Renovating the Richardsons
Page 15
He tore his gaze away and fixed it on Thacker. The sad truth was that this man, this idiot, had bought his camelias along with the house. If he wanted to dig them up and discard them, he had every right.
Rendered speechless, he turned away from Thacker.
“Hey, where are you going? I wanted to tell you what I’ve been working on.”
If he opened his mouth, he’d say something he might one day regret. Instead, Al opened the door and slid behind the wheel. He put the car in gear and drove away without a backward glance.
“It was a mistake to go there.” Albert slumped in a chair at the kitchen table. “I only wanted to see the old place, but now it’s worse than ever.”
Millie’s heart twinged. Poor Albert looked so despondent.
She reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers in his. “I’m sorry.”
A huge sigh. “It’s not your fault.”
But the fault did lie with her. She meant the apology to cover a multitude of hurts. Sorry for his sadness. Sorry for his camelias, of which he’d been so proud. Sorry for insisting they sell the house on Mulberry Avenue to the Thackers, even though Albert clearly detested his odious coworker. Sorry for uprooting him from the home he loved and dragging him to one in which he was obviously miserable. At times like this guilt churned in her stomach. She really had thought he would come to love this house once they moved in.
Now that they lived here, her vision of the beautiful bed and breakfast seemed like a pipe dream, a distant and increasingly unattainable fantasy. The costs of unanticipated repairs like mold and squirrel elimination were mounting. She was not afraid to work and had promised to do much of the decorating herself to cut costs. But her sixty-something-year-old body didn’t bounce back like it had thirty years ago. Or even ten years ago. Her muscles ached from stripping wallpaper and scraping paint. And there was so much more to do. The number of tasks to be accomplished increased daily, and at times they piled so high they blocked her view of the goal at the end—a beautiful bed and breakfast that was not only charming and comfortable, but profitable enough to satisfy Albert.
But what could be done about the situation now? They’d committed themselves and a significant amount of their retirement income. Even if she’d made a mistake—which she still wasn’t prepared to accept—they had no choice but to plow ahead.
“You know what we’ve got to do?” She squeezed Albert’s hand and forced a smile. “We’ve got to be like the pigs.”
The despondency left his face, replaced by a look of such confusion that she couldn’t help a chuckle.
“I beg your pardon?” He made a show of squinting his eyes and peering closely at her. “I think I need to clean out my ears. I thought you just said we need to eat like pigs.”
“Not eat like pigs.” She cocked her head, a thought occurring to her. “Though Roberta Tolliver does swear that chocolate ice cream makes her feel better whenever her son loses another job and moves back home.”
A hopeful look appeared on Albert’s face. “Do we have any ice cream?”
“No.” Millie squeezed his hand. “What I said was we need to be like pigs. They have no necks, so they can’t look back. Only forward. That’s why you’re supposed to eat pork on New Year’s, so you can put the past behind you and anticipate the future.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then the hint of a smile stole over his lips. “Do you know what I love about you, Mildred Richardson? You’re a Pollyanna. Always looking on the bright side of things.”
“I have to, since I live with Eeyore.”
“Did you just call me a… donkey?”
“A very lovable one,” she assured him.
That brought a laugh, and the sound lifted Millie’s spirits considerably.
“Speaking of pigs.” Albert looked toward the refrigerator. “Do we have any ham? I’m starving.”
“No ham, but I have some really good egg salad. How about a sandwich?” At his nod, she rose and began assembling the ingredients of their lunch.
Albert washed his hands at the sink, staring into the backyard. “The wildcat urine isn’t working, is it?”
Carrying a container of egg salad, she came to his side. Outside a pair of squirrels scampered across the lawn, probably searching for any birdseed they’d left behind when they emptied the feeders yesterday.
“It doesn’t seem to repel the squirrels,” she admitted, “but it has certainly kept Rufus out of the backyard. I have to take him through the front door when he needs to go out.”
At the mention of his name, Rufus’s ears perked up.
