Page 32 of The False Flat

Several moments elapsed after I rode past him. Then I heard my name and the sound of approaching tires.

He came up beside me. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Beautifully evaded.

“I thought I told you. I come here every Friday morning.”

“Oh right. I couldn’t remember where I’d heard about this place.” No sense in him getting ideas.

He pointed to a clearing. “I usually meditate over there, but today . . . you got five more miles in you?”

“Yeah. I’m just getting started.”

“Good. I want to show you something.”

Almost exactly five miles later, we pulled off the street and onto a long driveway that led to a—dump.

“Look.” He was smiling like I should be excited by this eyesore. “I bought it off a pair of twins who inherited it. They couldn’t believe I wanted it, and I couldn’t believe they were letting it go.”

“Why did you want it?” It was an enormous space, but that was about all it had going for it. The pale-gray paint was chipping, pieces of the house were literally in active free fall, the house equivalent of a person on their deathbed. If it sneezed, the whole structure would simply disintegrate. “Wait. Did you say twins?”

He dismounted his bicycle. “Yes, and this is my new project, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me?”

He smiled again and pulled a bag from a compartment on his bicycle, held it out to me. “Want some trail mix?” We stared ahead like this was a horror movie, and I waited for the zombies to amble out from behind the tall grass as I reached in and grabbed a handful. He had a talent for trail mix, but it was missing something. “Have you ever thought about adding Cap’n Crunch to this?”

He snapped and pointed at me. “That’s it! Captain Crunch!”

I nodded, excited he agreed. “It’s Cap’n. Would be perfect, wouldn’t it?”

“Absolutely not. It would ruin my special blend. Do you know what that stuff’s made of? Anyway, I just realized that’s what you smell like. Lavender and Captain Crunch. Do they make lavender Captain Crunch?”

My mouth fell open in disbelief. “It’s Cap’n, and what is wrong with you?”

“Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because it’s the logical question any sane person asks when they’ve spent more than five minutes with you.”

“I’m strange because I have good taste?”

“You’re strange because you don’t want to put Cap’n Crunch in your silly trail mix. And you buy junk property. Just when I was starting to think we could be friends.”

“I haven’t told you what I’m going to do with the property.”

“Or how I’m responsible. By all means.” I extended a hand in invitation.

“This is the future home of Deanna’s bed and breakfast.”

An almond flew out of my mouth. I looked from him to the heap, back to him. “Has Deanna seen this place?”

He shook his head. “And I’m trusting you not to tell her about it. I want it to be a surprise, her Christmas present, if I can get it done by then, and I’m going to get it done by then.”

“But it’s . . .”

“Incredible? I know. They start work on this place Monday morning. I’d take you in to show you, but we’d need hard hats.” He put his hand on my arm. “Trust me.”

My body did this Jell-O-y thing because of his touch, his words, because of what he was doing for his sister. And even though I couldn’t envision what he obviously could, I did trust him.