Читать книгу Forget Me Not - Marion Ekholm - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

“HARRISON! WHAT ARE you doing here? Come in and relax.” She pulled at his red tie so it wasn’t so tight around his neck, something he’d never allow on the job. “Here in my house, the casual look fits perfectly. You fit perfectly.” She couldn’t stop smiling. He was handsome in his dark gray suit. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“I missed you.” He grabbed her hands then looked down at them. “Your hands are freezing.” He pulled her into a loving embrace and kissed her with a fervor she appreciated and rarely experienced from him.

Since they worked together and their company frowned on any fraternization between employees, they always maintained a proper working relationship. Even when they had total privacy, he never showed the same tendency to hug and give affection the way Trish did. Maybe their short separation had ignited some romantic flames. “Even your lips are cold. You been working outside?”

“No. It’s just that we don’t have heat.”

When he gave her his “I told you so” look, she slipped outside, still holding his hand. “Come on.” She hopped down the porch stairs and looked at the house. “What do you think?”

“So this is the relic?” Harrison stood, hands on hips, and looked at the house her great-grandfather had designed and built around the turn of the twentieth century. His son, her grandfather, had added his own imprint, making it a showpiece. “Wow. Is that what they call gingerbread?”

“I suppose some of it is. My grandfather liked to work with wood and—”

“It’s coming off, right? No one needs all that fancy trim nowadays, and a lot of it is just hanging there.”

“No, it’s not coming off.” Sure, some of the pieces had broken away, but Craig had assured her he could replace them.

Harrison raised his eyebrows. “You mean you won’t change any of this...” He swished his hand in an arc toward the house. “...this...”

Trish ground her teeth a moment before deciding to add her own comment. “Don’t say it. I mean it, Harrison. I love this place, and it’s important for me, so keep any negative opinions to yourself.”

Clamping his lips together, he nodded and placed an arm around her shoulders, pointing to the flag flipping around in the breeze. “Is that for something special?”

“Check out the neighborhood, Harrison.” Trish swung her arm around to take in all the houses on the street. “Everyone’s flying them because it’s Veterans Day.”

He shrugged but didn’t offer any other comment.

When she escorted him back inside, past the wide circular staircase and into the living room, she hoped to spark some enthusiasm for the old place. He remained unimpressed, but at least he didn’t offer more criticism. She warmed only slightly to another of his embraces. “What?” he asked. “I’m in the doghouse now for not jumping on your bandwagon?”

Trish sighed. How could she expect him to love this Victorian house when he had none of her memories? She cuddled against him and smiled when he pulled her back into his arms.

“You’re planning to spend a month here? I don’t see how it’s possible to fix all that needs to be done in that time.”

“I’ve hired a handyman. He’ll do most of the work.”

“How do you know he’s any good?” Harrison nuzzled her cheek. “I don’t want you to end up with more of a mess and possibly get cheated.”

Trish appreciated his concern. “It’s okay. I grew up with him, and he’s the best.”

“Good,” Harrison said, moving slightly away and brushing his hand through her hair. “Then you won’t have to stay here. My main concern has been you being so far away from—”

“Anyone hungry?”

Harrison and Trish jumped apart. Harrison was the first to recover. He strode toward the intruder, his fist clenched as though he planned to strike. “Who are you?”

“Right now I’m the cook. Lunch is served in the kitchen.” Craig made a quick pivot and disappeared into the hallway.

Trish grasped Harrison’s arm and felt the tension there. “That’s my handyman, Craig Cadman.”

“And he cooks?”

Trish patted his arm, hoping to relieve the unexpected hostility. “Not usually. Let’s go eat.”

* * *

SO THIS IS the fiancé, Craig thought as he returned to the kitchen.

Dave looked up from stirring the soup on the stove. “What was that? Is she okay?”

“Yeah.” He stopped speaking when Harrison and Trish walked in.

“I’d like you both to meet my fiancé, Harrison Morris.”

Craig offered his hand. “I’m Craig, the handyman.”

Dave came around, also extending his hand. “And I’m Dave, the antiques man.” He gave Craig a wink and went back to stirring the soup. “Do we have bowls for this?”

Trish picked up four of the china bowls she’d washed. “Do we have to use those?” Dave asked. “I thought I was buying them.”

Trish laughed and brought the bowls to the table. “They’ve gone through hundreds of meals over the past seventy-five years. I’ll wash them when we’re through, and as long as no one starts to juggle them, they should make it without any problem.” After opening several drawers, she placed napkins and spoons by the bowls.

Dave sighed, then went back for the pot of soup.

