Summer Kisses

by Melinda Curtis

  Beep.

  “I knew those doctors couldn’t keep you locked up forever. Have Flynn go by Mae Gardner’s house. I noticed she had a couple of shingles loose on the south side.”

  Edwin cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Flynn, do you have time today to make the rounds after lunch?”

  “I was going to spend the afternoon with you.” Flynn’s eyes met Becca’s. His were filled with a resolute sadness, as if he was being rejected.

  “I raised you to help your neighbors.” Edwin ran out of air, coughed several times, then drew a deep breath that rattled his lungs. “Besides, I’ve got speech therapy this afternoon. It won’t take long. And I bet Truman would like to help you.”

  “Don’t go,” Becca whispered to Flynn. “I bet he’d be just as happy if you stayed here.”

  Flynn shook his head slowly.

  “I’m a good helper,” Truman piped in.

  “Of course you are,” Edwin agreed. “And when you’re done you ask your uncle Flynn to take you by El Rosal for ice cream. Hard work deserves a reward.”

  The urge to enfold Flynn in her arms was strong. She patted his hand with her free one instead. “I’ll make sure he’s waiting for you when you get back.”

  Becca knew she shouldn’t promise.

  But Flynn needed something to hold on to.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “UNCLE FLYNN, CAN you teach me how to fix things?”

  “Sure.” Flynn drove down Main Street toward Richmond’s house on the east side of town.

  His grandfather looked like death in a Dixie cup. All he wanted to do was sit with Grandpa Ed and talk, but his grandfather was always sending him on some errand. And whenever Flynn was home they were both exhausted.

  Truman gazed out the window. He had one arm flung around Abby, who shared the luxury truck’s bucket seat with the small boy. He’d become more animated and less deliberate in the past few days than Flynn had ever seen him. “I want people to call my house and ask me to do stuff, like they do you. And then I can fix things for my mom and she’ll be happy.”

  Flynn remembered thinking the exact same thing when he was a kid. He wanted to be indispensible. An insurance policy for any kid who felt disposable.

  He needed to talk to Kathy. His phone calls so far had rolled directly to voice mail, as if her phone was turned off or she was ignoring him. Just like their mother. “I bet you already help your mom around the house in lots of ways.”

  “I do. I put her to bed and get her up in the morning in time for work.” Truman kicked his feet out. “But if I had a dog, like Abby, I could help a lot more. Abby could fetch the newspaper and bring in a firelog and find the remote when Mom can’t.”

  “Abby’s a good dog,” Flynn allowed, thinking how heartbroken Truman would be when Kathy returned to get him or Becca moved on. Maybe Flynn would get him a dog of his own. “But Abby will never be as good of a helper as you are.”

  Truman’s chest swelled with pride.

  At Richmond’s house they—Flynn—quickly discovered that the retired postal worker had left his car lights on and run his battery down. Flynn got out his jumper cables.

  On to Mike Mionetti’s house, where Abby and Truman played in the front yard with Shep, Mike’s old sheep dog, while Flynn climbed up on the roof and adjusted the old school antennae.

  Finally, they stopped by Mae Gardner’s house, where Flynn had Truman count how many of her black asphalt shingles were missing. Mae gave Truman ten peppermints, one for each missing shingle.

  “I don’t really need an ice cream,” Truman said quietly as they drove back toward the one small grocery store in town. “I didn’t do any work.”

  “You’re my wingman.” There was no way Flynn wasn’t making a big deal out of their afternoon together. “You talked to my customers and kept them happy.”

  Truman brightened slightly. “But if they were customers, how come we didn’t get paid?”

  “Because we’re neighbors. And neighbors take care of each other.”

  “Not where we live,” Truman said glumly.

  * * *

  “HERE’S THE LETTER I want you to type.” Edwin handed Becca a yellowed sheet of paper a few hours after Flynn and Truman left on their fix-it rounds. “And here are the people I want to write to.” This page, equally aged, was filled with chicken scratch names.

