She couldn’t think of anything to say.
“And this valve was in backwards.” He shrugged, pointing again. “Fairly easy to do, a simple mistake. Probably somebody at the company when they built it. One of those things that happens. Poor quality control somewhere along the line.” He chuckled. “They say never buy anything made on a Friday afternoon.”
“Oh.” She stared at the pump, but could not tell what he had changed. “Maybe that’s why I got such a good deal. It didn’t work for the first owner and he couldn’t get it fixed, so he sold it to me. Without telling me it didn’t work, just that it was practically new and he had no use for it.”
Miles laughed. “Probably. That happens. Too often.” He let go of her hand and picked up the wrench. “I just happen to like to take things apart.”
“It’s lucky for me that you do. Thank you.” It was as close as she could come to expressing her gratitude neutrally. She was grateful, but his kiss had been unexpected. And nice. Much nicer than she would have imagined.
“Anything to help out a fair lady.”
He was back in his usual flippant mode. She could relax and be generous without committing herself to anything. “Let’s pick up a soda from the stand and sit in the arbor and talk about this.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The fleeting expression that crossed his face told her there was a lot more he would like her to do. She would deal with that when and if it came to that.
Sitting with Miles in the rose arbor with their drinks, Althea wasn’t so sure. “I really do need to pay you for your help, you know.”
“Why?” He peered at her over the top of his soda bottle. “Can’t it just be a neighborly act? Does everything have to come down to money?”
Because I don’t want to be indebted to you. But she couldn’t say that, and she could see that he expected more, maybe more than she was prepared to give him. “No, it doesn’t. But . . .”
“But what? I didn’t think about that, just about the pump, finding out why it wasn’t working. You know, the challenge of it.” He reached across the space between them and picked up her hand. He met her eyes for a long moment and then kissed her fingers. “You really are a lovely lady.”
Is he considering me just another challenge? Is he like Ward, not really interested in me? Just the conquest? But she didn’t resist when he pulled her closer, found that she couldn’t.
His kiss was gentle, caressing, lingering a little as he released her. “Now, that I have thought about. Often.”
Surprised at how much she had liked his kiss, she said, “Oh?” It had been a long time since she had shared a kiss with anyone and suppressed emotions were returning. Reluctantly. “You haven’t known me very long.”
“It was enough when I first saw you there in your garden. The Lady Eve in her bower.”
Althea laughed at his theatrical tone, but she didn’t pull away. “In fact, you don’t know me at all.”
Miles pulled her closer, looked deep into her eyes and kissed her again. “Enough to know I want to know more.”
“Really?”
“Yes . . .”
A car stopped in front of the stand and Althea moved away from him. “Who would be here . . .”
It was Ed who came around the corner. Althea got up to meet him.
His surprise at seeing Miles was obvious, but he shrugged. “Connie’s off to some women’s thing and I thought I’d come over and finish up that back corner.”
Althea laughed. “Great news,” she said, motioning toward Miles behind her. “The irrigation system is fixed. Thanks to Miles.”
Ed nodded, his eyes narrowing, but some of his suspicion fading. “How? I’ve looked at it a couple of times.”
Miles pushed himself erect, picked up his soda bottle and stepped out of the arbor, grinning. “I’ll show you. It was kind of weird.”
Althea watched them walk away with a mixture of relief and mild regret.
ALTHEA AND GLO
The attractive woman who came into the stand just before closing on Friday afternoon was a stranger. She was probably a little older than Althea and had the look and air of a professional woman. Her shoulder length reddish-blonde hair was tied back with a multi-colored ribbon that matched the beautifully embroidered lemon-yellow tunic she was wearing over black capri pants and black sandals. She stopped just inside the doors, glancing around as if unsure of where she was or perhaps puzzled by what she saw.
Curious, but smiling as usual for a new customer, Althea stepped her way. “May I help you?”
The woman turned a wide-eyed gaze in her direction. She had honey-brown eyes, not at all what Althea expected with the blond hair, but she showed no dark roots along her part. She said hesitantly with obvious embarrassment, “I’m looking for someone named Althea.”
Surprised, but even more intrigued, she said. “I’m Althea Ivie. What do you need?”
The woman expelled a held breath and smiled tentatively, still staring at her. “Oh, thank heavens. You are real.”
Althea laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be? Who or what did you think I might be? Or not be?”
Her face coloring, the woman stammered, “It’s just that Miles . . .”
“Oh.” Althea thought she understood. “What did Miles say about me?” She recalled the various names and terms he had used for her. “The Lady Eve?”
The woman laughed, twisting her fingers around the wrist strap on the tooled leather clutch she was carrying. “Well, if you know Miles . . .”
“I’ve met him a few times here at the stand.” She didn’t want to reveal any more than that, but she certainly wanted to know why this woman had come looking for her. “Let’s sit out in the patio. I have no customers right now, and I’d like to know why you thought I might not be real.” She smiled, hesitated a minute. “Or why Miles might not think so.”
“Oh, Miles certainly thinks you’re real. At least some version of you. But it might not be the right one.” She glanced around the empty stand. “If you have a minute, I would like to talk to you.”
