Chapter X.
When the door shut behind Jonah, Lyra gave in to her impulse and danced over to kiss her mom on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.” Turning to her dad, “You don’t mind do you, Dad?”
“No, of course not. I know you’d rather be with someone your own age than with a group of doddering old geezers.”
Her mother laughed and elbowed him. “Watch who you call a doddering old geezer.”
Lyra practiced her cello until it was time to get ready to leave. Her parents were driving up to Whiteface Lodge to meet their friends and they left before Jonah came for Lyra. She put on a pair of black stretch pants, which were flattering to her lean figure, but more importantly, comfortable, and a deep blue embroidered tunic. She wore her hair down.
Lyra was bundled in her jacket and waiting at the front door at six o’clock. She saw the headlights before the car was visible and slipped outside as Jonah rolled to a stop. She opened the door and hopped in. Jonah was peering beyond her. She turned back toward the house and saw Harry with his nose pressed against the floor-length window looking morose.
“Why don’t you bring him?” Jonah suggested. “Jet won’t care.”
“Are you sure?” Lyra asked doubtfully. She hated leaving Harry all alone, but also didn’t want to offend Jonah’s uncle.
Harry let out a pitiful whine they could hear over the humming of the motor and heater. Jonah chuckled, “Yeah, I’m sure. Go get him.”
Lyra jumped out, unlocked the front door, and liberated an ecstatic Harry. He bounded into the backseat of the car and proceeded to bathe Jonah’s face in appreciation. Lyra laughed and scolded Harry while Jonah wiped his face and ear on his sleeve. The short trip to Jonah’s was spent with Harry’s big, furry head and lolling tongue between them.
Lyra had been in Jonah’s house while it had belonged to the Thompsons. Celia Tompson’s decorating style had been flamboyant. Lyra had always thought it was incongruous with the home’s pristine surroundings, which the large windows let in from the outside. Lyra was pleased to find Jethro Carsen had more subdued taste. The tiled foyer was empty except for a dark wood hall tree supporting a couple of umbrellas and some hats, and a hand-woven Indian-style rug of burgundy, tans, and chocolate brown.
They hung their jackets up and stepped down into the lushly carpeted living room. The back wall was entirely glass and reflected a crackling fire in a stone hearth opposite it. The bright orange flames were the room’s only light, but it was enough for Lyra to make out buckskin hued leather sofas, two tapestry-covered arm-chairs in earthy tones, and accent pillows in the same burgundy and chocolate as the rug in the entryway. It was a warm, welcoming room and Lyra loved it immediately.
The great room and kitchen were separated by a long bar of black granite. Atop the bar were crystal glasses, gleaming silverware, a leafy, multi-colored salad, and a steaming loaf of French bread, evidently just pulled from the oven.
A short, squat man came into view. He was mostly bald with a fringe of gray circling his head. He wore a red-checked apron and large red oven mitts. When he saw them his face split in a delighted smile. Harry ran forward and greeted him with an echoing bark.
“My goodness, look at you, big fella. You must be Harry.” Jethro tossed his mitts on the counter and approached Harry palms open. Harry sniffed cautiously, then licked eagerly. Jethro must have splattered some sauce on his hands.
Once approved by Harry, Jethro Carsen swiveled to receive Lyra. “Ah, Ms. Grant. I’m so glad you could come. Your parents are delightful; I knew you would be too.” He took her hand in both of his and shook it energetically. He was a frank, jovial man.
Carsen led her to a seat at the table. “Sit, sit. What would you like to drink? Such a shame I can’t offer you a glass of wine! I have an excellent Bordeaux I was hoping to break open tonight. Ah, well, we’ll save it for another time.” He spoke lightly and crisply, with no hint of the Southern accent Jonah had.
Harry danced around them, sniffing everything.
“Thank you for having me over, Mr. Carsen. It’s very nice to meet you too.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you could come even though your parents couldn’t. You have no idea how lonely we’ve been for some company.”
As Jet turned toward the refrigerator, Lyra turned in her seat to find Jonah. He was frowning at his uncle.
Jet didn’t spare him a glance though. “My dear, would you like a cola, or tea, or perhaps an Evian?”
“Anything is fine, whatever you have,” she assured him.
Jonah joined his uncle in the kitchen and, taking a knife from a nearby drawer, began slicing the bread. “Lyra likes tea.”
“Then tea it is.” In less than a minute Jethro handed her iced tea in one of the crystal glasses.
