Summertime Dream (13 page)

“I’m so glad. It feels like a home.”

“I really think you should take a look at the one-bedroom unit with the cute little loft space. With Baxter working so many crazy hours, he’s happy being near the hospital and not worrying about a yard and everything. My commute’s longer, but now I have an excuse to feed my reading addiction and buy more audio books.” Debi grinned. “Sooo, now, enough about me. What’s new with you? I hear you’ve been spending tons of time with Christopher.”

“I’ve just been helping him out at the house. I started writing a new mystery. I’m very excited about the idea. Being inside the Falk house really sparked the whole thing.”

“Great, I can’t wait to read it. But you’re stalling. Tell me everything. You like him.”

“Of course, he’s a nice guy. I like helping, and he needs a friend here, and the house is a bit of an overwhelming mess—”

“I mean you
really
like
him.”

Margie squirmed and took a long sip of wine. “Even if I did, he’s leaving, he’s a lot older...”

“Forget older. Forget everything else. Truth time. Do you like him or not?”

“Yes, I really like Christopher.” To Margie’s surprise, relief bloomed at her admission.

“There. Was that so hard? It really is okay to say what you like and want, you know.” Debi topped off Margie’s wine glass. “So, spill it, what else?”

“What else is there? I like him and he’s leaving Sunday.” Margie toyed with the celery stick and dip on her plate. “What do you think of him?”

“I like him. I think he’s good for you. I like that he’s quiet without being boring. He has manners, and he sounds settled and secure in his career. I really, really like the smiles he’s put on your face. I’ve been biting my tongue for so long after Eddie...well, after Eddie. And, so far, Christopher’s not an Eddie.”

“You liked Eddie, too.”

“Of course I liked him! We all did. We grew up together. We thought we knew everything about each other. Honey, I would have told you if I thought something was wrong. I never saw it coming. None of us saw Eddie had an extra idiot gene.”

“I kissed him. Christopher.” Margie’s cheeks flamed. Maybe she could blame the wine for that blurt.

“Awesome! Was it good?”

Oh, yes.
She
took another sip of wine for courage and looked Debi in the eye. “I kissed Christopher, on the Fourth. On purpose.”

Debi’s eyes widened. “You? Who are you and what have you done with my Margie?” Then she cracked up into laughter. “I am so proud of you! You told off your brother and kissed a new guy all on the same day? Holy cow. I should have bought us champagne tonight!”

And don’t forget that insanely hot making out on the porch.

Heat raced over Margie. Really crazy. Debi and she might have shared just about everything in the past, but admit how close she’d come to totally losing her mind? She’d never had that crazy spontaneous combustion with Eddie. If Joe hadn’t come by or had come by fifteen minutes later...Interesting wasn’t even close to the right description.

“I’m just so delighted to see you interested in a guy again. I know you weren’t keen on the dates Baxter and I set you up on.”

“No, I understood what you were trying to do. Getting out did me good, and they were always nice guys. Eddie breaking things off didn’t leave me hating men or anything.” Those casual double dates had been easy, a safe substitute for real dates, and she’d mostly enjoyed them, even if she’d been unprepared for any of them going further than meeting. Yes, Eddie’s betrayal still ached and stung, and left her pride battered, but she was practical enough to recognize she had to let go and move on. Running into him these days was only hard because of all the good memories. She greatly missed the boy she’d loved. She didn’t miss the man he’d become.

But, yes, she had qualms about things going further than kisses. She hadn’t told Debi everything that happened with Eddie at the hospital the day her engagement fell apart and her heart broke in a way her surgeon couldn’t repair.

“I have to confess something.” Debi shrugged with a grin. “I’m completely and selfishly happy Eddie didn’t take you away to Dallas. I would have missed you something awful. Being one town away is weird enough.”

“I would have missed you, too.” A flood of emotions loosened by wine shoved out her own confession. “I didn’t want to go.”

Debi sat straight. “Whoa. Really? You seemed so excited about the move.”

“I tried to let Eddie’s excitement be my excitement. I assumed once we were married and settled I’d enjoy being there because I’d be there with him. There’s so much to do and explore...Truth was, I hated every trip we made there. I hated every apartment and condo we looked at and he wouldn’t even consider checking out the houses I wanted to see. He thrived on all the city action. I just...was anxious and drained. I dreaded moving.”