“What’s this?” Harrison thrust his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I planned on taking you out for lunch. And instead we’re settling for soup in a freezing kitchen.” He managed a convincing shiver and paused before adding, “With the help.” A moment later Harrison started laughing. “Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I’m sorry, guys. I just never expected...” He offered Trish a chair before taking one himself. “Let’s just do it. I took an extended lunch hour, and I need to get back to the city.”

Craig brought the grilled sandwiches to the table while Dave dished out the soup. At any moment Craig expected his crew to return. And he didn’t want an interruption, not when he had an opportunity to observe Harrison. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Craig, Harrison had trimmed dark hair that hadn’t started to thin, even though he was older than everyone else at the table. He looked as though he worked out, probably in some office gym.

What did Trish see in him? Was he the right one for her?

Craig reached for his sandwich and let old memories wash over him. “Remember when we sat in this kitchen, eating our favorite meal with your grandmother’s cookies baking in the oven?”

Trish grinned and pointed to her mouthful. She swallowed before adding, “Yes. Dozens of times.” She glanced at Harrison before concentrating on her sandwich again. He looked miffed.

Craig decided continuing down memory lane might not be the best idea. But Trish did remember. Was she experiencing the same nostalgia? Was the same knot tying up her insides?

He put down the sandwich, not able to deal with what was lost and could never be.

* * *

“SO, WHAT DO you think this secretary is worth?” Trish asked Dave.

He started to reply, but Harrison came over and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from Dave. “When I come here in the future, I’ll expect one of your home-cooked specialties.” He gave Craig a look that could only mean the meal he’d just consumed wasn’t up to par. “Really sorry I’ll be missing out on Thanksgiving.”

Did Trish know how to cook? She used to help her grandmother, but back then they were always happy with nothing fancier than a plate of cookies. Craig turned his attention back to the secretary. What would he do if Dave discovered the note? What would Harrison do? Laugh himself inside out?

“I’m sorry you’ll miss it, too.” She and Harrison embraced only a few feet away from him. Did Harrison really have to act so touchy-feely in front of everyone? And did Trish have to enjoy it so much?

“You’ll only have one day to help me paint?” Trish looked away, and Craig saw the hurt in her eyes. The rat.

“Right. I’m taking all of that Sunday off. We can get most of it done then.”

Sure. One day of painting and they’d be lucky to complete one room out of the half dozen that needed work. Didn’t the guy know anything about how long it took to mix the paint, put up tape, cover the walls, trim the woodwork and clean up afterward?

Harrison kissed her again on the cheek, and Craig considered bashing him in the head with one of the antique ornate brass lamps. As much as he wanted to know more about the secretary, Craig felt like leaving.

“Don’t your parents live in Chicago?” Trish asked. “Will you be joining them for Thanksgiving?”

“I may stop by, but it wouldn’t have much meaning if I can’t bring my fiancée.” Another embrace. At least her response was less than enthusiastic this time around. Was it the subject matter? Why wasn’t he taking her there to meet his family?

Trish managed to slip from under Harrison’s possessive arm and walked closer to Dave to re-ask her question. “So, what do you think, Dave? What kind of price can I get for the secretary?”

“Could one of you help me move it away from the wall? I’d like to see if there’s any signature or an indication of who might have made this. Do you have the history on this, Trish? Where it came from?” Craig moved over to the opposite side and helped swivel the large piece around to expose the back. Trish joined him.

“It’s always been here. I think Gram mentioned once her grandfather bought it for his wife as an anniversary gift. In fact, most of the items in the house were purchased by her father’s parents or grandparents. Gram didn’t see the point in replacing anything with a newer model unless the old one no longer served the purpose.” Trish chuckled. “She did upgrade to a flat-screen TV, though.”

“Oh, my!” Dave traced his finger on a faded mark while everyone else came over to see what had intrigued him. “This WW is from Willard Williams, a cabinetmaker back in the early eighteenth century. What a find! I’ll have to do a little more research, but we’re talking thousands. Especially since it’s in pristine condition.”

Thousands! Craig caught his breath and wondered how he’d ever come up with that much money for something that served no practical purpose.

Harrison again embraced Trish. Dollar signs must be floating in his head. Can’t she see where his interest lies?

Dave came around to the front and pulled down the writing section. “Yes, this is definitely Willard’s. See all the carved leaves and flowers on the drawers? And if I remember... Yes, the one with an animal opens...” Dave reached for the tiny carved squirrel and tried twisting and turning the decoration. Nothing happened.

