Heather Page 7

  He shrugged. “Just working it out as I go.”

  “As you go? But I have the instructions.” What kind of plan is as-you-go? “Maybe you should—”

  The sharp glare he tossed in her direction silenced her attempt to get him to look at the paper one more time with more precision and speed than any words could.

  “Well, it’s starting to look like a chair.” Callie walked into the room and smiled.

  And it was. A rather nice chair at that.

  “There you go.” Jake pushed to his feet and took a step back, sporting a satisfied smile. “After closing tomorrow I’ll have Tom come help me move it to your place.”

  “Thanks. I can probably wrangle someone from school to come help.”

  “Sure. If you run into any trouble, let me know.” Jake stretched his arm out at Callie. “These were left over.”

  Left over? Heather looked down at the list of items that came in the box. “There aren’t supposed to be parts left over. Whoever designed this chair meant for all the parts to be used. Not some of them.” Heather’s sense of rule and order had her wanting to stomp her feet and shout this is not how it’s done. She couldn’t do heart surgery and have ‘parts’ left over.

  “We didn’t need them.” Jake flopped into the seat and flipped the handle to recline.

  Any second Heather expected him to go flying backwards or the entire thing to fall out from under him, proving why he should have followed the directions. He kicked the footrest closed and pulled the handle a few more times and with every movement Heather held her breath.

  “You’re all set.” Jake stood and smiled at Callie.

  “I can’t thank you enough. I’m sure we’d have figured it out eventually, but I’m not even a little bit nervous about trying it out now.” Rubbing her hands together more enthusiastically, Callie collapsed into the chair and flipped back and forth a few times, giggling like a schoolgirl. “This is so cool. I’ve been wanting a comfy TV chair that would fit in my place for a while, but anything I liked at the furniture stores cost an arm and a leg.”

  “Glad I could help.” Jake picked up his tool bag and took a few steps to stand beside Heather.

  “Do you always do things that way?” she asked.

  He looked at her, his brow creased in thought. “Do what?”

  “Wing it. Not have a plan, ignore instructions, or accept help from others.”

  His gaze shifted from her, to the chair, and down to the instructions she still held in her hand and he smiled. “Sometimes it’s better to just dive in, and this time, I didn’t need the help. But I’ll keep you in mind for next time.”

  Flashing her a disarming smile and passing Callie with a departing high five, he left them standing by the chair. With a final wave, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be back tomorrow to patch the hole I made in the wall.”

  She glanced down at the instructions then up at the ceiling. Parts left over. How did anyone live like that?

  Chapter Seven

  Sunlight poured into the dining room of the lake house. At one end of the table, Heather’s grandmother sat, only a tea cup within reach, her hands already busy working on the current and somewhat lopsided knitting endeavor. Across the table, her grandfather held the morning paper in one hand while scratching the top of Lady’s head with the other. Sarge lay sprawled on the floor at his other side, his gaze tracking his humans.

  A small sense of relief licked at Heather’s insides, not enough to put her totally at ease, but relief nonetheless. Until yesterday, her career military grandfather had never slept in a day in his life. The times he would be home with everyone at the lake, he ran the house much like he would a military base. His children and grandchildren had to be up and dressed for breakfast bright and early. Sometimes too early.

  Grams had to work extra hard to keep him from imposing similar rules on guests. Which was why it had been a bit of a shock yesterday morning to find him still in bed when she’d come down for breakfast. Though she’d barely heard him cough since arriving, being tired was another symptom of anything as simple as a touch of anemia to a sign of heart disease.

  “Good morning.” Her sister floated into the room. Violet had always had a natural sense of grace. Had she not become a yoga instructor, she probably could have become one helluva ballerina.

  Violet loaded her dish with Lucy’s special breakfast casserole, toast, bacon, a glob of cream cheese, and a scoop of hash browns.

