"Well, what about what I asked you?" insisted Irma when Sage reappeared in the kitchen and set to work with the dish towel. It was clear that Irma was not to be put off.
"About Adam and me? Of course it can't be serious. He's a freelancer with a one-year contract after which he'll be off to the next plant that hires him. Adam Hracek, the nomad of industry." She'd called him a gypsy once, and he hadn't liked it. Perhaps being called a nomad was better. Sage concentrated on drying a big, heavy platter and stretched on tiptoe to slide it onto its high shelf.
"I saw Adam looking at you over dinner as though he were feasting his eyes and not just his stomach," said Irma bluntly.
"Adam and I like each other. We're attracted to each other. It's nothing more than that. Do you think the three of them had a good time today?" Better to change the subject, if only Irma would fall for it. Luckily, she did.
"They all seemed to enjoy the food, didn't they? I didn't know a skinny little fellow like Vito could pack away so much stuffing. Sure wish I knew how to talk Italian. Luigi could have given me some good cooking hints."
The telephone rang. Sage grabbed it and clicked on the receiver.
"Sage? Is that you?"
Sage recognized Lyndell Sheedy's voice. Lyndell sounded distraught.
"Lyndell, is everything all right?"
"Yes, Ed's fine. But there's something else, something important. I'm hoping you can come to the rescue."
"Why, I'll help in any way I can."
"It's our house at the beach. The police on Holden Beach called to say that part of the roof was torn off in the storm. The patrolman couldn't tell me much more than that, but there may be inside damage. He doesn't have a key to get in, and, Sage, I'm worried about it. Could you possibly—I know it's a lot to ask over the holiday—but could you possibly ride over there tomorrow and take a look? I can't leave Ed to go myself."
"Well," said Sage. She'd promised she would help. But Holden Beach lay ninety miles away, and this could be a big repair job.
"You won't have to go by yourself. Adam could go with you. He's been wanting to see the house, anyway. Frankly"—and here Lyndell's voice dropped as though she were about to reveal a secret—"Ed's been thinking about selling Wilpacko Industries and retiring. The beach house is owned by the company, so it's part of the package. Adam, with his contacts in industry, thinks he might know of someone who would be interested in buying, so it's important for Adam to see the place."
This information stunned Sage. She'd had no idea Ed was considering selling Wilpacko. Still, after his heart attack, she could see why he'd want to call it quits.
"Anyway, Sage, if you'd go, I'd be so grateful. You could arrange with a contractor for any serious roofing work that needs to be done, and of course, I'll pay you for your time and labor. Will you do it?"
"Lyndell, of course," she said. She owed Ed and Lyndell that much out of friendship. "It's not necessary for Adam to go with me. I'll drive my truck over tomorrow so that I'll have all my tools."
"Oh, Sage," and Lyndell's voice was heavy with relief. "I can't tell you how that eases my mind. I know you can take care of things. Thank you so much."
Before she hung up, Sage assured Lyndell that she would drop by later to pick up the key to the beach house, but no sooner had they hung up than the phone rang again.
"Sage, it's Adam. Have you talked with Lyndell? Good. Now here's what I thought we could do—"
"Adam, I already have it planned. I'm driving to Holden Beach early tomorrow morning. I'll assess the damage to the house and do what I can. If you care to arrive later, that's fine. I'll be there to let you in. You only wanted to look the place over, right?"
"Wrong. I want to enjoy the beach and the ocean. And there's no need for us to take two cars. You can ride with me."
Sage closed her eyes and pinched the skin above her nose between thumb and forefinger. "I can't go in your car. I need my truck. All my tools are in the toolbox, which won't fit in a Lamborghini. And, anyway, what will you do while I'm working on repairs?"
"Take Joy for a walk on the beach."
"Joy?"
"Sure. Doesn't she like the beach?"
A picture of Joy on vacation last summer flashed before Sage's eyes: her fascination with the sandpipers that skittered barely ahead of the waves, inspiring Joy to try it, too; her awkward attempts at swimming; the way she wiggled her stubby toes up and down, utterly fascinated by the sensation of the soft sand against her bare feet.