“I’m sorry, I never knew that, wow...But you were getting sick, too.”

“That definitely didn’t help. I should have gone to the doctor back then, like you said.”

“We
all
thought it was just exhaustion and pre-wedding nerves and stress over Joe and Stephanie. Last year was an insane year. Hey, you were helping me with my wedding and house hunting
and
your wedding, house hunting, job hunting, and working at the restaurant, and writing
and
trying to help Stephanie and Joe. Insane, totally insane.”

Would this ache for them ever ease? “I emailed her. I haven’t heard back. It’s just so wrong. Joe’s miserable, and yet he hasn’t made the least effort to fix things and reconcile with Stephanie or call it quits and divorce.” She wanted to shake them both.

“I think all we can do is keep letting her know we’re here for her, when she’s ready.”

“I just wish I knew what happened. Joe still won’t say more than the split is his fault. I refuse to believe he was unfaithful or Stephanie either. And they were like zombies until Stephanie tossed him out. Now he’s an angry workaholic zombie and Stephanie...The whole mess is so wrong.”

“You pulled through. We have to believe they will too.”

Margie stroked a finger over the etched design on her empty glass. “One thing I learned from all that upset with Eddie is I’m a small town girl, through and through. A city is interesting to visit, but my roots are planted too deep here in my small town life.”

“And Christopher lives in Los Angeles.”

Margie slumped in her seat. “Yet another reason I should never have kissed him. Even if I wanted more with him, in the end it would never work.”

But, oh, she did want more.

“Don’t you go having regrets! I told you, he’s good for you. So, never say never. I swore up and down in high school I wouldn’t give Baxter the time of day, remember? Now look at me.”

Giggles burst from Margie. “You two were fighting being crazy about each other so hard.”

“I admit to being crazy. I plead the Fifth on everything else. Now, back to you. I want you to stop worrying and simply enjoy every minute with Christopher while he’s here. Just because he’s leaving doesn’t mean your friendship is over.”

“I’m glad I met Christopher. I like being friends with him. I’ve enjoyed every minute of working on the house with him. But, kisses notwithstanding, in the end, friends is all that this country mouse can be with a city mouse like Christopher.” And she would miss him far more than she wanted to admit when he left Sunday. “Let’s get that pizza ordered.”

****

After Margie left for her girls’ night out, Christopher headed upstairs to the third floor, grabbing his gloves, heavy duty flashlight, and a dust mask on the way, intending to pitch as many loads of trash as he could and burn off some frustration. Margie would say he was going off the plan, starting on the third floor before finishing the first floor, but he had the idea of tackling the bat room so she wouldn’t worry about encountering the furry little bug-eaters.

So much junk crammed the dark room, he could barely open the door halfway. Broken chairs, lamps, boxes, stained rolled rugs, empty jars, and seriously expired cans of soup. Crap upon crap. And bat crap, of course, on top of all the junk. A gaping hole between the exposed lath in the plaster ceiling was the likely entry point for the bats. Nothing stirred as he swept the flashlight beam around, so either they’d moved out or lurked tucked up in whatever rafter space existed above the ceiling. He cleared the door’s path, grabbed the first splintered chair and a bent lamp, and headed downstairs.

By the time he’d emptied the hot, filthy room down to the furniture, his back, legs, and arms were aching and he was drenched with sweat. But he now had the curtains pulled open, the stained, yellowed shades rolled up, and the windows all pried open for flooding sunlight and a welcome breeze. A wardrobe pushed up against the connecting door to the bathroom explained why they’d been unable to open that door. A twin bed with a white iron frame stood against the back window. A tightly knotted chunk of ripped fabric drooped from the bed’s top rail. The room also held a chest of drawers, two massive old-fashioned steamer trunks, and a cedar chest large enough to fit a body from one of Margie’s stories with room to spare. He opened the wardrobe. A mothball rolled out from the towering stacks of old clothes and patchwork quilts.