  A breeze fluttered through the curtains and murmured through the trees outside. Becca couldn’t remember ever being anywhere that was so quiet. Unwilling to disturb the peace, she almost hadn’t vacuumed earlier.

  Edwin worked the buttons of his recliner into a full horizontal position, wriggling a bit to get comfy.

  Becca scanned his letter first. “I’d like to invite you to set aside the cares of the outside world and explore the small community of Harmony Valley.” She didn’t try to disguise the shock she felt as she stared down at him. “Are you asking all these people to move here?”

  “Don’t quibble.” Edwin’s voice carried more than a trace of indignation, as if he wasn’t used to his commands being questioned. “It’s worked before.”

  So this was what raised the eyebrows of Felix and Phil.

  Becca perused the second sheet. “There must be thirty names on this list. A fallen politician, a retired wrestler, a woman who was mugged for her iPhone, a fired sheriff. I’ve seen these people in the news.”

  His eyes drifted closed. “Yes. They all could use a respite from the outside world, don’t you agree?”

  “Well maybe.” These people were going to toss his letters in the trash. Or worse—they’d show up here looking to move in with Edwin. Becca’s lawyer would have a heart attack if she helped him write these letters and she couldn’t very well blame him. “As long as none of these people are serial killers.”

  “Don’t be negative.” Edwin didn’t open his eyes.

  Becca set the letters aside and covered him with the green afghan. She studied her work and added a throw pillow beneath each hand to try and combat his poor circulation. “At least let’s get you a post office box or send these from the address of a real estate agent. You don’t want strangers showing up on your doorstep.”

  “Why not? You did.” That lopsided grin was endearing even with his eyes closed. “I have a typewriter in my room. Feel free to use it.”

  “A typewriter? What about a computer?” Becca had never used a typewriter in her life. She didn’t know how to correct her typos on one. “I think I’ll wait until Flynn gets back. I’d much rather type this up on a computer.” And see what Flynn had to say about the letters. She was hoping he’d give them a big veto.

  “It’s not up to him.” Edwin puffed up indignantly, dragging his eyes open. Apparently, a Herculean effort, as they shuttered closed almost immediately. “I want to continue our town visits tomorrow. Someone has to have relatives who want to move back here.”

  “I don’t want to be a killjoy...” Liar. “But don’t you need jobs to attract nonretirees?”

  “Not necessarily. We could be a bedroom community. People could commute.”

  Edwin’s heart may not have been at full capacity, but his brain was sharp as a tack. “This from the man who told a caretaker applicant it was too far to drive from Santa Rosa every day.”

  The right side of Edwin’s mouth tilted upwards. “That’s entirely different. She and I would have butted heads all day long. Whereas you—”

  “Seem unable to control you.” Becca gestured in exasperation.

  “We’re back!” Truman burst into the house, followed by a panting Abby, who went right for the water bowl. “Uncle Flynn bought me a missile popsicle. It was awesome.”

  “I see he did.” Becca smiled.

  Truman’s hands and shirt were stained orange, pink and yellow.

  �
�Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can tell your great-grandpa all about your afternoon.”

  Truman struggled out of his shirt as he ran down the hall. Then he ran back, his arm stuck in the too small shirt. “Help.”

  Becca laughed, easing him out of the shirt.

  Truman watched Flynn come in the door. He rubbed his colorful hands up and down his bare chest. “We did good today, didn’t we, Uncle Flynn?”

  “Yep. But you’re breaking house rule number one.” Flynn grinned at Becca in a way that had her heart leapfrogging where it didn’t belong. “You’ve got to wear a shirt outside of your bedroom.”

  Truman scampered down the hall, giggling.

  Flynn held Becca’s gaze just a little too long before he settled into the couch. “How’re you feeling, old man?”

  “Old,” Edwin replied. “Is all right with the world?”

  “In this corner, at least.”