"Yes, Joy loves the beach. I hadn't planned to take her this time, though. Besides, it's cold there in November."
"If I go, you can take her," Adam pointed out. "And the temperature should be in the high sixties tomorrow, perfect for walking in the sun and salt air. We'll all take warm jackets."
"Why do I feel as though I've just been run over by a steamroller?" asked Sage, giving up, but she couldn't stay annoyed with someone who was so persistent.
"Because you have," he shot back. "As I said, we don't need two cars. I'll ride with you in your truck."
The thought of Adam riding in her inelegant Chevy pickup made the corners of her mouth angle upward in a reluctant grin. He must really want to see her if he'd stoop to that, especially after her coolness on the night he'd told her where their relationship stood. She hadn't been sure that he'd want to continue it. Anyway, who was she kidding? She'd love to spend the whole day with Adam. She'd already made up her mind that she'd take whatever Adam would give, hadn't she?
"I'll pick you up around seven tomorrow morning," she told him. "You'd better bring your sand pail and shovel and a lot of patience. Joy will dig in the sand for hours."
"That suits me just fine," he said, sounding happy.
Well, she thought, hanging up, that was a surprise, but a pleasant one. After spending Thanksgiving Day together amid the camaraderie of her family, a day at the beach with Adam would further strengthen the feelings of friendship between them. He'd said they could be friends. They could be lovers. Lovers in the physical sense, but not the emotional. The limits of their relationship were something that she had steeled herself, over the last few days, to accept.
Irma shot Sage, who seemed altogether too quiet since she and Adam rang off, a meaningful look. "As I asked you before. Sage, is it serious?"
Sage tossed her wet dish towel over the back of a kitchen chair and fairly flew out of the kitchen. "No!" she called back over her shoulder, her tone most emphatic.
This time, Sage's overreaction to Irma's simple question told Irma everything she wanted to know.
* * *
"Well," Sage said as she stepped down off the ladder, "the beach house is in better condition than I'd hoped. The roofing job looks minor. There are extra shingles in the utility room, and with a little care, I can replace the damaged and missing ones. No big deal." She dusted her hands on the front of her denim one-piece coveralls.
"Good," Adam said. "What about the inside?" He'd loved the house upon sight, liking the way it nestled right into the dune line. The simple board-and-batten construction belied the beautifully furnished interior and state-of-the-art appliances.
"The water damage on the ceiling in the back upstairs bedroom is no big deal. Fixing it is simply a matter of replacing stained tiles. I can replace the broken pane of glass in this window, too."
"Do you want to get started right away?"
"I'll drive over to the mainland and pick up a pane of glass for the broken window and a carton of new ceiling tiles at the local hardware store."
"Joy and I can go for our walk on the beach while you're on the mainland."
Joy looked up from where she was pushing her favorite red toy car on the deck. "Va-room," she said. Adam had taught her that.
Sage swooped down and bestowed a kiss on top of Joy's head. "Right now, Mommy's going to va-room into town. Adam will take you for a walk by the ocean."
Joy scrambled to her feet and stuffed the toy car into the pocket of her blue windbreaker. As Sage backed her
truck out of the driveway, Adam and Joy stood side by side, Joy solemnly waving.
Holden Beach was an island off the southern North Carolina mainland that enjoyed its heyday every summer. It was only a twenty-minute drive across the waterway into the little town of Shallotte. She passed rows of beach houses, some occupied year-round, some in use for the long Thanksgiving weekend, but most of them deserted. The day was sunny and bright, and along the dunes graceful stalks of sea oats bent to the crisp breeze off the ocean. As Sage drove, what she thought about most was Adam.
He was wonderful with Joy. He'd kept her amused on the long drive from Willoree. He patiently played a game of counting red cars, then blue cars, even though Joy couldn't really count. Adam seemed to know instinctively that it wasn't so important for Joy to learn to count yet, but that she needed the stimulation of noticing things around her. Sage had no doubt that now, as they walked the beach, Adam would be pointing out to Joy all the things there were to see, and she wished she could have gone with them.