  Looking up from her knitting as Violet slid into the seat beside her, Grams’ gaze dropped to the mountain of food on Violet’s plate. “Anyone would think you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

  “I haven’t.” Violet spread her napkin across her lap. “I’ve been on a juice cleanse.”

  Grams rolled her eyes. “In my day, we didn’t worry about toxins, cleansing or any of that nonsense.”

  “That’s because in your day the food supply wasn’t being poisoned with genetic mutations, pesticides, and enough sugar to rot a rhino’s horn.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear.” Her grandmother returned her attention to the yarn in her lap. “Rhinos don’t eat with their horns.”

  Heather smiled at her grandmother’s cavalier response to Violet’s mini tirade on the state of society. Having taken only a small serving of the casserole and poured herself a glass of juice, Heather took the seat on her sister’s other side.

  The General folded his paper and set it down beside him. “It’s a wonderful sight, both you girls in the same room. All we need is for your sister Rose to join us on Sunday and I dare say it may be the first time in years we’ll have had all three Preston girls at the lake at the same time.”

  “Don’t hold your breath waiting for Rose.” Violet waved a fork at her grandfather. “The museum has a new exhibit opening next month. The way she talks, it’s the biggest thing to hit Boston since King Tut. From the sound of it, this is the most responsibility her boss has ever entrusted her with and I don’t think she’s getting much sleep, never mind taking time to come to the lake.”

  “Really?” Heather stabbed at her food. “She hasn’t said a word to me about it. What’s the exhibit?”

  “Something about the art of the masters from Versailles.” Violet shrugged. “I asked one little question and she clammed up on me.”

  “What was the question?” the General asked.

  “Would the museum let the patrons eat cake?” Violet hefted one shoulder in a what’s-a-girl-to-do shrug. “She must not be a fan of Marie Antoinette.”

  Heather smothered a laughed. “Yeah. I can see where that would not have gone over very well with Rose.” Her sister had many wonderful qualities; a sense of humor when it came to her work was rarely one of them.

  “Well.” Grams wrapped her knitting up, stuffed it in the bag, and circled around to her husband. “I’m going to freshen up and then I’ll be ready to go to Nora’s.”

  The General snatched her hand in his, squeezed, and with eyes riveted on her, nodded. “I’ll get the car.”

  “Nora’s?” Heather asked.

  “Yes, dear. She owns the new yarn shop at the Olla Podrida.”

  “The what?” Had Heather really been gone so long that she didn’t have even a clue who or what her grandmother was talking about?

  Her grandfather blew out a short sigh. “Some developer from out west bought the old shopping village and gave it that ridiculous name.”

  “It’s not ridiculous, dear.” Grams patted her husband’s shoulder. “It sounds very artsy.”

  “It means rotten pot,” he groused. “Who in their right mind takes a smattering of old shops, spends a small fortune to turn it into a cohesive arts and crafts Mecca of the northeast and then names it the Rotten Pot?”

  “He does have a point, Grams.” Violet shoved the last forkful of food into her mouth.

  “Well,” Heather started. If she were going to get her grandfather into the doctor’s office, he couldn’t be driving her grandmother back and forth across
the lake. “I’m sure Violet would love to give you a ride.”

  “I would?” Violet looked to her sister.

  Heather gave her younger sibling a kick under the table and holding her hands low out of her grandmother’s line of sight, jerked her thumb at her grandfather.

  “That’s right.” Violet suddenly aware, smiled up at her grandmother. “I would.”

  “And then the General and I can have some quality time together.” Heather cast a stern eye at her grandfather. “In town.”

  “Oh.” Grams slid her hand from her husband’s shoulder. “Well, of course. I see your grandfather all the time.”

  “Nonsense.” The General gave Lady one last pat and stood. “I’ll drive you.”

  “General.” Heather did her best to use the same stern voice she’d use with a young intern.

  The General hooked his hand at his wife’s elbow. “I’ll have plenty of time to visit with Heather after we return from the Rotten Pot.” Without so much as a glance in her direction, her grandfather escorted his wife and two dogs out of the dining room.

