Forget Me Not

* * *

SETTLING ON ONE of the kitchen chairs, Trish reached for a cup of coffee. She’d risen to the ringing of her cell phone before seven. The birds hadn’t even been up.

She pulled her blue bathrobe tighter. Maybe she should have Craig check the heating system. The temperatures outside were close to freezing despite the sunny skies, and the inside didn’t seem much warmer.

“This is your inheritance?” Harrison had asked, referring to the picture Trish had sent on her iPhone.

“Yes!” She hoped the joy in her voice made an impression over the phone. “I can’t wait till you get here to see it. So many memories. I’ve started cleaning and hope to have it livable while I’m here.”

“You still planning to take off from work for a whole month? Won’t that jeopardize your job?” Had Harrison started the day on a sour note? He sounded critical. This was not exactly the bright, sunny good cheer she wanted in the morning.

Trish hadn’t taken a vacation in over three years. She deserved one, and it would give her a little rest before returning to her new promotion. Right now she and Harrison worked in the same department; however, once she received her promotion they’d be working down the hall from each other. And once they married, and lived in the same house, they’d be able to commute together. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be from her grandmother’s house.

Now, with matrimony on the horizon, she was considering other career moves. Harrison made enough to support them both, so eventually she could be a stay-at-home mom and take care of the many children they’d talked about having. Just thinking about it made her smile.

“I needed this chance to get away.” Not about to slog through her decision again, Trish asked, “When can you come see the place?”

Trish had wanted moral support as well as some physical labor from Harrison to get her grandmother’s house spruced up. They’d even talked about spending their vacations together to get as much completed as possible before the eventual sale.

“I’m so rushed, flying in and out to different locations in California. I can come on Sunday.” He provided a date and Trish looked it up on a calendar.

“You’ll be gone the week of Thanksgiving?”

“Right. The company wants all this training completed before Christmas. You know how people go crazy with credit-card problems before and after the holidays.” Her plan to surprise him with a turkey and all the trimmings slowly slipped away.

But no one should skip a proper Thanksgiving, and if it meant taking time away from work on her grandmother’s house, so be it. “How about we celebrate on that Sunday when you’re here? I make a mean turkey.”

“Don’t.” He hesitated. “I thought you wanted to get painting done...finish some projects on the house. I’m not doing them all by myself while you’re busy cooking.”

Trish considered this a moment and tried to control her voice, something she had plenty of practice at in her customer-service job. Keep your voice pleasant. Don’t antagonize the patrons even more. They were already stressed-out calling about problems with their credit cards.

She took a calming breath. “So you’ll be here only that one day?”

“Right.” He waited a moment longer before adding, “Sweetheart, I wasn’t going to mention it, hoped to keep it a surprise, but... I can’t stay any longer because I put in for a promotion. I’ve got reservations in Los Angeles and San Francisco for interviews. How would you like to settle in California? It’s a possibility if the interviews go well.”

Trish hesitated. California. She’d always lived on the East Coast, never even seen the West Coast state. But that certainly had exciting possibilities. For him. Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? “Let’s talk about it when you arrive.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6dc5cd9c-c4da-5ed3-ac69-3882e1b970aa)

AFTER THE CALL, Trish forced herself to concentrate on anything other than her disappointment. She’d hoped to spend some time working on the house with Harrison. With so much to do on her own, she decided to tackle the furniture problem. Which items would interest an antiques salesman? She began by taking pictures to show Henry of each piece that might have value.

The large secretary drew her attention. Where had they found those secret hiding places? Had the carvings moved to create openings? Trish had made several unsuccessful attempts to push and pull the sculptured leaves and flowers when the doorbell rang.

Abandoning the secretary and its secrets, she glanced down at her attire. Still dressed in pj’s and a robe, she pulled the robe’s belt tighter before heading to the front door.

She saw Butch through the large oval window etched in a lovely art-nouveau design of flowers and ribbons.

Trish opened the door and said, “Oh, hello, Butch...” She placed a hand over her mouth. “...I mean Craig.”

“Listen,” he said, “you can call me Butch if you want. Lots of people still do.” He sounded frustrated.

“But you’d prefer Craig?”

