A Dream of His Own. Gail Gaymer Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ “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—”

       “Then how about helping out around here.” She swung her arm toward the backyard. “The flowers will never grow underneath all those autumn leaves that you were supposed to rake last October.”

       Brandon pivoted on his heel and marched through the doorway into the dining room. “Forget it. You’ll never understand.”

       She listened to his footsteps thump down the hall followed by the slam of his bedroom door. Lately they’d been at odds, and no matter what she did, according to Brandon, was wrong. Her income working in the high school office didn’t buy them steaks and designer jeans. She’d learned to budget and watch her pennies. Brandon expected her to be his financier and housekeeper. When Tom died, life changed. Not only had she lost her husband, but Brandon had lost his father. She understood girls. Boys, she didn’t.

       Ava sank onto a kitchen chair, eyed the wrench and set it on the table. Now that she started the plumbing job, she wished she hadn’t. Brandon had been right. She’d resolved the faucet leak, but now water dripped under the sink. She felt stupid. If she’d taken Quinn’s offer, everything would be fixed. But taking advantage of his kindness wasn’t her way.

       Pulling up her shoulders, she rose and headed down the hall to Brandon’s room. She stood a moment before giving the door a tap. “Bran. Let’s talk.”

       “Thanks anyway.” His deep mumble penetrated the door.

       Her little boy had vanished a year ago, maybe last summer between his fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays. He’d shot up three inches, and she had to look up at him now. He used to let her kiss his cheek and give him a hug. СКАЧАТЬ