“Thank you, Mr. Carsen.”
“Call me Jet, dear, everyone does.”
Lyra sipped her tea and watched them work. Jonah transferred the bread to a plate and brought it and the silverware to the table. He didn’t look at her while he set their places. He retrieved the salad, tongs, and dressing, and deposited them on the table too. He still didn’t look at her. Lyra began to wonder what the matter was. Next to his exuberant uncle, Jonah seemed even more remote than usual.
In no time at all, Jet was carrying the pan of lasagna to the table. He and Jonah sat down and they dished up the bubbling pasta and passed around the salad bowl and bread. It was delicious. Jonah hadn’t been exaggerating; his uncle was a fabulous cook. Lyra rarely got such elaborate home-cooked meals and gratefully accepted second helpings. It was a good thing she’d worn her stretch pants, she though wryly.
Jet kept her busy between mouthfuls answering questions about her parents, school, the town, and herself. Jonah was quiet throughout the meal. His reticence didn’t usually bother Lyra; she knew he wasn’t the talkative type. In his own home, however, she had expected him to be more open and at ease. She was disconcerted to find him as solemn and distant here as he was at school. She remembered his hesitance in answering her mother earlier that afternoon. Then, she thought back to the night she had surprised him in the back yard. Perhaps he didn’t want her here. Was she encroaching on his privacy?
After supper, the three of them worked together to clear the table, put away the left-overs, and load the dishwasher. Except for Jonah’s coolness, Lyra felt very much at home. When they were finished, Jethro wanted to take Lyra on a tour of the house. Happy to oblige him, she kept her prior knowledge of the house to herself.
Followed closely by Harry, Jet conducted her across the great room and down a hall which Lyra knew led to a couple of bedrooms. The deep carpet in the front room ran the length of the hall and throughout the adjoining rooms. He pointed out the bath, coat, and linen closets without pause, but stopped at the second door on the left and opened it. He stepped inside and flipped the switch. He had made one of the large bedrooms into his office. The only furniture was a plain, scarred desk situated toward the back facing the door and a couple of worn comfortable-looking armchairs turned toward the desk. Lyra immediately noticed, however, that new, custom-made, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves had been built along two windowless walls. A computer, small scanner, and shaded lamp shared space on his desk with newspapers, magazines, and what Lyra assumed was an enormous dictionary.
Lyra entered the room reverently looking around. “Wow. This is amazing. So this is where you write your column?”
Jet smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes. This is where the genius is unleashed,” he joked, laughing at himself.
Lyra couldn’t help herself. She wandered along the shelves glancing at the titles. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to his organization that Lyra could discern. Books on archeology rested beside Shakespeare’s tragedies. A “How-To” on plumbing was followed by a tattered copy of David Copperfield. “I thought we had an extensive library, but this tops it.”
“Do you read the class
ics, Lyra dear?” Jet inquired, coming to stand beside her.
“Well, I’ve read a few—some we’ve been assigned in school and one or two on my own: everything by Jane Austen, Wuthering Heights, Romeo and Juliet, Jane Eyre.”
“The Romances, of course.” He chuckled. “I highly recommend expanding your tastes. Read Dickens, James, Defoe, even Dumas, and above all, everything by Shakespeare.”
“Jet,” Jonah interjected, a combination of resignation and exasperation in his tone. “Don’t start that lecture.” Turning to Lyra, “Once he gets started, that’s it. Literature is his obsession. He can probably quote every word Shakespeare ever wrote.”
“Ah, don’t let him fool you, Lyra,” Jet rejoined. “Jonah hides his light under a barrel. Except for an abominable penchant for some of the contemporary trash published today, Jonah is well read.” He grinned at Jonah and rolled backward on his heels again. “I take full credit for that.” His lightheartedness was contagious. Lyra and Jonah both laughed.
Jet pointed to a closed door. “That is a bathroom and on the other side is my bedroom.” They walked out of the office and Jet closed the door behind them. Jethro turned and headed back toward the living room. “Jonah, you show Lyra the rest. Harry and I will take a short stroll outside. I’ll enjoy the company while I smoke my cigar.”
Jethro beckoned Harry to follow him. Lyra watched them go out the sliding glass doors which led from the living room out onto the deck.
Jonah and Lyra had stopped at the foot of the stairs. When she turned back, Jonah was staring at her bemused. She looked at him questioningly and his face cleared. He offered her a small smile and motioned for her to lead the way upstairs.
