The Handyman's Dream (29 page)

“One last thing,” Rick said, rubbing his hands together. “Mrs. Penfield says that although we’re not ready to make some kind of marriage commitment to each other, we still need to plan for the future. I told her about some of the stuff we had talked about, and she said we should stop dreaming and start planning. She said if we have our own work and our own money, it will be harder for people’s attitudes or actions to hurt us. I think she’s right, so I’m gonna start thinking that way.”

“What way?”

“Oh, think about how we can be self-sufficient. Like, maybe I can find some kind of self-employment, like you, away from the post office. She also wants me to continue to encourage you to pick up your father’s woodworking hobby. She thinks, as I do, that you may have a real talent for it. The more we can do for ourselves, the less we’ll have to depend on people who might disapprove of us. Get it?”

Ed smiled. “I get it. Not only that, but I like it. I like it very much.”

Rick looked at his watch. “We should get back and check on her, before Effie Maude comes home and hollers at us for leaving her alone.”

Ed put the truck in gear, then slowly and carefully drove through the snow toward the road.

“Do you suppose we’ll ever think of a way to thank her for all she’s taught us?” he asked Rick, gently guiding the truck through the drifts.

“I’m guessing,” Rick said thoughtfully, “that the only thanks she wants or needs is our success. I don’t know about you, baby, but I don’t have a problem working toward that kind of thanks.”

“Me either.”

Once he had the truck safely on the snow-packed road, he slipped the transmission into neutral, turning to Rick. “I love you, darlin’,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, baby.”

“Do you suppose,” Ed asked with one last kiss before he turned his attention back to the road, “that when we get home we could maybe take a really hot shower together? Then maybe you could rub a tired handyman’s aching back?”

“I can do that, baby,” Rick said softly. “Hell, I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Deal.”

Ed put the truck in drive. It slowly moved down the road, toward Porterfield and home.

Chapter Eighteen

Ed, Rick, and Norma were seated at Norma’s dining room table, enjoying her pork roast dinner. Ed, reaching for another biscuit, reflected on the fact that in all of his fantasies of the Dream Man, never once had he seen them having a cozy, midweek dinner with his mother. That it was actually happening, and on a regular basis, made the whole thing seem even more dreamlike.

Norma had called Ed one day after Christmas to invite him to dinner as she always did, but had surprised him by adding, “You bring Rick along with you. I don’t suppose he’s leaving the picture anytime soon, so I might as well get used to having another son-in-law.” Now, in early February, Rick was automatically included in her weekly dinner invitations, and he always made it a point to show up with Ed, unless he had a conflict.

“Norma,” Rick was saying as he helped himself to seconds, “you make the best pork roast I’ve ever tasted. I’m glad, though, that I don’t eat here every day, or I’d have an even bigger weight problem than I already have.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Norma said, obviously pleased by his words. “You look fine, Rick. I never had any use for skinny men. They’re always puny and weak-minded. Eat all you want and don’t worry about it. You get plenty of exercise. Leave room for dessert, though. I made a chocolate cake today.”

“Oh, no,” Rick moaned. He looked at Ed. “How come you’re not overweight, growing up in this house?”

Ed chuckled. “Sheer willpower. But I’ll take all the cake Rick doesn’t eat, Mom. I’ll burn it off shoveling snow.”

“Oh, I hope we’ve seen the last of this snow. I’ve had enough. Spring can’t come soon enough for me,” Norma stated, slapping the table for emphasis. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day, though, so spring can’t be too far behind. Speaking of Valentine’s Day, did I tell you what that lazy sister of yours talked me into? I’m baking my heart cookies for Lesley’s kindergarten class. Now, what kind of mother doesn’t do that herself?”

Ed rolled his eyes at her. “Oh, Mom, give it a rest. Laurie asked you to do it because she knew you’d enjoy it, and that you probably miss making them for Dad like you always did.”

“Humph. That may be, but a bunch of ungrateful kindergartners are a poor substitute for your father. Still, I’ll make some for you and Rick, too. I’ll drop them off on my way to the school on Friday. Even if your father isn’t here, we might as well keep the tradition going.”

Rick looked puzzled. “What tradition?”

“That’s how Dad met Mom,” Ed told him. “It was all because of her Valentine’s cookies. Mom, tell Rick the story. Laurie and I loved hearing it every Valentine’s Day, when we were kids.”

“Oh, he doesn’t want to hear that old nonsense,” Norma scolded, smiling just the same.

“Yes, I do,” Rick said, encouraging her. “C’mon, Norma, give.”

