Summer Kisses

by Melinda Curtis

  Spotting a broom and dustpan in a corner, Becca swept up the debris. Flynn gave her a grateful look.

  Phil sank into one of his barber chairs. “If you’ve got plumber’s tape in that box of yours, I bet I’ll be back in business faster than a cat can say meow.”

  “No such luck.” Flynn knocked his head on the sink when he stood, nearly tipping his baseball cap off. He rubbed his head. “This needs a real plumber. The pipe’s rusted through.”

  “It’s nice of you to help people out,” she said, needing to fill the silence once Flynn had promised to call the plumber and they were on their way again.

  “My grandfather started prostituting me out when the winery was approved by the town council, like I was their thank-you gift.” Flynn pointed out a house they passed with a short, golden lawn. “Last month I hired a gardening service to mow the weeds down on the abandoned homes. We want to bring honest, hardworking people back here. Can’t do that when it looks like a good place to build a meth lab.”

  “I’m impressed.” He was a great guy. Her first impression—the one where she thought he needed taking care of—had been wrong. Flynn could take care of himself and the rest of Harmony Valley’s residents. “Most millionaires would buy a tropical island and retire.”

  Flynn walked her to the door of her motorhome. “That’s why most millionaires go bankrupt within five years. This is a sabbatical for us. We’re going to design and program another app. We’ve got an idea. It’s in the conceptual stages now.”

  Becca put her key in the lock. “Good luck with that.”

  He stood next to her, as if waiting for a good-night kiss.

  Becca stared at him. Abby stared at him. Agnes opened the door and stared at him.

  Becca leaned closer, allowing a small smile. “House rule number three—good-night kisses aren’t allowed.”

  He leaned closer, until his lips were almost brushing her ear. “Unless you’re on the Harmony River bridge. Local tradition trumps house rules every time.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEXT MORNING, Flynn was at the collapsed barn site earlier than anyone, including Dane, anxious to hear the revised budget and timeline for the project.

  The grapevines near the river were still blanketed in fog, but tendrils were drifting upward and dissipating beneath the sun rising over the mountains. It promised to be another warm, beautiful day. And it would be as soon as Flynn got past this meeting.

  He couldn’t stand still. He’d worn his best blue jeans and an ironed green polo, pulling the brim of his baseball cap low, schooling himself to show no emotion, no matter what Joey said. If Joey showed up.

  But it was Becca who was on his mind. The swing of her braid as she walked. Her easy smile. The way she was kind to everyone and tough on him.

  That wasn’t totally true. She was kind and tough on him.

  He walked around the collapsed wing of the barn, unable to stop smiling. And then he stumbled over the barn’s weathervane—a trotting, cast-iron horse.

  Will walked around the far corner of the barn, just as a truck pulled into the winery entrance. It was Slade.

  The three men came together on the circular drive in front of the barn. As usual, Flynn was underdressed. Both Will and Slade had on khakis, although Will had chosen a black polo. The tie Slade smoothed over his dress shirt was coffee-brown.

  “That tie new?” Flynn grinned, ready to cut the tension with a familiar bit of ribbing.

  “You’ve seen this tie before,” Slade groused.

  “I don’t know.” Will picked up the ball right where Flynn left it. “It looks new. Those ties of yours can’t last more than, what? Three to four days of your worrying strokes.”

  Ba-da-bum.

  “Hardy-har.” Slade nodded at the weathervane horse. “That’d make a nice logo for the winery.”

  Flynn lifted it upright so they could get a better look. “Better than a big H and a big V.” Which was all they’d come up with.

  A beat-up white truck pulled between the palms, followed by Dane’s big silver-gray one.

  “That’s him in the white truck, isn’t it?” Will asked. “Your dad.”

  “Don’t call him that. His name is Joey.” Flynn thrust his shoulders back and walked toward the farmhouse.

  As Dane went over the revised budget with Slade and Will. Flynn drifted back toward the barn, pretending to survey the soon-to-be-demolished structure, not at all surprised to hear booted footsteps bring Joey to his side.

  “It’s a shame the old girl collapsed. I bet she’s weathered many a storm.” Joey’s voice rifled through his memories in a way that was intimate and inviolate.

  Flynn dug his fingernails into his palms. He hadn’t expected starting a conversation to be so hard. What he wanted to say had no relationship whatsoever with what he’d planned to say.

  And so, he kept silent.

  “But this way, the new girl will weather a hundred more years.”

  Flynn’s nails dug in harder.

  “How’ve you been?”

  His gaze slashed to Joey. “Since when? Since you saw me a few days ago? Or since you saw me nearly twenty years ago?”

  Joey didn’t so much as flinch. “That’s a hard way of looking at things, son.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Flynn said, low and urgent.

  Joey held up his hands. They were gnarled and scarred. “Just so you know, I’ve been working for Dane for several years now. I’m not following you and I don’t want any of that fortune you made. I don’t want any trouble, either.” And then his voice grew conciliatory. “But when life puts your past in front of you, you have to face it.”

  “We’ve faced it. Now I’m moving on. I have no problem with you working here, but you stay away from me, my grandfather and our house.” Flynn walked away without waiting to see if Joey agreed.