  “Oh, he is going to be a pill about this, isn’t he?” Violet kept her gaze on the now empty doorway.

  Heather sucked in a long deep breath and quickly blew it out. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “Is it really that bad?” Worry gleamed in Violet’s eyes the same as it had with the cousins the other night.

  “I honestly don’t know. But it’s the General and I don’t want this to be the time we blow something off as ordinary and it turns out to be anything but.”

  “He does look awfully healthy to me,” Violet said meekly.

  “Yeah,” Heather agreed. "And I’d like to keep him that way.” No matter what it takes.

  ***

  “Top of the morning to you, Fiona Maureen.” The hint of an Irish accent carried from behind the counter across the length of the small general store.

  Fiona Hart smiled at the only person in town who called her by her full Christian name. One picked by her very Irish grandmother. The same woman who’d taught Fiona the proper response to the traditional greeting. “And the rest of the day to you, Mary Kathleen.”

  Mary Kathleen O’Leary, Katie to most of the town, exemplified walking sunshine. The woman always had a smile, often had a story, never had a complaint, and every Irishman within one hundred miles knew to come shopping at the One Stop if they were feeling a longing for all things shamrock or blarney. Born and raised in this very town at the knee of her immigrant grandmother, Katie teased most of her life that some people were multi-lingual, but she on the other hand was semi-lingual. Her grandmom’s heavy Irish accent had been the foundation of her verbal skills for so long that despite years in school and all the life that followed, she never quite lost the Irish lilt in her English.

  As far as Fiona Lawford Hart was concerned, that was a good thing. Katie and her family reminded Fiona of her favorite grandmother and that always made her feel young at heart. “Lucy has given up on baking a decent soda bread.”

  Katie’s smile stretched across her face. “Indeed, there is a trick to it.”

  “One you’d not be sharing.”

  Shaking her head, Katie continued to smile. “Promised my sainted grandmother that her secret would only be shared with an O’Leary, and only the ones with a gift in the kitchen. My poor mum couldn’t boil a decent corned beef if her life depended on it. Will that be one loaf or two?”

  “Better make it four. We have a rather busy house this week.”

  “Oh.” Katie’s brows rose high on her forehead. “And who might that be?”

  “Violet and Heather. Hoping they might entice Iris and Zinnia to drive up from NY. “

  “Ah, now that would be grand.”

  “Yes,” Fiona smiled. “It would.” She and the General did so enjoy having the girls around, though she wouldn’t mind having a few little ones around again. So many of her friends were having great grandbaby after grandbaby and Fiona had yet to gain even one grandson-in-law.

  “Need some help?” The General came up to his wife’s side.

  “I thought you were going to wait for me in the car?”

  “It got lonesome.” His voice came out only slightly above a whisper but by the cute way Katie’s lips curled up in the corners, he’d obviously said so loud enough for her to hear.

  Fiona’s heart warmed at the soft spoken words. For all the years she’d raised her family alone. For all the deployments that bled into the next. For all the towns they’d passed through with hardly enough time to make a home. For all the fears kept hidden behind a brave façade, those few words and the love in his eyes, the love that had always been in his eyes, made every last minute worthwhile.

  And this was what she prayed for daily for all her darling granddaughters.

  ***

  How Heather got roped into planting bulbs in the front garden, she had no idea. One minute she was standing in the dining room after lunch, hands on her hips, `wondering how much longer her grandparents would be gone and the next thing Lucy had her outside with miscellaneous bags of fresh bulbs, a hand trowel, gardening soil, and parting words of not too close together followed a moment later by and not upside down.

  Holding the first bulb about the size of a nickel in her hand, she debated exactly which end was right side up. She’d watched Lucy and her Grandmother plant flower bulbs more than once in her life, but even if she had paid attention, there was no way she’d remember all these years later.