To Craig’s total relief. Sweat trickled down his back. Had the heat kicked in? He searched for any excuse to leave. “I think the crew has returned. I’d better get back to work.”

“Thanks for lunch,” Trish said.

“You provided the ingredients. Dave and I merely threw them together.”

She reached for his arm. “I’ll walk you out.” When she disentangled herself from Harrison, he gave Craig a fish-eyed glare but didn’t join them.

“The meal brought back great memories, Trish. Thank you.”

“And it tasted just as good as when Gram served it.” Trish chuckled. “I don’t think Harrison appreciated it much.”

“How could he? It’s only special to us.” Craig reached in his pocket and pulled out her key. “I didn’t get a chance to put it back.”

She took it from him, gripping his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Her fingers felt cold in his.

“You might not want to keep it in such an obvious place. Especially if what Dave said is true. Your antiques have some great value.” He held on to the old-fashioned metal a moment longer while he thought about it.

“Yeah, what a surprise.” Trish removed the key from his hand. “I’ll find a better hiding place.”

“You know, you really need these locks upgraded to dead bolts.”

“But this works well.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.”

Surprised that she’d be affectionate in front of Harrison, Craig turned toward her just as Harrison came over and placed an arm around her shoulders. As he pulled her out of Craig’s reach, he said, “He’s right. Dead bolts are a must.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“You do that. Nice meeting you,” Harrison said, but his expression didn’t reflect any pleasure.

“Same here.” Craig gave the lie back, not adding any warmth in his reply.

* * *

DAVE WENT THROUGH each room, scribbling notes in a small loose-leaf notebook. Occasionally he took pictures, and he appeared extremely pleased at each new encounter. Although the upstairs bathrooms held no treasures, Dave said that claw-foot tubs were a real find. In one bathroom, he kicked at the linoleum that had begun to curl against the wall before he dropped to one knee and held on to the tub’s rim.

“These tubs are magnificent.” He examined it thoroughly both inside and out. “I rarely see so many beautiful details in an old house like this that haven’t fallen into decay.”

“Can I get a good price for the tubs?”

Dave straightened. “Is it true you plan to sell the house?”

Trish glanced at Harrison. “Well, yes.”

“Then I suggest you leave the tubs. You’ll fetch a much higher price.”

Harrison chortled. “Really?” He leaned over and pulled on the linoleum, managing to rip off a good chunk of it. “How much will this add to the value?” After showing the curling piece to Dave, he tossed it into the tub. “Who buys this kind of stuff?”

“I would.” Dave stood straighter. “In fact, I’ve been giving it more thought. Craig said he’s keeping the building’s integrity intact. I particularly like that he’s not removing the gingerbread. Yes, I’m definitely considering it.” He turned to Trish. “Do you have any other buyers in mind?”

Before Trish could say no, Harrison took over the conversation. “We’re looking into all possible avenues. And we’ll certainly consider any offers.” He wrapped an arm around Trish’s shoulders and drew her close. “Right, honey?”

Dave beamed. “Good. I’ll talk to my uncle and see what he thinks.”

* * *

BY THE TIME Harrison was ready to leave in his gold Lexus, the nail drivers had started again on the roof. “How can you stand the noise?” Harrison held her hands and pressed his lips against them. “I’ll be back early Sunday in my jeans and some old sneakers so we can get going on the painting. I hope the heat will be back on so we can work in some form of comfort.”

“It will be. Craig will...”

“I don’t know about this Craig. Is he really competent?” Harrison glanced at the roof. “He seems awfully young.”

“He is, but I’d trust him with any project. He was trained by the best.”

Harrison’s expression hardened. “I’d prefer you didn’t stay here. It’s not safe. Especially with those locks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I grew up here and know almost everyone in town. Besides, the police department and fire department are just down the block. This is a hundred times safer than either of our apartments back in the city.” She waited a moment before adding, “So, you’re really looking forward to transferring to California?”

Harrison placed his fingers against her mouth. “Let’s not talk about it before I go. I don’t want to jeopardize my chances.”

Harrison wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and nearly squeezing all the air out of her lungs. She pushed away to be able to breathe. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Training sessions. They’ll take about ten days. Sorry I’ll miss Thanksgiving, but I’ll get a turkey sandwich and wish I was with you.” He kissed her, one of those passionate kisses that promised so much more. He started to laugh as he pulled away. “Hey, you could be doing training sessions now that you’re taking that new position. I told you the job had its perks.”

Trish watched Harrison leave, waving until he disappeared down the street. How nice of him to take time away from his busy schedule just to see her. She thought about the possibilities of her new job. An office of her own. A pay increase. Travel. For some reason she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. Nor did she want to think of the ramifications of moving to California.