Once on the mainland, it didn't take Sage long at the hardware store to get the glass cut for the bathroom window or to find the right kind of ceiling tiles, and when she arrived back at the beach house, she saw a tall figure paired with a tiny one far down the beach among other holidaymakers.
Adam and Joy, she thought to herself. She felt a thrill of pleasure at the sight of them together. And then, forcing herself to pull her eyes away, she uncapped her can of putty, climbed the ladder, removed the cracked window pane and skillfully began to fit the new pane in place.
Sage had previously stayed at the beach house with Lyndell and Ed, so when lunchtime rolled around, she felt comfortable poking and puttering around the kitchen, finding glasses and knives and plates exactly where she expected them to be.
As she set the table, Adam strode noisily up the outside wooden stairs. Joy crowed in mirth as she rode on his shoulders, carefully balancing a bucket of shells that had been tossed upon the beach by yesterday's storm.
"Show Mommy what you've found," Adam directed as he set her down, and with that Joy unexpectedly, and to Sage's dismay, dumped the whole bucketful of shells on the kitchen floor - sand, seawater and all.
"I didn't mean to show Mommy quite that way," said Adam, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
Entranced by the mess, Joy sat down and plucked a large, rosy piece from the heap of shells. It wasn't a whole shell, just a fragment, but the color of it was pretty.
"Pink shell, Mommy," said Joy, enunciating slowly.
Sage was amazed. Joy wasn't always sure about her colors. Sage hadn't known that the word "pink" was part of Joy's vocabulary.
"Why, yes, Joy, it is pink," she said. To Adam she said in a low voice, "I never knew she recognized the color pink."
"She learned today," Adam said with an air of satisfaction.
Sage smiled at him, a smile full of radiance. Then she became suddenly self-conscious at the way he was looking at her. She knew she wasn't much to look at in her loose old coveralls, and she turned away quickly.
"I'm making lunch," she told him, just for something to say.
"I didn't know there was food here," he said.
"I brought leftover turkey for sandwiches," she said, concentrating mightily on spreading the mayonnaise on the bread. It's like spreading putty, she thought absurdly, only mayonnaise isn't as thick.
"Then I'll clean up this mess," Adam said. He rummaged in the broom closet and found a roll of paper towels. He bent over and sopped up the water, neatly swirling the sand up, too. He didn't mind doing it. Spending time with Sage and her daughter more than made up for any inconvenience.
"Let's put these shells back in the bucket," he told Joy. "First you put in one, then I'll put in one." And so the cleanup proceeded, with Adam making a game of it, and not only a game, but a game on Joy's level. By the time Sage had finished preparing lunch, the shells were all deposited in their bucket and the sand and water were gone. With a good deal of convincing, Adam managed to lead Joy off to the bathroom to wash her hands.
He's so good with children, Sage thought. She speculated about Adam's child, the one he'd briefly mentioned. A son, he had said. How old was Adam's son? Where did he live? She'd like to know.
After lunch Joy clasped old one-eyed Watson in her arms and went unprotesting to her nap. Once Joy was asleep, Adam followed Sage to the deck and held the ladder steady as she climbed up on the roof.
"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked uneasily, peering up at her from the deck. A knot of concern wrinkled his forehead.
She laughed at his expression. "My shoes have gripper soles. Besides, this is a relatively flat roof. I've done lots of roofing-repair work. It's a piece of cake."
"A piece of cake," Adam repeated doubtfully, watching her arrange the shingles and her tools within easy reach. "It looks dangerous as hell." He didn't like the idea of Sage's crawling around up there.
"If I fell, I'd only fall as far as the deck. Anyway, I'm not going to fall."
"I hope not," Adam said fervently. He stood watching her, making her uneasy.
"Don't you have something you could do?" she asked hopefully. "I hate putting on a performance."
"Is that what this is? Are you planning to break into a chorus of that old beach-music hit, 'Up On The Roof?'" He crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing, his hair riffling in the wind.
