But suddenly it was pretty clear a few other layers still needed to be scraped away.
But for some reason that aborted gesture—his head resting atop hers—haunted her. She kept trying to analyze it as if it contained layers of coded meaning, like a dream.
And the moment he left, the beautiful house seemed unnervingly filled with echoes, memories, and questions. So she impulsively invited the least ethereal people she knew, her mom and dad, over for dinner, which they insisted on bringing. Hamburgers and salad and cake. They ate out on the deck. She basked in their pride and praise when they saw the house; they made an appropriate fuss over Chick Pea the way you would over any new member of the family. She relished the homely conversation about the day-to-day at the Misty Cat.
She didn’t mention Mac.
She wore her Peace and Love sweatshirt to eat outside with her parents. The nights were getting chillier even if the days were still full of sunlight. It was hard to shake the sense of something winding to an end. Which it was, naturally; she’d known it would. That had been the plan, to fix and flip this house. But her nerve endings were ever-so-faintly twanging with panic, picking it up like a radio signal from outer space. She wasn’t quite certain yet why.
Only that she’d begun to wonder that she was still keeping Mac’s presence on the down low, because it was possible the whole thing was going to be, a year from now, a page in her diary.
She knew work would suck her in when she returned to San Francisco. And because that’s where the jobs were and she needed an income, that’s where she was going, Corbin or no Corbin.
“Knock knock.”
A little family of deer strolling by stared at her with limpid unblinking eyes and kept going.
No one answered the door.
“MAC?” she called.
“Avalon? Hey! Out here! Robert Plant has ear mites!”
It was entirely possible it was the first time in history anyone anywhere had uttered that sentence out loud.
She followed the sound of his voice and of bleating and found Mac out in the little goat paddock, getting nuzzled and bumped by his little goat posse. He was stuffing a tube of something back in his jeans. Clearly he’d just been administering to Robert Plant. Raaaaabert Plant.
“I got a text from Eden,” she told him. “She was wondering if the Hummingbirds can come here and meet your goats.”
He smiled crookedly at her. He hadn’t shaved yet, and the stubble wasreallyworking for him. “Tell the truth.Youwanted to meet the goats.”
She couldn’t resist the smile. “Well, yeah, that, too.”
And she kind of wanted to see his house, too.
“Come in here.” He called to her. “Hold out your hand.”
He cupped her hand in his so he could pour, to her astonishment, what looked like Cheez-Its into it. Another gesture, superfluous but tender, an excuse to touch her. A touch that lingered a little, then ended too soon, leaving her glowing like a radiator. And pensive.
The goats swarmed her as she entered their paddock. Their funny sweet faces were so full of character, by turns mischievous, dignified, witty. She divvied up the snacks while they bumped her hands for pats. She peered into their eyes and communed with their little goat souls.
Mac leaned on the fence and narrated.
“Janis has some pipes on her. She’s a sweetheart but she’ll nip you a little if you don’t give her snacks fast enough. She’s the one going for your pockets right now. John is dignified. Maybe cuz he’s getting older and fatter. He’s kind of the boss, if I had to pick one. Simon is Janis and John’s baby. I have Alpine, a LaMancha and one Toggenburg. Bob’s the Toggenburg.”
“I don’t think I ever asked you how you ended up with goats.” She scratched Simon’s head.
“Morty Horton. I finished my national guard stint and I’d been traveling around Europe, when I had a chat with Morton Horton. He knew the groundskeeper was leaving this property and he had a couple goats and needed someone to look out for them, and, well, I met the goats, we hit it off, so I got some more and... what?”
“Whatwhat?”
“You’re looking at me all...” He didn’t complete that question.
“I just think it’s... it’s a pretty cool story.”
She had an embarrassing hunch about what her expression must be. Because she was frankly rather enchanted. By his unselfconscious, charming easiness. By his whole backstory, frankly.I always knew animals would be your downfall, Harwood,he’d said wryly.
He’d be one to talk, she had a hunch.