Now that she had returned to Riverbend, she realized this house, this neighborhood and the people she knew intimately were still important to her. Her heart felt ready to burst with affection.

She turned as Marty Cassidy drove his truck into her driveway. “Marty,” she called as she walked to the driver’s side. His door opened and he dropped to the ground, his flaming hair still as untamed as she remembered from high school. She transferred the passion she’d just felt for her hometown onto him with a warm hug and ran her hand through his unruly locks. “You look exactly the same.” She pulled away. “Except for a few extra pounds.”

“What can I say? My wife’s a great cook.”

Someone nudged Trish’s back, and she turned to see Craig reach past her. “Glad you could make it today.”

The two men shook hands. “Yeah, I know the pipes are about to explode.”

“So who did you marry, Marty? Anyone I know?”

“Mary Ellen Sinclair.” He grinned and Trish nodded, remembering Mary Ellen from their high school classes. “And we have three girls. Triplets.”

Trish grinned. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be blessed with three girls? “You planning on any more?”

“No, just the triplets for now. Mary Ellen said we wait till these three are out of diapers.” Marty turned to Craig. “So how many kids are you and Cyndi planning to have?”

Craig exhaled in a puff. “Zero.”

Trish waited for an explanation while Marty dived right in with a question. “What do you mean? No children or no Cyndi?” Marty began unloading the hose from the truck.

“You know, Marty, I always knew there was something about you I didn’t like. Maybe it’s the hair.” Craig made an abrupt turn. “While you pump the oil, I’ll go check on the furnace and make sure it’s ready to function.”

“Whew. What’s got his dander up?” They both watched Craig’s determined stride into the house.

“I haven’t a clue,” she said barely above a whisper.

“So, Trish, you planning on staying here, living in your grandmother’s old house?”

They continued to talk while Marty filled the oil tank. “You’ve got to come by and see Mary Ellen and the girls.”

“I’d love to.”

“And what’s up with Craig? Hostile. I only asked about Cyndi because everyone knows they’re dating.”

“I’ll ask him.”

When he was through, Trish went into the house to find Craig. She followed the banging noises coming from the basement. “This should work. It’s primed.” He stood, brushing off his hands. “Why don’t you stop by and see my mother? She was asking about you. The furnace will take an hour or two before it warms the whole house. I noticed before your hands were freezing.”

He reached over and grasped her hands again. His felt decidedly warm and comforting. “What did you mean before?” she asked.

“Before what?” They started up the stairs.

“About zero kids. Does Cyndi feel the same way?”

When they reached the hall, Craig stopped to feel the register. “This won’t warm up until the water flowing through it is heated.”

Trish pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Why wouldn’t you want kids? When you talked about your brother...”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Trish, my brother doesn’t have a father. Dad didn’t even reach fifty, and heart conditions run in my family. I’m not bringing children into this world if I might not see my own son through college or dance at my daughter’s wedding.”

“What about Cyndi? How does she feel about this?”

“The subject hasn’t come up.”

“Well, it should if you’re planning to get married.”

“Who said we’re getting married?”

“Didn’t you say...?”

“We’ve dated. Nothing more than that. And I can’t help it if some of our nosy classmates come up with their own interpretation.” He maneuvered past her. “I’d better get back on the roof and see how things are going up there.”

Trish watched him, feeling a terrible ache. What if her parents had decided not to have children? She had often felt unwanted, as though she interfered with their lifestyle. They rarely took vacations as a family. Her parents liked adult entertainment—a trip to Las Vegas, a cruise to the Caribbean. Most of the time she was dropped off with her grandmother whenever her parents went on a trip. The few times they did go as a family, it often included Craig’s parents.

Not that Trish had any regrets. She camped, hiked and played with Craig and his parents, so she knew firsthand what a family should be like.

She and Harrison planned to have many children, something they’d talked about at great length when he proposed. She’d raise them differently from how she’d grown up.

No sending her children off for someone else to care for. She’d play with her kids, get involved in their lives and help them with their homework, something her parents never did. Homework was done at Gram’s, usually with Craig’s help. Her father didn’t get involved in any physical recreation, but Craig’s dad often participated in softball or went for bike rides. All the things she couldn’t get her own parents to join in. Now they roamed the country “playing” in their RV.

Maybe Craig had a point: don’t have kids if you really don’t want them. Trish planned to be a stay-at-home mom, and Harrison had agreed. Thank goodness they were both on the same page.