"Don't try to make me laugh, Adam. I need to concentrate on what I'm doing."
"I think I'll go back down to the beach," he said.
"A very good idea," she replied with relief.
Sage stopped working as Adam threaded his way through the fringe of sea oats and sauntered down the beach in the opposite direction from where he'd walked with Joy. Adam made an art out of movement, she thought, with healthy curiosity about how he'd look in a swimsuit. As he reached the flat sand, he neatly and with uncommon grace shrugged out of his red pullover sweater and wrapped the sleeves around his shoulders, tying them loosely in front.
I'd better concentrate on this roof, Sage reminded herself, pushing speculation about Adam's body to the back of her mind. She slipped a new shingle in place, taking care not to crack the good shingles above it.
On the beach, Adam strolled slowly into the wind, his hands deep in his pockets. The ocean was a dusky gray-green today, but there were no whitecaps, only rhythmic billows rolling one by one to the shore. They spilled across the white sand in a narrow edging of frothy lace.
He was glad he'd come with Sage to the beach. He liked being with Joy. He relished her childish delight in everything and basked in her adoration of him. He'd always loved kids. He'd wanted a bunch of them, but unfortunately his ex-wife hadn't agreed.
If only—but it was pointless to beat himself up about the situation with Jamie, his son. Brief visits in the summer, every other Christmas—that was about it. It wasn't a fulfilling way to practice fatherhood and certainly not the way Adam had planned. He'd wanted to be the best father in the world for his child. He had to be, to make up for the evil that was his own father and for the travesty of a father that was Tony Hracek.
Adam rolled his shoulders up toward his neck and bent his head against the wind. Had it grown colder? Or was it just the way it affected him when he thought of his natural father and his adoptive father and of his own failure to be the kind of dad he wanted to be? He only knew it made him miserable to think of Jamie's growing up without him. That's why he never thought of it at all if he could help it. But today, with Joy, he couldn't help but speculate about all the special moments he had missed with his own son.
Had he ever taken Jamie to the beach? He searched his memory. Maybe once, when Jamie, six at the time, visited him in Vancouver. Jamie had been homesick and cried for his mother every night until Adam took pity on the boy's unhappiness and delivered him back to Marcia a week early.
Jamie blamed him for the divorce. Only a couple of years ago, Jamie had complained bitterly that Adam had seldom been home when he was a kid
. Adam had traveled a lot, sure, but he'd been faithful and had spent as much time with Jamie as he could. It was Marcia who found someone else, and then she'd left him. He'd never mentioned this to Jamie, nor would he ever. That was for Marcia to explain if she ever felt the need.
He scuffed at a patch of beached seaweed. The wind stung his eyes, and he blinked away the sudden moisture. With the wind growing in intensity, maybe Sage should come down from the roof. He wheeled around and walked back toward the house. He could still see her up there, hammering away, her hair burnished bright as a new copper penny in the sun.
By the time he'd walked the long distance back, Sage was sitting on the deck, a Pepsi bottle raised to her lips. He watched her throat working, longing to skim his fingers down the length of it.
As he pulled himself back from that thought, she glanced up at him. Her eyes rested upon him, warm in their depths. "Want one?" she asked. "There are more in the refrigerator." She meant Pepsis, although that wasn't what he was thinking of at the moment.
He forced himself to pull his gaze away. "I'll get it," Adam said, going inside through the sliding glass door. When he emerged, he carried not only a cold drink, but Joy. She had called out to him when she heard him in the kitchen, and he had gone to her. He didn't think there was anything more captivating than a toddler waking from sleep.
"Look who's awake," he said. Joy smiled sleepily and stretched out her arms toward Sage. Adam transferred her gently to Sage's lap. Joy nestled there, perfectly happy, clasping Watson to her chest.
"She's an easy child to please," Adam said, winking at Joy. Joy hid her face behind one hand and peeked out through pudgy fingers.
Sage patted Joy's round little bottom. "She's always been a placid little girl," Sage told him. "Even from the time she was born."
Handyman Special Page 11