Norma, still smiling, gazed off into space. “It was Valentine’s Day, 1947,” she remembered. “My mother and father had all but kicked me off the farm the summer before, telling me I’d never find a man out in the sticks. By that time all the men were home from the war, and they thought I’d catch a husband if I was working in town. They didn’t believe in a college education for girls, and we couldn’t afford it anyway.

“So, I moved here to Porterfield and stayed with my old maid aunt, Marjorie. I got a job at Patterson’s Bakery, working in the back, baking cookies and special-order cakes. I was good at it, although I never approved of Mr. Patterson’s recipe for cookies. I knew my mother’s recipes were better, but I never said anything. I was just grateful to have a job and to be living in town. Farms could be mighty lonely places back then, especially during the war when gas was rationed.

“Anyway, come Valentine’s Day, Mr. Patterson got it in his head to bake and sell heart-shaped cookies. He even put an ad in the paper, then put me in charge of baking up dozens and dozens of cookies. Well, I knew all sorts of lazy, last-minute types would be pounding down the door for those cookies, and I just couldn’t abide the idea of using his recipe for them. So, the night before, after he’d gone for the day, I made those cookies the way my mother had taught me. I figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him none.

“Come the next day, and we were selling those cookies right and left. Mr. Patterson was just beside himself, congratulating himself on his great idea, and I was in the back, as usual, laughing to myself about the whole thing. I just knew those cookies wouldn’t be selling if I’d made them his way.

“About lunchtime, Mrs. Patterson, who considered herself the real boss of the place, hollered back at me to made another batch; they were almost gone. I hauled them up front to the display case the minute I had the red icing on them. A young, handsome, dark-haired man was standing there, waiting on them. Said someone had brought some into work earlier in the day, and they were so good he wanted some more for his lunch.

“He looked at me and said, ‘Are you the girl who made those cookies?’ I said I surely was, and he smiled at me. That man was Ed’s father, and we had our first date that night when we were both done with work.”

Rick was staring at her, the food on his plate all but forgotten. “Now, that’s romantic,” he said, smiling.

“Humph. I don’t know about romantic, I just know that Tim Stephens knew a good cookie when he tasted it.” Norma laughed.

“Still, I’m glad Laurie got you to bake them again,” Ed said. “I’ve kind of missed them the past few years.”

Norma sighed wistfully. “I suppose I have, too. I just didn’t seem to have the heart to make them, but I s’pose doing it again is a good way of remembering your father.” She shook her head, and returned to her usual self. “Eat up, boys, eat up. You might as well, ’cause what you don’t finish I’m sending home with you. Honestly, after that story, I’m not about to see good food go to waste.”

* * * * *

“Considering how big Valentine’s Day is for your family, I guess I should get busy with some seriously romantic plans for this weekend,” Rick said.

They were parked in Ed’s driveway, sitting in Rick’s car, a container of leftovers on the floor at Ed’s feet.

Ed shrugged. “You don’t have to get all crazy about it on my account. Valentine’s Day isn’t that big a deal to me.”

“What?” Rick was surprised. “Shit, you probably wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for your folks meeting on Valentine’s Day.”

“I know. That’s the point. I heard that story every year, growing up, and then spent every Valentine’s Day of my adult life alone. All it did was depress me. I got to thinking that Valentine’s Day was just an excuse to make lonely people feel lonelier. Well, I’m not lonely anymore, but I don’t want to be a hypocrite and make a big deal over it. Besides,” Ed said, taking Rick’s hand, “every day with you is Valentine’s Day.”

“Aw,” Rick groaned, smiling at him. “I know what you mean, though. It can be a painful, lonely day. Still, I think we owe it to Cupid to do something on Saturday, just to say thanks for getting us together.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Ed said, grinning at him.

“Hmm. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but go ahead.”

“Let’s go to Fort Wayne. There’s a movie showing I want to see, and it’s perfect. It’s called My Bloody Valentine.”

“My Bloody Valentine?” Rick repeated. “Yuck! Sounds like a slasher movie.”

“It is,” Ed said. “It’s exactly what I would want to see if I was alone and depressed for Valentine’s Day.”

“So, since you’ve got me this year, you’re gonna drag me to see it? Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’ll be fun. Look, darlin’. I don’t need Valentine’s Day to tell you how much I love you. Let’s go watch a bad horror movie and thumb our noses at the whole thing. Then we can come back here, eat Mom’s cookies, and if you want, I’ll play all my lovey-dovey records on the stereo.”

“Horror movies are one thing,” Rick said, unconvinced. “Slasher movies are something else all together.” He shook his head. “Well, considering the horror show my first Valentine’s Day with Jack was, it could be appropriate. I can sit in the theater, watch people get hacked up, and be grateful I’ve got you instead of him. Okay, baby, it’s a date.”

“What happened with Jack?”

