Meant To Be

Chapter twenty-three

Jacob hit send. The back door rattled. Zac's phone pinged. He came into view, kicking his heels out of his boots and went to the utility sink to wash his hands. He squirted two blobs of blue hand wash on his palms, scrubbed and rinsed and did it again before drying them on the navy towel that was lying on the worktop. When he was finished, he folded it, paying attention to how the corners met and hung it on the rail.

"Did you get the wire fixed?" asked Jacob as Zac moved into the kitchen.

"Yeah."

"I found the other hammer lying outside the barn. Did you go without it?"

"Why would I need two hammers for."

Jacob took his eyes away, seeing no good in badgering him for an emotive response that was never going to come. He set the salt and pepper on the table wishing he hadn't of pushed him about driving. Maybe Zac would have asked him to come then.

"Why are you all dressed up for?" asked Zac, as Helen came behind Jacob, putting out her best plates with the golden rim. Her attire was fit for Thanksgiving, Christmas. That's where Zac had seen it before. A long black dress held in at the waist with a basic belt, white boots, a small heel. Her silver hair knotted at her neck just like always.

"Ronnie is coming over to join us for dinner. She should be here soon," said Helen.

"Who's Ronnie?"

"Our new neighbour.

"The woman living in Mrs. Thompson's?" said, Zac, his tone sharpening like a knife.

"Yes. I thought it would be nice to invite her over. It can be awful lonely living here when you know no one know."

"No one told her to move here. And I've counselling tonight."

"Tell Casey to change it to tomorrow," said Helen firmly.

Jacob tried, but he couldn't blanket his smirk. Zac eyeballed him. "Aren't you going out tonight?" Zac noticed he had washed up too. Not in his Sunday best, but in a fresh pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt that stressed his Texan tan.

"I cancelled."

"Do you fancy this woman?"

"What the hell Zac. I haven't even met her."

"You can cancel for some dinner date but not for picking up a cheque."

Jacob only managed the first syllable of 'fuck off' before Helen smothered his sound. "All you have to do is be polite Zac. Now go wash up." She said something to Jacob about forks as she went into the fridge and lifted out the jug of water with lemons bobbing in it. Zac couldn't' hear the detail in the hallway. Nor did he care.

Ronnie pulled at the damp curl that hung beneath her shoulder and tugged at her denim hem like there was more length to give. Turning to see how far away her house was, she clipped the top of the ceramic pot knocking it over. "Shite." Ronnie scooped up the clay with panicky hands, throwing it back into the pot. Heels clicked inside. She sprung upright, wiping her dirty hands on the back of her dress as the door opened. "Hi," said Ronnie, feeling the wonky flower leaning on her ankle.

Zac stepped to the side, inviting Ronnie in.

Within the walls of Helen's home, warmth allowed no vacant spaces. Dark wood held the house together, textured with pictures and rugs. Ronnie followed Zac into the kitchen, noticing the colour of his shirt, a deep rustic red. Helen gave her a warm hug, as if it'd been years. "So great to see you again Ronnie. Welcome to our home." Jacob shook her hand. She liked his kind brown eyes. They let her in instantly. She thought that was rare.