The first steamer trunk held more old clothes, and he’d nearly shut the lid without exploring further when he noticed a bit of Army uniform. After rummaging through the carefully packed layers, he guessed these were his great uncle’s belongings. Had Reba packed these, mourning her lost son? Had Grandma missed the brother she’d never mentioned? Time-faded grief for his uncles and the fresher pain for Dad rolled over him. They’d been so damned proud to serve their country…

He opened the cedar chest. Jackpot. The missing pictures.

His elation vanished. While the chest brimmed with photos, paintings, tintypes, and albums, many of them were damaged, ripped, twisted, and cut as if someone had gone at them in a rage with hands and scissors. He sorted out several less-damaged pieces that, guessing by the era of clothing, were possibly of Grandma Loretta, her brother, and her parents.

Unsettled, he closed the chest and dragged it out into the hall for Margie to check out later. This was something right up her mystery alley.

Guessing by the tissue paper and mothballs, the second trunk held more clothing. He folded back the top layer of fragile paper, revealing a torn dress. Maybe it was mending? He shook out the dress, guessing it was about World War II era in style. Simple mending would never help this once elegant dress. Huge rips ran bodice to skirt, sleeves hung wrenched from their seams, and the skirt was in rags. The dress beneath and others showed the same raging destruction. Why destroy a dress, but then neatly fold and store it away? Under the layers of ruined clothing, he found ripped-apart books, as neatly repieced as the dresses, fragments of a shattered jewelry box, a mangled silver comb and mirror set, and last, baby clothing for a girl, blessedly undamaged.

Wow. He sat back and dragged off the damp, stifling dust mask, completely baffled and uneasy. What the hell had gone on in this house? Maybe Margie would have some input.

Sweat trickled over his temples and he swiped his face against his shoulder. Time to call it a day and have a beer. He dragged the trunk into the hall and headed downstairs, itching to tell Margie about his disturbing discovery, but reluctant to interrupt her evening. He could wait until tomorrow.

He stripped off his grubby T-shirt and scrubbed his head and face at the kitchen sink. Hard to believe this homey, bright kitchen was the same disgusting, dirty space they had first seen. Fresh curtains that let in the light swayed at the windows, wood glowed, and every bit of glass, metal, and porcelain sparkled. Margie hadn’t just cleared the junk, she’d scrubbed the room floor to ceiling. She’d even gotten the tired old stove and floor tiles gleaming. Cooking a meal in this kitchen now would be a pleasure.

A cold beer in hand, he slouched in his chair at the table. The quiet of the house settled around him, broken only by the refrigerator’s hum, underscoring Margie’s absence.

His phone chirped, announcing another email.

Groaning, Christopher downed a long swallow of beer. He’d close up for the day, go back to the motel and his air-conditioned room, and get clean. All the leftovers from lunch would do for his supper. Maybe then he’d finally get some work finished on the Everett project.

Focusing on a task had always been one of his strong points, but he was sure as heck distracted now. However pleasurably, this was a problem. This whole week had him thrown off his stride. Letting the dilapidated house distract him from his goals was squarely his own fault. When he’d originally figured he could squeeze in this trip to satisfy his curiosity, stay on top of his deadlines, and settle the house matters, he’d been foolishly ignorant of all the hours the house would consume.

As for Margie—yeah, he’d definitely not counted on meeting someone like Margie.

After a long, cold shower, he grabbed a bottle of water and channel-surfed while he waited for the laptop to boot, finally settling on a fishing program for background company. Leaving the temptation of his personal emails firmly closed, he dutifully dealt with his business emails until he’d emptied his inbox.

Okay, time to open the Everett file. Normally, he’d tear into a project like this. Right up his alley, with just enough challenge. The kind of client he was happy to acquire and determined to keep happy. The kind of client who’d gain him future clients.

Maybe he was just tired. Besides the outright physical labor at the house this week, he’d worked his ass off over the past few months, both to clear the deck for his upcoming vacation and manage his greatly increased client load. He needed to concede he’d reached the knife’s edge of needing to expand and take on an associate. Either that or turn away work.

Focus.

He stared at the laptop. Only one day left. The house. The mess. Grandma Loretta’s mysterious split from her family. He hadn’t even begun to seek answers about her. The ruined pictures and clothing. Maybe he didn’t want to know. His flight on Sunday. Margie.