Your Dream And Mine. Susan Kirby

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       Chapter Five

      At the end of her shift at Milt and Mary’s, Thomasina returned to her apartment and began packing boxes for the move. The heat soon zapped her. She filled her white sedan with boxes and sofa cushions, and drove south to Liberty Flats.

      Taking a few necessities to the upstairs bedroom, Thomasina made a bed for herself on the cushions, and slept better than she had in days. She awakened at two in the afternoon, showered and dressed in shorts and a pink oversize shirt. Ready to tackle unloading the car, she tied her hair back with a neon pink scarf and let herself out the front door.

      Two towheaded, chocolate-smudged youngsters darted across Thomasina’s path and around the side of the house to where Trace was trimming bushes. The little boy kicked through the clippings as they fell to the ground. The little girl, half a head taller, tripped over the extension cord trying to copy his capers. The hedge clippers went dead.

      “What’re you two doing back?” asked Trace, unaware of Thomasina’s approach.

      “Momma said we didn’t have to come in yet,” said the little boy. His voice was nearly as raspy as old Milt’s.

      “Well, you’re in my way, so scram,” said Trace, reaching for the rake.

      “Cut our bushes,” said the little girl. Getting no response from Trace, she turned to her brother. “They’re tall as a house. Aren’t they, Pauly?”

      The boy bobbed his head and sucked his thumb.

      “Hear that, Win?” said Trace. He paused in raking clippings to cup a hand to his ear. “Cartoons are on.”

      “Who’s on?” asked the girl.

      “Magnet-Man. He’s the guy who’s going to clean house on those toy heroes you two have been collecting.”

      “Nuh-uh!” said Winny, jutting out her lip.

      Trace shrugged and tossed a pile of clippings into the wheelbarrow. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

      “You’re fibbing,” accused Winny. But the seed of planted doubt bunched her face into a pout. “Come on, Pauly. We’ll tell Momma.”

      Trace leaned down to reconnect the trimmers, then straightened to find Thomasina standing a few feet away. Her gaze followed the children cross the yard where they disappeared through a narrow path in the hedge.

      “Hi,” said Trace. “How’s the move going?”

      “So far so good.” Her mouth tipped in response to his smile. “Who do I call about getting the paper delivered?”

      He gave her the paperboy’s name, and offered to let her use his phone.

      “Thanks. But I’ve got one in the car. By the way, I saw the tree at Mary and Milt’s is still standing. I’m glad. Mary’s partial to it.”

      “Milt didn’t mention that to me.”

      “She didn’t tell him. She doesn’t want to be the fly in the ointment.”

      “That so?” he said.

      Leaving well enough alone, Thomasina crossed to the curb for the sack of doughnuts she had left in the car. Someone had beat her to it. It was no mystery who. There were chocolate child-size fingerprints all over the seats, on her moving boxes and even on her cellular phone. She wiped the phone off only to find a dead line. On closer inspection she found the battery was missing.

      Thomasina retraced her steps to where Trace was rolling up the extension chord. “On second thought, I’ll take you up on the phone offer. Mine’s not working.”

      “If you’re going to leave your car out, you might want to lock your doors,” he said.

      “I thought leaving doors unlocked was one of the perks in small towns.”

      “Maybe in Mayberry. But the Penn kids are loose in Liberty Flats.”

      She folded her arms. “Fine way to talk about your little helpers.”

      “Helpers?” He laughed, his face shiny damp. “Good argument for staying single, don’t you mean?”

      “Shame on you.”

      Unrepentant, Trace dragged a brown forearm across his brow, then tossed the coiled extension cord on top of the hedge trimmings. “Anything else I can do to make moving day less of a hassle?”

      “I noticed there isn’t a restaurant in town. What do people around here do for eating out?”

      “You can get a sandwich made to order at Newt’s Market on the square. Pretty good one at that.”

      “Great. The cupboards are bare.”

      “Your doughnut sack, too,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t get it away from them before they made such a mess of your car.”

      “You caught them in the act, huh?”

      “Chocolate-fisted.” At Thomasina’s smile, he added, “They live in the little yellow house on the other side of the hedge if you want to take it up with their mother.”

      “That won’t be necessary,” she said.

      “I was planning on grabbing a sandwich before work myself,” said Trace on impulse. “You want to come along?”

      “That’s nice of you. Sure,” said Thomasina, appreciating the welcoming gesture.

      “Let me put this stuff away. You can make your phone call while I shower, and then we’ll go.” He collected his remaining yard tools. “The phone’s this way.”

      Thomasina trailed after him as he trundled the wheelbarrow to a shady old two-story stone carriage house. It had been converted to a two-car garage and a shop. There were windows. But the trees diffused the sunlight. It was shadowy inside, and several degrees cooler.

      “There’s room in here if you want to park out of the weather,” he said as he led her past his pickup truck. “I keep the doors locked, so you won’t have to worry about the kids playing road trip in your car.”

      “So that’s what they were doing.” СКАЧАТЬ