  “That’s all we can ask for.” They grinned at each other.

  Becca missed moments like that—inside jokes, light banter, love.

  She missed it, but not enough to risk another heartbreak.

  * * *

  WHATEVER BECCA WAS cooking smelled really good. His grandfather and Truman dozed in the living room, worn out by the day’s activities. Flynn was pretty worn out himself, but having tried getting in touch with Kathy again today, his eyes were busy staring at the ceiling and wondering when he should call the police. Seven days had come and gone, and there was still no word from Kathy.

  “Dinner’s almost ready.” Becca peeked around the corner of the kitchen. “Flynn, can you come help me?”

  Flynn was hungry, and for more than food. He rounded the kitchen arch and almost ran into Becca, who was waving some papers.

  “Your grandfather asked me to write a letter to all these people.” Becca handed him his grandfather’s notes. She kept her voice down.

  Flynn scanned the letter and then the list of people his grandfather wanted to send it to. “This will either be brilliant or make Harmony Valley the laughingstock of the nation. I’ll talk to him.”

  “I’m torn because he so clearly wants to help the town, but I’m not sure he’s going about it the right way.” She hesitated before adding, “And frankly, I can’t be a part of it. My lawyer...”

  “I made him a promise that I’d bring people here. It’s my fault he’s taking it into his own hands and coming up with these letters. Maybe there’s no harm in sending them. He’s addressed this one in care of the WWE Corporate Headquarters in Stamford, Connecticut. That’s probably not enough of a complete address to deliver it.”

  Becca’s lips twisted with doubt. “Be gentle. I don’t want him to feel like I’m laughing at him. I’m primarily concerned for his safety, particularly if he insists on putting his address on the letters.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Thanks.” His gaze caught on hers. There was an awkward moment where he’d swear she was thinking what he was thinking: they both needed a hug.

  But the moment passed, and she stepped back.

  Becca gestured toward the stove and the steady tick of the egg timer. “I made turkey meat loaf, roasted vegetables and salad. The rolls are in the oven. I feel obligated to warn you that it’s all low salt. The smell promises more flavor than it delivers.”

  “As long as it’s good for Grandpa Ed, I’ll eat it.”

  She patted his shoulder as she went toward the door. “He’ll get better every day. Just you wait and see.”

  Flynn reached for her arm, stopping her. “Becca.” It wasn’t fair that she didn’t know the truth. She was taking care of his grandfather and if she pushed him too hard for the sake of a recovery that would never happen, she’d never forgive herself.

  On the other hand, she said she made it a habit of moving on after her patients died. And that she wanted a client who was going to get better for a change. He couldn’t tell her.

  She stared up at him, concern clouding her features. “Hey. It’s all right.” She reached up and touched his cheek. The warmth of her hand spread through him. “It’s okay to worry.”

  “Is it?” And then Flynn swept her into his arms and held her close. He buried his nose in her dark hair, breathing in the scent of fresh flowers.

  He needed this. He needed someone to hold him and to hold someone in return. The tension inside his chest burst and settled lower, attempting to turn into desire.

  Her arms held on to him loosely. A friendly hug. A neutral hug. He wanted more. His hand drifted down to the small of her back and pulled her even closer. He nuzzled her ear, exhaling a gentle puff of air.

  “House rule number two—no employee hugs allowed. Remember?” Her voice was businesslike, but he could feel her tremble against him.

  Reluctantly, he let her go.

  Her cheeks were aflame, highly satisfying to Flynn’s male ego. “I should be going. When the timer goes off, take the bread out and serve dinner.” Her gaze caught on something at his feet. “Did you drop a penny?”

  “No.” He would have reached for her again, but Truman came around the corner from the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “You can stay for dinner, Becca.” Truman hugged her leg.

  She turned her slender back on Flynn, and bent to give Truman a hug. “No, sweetie. Agnes is expecting me.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  “Yes. And I’ll make breakfast again. Maybe tomorrow morning we’ll make something your great-grandpa will like.”

