Читать книгу A Boy To Remember - Cynthia Thomason, Cynthia Thomason - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

AT SIXTY-FOUR, Martin Foster knew he could retire. He’d been healing hearts for decades. He’d saved many lives and lost very few. He paused to consider the vow he’d made when he’d first become a doctor. That the ones he’d lost would always remain in his memory.

Yes, he could retire, maintain his lifestyle, help his daughters if they needed him and continue the care his Maggie so desperately needed. But he liked being a doctor. He was good at it, so he decided to practice for two more years and retire when he was sixty-six.

He worked five days a week and rested on the weekends. He loved his Saturdays. He could play golf in the summer, take his grandson, Wesley, to a ball game or do what he was doing this particular Saturday morning, sitting on his back patio with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. Ah, bliss...

Until a knock at his front door disturbed his solitude. Rosie had taken the day off. Alex and Lizzie were out shopping, and Maggie’s nurse never left her bedside. So that meant there was no one to see who it was but him.

He folded the newspaper with a gentle curse and went to the door. He opened it to a petite woman he couldn’t remember ever seeing before. She had a soft cotton rope in her hand. On the other end of the rope was none other than Mutt. Behind the woman, parked in his circular drive, was a rusty red pickup truck at least half as old as he was.

“Ah, hello,” Martin said, his attention switching from the woman to the dog.

“Hello. I won’t take up much of your time,” the woman said. Her voice was stronger than he would have expected from a lady no taller than five feet three inches. Maybe her attire should have clued him in to an inner strength. Her blue jeans were loose-fitting and practical. The sleeveless plaid shirt tucked into the jeans was frayed at the shoulders. One of those trendy outfitter labels over the pocket indicated she might have once paid a pretty penny for her clothes, but nature and a washing machine had taken their toll.

“No problem,” he said. “I believe you have my daughter’s dog.”

“Good. I was hoping he came from this direction. I don’t have a lot of time to track down a stray dog’s owners.”

“I assure you, he’s not a stray,” Martin said.

Since Mutt was pulling on the rope, trying to get to Martin, the lady removed the makeshift collar from around his neck. Mutt immediately lifted his front paws to Martin’s Dockers and nuzzled a large furry head into Martin’s chest.

“This fella still has a lot to learn about manners,” Martin teased. “But I’d say he’s glad to be home.”

“He has a lot to learn about boundaries, too,” the woman said. “Or at least his owners do.”

“I beg your pardon?” Was the woman indicating that Mutt had somehow run off and was wandering the roads? He’d never done that before. At least Jude had never complained that he had. Good grief, the canine had at least fifteen acres to satisfy his desire to sniff.

“He came onto my property, right into my backyard. I had my parrot in the screened room, and Bully started up such a ruckus, I thought a gorilla was trying to get to him.”

Anticipating where this was going, Martin reached for his wallet. Perhaps the parrot had had a stroke and Martin would have to pay a vet bill. Or, if he was lucky, he’d only have to reimburse this woman for a torn screen. “Were there any damages?”

“I don’t want your money,” the woman said, scowling at his wallet. “I want you to control your animal.”

Martin slipped the wallet back into his pocket. “Understandable. I apologize for any inconvenience. It’s not like Mutt to run off.”

The woman almost smiled but stopped herself in time. “That’s his name? Mutt?”

“That’s what my daughter called him when she rescued him. It stuck.”

“He’s not, you know.”

“Not what?”

“A mutt.”

“Yes. I’ve heard he’s some sort of mountain dog, and believe me when I tell you I’ve never known him to attack birds at sea level.”

“He’s a Bernese,” she said. “A valuable animal, which is another reason to watch him more closely. Dognapping is a serious problem, you know.”

He didn’t. “I’ll do that, or at least have my daughter pay more attention.” Martin snapped his fingers to bring Mutt all the way into the house, and put out his hand. “My name is Martin Foster. I don’t think we’ve met before.” He would have remembered that haphazardly cut auburn hair with streaks of gray that didn’t age her in the least, but were somehow appealing as a framework for her blue eyes and animated face.

“Just moved in a week ago.” She shook his hand. “I’m Aurora Spindell.”

“Aurora. A lovely name.” Now he remembered. Several months ago his neighbor to the west had put his large home on the market and moved to Florida. The place had stood empty since then, which explained why Martin never gave it much thought. So, it finally sold. But probably not for the enormous price tag Jamison wanted. “You’re in the Jamison house, right?”

“I am. It’s the Spindell house now.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

A strong breeze blew strands of hair across her face. She gathered the whole patchwork mess of it into a bun thing and wrapped it in some sort of elastic band she pulled from her wrist. For some reason Martin was fascinated with her practiced movements. In two seconds the hair was bound, leaving only a few wispy strands over her forehead.

“I want to be a good neighbor,” she said. “But I can’t have a big dog like this coming into my yard. I’ll be having guests starting in about a month, and a dog this size can be intimidating.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You might have to do better than that,” she said. “Obviously, your best so far has been to allow your animal to traipse wherever he wants.”

The criticism made Martin back up a step. “Now, just a minute, Aurora... I may call you Aurora?”

“Makes sense. That’s my name.”

“Yes, of course. Please call me Martin. My family and I weren’t aware of any problems with Mutt. But now that we are, we’ll be more vigilant. I appreciate your bringing him home.”

“Thank you. That concludes my business, then. By the way, I don’t believe in creatures being tied up. It’s not natural. But you might consider mending your fence. Your dog obviously knows his way through the holes.” With that, she strode back to her truck, climbed inside with ease and sped around his drive.