“Sure. It’s almost closing time.”
“All right.” She followed Althea outside again.
There were two comfortable porch rockers in the shade under the wide eaves. Althea led her that way and motioned the woman into the closer one. The chair with a cushion.
The woman settled herself awkwardly, not relaxing, keeping her gaze on the floor, her hands still tight around her purse. “My name is Glorietta Platt. Glo. Miles is my husband’s cousin. He stays with us sometimes. Like now.”
Althea relaxed, more comfortable now. This could be very interesting. “He told me he was living with you, renting a room.”
Glo laughed without any amusement. “Sometimes he buys a few groceries.” She released a long breath and leaned back in the chair. “Oh, he pays the light bill or something, once in a while, but renting? No, he isn’t that reliable. He doesn’t like to stay in once place very long.” She laughed again. “But he keeps coming back to us. In between his adventures, he says. He and Ted were always together. Since they were little. We’re his closest family.”
Althea waited, wondering if she had intuitively felt that character flaw, that Miles could not be trusted, that it explained her hesitation. But then she recalled his impassioned kiss, his arms close around her, his warmth enfolding her, his whispered endearments in the rose arbor. And his love of her kind of music.
“He’s been talking about you a lot.” Glo paused a moment. “Sometimes I think he doesn’t know where his music, his fantasies, end and real life begins.” She glanced sideways at Althea and quickly looked away. “He has been sort of composing what he calls Songs for Althea.”
“Sort of?”
“He’s always composing little ditties, frequently off-color. Sometimes he writes pieces for those old instruments he plays. Those he actually writes down, and he’s performed some of them.” Glo sighed again. “But he’s never written songs for his love interests before. At least I’ve never heard any.”
Again, Althea waited, not sure what she should ask. What kind of songs would Miles write for me? Ballads? Love songs? Something bawdy? It was a new and interesting idea, having an attractive man write songs for her.
Glo straightened her shoulders. “I wanted to come when he first started talking about you to see who you were, but I decided I had to come here on a weekend.”
“Why was that?”
“Miles always talks about you on Thursday. He calls one of his songs ‘Althea on a Thursday in the Rain.’ Is there a reason for that? It’s actually a very pretty song.” She glanced sideways at Althea. “But it doesn’t really describe you. It’s more of a fantasy thing.” She sighed again. “I think Miles is mostly fantasy.”
Miles is probably mostly fantasy, but she didn’t want to think that. His arms and kiss had been very real. Too real. “I’d like to hear that one. I’ve heard him sing and he has a really nice voice.” Althea laughed. “I’m only here on weekends, starting with Thursday evenings. I met him on a Thursday, a couple of weeks ago during that thunderstorm when he had the flat tire.” She added “I own this place, and live here, but I have another job. It was pure chance that we met that day.”
“Ah.” Glo relaxed her grip on her purse and leaned back into the chair. She drew in several deep breaths. “He talked about that, how you were his rescuing angel. You saved him from the terror of the storm. This shop is a haven.” She glanced sideways at Althea. “He did carry on, even more than usual. I don’t recall the storm being all that bad, but he’s always been a little afraid of thunder. Something happened when he was little that he never got over.”
That would explain his nervousness during the storm. In a way, it made him more human, more likeable. “It was pretty wild for a while, but it was just a passing storm. I hadn’t closed the stand because I was waiting for the storm to let up a little. When his car hit the water covering the road and the tire blew, he just slid into the ditch right across the road.”
“That’s what Ted said. No damage was done to anything?”
“Not to the stand. I don’t know about his car.”
“It was fine. Not even another dent.” Glo surveyed the parking area in front of the stand. “He stops here and picks up stuff. He and Ted like corn on the cob and Ted likes to cook outside on the grill.”
Althea waited, but Glo said no more and kept her eyes on her hands, still holding her purse. She asked, “Was there another reason you came?” She found that she dreaded the answer. Just who or what is Miles? Why is she warning me?
Glo nodded.
Again, Althea waited. Uneasiness tightened around her stomach. What have I gotten myself into? What is Miles not telling me?
Glo sighed, shook her head slightly. “It’s just that Miles is so unpredictable. I hate it when he finds a girl and then leaves her after he’s led her on. He’s done it so often. And you’re a neighbor.” She glanced up, down again. “He can be very charming when he wants to be.”
Althea knew that already. He was much too charming. “He’s also exasperating and infuriating, and acts so superior, so know-it-all . . .”
Glo smiled, and finally relaxed. “Then you know all about him.”
“Not a great deal, actually. He doesn’t talk about himself. I know he plays a lot of instruments, mostly old ones, and he likes the same kind of music I do. The old traditional songs.” She stopped, remembering his arms around her, how nice it felt, in spite of her reservations. “And he did fix my irrigation system for me. He found where it had been improperly connected inside somewhere. And refused to let me pay him for it.” At least not money. But what else might he want? If Ed hadn’t come along just then . . .