  “I like pancakes better than cereal.” Truman grinned sleepily.

  “Everyone likes the sweet stuff,” Flynn said, just to get a rise out of her.

  The timer went off.

  Becca walked into the living room without so much as a backward glance. “House rule number four—only one treat a day.” Becca gathered up her purse and Abby’s leash. “Good night, Edwin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Grandpa Ed roused himself with a start. “You’re not spending the night?”

  “No,” Becca said with too much emphasis. And then she disappeared.

  Truman blinked at the front door and then turned to Flynn. “I like her. You should keep her.”

  “From the mouths of babes.” Grandpa Ed chuckled, operating the remote to bring his recliner to a sitting position and then the slow boost to standing.

  “From the mouths of babes,” Flynn echoed. He picked up the penny at his feet and started to smile.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I USED TO think the most amusing part of living here was our elderly residents. I mean, who can’t find humor in creative taxidermy, one-woman musicals and feuds over naked yoga?” Slade sat on a warped plastic chair on the winery’s farmhouse porch with Flynn and Will, stroking his blue tie and grinning while they watched the construction crew prepare to demo the barn. “I’ve changed my mind. Flynn has become the most amusing part of my day.”

  Will tipped the ladder-back chair he’d brought from home on two legs and peeled a strip of old paint off the porch wall. There was already a small pile of paint strips at his feet. “Totally with you on that one. Flynn’s a regular three-ring circus.”

  Ignoring the friends who’d bookended him onto a milk crate on the porch, Flynn reviewed the supply list Dane had given him for cost approval. He had more serious things to worry about, like how his grandfather didn’t seem to be getting any stronger. The trip he hoped to take with him seemed inconceivable.

  Across the driveway, Dane’s crews had finished taking out windows, carefully salvaging exterior boards, iron hinges and latches, until only the barn’s skeleton and tin roof remained. Dust kicked up from scurrying workers, blown lazily by the light breeze off the river. Chains ran from the center ceiling beam through a hole in the tin, draping down to attach to two yellow
backhoes, ready to pull the barn on top of the already flattened wing.

  Leaning in for maximum torment, Slade’s grin widened. “Hiding from Joey. Circling your grandfather’s pretty caregiver.”

  “Hovering over Edwin until he snaps,” Will added.

  Flynn held on to his temper with a slippery grip. “Since when is it a crime to worry about your grandfather?”

  “I like how he avoids the other two accusations,” Slade said.

  “Okay, all right. I admit...” Flynn lowered his voice. “I’ve been avoiding Joey. And maybe I have been circling Becca.” She was like a familiar puzzle he couldn’t remember the key to. One minute they were on the same path to solving it, and the next, she was backing away and touting a house rule.

  He was coming to hate house rules.

  “Becca’s a sweetheart, but she has definite boundaries.” Will seemed to read Flynn’s mind.

  “And yet, the girl has guts. She doesn’t let Edwin push her around.” Now that Flynn had admitted his foibles, Slade leaned back. “Or you.”

  “That’s part of the problem.” Will nodded. “Flynn can’t direct Becca the way he conducts the symphony before us today.”

  Becca had successfully avoided being alone with Flynn for days. Flynn liked to think he let her. But he’d been busy monitoring the demolition prep and helping elderly residents. At the same time, a communications tower was going up on Parish Hill, sending the town into this century with cell phone and internet service.

  “Head count!” Dane shouted, gesturing for the crew to move back from the barn. “Every man report to your foreman outside the barn.”

  “I can’t believe we’re finally taking it down.” Flynn took a picture of the barn with his cell phone.

  The legs of Will’s chair landed on the porch with a thud. “Rose cried when I told her. Emma helped me convince her grandmother it was for the best.”

  And it was for the best. Nearly all the remaining old beams had cracked under the pressure of the wing collapsing. They’d had no choice but to bring it all down and start over.