I trail off as he looks over at me. I try again. “What if we tried this”—I gesture between us—“and give it time? See what it is. Make sure we even have anything to report before we bring it up to the board?”
“You mean keep us quiet until you’re sure you’ve won over Catherine?” I hear no judgment in his tone.
“That’s another way to look at it.”
“Would it solve anything? Or would you lose her trust again as soon as you tell her when this all started?”
It’s a good question, and he’s right to ask it. I don’t see it going over well. I give a tired laugh. “When did all this start, anyway?”
I mean it rhetorically, but he catches my eye and answers. “When I caught you on the ladder.”
Oh. That catches my breath. What do you say to something like that? I can’t come up with anything because all I can think about is how much I want to taste those words as he says them.
He straightens and resettles on the bench so he’s facingmore toward me. “We’d have to tell Catherine now, assuming you want something with me. Do you, Phoebe?”
It’s not hopeful or pleading. It’s tired, and this is the first time I’ve sensed that with him. Jay’s energy is like these late June days, warm and sunny. It’s the kind of energy you feel when you’re relaxed but you know an adventure is waiting, like walking down a quiet road knowing something cool is around the bend. Maybe a patch of wild blackberries or a swimming hole, but something good and happy.
That’s Jay in a nutshell, except he’s so much more than a single metaphor can hold.
“I don’t know how not to want something with you,” I answer.
For the first time, the tired lines around his mouth deepen into smile lines, and his eyes soften as he looks at me.
“I get that.”
A movement catches my eye, and I gasp. He looks alarmed until he follows the direction of my pointing finger to a small baby deer stepping out of the brush to nibble on the lawn, about fifty yards away.
“Haven’t seen him since the day you started here.” He keeps his voice low.
“It’s a boy?” I whisper even though it can’t possibly hear us.
He looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. I assumed. Maybe it’s a fawn. A doe? What do you call girl deer?”
I watch the sweet little thing tug at the grass, its white spots adorable on its reddish coat. I look around, trying to peer past the underbrush. “I think any baby deer is called a fawn. But look, that’s the mom over there.”
Jay squints and smiles when he spots the mother’s head watching from inside the brush line. “I see her.”
“Pretty sure females are does. And males are …” I squeeze myeyes shut, trying to come up with the word. “Stags? Is that right?”
“Hart?” Jay asks. “That’s also a name for a male deer. Why are there so many names for de?—”
He startles when I shoot off the bench, fumbling to pull my cell phone from the pocket of my slacks. It startles the fawn too, who darts back into the trees. I’m sorry to see it go, but this can’t wait.
“Hart. Another one. Yes, deer name.” I’m aware I’m barely making sense as I try to tap in a search, but Jay gives a small jolt, and I realize he gets it.
“Deer hart, like yours always, Dear Heart?” he asks, going for his phone too.
“Maybe?” I say, but it is. I know it is. “What are all the names for male deer? Okay, fawn for both. Stag, hart …” I’m scanning through the definition. “Buck.”
Jay stops what he’s doing. “Buck is a name for a man. A human man.”
My heart is racing. “Yes, yes, yes, it is. Is it a nickname, or …”
“William,” he says, scanning his screen. “Buck is a common nickname for William.”
I look from him to where the deer have disappeared and back. “Could the writer be Buck or William? Or maybe something like Buck Hart or William Hart?”
He’s off the bench and grabbing my hand, turning toward the house even before he answers. “Laptop.”