  * * *

  WHEN EDWIN OPENED his eyes, he could hear someone moving around in the hall outside his granddaughter’s room. “Kathy?”

  A small dog yipped once.

  Which dog was that? They’d always had big water dogs, Labs and the like.

  “Irma?” Edwin called for his wife. Had she taken in another stray?

  The bedroom door opened and a pretty young woman with a long black braid smiled gently at him. A small, mostly black dog scampered over to the bed, rising up on its hind legs so it could see him.

  “Good morning, Edwin.” Her face, so familiar.

  She wasn’t one of the Harmony Valley kids. All the homegrown ones had left for college or jobs. So who was this? Her name was... “Becca.”

  “That’s right.” She crossed the room and opened the slider drapes. Weak sunlight filtered through the dual canopy of fog and eucalyptus trees. “It’s a beautiful summer day. Flynn’s left for the construction site. Breakfast is ready. We need to get you up and moving before the physical therapist comes.”

  Memories came crashing back with bomb-blasting intensity. He’d been in the hospital, poked and prodded like a science experiment. But he knew the truth. This was no experiment.

  He was dying.

  All his plans, all the strategies he’d set in play for his country. They’d all played out.

  He was dying.

  Becca kept on talking. “...Flynn home after lunch. And this afternoon you’ll have a visit from the speech therapist.”

  The winery. Harmony Valley. A last-ditch effort to save the town that had been a shelter for so many for more than one hundred years. Flynn had promised to bring people—young, vibrant people—back to Harmony Valley. Only now Flynn was busy managing construction, dropping the ball on the people end.

  Years ago, when Edwin first discovered this tiny, sheltered town, he’d written letters to people he’d read about in the newspaper. Burne
d-out professors whose radical ideas never got funded. Victims of unspeakable crimes, grave accidents, vendettas. The oddball persona that didn’t seem to fit in. He’d been a Pied Piper, calling them here, to rebuild their lives and finally fit in.

  There was work to be done. Edwin swung his legs out from under the covers and sat up.

  The world spun.

  He would have fallen over if not for Becca’s quick, steady hands. “I’ve got you.”

  “Grandpa, I’m here to help you get up.” Truman, his great-grandchild, climbed up on the bed next to Edwin. He wore pajamas with trains on them he’d grown out of. The boy had probably never been on a train.

  “Where did you come from?” How could he have forgotten his great-grandchild was here?

  “Mama dropped me off yesterday. Don’t you remember?”

  He hadn’t, until Truman prompted him. He’d been so proud of Kathy taking on the responsibilities of a single parent until yesterday.

  “It’s okay.” Becca’s dark eyes soothed the panic riding roughshod through him. “I forget things all the time.”

  Edwin swallowed. He’d always prided himself on his memory, always relied on his brain’s acumen. What more did he need to understand the end was near?

  If he wanted to save Harmony Valley before he died, he’d need to do it pronto. “Would you help me write letters, Becca?”

  “Certainly.”

  “And I want to visit my friends.”

  “We have a full day today. It might be better to stay at home and rest. We want you to have a quick recovery.”

  “Soon I’ll have all the time in the world to rest.” Edwin intended to add more to bring his point home, but Becca was nodding, as if she understood how important a man’s last wishes were.

  * * *

  “AND THEN MAURICE landed in the blackberry bush and the dog got away with his hat!”

  The old men in the barbershop chortled with laughter. They were exchanging stories of the good old days, when they’d been young studs, at least in their minds. But it was heartwarming to see their camaraderie.

  She’d grown up in Los Angeles apartment complexes, where no one knew their neighbors, much less a whole community.

  The barbershop was a narrow hole in the wall. Or, more precisely, a narrow shop with a hole in the wall beneath the sink. Flynn’s plumber had yet to make an appearance. Instead of posters of good-looking men, Phil had pictures of famous sports teams on display.

  Truman was outside with Abby examining the red-and-white-striped barbershop pole from different angles, trying to figure out how to open it up to fix it.

  Phil’s hands trembled badly. And that was when he was sitting down. Standing up, Phil had an exaggerated swagger that made his hands shake worse.

  “Phil, what are your grandchildren doing?” Edwin was brave to trust Phil not to trim part of an ear along with his hair.

  Phil rattled off names and occupations. All of them seemed settled far away from Harmony Valley.

  Edwin swiveled the red barbershop chair. “And Felix, where did yours end up?”

  While the retired fireman filled Edwin in on his family, Truman opened the heavy glass door and came inside, narrowly missing getting whacked on the behind by the swinging door’s recoil. He plopped on the folding chair next to Becca and whispered, “How much longer?”

  “Not too long. Your grandfather needs lunch.” They had to take his blood sugar level and inject him with insulin. “Maybe you should wheel his walker next to him so he gets the hint.”

  Truman was across the room in six steps, Abby at his heels. The little dog was in love with the boy. And their relationship seemed to bolster Truman’s careful nature.

  It was bittersweet to see Abby so happy and engaged. Much of Becca’s work involved Abby being inactive for long hours. And there was evidence that service dogs led shorter lives due to the stress of worrying about those they assisted and the more intense situation they were put in—city sidewalks, doctors’ offices, hospitals.