Glo laughed, easily this time. “Yes, he could do that, would do something like that. He is very good at mechanical things and likes to putter around, as he calls it.” She paused a moment, again looking out into the parking lot. “He is a very accomplished musician, especially on those old instruments he collects. But he doesn’t do very much with his talent. He plays with that weird group. Madmen, I think they call themselves. All of them are sort of outcasts, oddballs, people just like him. Miles could play with an established orchestra, really do something with his ability, but he says that is too confining and would take too much of his time. And that he has too many other things he wants to do.”
Althea waited. How much of all this had she suspected?
Glo continued, “He studied a lot when he was young, practiced all the time. When he had some ambition. I don’t know what happened.”
Althea knew and totally sympathized. It had happened to her. Miles didn’t have the required dedication, although he had a great deal more talent than she did. There is more to life than a symphony orchestra.
Glo added, shaking her head, “He was in college, majoring in wind instruments and composition. I think he was planning to teach. Then he just quit.”
“Quit college?”
“Oh, no. He just changed his major to his other interest, something to do with computers. I don’t know what he does in these consulting jobs he takes, just that they pay him very well. It’s much too high tech for me.” She laughed softly, mostly at herself. “It’s what Ted does, too, but he has a regular programming job. Once in a while, his company calls Miles in when they have a particular kind of problem. They’ve offered him a position several times, but he won’t take it.”
Althea couldn’t think of another noncommittal comment, but wanted to continue this conversation, wanted to know more. Needed to know more. She pushed herself to her feet. “Do you have some time? I’ll close the stand and we could go up to my house for a cup of tea?”
Glo glanced at her watch, a pretty bracelet of varied colored stones. “Sure. I’ll give Ted a call, tell him I’ll be a little late and for him to start supper.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll just shut the door and put up the closed sign. I can come back later and do the rest.”
Althea led Glo around the stand and up the well-worn, partially flagged path to her house. She was beginning to think this might not be her greatest idea, but she was committed to continuing the conversation. But committed to continuing with Miles? She wasn’t sure about that. Do I really want to continue? She opened the back door and motioned Glo inside. “I haven’t done the weekly housekeeping stuff yet, so excuse the looks.” She knew it didn’t look that bad since she kept it free of clutter, but it was what one said. “Sit there at the table.”
The kitchen was a typical old-fashioned farmhouse eat-in kind, with a table in front of the wide windows that looked out over the backyard and part of the gardens. Althea said, “Just grab a chair and I’ll put the teakettle on.” This time of year, she used an electric range, not the old wood stove that filled one corner of the room. Electricity was one of Aunt Emily’s few concessions to the modern world. She said she liked ease and convenience, and summers were too hot for a wood fire.
For the occasion, Althea chose two of her grandmother’s rose sprigged china cups and a matching creamer and sugar bowl, setting them on the table. “I have a variety of tea. Earl Grey? Irish breakfast? Herbal?”
Glo said, “Earl Grey.”
“Some cookies?”
“No, thanks.” She looked around the room as if assessing it. “Are all old kitchens the same? This looks a lot like mine.”
Althea laughed. “Pretty much. I think they all had the same architect. If they actually had one.”
Settled across from her, teacup in hand, Althea said, “So tell me more about Miles. He doesn’t talk about himself, his backgro
und.” But then, neither do I. We haven’t gotten to that stage yet. And do I want to?
Glo grimaced. “There isn’t a lot more to tell. It’s just . . .” She looked up and met Althea’s eyes. “I’d be very careful where he’s concerned. Don’t let him get to you. I’m afraid he’s the love-em-and-leave-em sort.”
Surprised by both the intensity of Glo’s gaze and the tone of her voice, she asked, “Callous?”
Glo shook her head. “No, I don’t know if he’s really that. He just thinks only of himself. He’s left a long trail of broken hearts.”
Suddenly thinking the worst, Althea asked, “And babies?” She didn’t think she could deal with that, and didn’t want to even think it of Miles. But there are men, artists, who do that . . .
Glo laughed with obvious amusement. “No, not that I know of. And I think, I’d like to think, he would be honorable enough to admit to that sort of thing. He’s just, I guess you could call it carefree. He just doesn’t want any responsibilities.”
For some unexplainable reason, Althea was relieved. Recalling his singing, she said, “The Whistling Gypsy. Out to win the lady’s heart. But not to keep it.”
“Exactly. Sort of like a charm bracelet.”
But the Whistling Gypsy had married his lady at the end. Althea stirred her tea and kept her attention on it. “Why did you want to tell me all this? If this is something he does a lot, wouldn’t he just move on the next time he was attracted somewhere?” That thought was unsettling. Aren’t I attractive enough? He says I am.
Glo didn’t answer for a long minute. “I guess because this time he seems different. More interested, more intense maybe. He rarely talks about his adventures, as he calls them, like he does this time, about you. Before, it’s been obviously a passing fancy. As soon as the girl gets ideas about marriage, or settling down, or moving in together, he leaves.” She laughed again. “Then he comes back to us for a while, and goes looking for something else. This time he found you. Maybe it was that dramatic meeting in a thunderstorm. At least he made it out as dramatic. He often does.”
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