A loft area overlooked the living room and to the right of the stairs down a short hallway were two bedrooms. The first was obviously a guest room, void of any personal effects. The second room Jonah showed her looked similar. The queen bed, covered in a sage and pearl paisley comforter, was neatly made. A pair of jeans was thrown over the footboard and a tennis shoe peeked out from the half-closed closet door, but otherwise the room was oddly tidy.
“Is this your bedroom?” Lyra asked incredulously. Although tasteful, it was generic. She’d imagined a room like Trevor’s, which she’d seen numerous times during sleep-overs with Katie. It was always messy, with CDs, clothes, food wrappers, and the like strewn everywhere. Didn’t guys like electronics and video games? Didn’t they hang posters of half-dressed women on their walls and leave empty glasses lying around? Where was his stuff?
“Yeah. This is it,” he answered.
Lyra waited a long moment, but he offered nothing more. Frustrated, she sighed and gave up. So much for learning anything about him!
He followed her downstairs and as they reached the living room, Jethro and Harry were coming back inside. Harry jogged over to her and she bent down to pet him. That inexplicable sadness was welling up inside of her again. She buried her face in Harry’s neck to hide her expression.
“Burr, it’s cold out there. I think we’ll be seeing snow in the next couple of weeks,” Jet predicted, stomping his feet. “Well, how do you like the house—is it too masculine?”
Lyra stood, her face composed again. “No, it’s so warm and inviting. I love the earth-tone décor; it’s tranquil, but the deep green and burgundy accents give it interest. It is masculine, but not overpowering.”
“And what did you think of Jonah’s room?” Jet asked, his tone excited.
Lyra was momentarily confused. Had she missed something? “Oh, well, it’s very nice…and…clean.”
Jet’s face fell. “Jonah, didn’t you show Lyra your room?”
“I showed Lyra my bedroom,” he said evenly.
“Not your bedroom.” Jet clarified.
Lyra felt Jonah tense beside her. He replied tautly, “I wasn’t prepared to take Lyra downstairs. It’s still a mess down there.”
“No it’s not. You showed it to me this morning and it was fine. Oh, go on. She wants to see it, don’t you, Lyra?” Jet’s expression was jocular, but Lyra detected a hint of steel in his tone.
Lyra looked from Jet’s determined smile to Jonah’s rigid face. “Only if he wants to. I don’t want to invade his privacy.”
Jonah glared at Jet another moment. Lyra got the impression Jonah was doing that telepathic communication thing with Jet, but Jet kept his smile in place, complacently rocking back and forth. They seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills. Finally Jonah exhaled loudly, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, all right.”
Lyra wasn’t sure what to do or say. She was dying to get a look at Jonah’s real living space, but if he was so set against it…
Jet laughed merrily. “Harry, you stay here and keep me company, eh? My old spaniel, The Colonel, died shortly before Jonah came to live with me. I’d forgotten how much I missed having a dog around. Jonah, we might just have to get us a pup.” He strolled over to one of the armchairs, eased into it comfortably, and patted his knee. Obediently, Harry followed and rested his massive head in Jet’s lap.
Lyra glanced up at Jonah anxiously.
“This way,” Jonah directed tonelessly, pivoting toward the kitchen. Lyra followed, but worried about his sour mood. She didn’t want to alienate Jonah. Their relationship was precarious already.
They passed back by the table and Jonah reached for the knob of a door, which Lyra had assumed led to the garage. He held it open for her and she stepped into a small, tiled room containing only two more doors.
Jonah pointed to the one straight ahead and told her, “That’s the garage.” He flipped a light switch illuminating the small room and shut the door behind him. As he reached for the door to his left, Lyra stopped him.
“Jonah, I don’t want to go down there if you don’t want me to. Of course I’d like to see your room, but not if it upsets you.”
Jonah hesitated and turned to face her. “It’s okay, really. Jet has very definite ideas about what is good for me; I happen to disagree with him sometimes.” He smiled wryly. “He means well, though, and I don’t suppose this is a big deal.”
He opened the door to his left. The light from the anteroom illuminated a wide strip of carpeted staircase descending into darkness. “Take my hand,” Jonah instructed. “You should see it in the dark first.”
Lyra placed her hand in his. He laced his fingers through hers. It was as if the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle had been snapped into place; it was a perfect fit. And that feeling of connectedness, and contentedness, filled her once again.