  Edwin was in the middle of a speech that caused Felix’s and Phil’s expressions to glaze over. She’d heard his speech a few times already today. “And that’s why it’s important that we ask our families to return.”

  “My grandkids won’t come back here until I die.” Phil stared down his nose at Edwin as if he’d suggested he move to the moon. “And that’s only if I leave them my house on the condition they don’t sell.”

  Edwin seriously considered the idea for several seconds. Then he waved it aside. “That won’t work, Phil, you’re going to live forever.”

  The men guffawed some more.

  Edwin noticed Truman and his walker. “What’s this?”

  “It’s time to head back to the house,” Becca said briskly. “Blood sugar test, lunch and your meds.” Along with a nap with his feet elevated before his speech therapist arrived.

  “I have one more stop to make.” He’d already had Becca drive the Cadillac to the houses of some of his friends.

  How successful was his campaign to increase Harmony Valley’s population? Not at all.

  “We’ll go this afternoon,” Becca bartered with more urgency now. Either the lighting was bad in Phil’s shop or Edwin’s skin was turning pale everywhere but his fingers, which were still tinged a light blue. “Or we’ll call and have your friends come over.”

  Truman positioned the walker in front of the barber chair Edwin was in and set the brakes as Becca had shown him. Abby sat out of the way watching the two of them.

  “All right,” Edwin relented. He stood and disengaged the brakes. “I can see when I’m outnumbered. But I want to buy a newspaper before we go back.”

  “You can have mine.” Phil handed the newspaper to Truman. “Giants won last night.”

  “I’m not interested in sports scores.” Edwin lumbered in Truman’s wake. “I’m writing letters.”

  Truman held the glass door open

  Phil and Felix shared a look that gave Becca a split second of unease before she followed Edwin out the door.

  What was wrong with a man writing letters?

  * * *

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Flynn demanded when Becca parked the Cadillac in front of the house.

  Becca wasn’t sure who he was upset with—her or his grandfather.

  “I needed some air.” Edwin opened his car door slowly.

  Truman and Abby tumbled out of the car and ran into the house.

  “I called the hospital.” Flynn’s voice had a taut, astringent quality, as if too-tart lemonade had left his mouth parched.

  “There was no need to do that,” Edwin grumbled. “I’m not dying, as you can see.”

  Flynn couldn’t see. He was in a state, his hair sticking out stiffly from beneath his ball cap as if he’d been worrying the ends.

  “I’m sorry.” Becca retrieved the walker from the trunk. “We should have left a note.”

  “You think?” The look Flynn gave her was absent of any of the flirting, friendly quality from the night before.

  “Don’t fuss, Flynn. I had enough of that in the hospital.” Edwin struggled to stand, then gave up with a defeated sigh. “Why don’t you help me out of the car and up the steps?”

  Flynn did as asked. The exertion of standing combined with the physical demands of walking forced Edwin to sit on his walker halfway up the front path.

  “We learned a lot about limits today, didn’t we?” Becca tried to lighten everyone’s mood, but she knew she shouldn’t have let their excursion last so long. She chalked it up to the lessons learned the first week on the job.

  While Flynn and Truman settled Edwin into his recliner and checked Edwin’s blood sugar, Becca put lunch together. She couldn’t see the entire living room when she stood at the sink, only the foyer.


  “Do you want the TV on your game shows?” Truman asked.

  “No,” Edwin said. “I want to read the paper. You can watch whatever you want.”

  Flynn came into the kitchen, anchored his hands on either side of the sink, and hung his head.

  “He may look tired, but it was a great mental exercise for him.” Becca reached over and squeezed Flynn’s hand. It was cold, or she would have released it immediately. “We know his limits now. He’ll get his second wind around dinner time.”

  “I came home and you were all gone. I thought...I called...” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “We’ll leave a note next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time. He shouldn’t be going out at all.” Flynn turned to her. The ache, the sadness, the fear were all reflected in his eyes. Flynn knew he’d lose his grandfather one day, but he, like so many others, prayed their loved ones would live forever.

  “He needs to build up his strength.” Selfishly, Becca pictured Edwin stronger and able to get to the witness stand. “He wanted to go out. You shouldn’t treat him like he’s dying.”

  Flynn closed his eyes, turning his hand so he held hers.

  She should have pulled away, but his concern for his grandfather touched her. And it had been so long since anyone under the age of seventy had held her hand.

  Gradually, Flynn’s hand warmed around hers. “He’s all I have.”

  Becca had no answer to that.

  Edwin rattled his newspaper. “Truman, the message machine is blinking. Hit the replay button for your great-grandpa.”

  You have...three...messages.

  “Hi, Edwin. It’s Richmond. Glad you’re back home. I hear Flynn knows his way around a car engine. If he has a minute, send him by my place, will you?”

  Beep.

  “Edwin, you old coot. Mike Mionetti. Zenobia tells me Flynn’s going to fix her computer. I’ve been having trouble with my TV antennae and the missus says I shouldn’t go up on the ladder. Ask him if he can climb up there before the next episode of Dancing with the Stars.”