Martin had thought about repairing the fence around Jude’s space before. Now, as he watched Aurora Spindell leave, he guessed he’d have to do it. But he couldn’t help wondering what guests she would be having. So far, her clothes, her frank way of speaking, her beat-up truck were the only clues he had. Was she a throwback to the hippie era and starting some kind of commune? Did she have a large, raucous family? Was the neighborhood going to seed?

He only had to wait until Monday to find out. When he went into city hall to pick up a permit to add more fencing to his property, he ran into Aurora. He was tempted to avoid her and not admit that he was acquiescing to her demand, but instead, he waved the paperwork in front of her face.

“You know the old saying, Martin. Good fences make good neighbors.” She smiled. “Sound advice then. Still is.”

“Seems wanting to me. What about a few other qualifications,” Martin said. “Like civility.”

“Here’s your permit, Ms. Spindell,” the clerk at the counter said. “Best of luck to you.”

Martin couldn’t resist taking a quick look as the paper was passed across the counter. It read “Aurora’s Attic, an authentic English bed-and-breakfast.”

He left shaking his head. How was that little ball of fire going to pull off a pinkie-raising tea party?

* * *

BY WEDNESDAY NIGHT at dinnertime, the existing fence had been repaired and stakes laid out for new sections, and Jude had been properly warned about keeping an eye on her dog.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Jude said, taking a large helping of Rosie’s stew. “Mutt wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

Martin frowned, though he agreed. Mutt was a tongue-lapping, lap-climbing canine, whose only interest was pleasing everyone in Fox Creek. “You and I may know that, but our new neighbor thinks he could seriously damage the peace and calm of a certain parrot.”

Alex laughed. “Mutt versus a parrot. That I’d like to see. Something tells me the bird would come away unharmed, and Mutt would be covered in bites.”

Lizzie darted a glance underneath the table. “Shh, he’ll hear you, and all this talk might hurt his self-esteem. He thinks he’s a miniature grizzly.”

They talked a bit more about the mysterious lady who’d moved into the Jamison house and intended to open a bed-and-breakfast. Alex noted that she’d seen workmen at the location. Jude mentioned seeing landscapers on the lawn. Martin was silent. Alex wondered what was going on in her father’s head. He’d brought up the subject of Aurora Spindell a few times in the past four days. Strange behavior for a man who was dedicated to three things in his life—his practice, his family and his ailing wife.

“I think I saw her at the feed store yesterday,” Jude said.

Martin leaned forward in his chair. “Really? What was she buying?”

“Bales of hay,” Jude said.

“Why would she want hay?” Martin asked.

Jude shrugged. “And now that I think about it, she also bought birdseed.”

“That’s for her parrot,” Wesley said, obviously proud of his powers of deduction.

“You know, I’ll bet you’ve got something there,” Martin said.

Conversation switched from Aurora to Lizzie’s rehearsals. As usual, she praised her mentor, Daniel Chandler. And as usual, Alex refrained from joining the praise fest.

“He offered to take Mom and me for ice cream,” Lizzie said. “Mom wouldn’t go.”

Jude dropped her fork on her plate. “Really, Allie-belle? From what I remember of his campaign posters, he was ice creamy delicious-looking.”

“That’s what I told her,” Lizzie said. “I said he was just being friendly and maybe even a little bit interested in her.”

Alex did a quick mental count to ten before speaking. No one at this table needed to know that she agreed about Daniel’s looks. Or that he’d asked her on a date. “I didn’t come home to find a man,” she said. “And in case anyone has forgotten, I’m just getting over a very stressful time.”

“No one has forgotten, honey,” Martin said. “You take all the time you need. Just thought I’d remind you that I voted for Daniel.”

What was this? Another spokesperson for the Daniel Chandler fan club. “So I heard,” she snapped back.

“And no one accused you of looking for a man,” Jude said. “But if one as dreamy as Daniel lands at your feet, I’d think you’d at least take notice.”

She was planning a retort when Rosie came into the dining room. “A phone call for you, Alex. Shall I tell him to call back?”

“Him?” Jude said.

Alex sent her a scathing look. “No, Rosie, thank you. I’ll take the call.” She appreciated an excuse to get away from all these well-meaning, interfering people!

She went into her father’s study and picked up the receiver. “This is Alex.”

“Hi, Alex. Daniel Chandler.”

She blushed just thinking about how they had all been discussing him only moments before.

She gripped the phone tightly. “What can I do for you, Daniel?”

“I’m calling with an invitation,” he said. “But I thought it only fair to give you a heads-up since this concerns Lizzie.”

“Lizzie? You’re inviting my daughter somewhere?” She instantly began to come up with reasons why she wouldn’t allow such a thing. “Daniel, I don’t think...”

“No, no. You misunderstand, Alex. I’m not inviting Lizzie to go somewhere just the two of us. I have tickets to Les Mis at the Cleveland Auditorium. I thought Lizzie would enjoy it.”

“Well, yes, but still...”

“Alex, let me finish. I have three tickets. I’m inviting both of you to go along with me. The performance is Friday night. It’s the perfect break for all of us who have been working at the Red Barn. What do you say? I can pick you ladies up at Dancing Falls.”

The three of them out on the town together? It was unthinkable. Alex couldn’t allow it. They would be attending the theater almost like a family... Alex concentrated on drawing a deep breath so that her next words wouldn’t come out sounding rushed and panicky.

“Alex? You there?”

“Yes, I’m here. It’s a nice idea, Daniel, but I’m afraid we can’t make it Friday night. We have plans.” Her brain scrambled to come up with a reasonable excuse if he asked.