Rick shuddered. “Oh, I’ll tell you Saturday night, if you really want to know. Right now, I need to get home. It’s late.”

Ed pouted. “You’re not gonna come in at all?”

“No. If I take one step in that house, I won’t get away from you until it’s time for me to go to work in the morning.” Rick leaned over to kiss him. “My handyman is too big of a temptation.”

Ed sighed. “Okay. I’ve got a love song for you then. Remember ‘Precious and Few’? That one describes our relationship during the week.”

“Well,” Rick said, kissing him again. “You go in the house and play it, and think of me. I promise, when I come over this weekend, I’ll do my best to make every one of those precious and few moments the best they can be.”

* * * * *

Ed spent the next few days debating what to do about Rick’s Valentine’s present. Ed had meant what he said in the car; being in love did not make him more inclined to celebrate Valentine’s Day. If he had his way, he would boycott the whole thing in support of all those people who hadn’t been blessed with a Rick in their lives. However, the mention of Jack spurred him into action.

Ed told himself repeatedly that Jack was not a threat to his relationship with Rick, but every time Jack’s name came up, Ed noticed the play of emotion across Rick’s face. Jack may have broken Rick’s heart, but somewhere in that organ Ed was doing his best to repair, Rick still held some sort of feeling for Jack.

That being the case, he determined to erase any bad Valentine’s memories Rick had with something special. He suspected Rick would prefer something traditional and sentimental, so he decided, after consulting Laurie, to go with roses. Lots of them. He vetoed candy on the grounds that his mother’s cookies were sweet enough, and certainly more unique than anything an ex-lover could provide.

He was ready when Rick arrived Saturday afternoon to begin their usual weekend together. Rick carried a paper bag, and after an extended Valentine’s Day kiss at the door, he insisted Ed open it.

Ed looked in the bag, grinned, and pulled out a small, flat, beautifully wrapped gift. It was the exact size and shape of a 45 rpm record.

“Gee, I wonder what this could be,” he said, kissing Rick.

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to disguise,” Rick said sheepishly. “Claire did the wrapping job. She took it away from me, saying that I may be a gay man, but I’m the worst present-wrapper she’s ever seen.”

“It’s incredible,” Ed murmured, fingering the perfectly sculpted red ribbons. “I almost hate to open it.”

“Well, baby, you know it’s a record, but you don’t know what song it is. Wanna take a few guesses while you’re undoing those ribbons?”

“Hmm. Let’s see. It can’t be ‘Precious and Few,’ even though I mentioned it the other night. I already have that one.”

“You’re kinda warm. It’s older, something from our high school years. It’s a song I look for whenever I go through your 45s, and I’ve never found it. I’ve always wanted to play it for you.”

Ed slowly untied the ribbons, thinking. “Damn, you’ve got me stumped, darlin’. I give up.” With that, he pulled the ribbons aside and ripped open the paper to find Blood, Sweat & Tears’ “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy.” Ed laughed in delight. “Oh, I do have this one, but it’s on an LP. It’s upstairs in a box. I never play it because I played it so much in high school it skips through this song. Thank you.”

“I had to special order it at the Record Rack,” Rick said, pleased with Ed’s reaction. “I told Andy it was for one of his favorite customers, and he promised to get it before Valentine’s Day. Put it on, baby. I wanna hear it with you.”

Ed jumped up and put the record on the turntable. As the record began to play, he sat next to Rick on the sofa.

“You have, you know,” Rick said, kissing him. “You’ve made me so very happy. Like he sings later in the song, all I want to do is thank you, baby.”

Ed kissed him back, one hand gently stroking Rick’s face. “Thank you, darlin’, for the record, and for making me so happy. I . . . oh, I am so happy with you, Rick. Thank you.”

They sat, holding each other close, as the record played, then repeated.

Ed sighed. “This is great, but I’ve got something for you, too. Aren’t you curious?”

“Oh, maybe just a little,” Rick said, kissing him again.

“Okay.” Ed stood up. “You stay here, but close your eyes.”

“I gotta close my eyes?” Rick complained.

“Yeah, I couldn’t wrap this. You close your eyes, and I’ll bring it in from the bedroom, okay?”

“Oh, okay.” Rick did as he was told.

Ed hurried into the bedroom, picked up the vase crammed full of red roses and baby’s breath, returned to the living room, and stood in front of Rick. “Okay. You may now open your eyes.”

Rick’s eyes slowly opened, then his mouth fell open in surprise.

“I don’t believe it,” Rick whispered.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darlin’,” Ed said, grinning from ear to ear. He handed the vase to Rick.

“Baby, this must have cost a fortune. That’s the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen! ” Rick sniffed at one of the roses. “You shouldn’t have spent all your money on this, but I love it. I absolutely love it.”