into town? I didn’t know you were coming. You’re working, I guess.” Gilly’s glance took in Liz’s attire, a navy pencil skirt and jacket to match over a tailored blouse. Sensible navy heels on her feet.

  Liz made a face. “I have on hose, even. Can you believe it? But listen, coming here was a last-minute order from my boss, and it’s kind of exciting, actually. You know that new hospital going in between here and Greeley?” Liz didn’t wait for Gilly’s confirmation. “The company finally gave me the go-ahead to get familiar with the staff, start establishing a relationship. Schmooze, in other words.”

  Gilly grinned. “You can take a page out of Sergeant Carter’s book. I saw him back there, chatting you up.”

  “Oh, I know. I sat in the corner, hoping he’d overlook me. I told you I’m trying to keep a low profile, just observe and get a feel for the area.”

  “On the q.t.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The sergeant wants me to put in a word for him.”

  “Are you serious?” Liz touched her temple, the corner of her mouth. Color suffused her cheeks.

  She was flattered, Gilly thought. Maybe the sergeant had a chance after all. “I heard he gave you a ticket. Something about a wonky taillight?”

  “It was a warning. He was just asking if I’d had it fixed.” She looked off, brought her gaze back. “I can’t go there yet. You know what I mean, right?”

  Gilly did, and she said so.

  “Have you got time for coffee?” Liz changed the subject. She gestured toward the back booth, where she’d left her laptop. “I think I may have found a house. Can you take a break?”

  “I just had one.” Gilly glanced around at the empty café. “Let me clear it with April.” She came back after a few minutes, carrying two mugs of fresh coffee. Setting one in front of Liz, she slid into the booth across from her. “So is it for sure? You’re relocating here?”

  “I think so. The hospital finally getting under construction is what cinched it. It’s going to bring in more doctors and labs to the area, you know, everything medical. Should add a lot in regard to sales. The territory’s going to be so much bigger, though, than the route I’m used to driving in the city.”

  “But just think,” Gilly said, “no rush hour traffic. Maybe you’ll get behind the occasional hay wagon going two miles an hour, but that’s about it for delays around here.”

  “Hay wagon?”

  Liz’s wide-eyed look that combined elements of bafflement and consternation made Gilly laugh. “I’m only kidding—sort of.”

  “Okay, but is it ever, like, too quiet here? You came from Houston. Do you miss city life?”

  Gilly toyed with her mug.

  “I don’t mean to pry.”

  “You aren’t. The short answer is no.”

  “But it’s more complicated.” Liz kept Gilly’s gaze.

  They’d known each other awhile now, ever since they’d met in the dog park where Gilly walked Bailey. One day, a bit over five months ago, Liz had been there, sitting on a bench, laptop open on her knees, looking at houses. She and Gilly had struck up a conversation, laughed at Bailey’s antics, commiserated with one another over how unsettling it was to move to a new town, although at the time, Liz had only been contemplating a move to Wyatt. She’d been scoping it out, she’d told Gilly, while working on her boss, trying to convince him to let her set up a central Texas territory. Like Gilly, Liz wanted a new start, although Liz’s wish stemmed from a divorce. Gilly sensed it had been an awful experience—not so much from what Liz said, because she’d only mentioned it a handful of times, but she was bone thin in a way Gilly recognized from the days when her grief over losing Brian was fresh. Liz had said once that along with her husband she’d lost her appetite. It’s not a diet method I’d recommend, she had said, and Gilly had taken her hand. They’d sat together like sisters, or the way Gilly imagined sister
s would be. Gilly had felt compelled to confide in Liz about Brian, giving her an abbreviated version of the horrendous circumstances. She hadn’t mentioned Sophie, had felt it would be piling too much on Liz too soon. But they’d spent a good deal of time together since then, whenever Liz came into town, and it felt good, having a girlfriend. Liz made it easy.

  “Turns out moving away doesn’t switch off your brain,” Gilly told her. “You still have your memories.” Her smile was wry.

  “Amen,” Liz said fervently, and reaching across the table she patted Gilly’s arm. “Want to see the little house I found?” It was as if she could read Gilly’s mind, her need for the subject to change. Liz turned her laptop screen toward Gilly. “It’s two streets over from your house.”

  “Oh, it’s so cute.” Gilly read the description of the small bungalow-style house. “Two bedrooms, one bath.” She looked up at Liz. “Sounds perfect.”

  “Will you go with me to look at it? I made an appointment to see it at five. We could get dinner after.”

  “I can go see the house for sure, but dinner—I’d really like to, but can we make it another day? What about Friday? Come to my house. I’ll cook.” Gilly was relieved when Liz said yes without asking questions. Maybe over dinner at her own table Gilly could tell Liz she was in AA and had a meeting tonight. It wasn’t something she could talk about here, where she might be overheard. But Gilly wanted Liz to know. It seemed important for their friendship to have it out in the open between them. “I’d better scoot,” Gilly said. “We’ll be getting slammed with the lunch crowd soon.”

  Liz closed her laptop. “Can you pick me up later?”

  “No problem. At the RV park?” Rental property in Wyatt was almost nonexistent, especially for the short term, but Liz had found an RV in a park on the outskirts of town that allowed her to rent week to week.

  “On second thought, why don’t I meet you here around four thirty?” Liz gathered her things.

  “That’ll work,” Gilly said.

  Liz was almost to the door when she turned back. “That guy? Jake?”