A Dream of His Own. Gail Gaymer Martin
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home office and shook his head. Let it go. Let it go. No thoughts or what-ifs could change what had happened. He knew his wife’s wishes. Lydia wanted him to live fully. She’d supported him in every way—his preferences, his career and his dreams. She would want him to move on with his life. Instead he’d run away. He’d sold his tremendous home too filled with memories, left his day-to-day business in his brother’s hands and moved across Michigan to this small town where he was unknown and bought this house.
As Quinn scanned the room, he admitted it needed paint. He’d meant to fix the place when he’d moved in. Instead he’d blended into the beige walls, had run his company from long distance and sank into regret. No more. Change meant moving ahead, and that’s what he wanted to do.
Having purpose for once, he turned off the computer, stepped into the hallway and headed for the kitchen. The late April weather decided to play a trick on spring. A chill clung to the air. He filled the coffeemaker and snapped the on button. In moments, the pungent scent filled the room. As he reached into the cabinet for a cup, the doorbell rang. Quinn veered around and headed for the door.
Ross Salburg, with his sturdy frame and smiling brown eyes, stood on his porch. Quinn greeted him, then stepped back, allowing him to enter. At that moment, he realized Ross’s visit was the first in many months. His last visitor had been an electrician he’d hired to upgrade his fuse box. He’d kept to himself, a box locked tight and covered in cobwebs. Pitiful. He shuddered.
Ross scanned the foyer, his eyes shifting to the staircase rising to the second story. “Nice.” He ambled to the dining room, gave a nod of approval, and then strode across the foyer and gazed into the living room. “Nice Adam’s fireplace.”
“I don’t use it.” The admission darkened his attempt to lighten his mood.
“No?” Ross turned to face him. “This was…is a lovely home.”
“That’s the operative word—was. I’ve let things get out of hand. When I bought the place three years ago, I planned to update a few things. Now I’ve let things get shoddy.”
A frown slipped to Ross’s face, and he turned a full circle, then took a step forward, peering past the staircase to the family room beyond. “You live here alone?”
An ache rose in Quinn’s chest. “Yes.”
“This is a lot of space for one person.” Ross grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Don’t apologize, You’re right. It’s more room than I need.” Quinn envisioned the first-floor master bedroom with its double walk-in closets, roomy bath and vaulted ceiling. He figured most women would love it. “A five-bedroom house is wasted on me.”
“Never a waste. You don’t know your future. One day you may share it with someone.”
Quinn eyed Ross. The man had echoed his own recent thoughts. “I made some coffee.” He flagged him toward the family room. “Would you like a cup while we talk?”
“Sounds great. I’ll take it black.” Ross tucked his hand into one pocket and carried his clipboard in the other as he followed Quinn past the staircase. He faltered in the family room, typical of a contractor who appreciated quality architecture.
Quinn veered into the kitchen, and in a few moments, Ross followed. Quinn motioned him toward the table as he rounded the counter to the coffeemaker. After filling the cups, he headed back to the table, well-lighted by the bay window. He enjoyed his morning coffee there, better than anywhere else in the house. The birds played outside flitting between the trees and the birdbath centered in what should have been a flower garden. The only things that grew now were a few straggly perennials that still had life in them.
He set a cup in front of Ross and then sat across from him. Since he’d called the construction company, he’d wrestled with why he’d contacted it and what he wanted them to do. For so long life seemed empty, almost hopeless, but a renewed urge had appeared egging him to make a difference in his life and in his home.
“Okay, then.” Ross took a sip and set down his cup. “You mentioned wanting vinyl trim.”
“Right, and new windows throughout. And I’d like an honest opinion regarding the roof shingles. I think they’re original.”
“Any leaks?” Ross bent over his clipboard taking notes.
“None that I’ve seen.” Quinn’s focus shifted to the interior. “I’d like the rooms painted, but I’m not sure about colors. I’ll have to give it some thought.” His mind flew to Ava who’d mentioned she loved to decorate homes. “I might like a decorator to give me some color ideas. I have no eye for color.” He pictured Lydia bringing home paint and fabric samples.
“We can arrange that.” He lifted his cup again and took a drink. “By the way, I heard last Tuesday you had a run-in with Ava Darnell.” Ross chuckled.
Quinn squirmed. “Right.”
“Ava’s a nice lady.” Ross tapped the pencil against the clipboard. “She’s had some real trials. I suppose that’s why she was distracted.”
“She mentioned her son has Hodgkin’s.”
Ross nodded. “It’s been up and down for her.”
“Ava told me she enjoyed home decorating…” Quinn didn’t know how to phrase the question.
“Kelsey mentioned how attractive her home is.” Ross swung his arm wide. “Nothing like this place though.”
Quinn nodded, his mind running rings around his growing apprehension. The size of a home was insignificant. The important thing was the love inside. His thought triggered questions. If that were so what difference did it make what color his rooms were? He wanted them clean, that’s all. And making contact with Ava might not be his best move. He should forget her. Forget he even thought about giving her a call.
Ross took a final swig of the coffee and slid back the chair. “I’ll go outside and take a look at your trim, and I’ll send someone over to check the shingles. We can talk colors when I bring over some samples.”
“Sounds good.” But trim colors and shingles didn’t linger in his thoughts. Ava’s image hung there instead. Options? Did he really have options when it came to her? She’d worked her way into his mind from the moment he saw her.
* * *
“Mom. What are you doing?”
Ava’s head snapped up from beneath the kitchen cabinet and bonked against a pipe. She grimaced at the pain, lowered the wrench and rubbed the spot with her left hand.
Brandon’s face loomed in front of the cabinet door. “You’re not trying to do plumbing, are you?” His face registered disbelief.
Surprised at his reaction, she bristled. Who did he think did all the repairs around the house? She ducked out from under the twist of pipes. “I repaired the light switch and the doorbell.” Although what she thought would be an easy job hadn’t been.
A frown wrinkled Brandon’s face. “But plumbing? That’s always hard. If you mess with one thing something else goes wrong.”
She twisted to face him. “Since when do you know so much about plumbing?”
“Mike’s dad’s always botching a job.” His frown spread to a crooked grin. “We just laugh.”
“Stop laughing at people’s attempts to save money, Bran. You need to think about that yourself. I’m not an ATM machine.” She pushed one knee to the floor, grasp the sink rim and rose. “Why are you late? I’ve been home from work for an hour, and I’m at the school longer than you.”
“I watched baseball practice.” He looked away, his expression growing belligerent. “I’d be playing ball if you’d get off my back, Mom. The doctor’s have more faith in me than you have. I’ve been great for two years. I got energy, and—”