Wearing a green ski sweater with white deer marching across his chest, he leaned against one of the posts that supported the porch roof. In his youth he’d lacked height and hadn’t participated in sports. Since his interests gravitated to books, he’d remained a thin teenager, labeled by most people as too intellectual. At some point, he’d definitely matured, having a well-developed body and... Trish gave herself a shake and forced herself to concentrate on the paint peeling on the post, and not the man resting against it.

“I’m here to check out the roof.” He pointed to an extension ladder lying parallel to the sidewalk. “Also, do you have your grandmother’s flag?” He reached up to the flag holder attached to the post before glancing back at her. “I remember her putting it out on Veterans Day, and just about everyone’s flying one. Lets people know someone’s occupying the house.”

“Of course. I’ll get it. Can you put it up while I get dressed?” Trish hurried to the closet. After retrieving the flag, she headed to the small room off the kitchen that contained a single bed. It had served so many purposes: a sewing room, a library and even an office when her grandfather was alive. When her grandmother became ill, it served as her bedroom so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs.

Trish dressed warmly in several layers so she could go outside. In her worn jeans, red turtleneck and sweater, she headed out the front door to check on Craig. She found him on the ladder, pulling leaves out of the eaves trough.

“You’re planning to put that on your bill, aren’t you? Cleaning gutters?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned and tossed a handful of multicolored maple leaves at her, which she swatted away. “You need a free flow of water during the next rain so it doesn’t puddle on the roof. I’m coming down.”

When Craig reached the ground, he pointed to the flag. “Looks very patriotic for Veterans Day. Your gram would be proud.”

“Come in. I’ve got coffee ready. Have you finished the estimates?”

“Started but not finished, and no, thanks. I don’t need more caffeine. I told a few people about your furniture and...” He turned and extended his hand toward the truck pulling into the driveway. “They’re quite anxious to get started.” Several older men and a teenager exited the truck and came onto the porch. “This is Reverend Meyer from the Methodist church, his son and his grandson, and they’ll be happy to take anything you want to get rid of.”

Reverend Meyer grasped her hand in a firm shake. “I knew your grandmother. A wonderful woman and a pillar of the community.” With that said, he walked past her, obviously anxious to get started. And she hadn’t even determined what she wanted to give away.

Deciding certain eyesores had to go, Trish pulled the door open so they could enter. “You’ll be able to fill your truck.”

“So kind of you. We have several families who were devastated by the floods, and we can use anything you want to give us. All tax deductible, of course.” He followed her into the living room. “Just point out what we can take.”

“Everything in this room—couch, chairs, tables and lamps. Leave the secretary.” She turned to Craig. “What do you think? Anything else in here that Henry’s Antiques might have an interest in?”

Reverend Meyer stopped moving one of the chairs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you hadn’t consulted the antiques dealer yet.” He swept a hand around the room. “Just about everything here looks like something Henry might want.”

Trish hesitated, weighing the financial benefits against helping people who’d been devastated by a flood. “You take what’s in the living room. That should pretty much fill your truck, and I’ll get back to you about the rest after I’ve spoken to the antiques dealer. You can have anything else he won’t consider for his store.”

After several nods in her direction, Reverend Meyer motioned his helpers over to the sofa. “Let’s start with this.” While they worked on removing the furniture, Craig directed her to the secretary.

“I’d like to buy this once you find out the value from Henry.” When she didn’t immediately reply, he added, “You were going to sell it, weren’t you?”

Trish’s ambivalence had her wondering, not for the first time, if her decision to sell everything might be a mistake. With her fingers barely touching the wood, Trish felt a connection to her past. “It has memories. So many.” After pressing her lips together to keep from getting too sentimental, she turned to Craig. “You’re first on the list.”

He reached over and drew his finger under her eyelash, sweeping away the tear that had slipped onto her cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t rush into anything.”

She forced a laugh and backed away. The touch was too sweet, too intimate. “I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional. I’d have no place for this desk. It’s too large.” And she doubted if Harrison would ever want anything this archaic.

Reverend Meyer came back into the room. “Okay if we take the matching chairs?”

“Of course.”

The reverend hesitated. “I don’t mean to be unappreciative, but what we could really use is a few beds. Do you have any of those? Something basic. So many people haven’t a decent place to sleep.”