“For once, I don’t blame him,” Albert said. “Our backyard stinks.”
Millie wrinkled her nose, relieved that the observation had come from Albert instead of her complaining about his latest attempt to rid the property of squirrels. “It positively reeks,” she agreed.
“I’ve caught only two of the pesky things in my traps. Greasing the poles doesn’t work. I’m out of ideas.” He gave her a sour look. “I may have to concede defeat, like Rufus.”
Now that his mood had brightened, Millie couldn’t stand watching the despondent Albert return. “I have an idea.” She spread egg salad on whole wheat bread. “After lunch let’s go downtown and get some ice cream.”
The suggestion worked. He slipped an arm around her and gave her waist an appreciative squeeze. “I’ll have chocolate.”
“You know what?” She grinned up at him. “So will I.”
Millie’s Healthy Egg Salad
2 eggs
⅓ to ½ cup low fat or fat free cottage cheese
¼ tsp mustard
Scant ¼ cup diced dill pickle (optional)
Salt and pepper to taste
Place eggs in a small pan and cover with water. Bring to a rolling boil. Put a lid on the pan and turn off the burner. Let the eggs sit for 20 minutes, and then cool before peeling. Chop the eggs in a small bowl. Use the tines of a fork to smash up the larger pieces of cooked egg white. Mix in the remaining ingredients, using enough cottage cheese to achieve the desired consistency. Serve on whole wheat bread or wrap with a crisp lettuce leaf. Makes two hearty sandwiches.
Chapter Thirteen
The telephone on Al’s desk rang. Fighting a flash of irritation at the interruption, he finished keying a line of code before snatching up the receiver. “Richardson here.”
“Hey Al. It’s Jerry. Got a minute to talk about softball?”
A mental gear shift occurred. Al extracted himself from his work and donned a different hat, this one a ball cap. “Sure. Everything all right?”
“I think the real question is, is anything all right?” A heavy sigh sounded through the phone.
Though Jerry was one of the most even-keeled men Al knew, it had become obvious to just about everyone that he was preoccupied with this game. He’d made no secret of his desire to defeat Morleyville’s team, and especially Morleyville’s mayor. But Cindie had confided to Millie that Jerry wasn’t sleeping well. A few days ago he’d woken her up at three in the morning shouting, “Tag him before he touches the base!”
“It’s not that bad,” Al told him. “It’s only a game, Jerry.”
“Right.” A brief pause. “I’m going over the plan for tonight’s practice. Maybe we should shift some positions around. What do you think of moving Alice to shortstop and Paul to third?”
Why in the world would the mayor ask his opinion? So far Al’s only task for the team was to bring the equipment to each game, make sure everybody lined up in the correct batting order, and take the equipment home when practice ended.
“What does Justin say?” he asked.
“He thinks it’s too late to switch people around.”
“I agree with him,” Al said. “We only have two more practices before the game, tonight and Saturday. I think we should keep everybody where they’re comfortable.”
“What if we call extra practices? We could fit one in tomorrow night, and maybe Sunday afternoon too.”
“But we have to do something.” Jerry continued the lowered voice of one confiding a secret. “I just hung up the phone from Theo Fitzgerald. He tried to talk me into wagering a hundred bucks on the game.”
“Did you do it?”
“No. The voters would roast us both alive if they found out. Still, he must be pretty confident to suggest such a bet.”
“Must be,” Al agreed. “But who cares?”
Another loud breath. “You’re right. So what if we lose? I’ve tolerated Theo’s stuck-up attitude for years. I guess I can put up with a few months of bragging too.”
Someone entered the mayor’s office for an afternoon meeting, and they ended their call. Al replaced the phone and stared at it a moment before returning to his computer. At least Jerry had the sense not to take that bet. This started out being a friendly inter-county ballgame, a pleasant way to pass the time on the Fourth of July. Putting money on the outcome would elevate it to something far less neighborly.
Still, it would be nice to win.