  Reading the back of the first bag, she scanned the instructions for planting. “When all else fails…” She pulled her phone from her pocket and Googled the flower name on the bag. A few strokes later and she’d determined the narrowed tip was actually down not up. Good thing she hadn’t guessed.

  One bag held the smaller bulbs and the other the larger ones. The former needed to have a hole dug only five inches deep while the bigger ones needed to be buried eight inches down. She glanced around the array of tools and supplies Lucy had left with her. Nowhere was there a ruler.

  Trowel in hand, she began digging holes in clusters. The plan was simple. Dig down as far as her fist and then get a ruler from inside to determine how much more dirt to remove to reach the five and eight inch lengths.

  “You’ve been busy,” a smooth deep voice sounded behind her.

  No need to look up, she knew by the goose bumps spreading up her arm who the voice belonged to. Ready to move to the other side, she pushed to her feet. “Helping Lucy while I wait for my grandfather to return.” Looking down at her handy work, the one side of the garden now peppered with haphazard holes resembled the work of a drunken gopher. If the idea was supposed to be no rhyme or reason to the bed, she’d clearly succeeded. Having used her cell phone to measure the distance between holes hadn’t worked out as well as she’d hoped.

  “Looks good.”

  She glanced down again, not sure how he could tell.

  “I’m going to patch the sheetrock in the bedroom, the one I had to cut out to fix the shower.” He waved his arm at the house. “Need anything from inside before I get started?”

  “I was just about to go in and get a ruler.” She brushed her hands clean.

  “A ruler?”

  “To measure.”

  “That’s what a ruler is usually for,” he smiled. “But why do you need one?”

  What did he mean why? “To know when I’ve reached the right depth.”

  His gaze shifted from her dirty hands, to the holes in the ground to the still unturned bed on the other side of the path. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be an exact science.”

  A glass in hand, Lucy hurried down the porch steps. “Thought you might like some fresh limeade. Good for the liver.”

  It would be except for all the sugar. “Thank you. I was just coming in for a ruler.”

  A smile pulling at her lips, Lucy looked at the holes and shook her head. “No need, I’ll be right back with it.” She turned to Jake. “I’ll get
you a glass too.”

  “No thanks,” he held up his tool bag, “on my way to work.”

  “Suit yourself.” Lucy shrugged, then sporting a wide grin, softly sang “It Only Takes a Moment,” from Hello Dolly all the way up the porch steps.

  Brushing some dirt from her lap, Heather hoped the woman wasn’t up to something Heather would live to regret.

  “Would you like some help?” Jake set his tool bag on the ground.

  Heather shook her head. “I think I can handle planting a few flower bulbs.” At least she knew how to follow instructions. Though she would have preferred it if Lucy had given her a plan for the layout.

  “Here you go.” Looking just a tad too happy, Lucy bounced down the steps waving a ruler at her.

  “Thanks.” Heather stood a moment watching the woman hurry back up the stairs, still singing, before kneeling on the foam pad. Holding the ruler center of the hole with one hand, she dug at the dirt with the trowel in the other.

  Jake squatted beside her. “I don’t think Lucy, or your grandmother, use a ruler.”

  “Don’t you have a wall to fix?” Heather leaned back on her heels.

  Rolling his eyes skyward, Jake shoved upright, grabbed his bag and walked up the wooden steps. The screen door squeaked open and from the short distance, Jake’s voice carried easily, “You know, sometimes it’s all right to eyeball it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Taking a step back to survey the work, Jake wiped his hands on a nearby rag. No one would know there’d ever been a hole cut into the adjoining wall. He glanced around the bedroom. Filled with an eclectic combination of modern pieces blended with antiques that had no doubt been in the family for generations, the room looked like it had fallen out of any country magazine. Charm, comfort and love radiated from every corner.

  Tomorrow he’d be back to paint and the job would be all finished—and he’d be out of excuses to see Heather. Not that it mattered, a few more days and she’d be on her way back to Boston.