Forget Me Not. Marion Ekholm
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I got there too late. The truck had already left.” He stared a moment before extending his hand. “Nice to see you again, Dave. Hope you can give Trish some great deals.”
“Take care of her heat, will you? I’ve got to get back to my place to warm up.”
Craig’s eyebrow went up, and he looked at Trish. “Heat?”
“I forgot to mention, I couldn’t get the furnace to work. The key’s under the mat, and we’ll be back in a little while.”
Once she had the car started, Dave got in on the passenger side. “You have heat in this?” he asked, blowing into his hands as he rubbed them together.
“Yes. You’ll be toasty by the time we reach your shop.”
* * *
CRAIG RETRIEVED THE old-fashioned three-inch key and headed for the basement to check the furnace, an oil burner probably installed a good fifty years ago. No wonder it wasn’t providing any heat. No fuel. When was the last time they had a shipment? He went upstairs, sat on one of the kitchen chairs and dialed the local oil company most people used in the area.
“Hey, Marty,” Craig said. They had been classmates, and Craig graduated a year before Marty did. “When was the last time you delivered to Mrs. Lowery?”
“You mean before she died?”
Craig took a deep breath. “Yes, before she died.”
“Sometime last winter, I guess.”
“Okay, she needs another fill-up.”
“Why, is she alive again?” He cackled, a sure sign he wasn’t taking Craig seriously.
“Since when did you turn into the town’s comedian? Her granddaughter is staying here, and there’s no more fuel. She’s freezing. When can you make a delivery?”
“Who’s paying for it? I already closed Mrs. Lowery’s account.”
“You’ll get your money from the granddaughter.”
“Okay, I’ll make it my last delivery today. Say, isn’t she the Lowery gal you were sweet on?”
“The pipes are freezing, Marty.”
“She’s back in town and you’ve got another girlfriend?”
“Take care of it, Marty.”
“Cyndi Parker, isn’t it? I remember her doing all those splits and backflips as the head cheerleader.”
“Just deliver the oil.” Craig disconnected the call. Living all your life in a small town had definite disadvantages. Who else had been tracking his love life?
About to return the key to its not-so-secret hiding place, Craig stopped. Perfect time to check out that secretary and find that note. He went to the living room and lowered the large desktop just as a car pulled into the drive. Great. Trish was back.
Craig returned the large panel and headed for the front door. He opened it as Trish walked up the stairs with Dave Henry following her. This might be a good chance to get the price for the secretary.
“Found out why there’s no heat. You ran out of fuel. I ordered a fill-up from Marty Cassidy’s Homefuel. It should arrive later today.”
Trish paused by the open door, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I never even thought about that. Thank you.” She walked past him, motioning Dave to follow. “I’m making lunch—warm soup so Dave and I can defrost. Have the men come back from the fire?” When Craig shook his head, she added, “Would you like some soup or are you going back on the roof?”
His crew would probably stop for food after returning from the fire, and he didn’t want to miss out on lunch. “Warm soup sounds fine.” Once in the kitchen, Craig leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, while Trish pulled out packages from the refrigerator. All the ingredients looked like his favorites, and he wondered if she had bought them for him. “You making grilled cheese?”
She grinned. “Of course. Can’t have tomato soup without grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“With ham?” He moved closer and opened one of the wrapped packages from Drexel’s Deli. “You remembered?” That had always been their preferred treat. “The grill still in the same old place?” When she nodded, he headed for the pantry.
Sure enough, the grill was right where he remembered. A little dusty. Probably hadn’t been used in years. He placed it on the counter and opened a drawer filled with dish towels. After a wipe-down, he plugged it in.
“You’re sure familiar with everything,” Dave said, coming over to stand by the counter. His gray winter parka was zipped to his neck even though the room had to be close to sixty degrees, despite no additional heat.
When the doorbell rang, Trish glanced at Craig. “You think that could be the oil delivery?”
“Doubt it. Marty said he’d do it on his last run. Why don’t you answer the door, and I’ll get started on the soup.” He headed back to the pantry, where he’d seen several cans. After checking the dates, he realized all the cans were new. He smiled and started to whistle, right up until he heard her gasp of delight.
“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.”