Brenda Novak - Right Where We Belong

“How much will it cost?”

“Nothing for my labor. I don’t mind helping out. So...whatever the lumber and other supplies will be. You’ll need to get an actual building contractor for the permanent structure, though.”

She sighed.

He dipped his head to get her to look at him again. “I’m Gavin Turner, by the way.”

“I’m Savanna. This is Branson and Alia.”

She didn’t offer a last name, but he didn’t press her. “Happy to meet you. I’ve lived here for fifteen years and have never hurt a soul. You have no reason to be afraid of me.” He didn’t mention what he’d done before that. Some things were better left unsaid.

“I’m not sure you’d tell me if you were an ax murderer, but...okay,” she said, and her kids scrambled out before she could change her mind.

* * *

Savanna watched Gavin carefully. He wasn’t overly large or imposing. Maybe five-eleven to six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and big hands but a thin frame and wore his dark hair in a man bun with a closely trimmed beard and mustache. To her, he looked like an artist or a musician—or maybe just a vegetarian (not that she’d known many of those in Nephi). Gordon had hated men who looked like Gavin, had made fun of their “hippie lifestyle,” especially if they had tattoos, and Gavin had plenty of those. Ink covered one whole arm—a big saxophone, a guitar and musical notes as well as the detailed face of some singer.

Savanna knew if the man she’d married could be dangerous, anyone could. But Gavin’s face was so delicately sculpted, and he had such kind eyes—big and brown with a thick fringe of lashes—that it was difficult to be afraid of him. Even if he hadn’t given her the impression that he was a pacifist, his gentle manner would’ve put her at ease. He’d been teasing the kids since they came in. The way he interacted with them reminded her of her father, which made her think she was being paranoid to be so cautious of him.

Evil people weren’t funny, were they?

Not in her experience. Gordon had never had much of a sense of humor...

“Sprite—or Pepsi?” Gavin turned his attention to her after he finally let Alia wrangle her soda out of his grasp.

Savanna shook her head. “Neither, thanks.” Her stomach had been churning all day. It was anxiety and not true illness, but she didn’t see any point in exacerbating the problem by drinking loads of sugar and carbon dioxide.

“What about a beer?”

“No.”

“Some water, then?”

“That’d be nice.”

He poured a glass from a chilled pitcher in the fridge. When he brought it over, she couldn’t help thinking—once again—about how quickly Gordon would’ve judged her new neighbor based solely on his looks. And yet it was all-American, wrestling-champion Gordon with the stocky build, lantern jaw, green eyes and short blond hair who’d been a danger to society. She’d seen the crime scene photos—the way he’d battered his victims before and during each sexual assault. The detective had shown them to her, trying to upset her and shake her faith so that she’d talk more freely about him.

Gavin popped open a beer and took a long pull. “So...what brings you to California?”

When he glanced at her left hand, she realized he was checking for a wedding ring. Because she’d shown up out of the blue, and hadn’t given him much of an explanation, he was trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing in Silver Springs alone with two children, trying to move into an old, dilapidated house. “I’m no longer married,” she said, even though it wasn’t the answer to the question he’d voiced.

He didn’t act surprised that she’d correctly interpreted his thoughts. “Is that new?”

“Yes.” The divorce wasn’t final, but she didn’t care to go into the details. She didn’t consider herself married anymore; that was the salient part. Gordon had refused to sign the papers, was trying to convince her that he still loved her and was wrongly accused, but her attorney insisted that once he was convicted, especially of such heinous crimes, he wouldn’t be able to waylay the process any longer. The law would then be entirely on her side. “I’m starting over.”

“Do you plan on living next door for any length of time?”

“At least a year. I’m a half owner, remember? I figure I might as well take advantage of that. Why pay rent?”

He looked pained when he said, “I see the logic. But how much did your father tell you about the condition of the place?”

“I know it’s not in good shape. Fixer-uppers rarely are.”

“I doubt this one’s even livable.”

“That’s okay. I’m here to make it livable.”

“Then you have some experience with renovating?”

She took a drink of water. “No, but there’s a tutorial for everything on YouTube these days.”

When he laughed, she couldn’t help smiling. She liked that he immediately knew she was joking. Gordon would’ve freaked out and set her straight on how difficult restoring a house would be. He’d always taken everything so literally. “Maybe there’s a video on how to back a twenty-foot trailer down a narrow country road in the dark,” he said, and opened his laptop. “Should we check?”

“Why not? Might save you the trip into town,” she replied, but she could tell he wasn’t serious, either.

“I don’t mind dropping you off.” He called up his browser and typed in “The Mission Inn, Silver Springs, CA.”

“What’d you do for a living in Utah?” he asked while a list of links began to appear.

“I was an administrative assistant in an insurance office.” She considered adding what Gordon had done to contribute—no way could they have survived on her income alone—but bit her tongue. The less she said about him, the better.

“Oh, an administrative assistant. I should’ve guessed,” he said.

“Guessed?” she echoed.

“Office work. Contracting. It’s the same thing.”

It was her turn to laugh. “What about you? What do you do for a living?” She gestured toward the guitar he’d carried in when he let them into his house. “Or does this give it away?”

“I write and sing, gig now and then. But I also have a day job.”

“Doing...”

After he clicked on the website for the Mission Inn, he keyed the phone number into his cell. “Maintenance and repair at New Horizons Boys Ranch.”

“You don’t mean ‘ranch’ as in ‘ranch,’ right? You’re talking about one of those boarding schools for teenage boys who act out?”

“Yeah. We take in troubled kids. Quite a few have been through some traumatic—” he seemed about to say “shit” but substituted as he glanced at her children “—stuff. Others are just angry. Or narcissistic. Or both.”

“They have boys ranches in Utah, too. My husband—my ex-husband now—was shipped off to one for a year.” She lowered her voice so that Branson and Alia, who were trading sips of their sodas, wouldn’t be likely to catch what she said. “I should’ve taken that as the warning sign it was and stayed away from him.”

Her neighbor’s smile disappeared. “I graduated from New Horizons.”

She felt her face begin to burn. Why had she said that? She’d decided not to talk about Gordon, not to drag all that negativity to this new location with her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean... Well, everyone’s different. No two stories are the same.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but from that moment on he was all business. He helped her get a room for a hundred dollars per night and delivered her, Branson and Alia to town.

“Thanks for your help,” she said as they got out of his truck.

“No problem.”

She wished there was something she could say to cover for her earlier gaffe. She’d been tired and frustrated that she couldn’t get through to the house after making such a long drive, or she would’ve been more careful with her words. But he’d indicated he worked at New Horizons. She’d assumed he’d understand how conflicted, even dangerous, some of the boys who went to those places could be. She’d never expected him to say he’d been on the other side, as well.