A head popped up over the top of Al’s cubicle wall. Thacker peered at him suspiciously. “Were you listening to my phone call?”
Al drew himself up. “Certainly not.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Were you listening to mine?”
“Nope.”
Thacker disappeared, and within a few seconds the sound of computer keys tapping emanated from his cubicle.
Tossing his pen on the desk, Al returned to work.
“There.” Millie straightened a wrinkle from the bedspread and stepped back.
Violet nodded her approval. “This room’s pretty as a picture.”
Millie cast an admiring gaze around the upstairs bedroom. As Justin had promised, the hole where the mold treatment was applied showed no sign of the destruction done to the wall. Removing all that busy wallpaper had given the room a spacious, open feel. She’d feared the sky blue color would be overwhelming, but it created a refreshing, outdoorsy atmosphere that made her want to throw her arms wide and whirl like a child in a field. The old poster bed left behind by the Updykes had cleaned up beautifully, and with the new mattress and bedding it gave the room just the right blend of antique and modern comfort. In the corner near a chest of drawers stood the rocking chair from their former living room with a new seat cushion that matched the comforter.
She eyed the bed. “Maybe another decorative pillow or two.”
Violet disagreed. “Leave well enough alone. A guest will be snug as a bug in a rug in here. After all, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
Millie shook her head. Sometimes Violet got carried away with her sayings. “That last one doesn’t fit.”
“It certainly does.” Violet raised her nose in the air. “It applies to you. You’ve worked too hard, and you need time off to rest. Don’t undertake another task until after the holiday.”
“The Fourth of July isn’t for another five days. I can probably have the staircase railing finished by then.”
“Leave it,” her friend advised. “It won’t grow legs and run away.”
“Well… ” Millie brightened. “Albert’s off for the long weekend. I could help him in the yard. Oh, that reminds me. I wanted to ask you—” Enthusiastic barking echoed up the stairs from below. Millie glanced at her watch. “Goodness, look at the time. He’s home already.” She went to the landing at the top of the stairs. “Albert! We’re upstairs. Come up and look at the guest bedroom.”
He entered the entry hall with Rufus trotting at his heels. “Have you finished it?”
“Yes indeed. Come and tell us what you think.”
When he headed up the stairs, Rufus bounded ahead of him like a pup. Millie bent down to rub his ears, and his tail wagged with energy. She hadn’t seen him display this much spirit in months.
“Are you feeling better today?” she asked the dog, and when Albert joined her, “And how about you? How was your day?”
His lips twisted into a mock-disapproving line. “You check with the dog before your husband? I see how it is. I’ve been replaced in your affections.” He affected an insulted expression and even went so far as to give a fake sniff.
“Never.” She kissed his cheek, reveling in his playful mood. This side of Albert didn’t appear often, but she immensely enjoyed the times when it did. She took his arm and tugged him toward the front bedroom. “I can’t wait to show you.”
In the past week and a half she had refused to let him in the room, insisting that she wanted to surprise him with the finished product.
“Should I close my eyes?” he asked.
“Just come on, silly.”
She led him to the room and Violet stepped out of the way to give him a clear view. His head moved as he inspected the area.
“Nice.” Crossing the floor, he ran a hand over the wall where the repair work had taken place. “Very nice.” When his gaze fell on the comforter, a slight frown appeared. “I don’t remember that. Is it new?”
“Yes.” When his frown threatened to deepen, she rushed on. “I got it on the sale rack at Walmart. They were practically giving it away.”
“Hmm.” He cocked his head, and then nodded. “It looks nice. The whole room does.” He turned to include Violet in his praise. “You two have done a fantastic job. Any bed and breakfast guest would be lucky to stay in this room.”
Millie and Violet shared a preening grin, and then she crossed the room to open a door on the opposite wall. “Only this bathroom isn’t ready for guests yet.”
Al inspected the tiny space. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. Everything works, but it’s rather austere. I’d like to replace that pedestal sink with a vanity, and the mirror’s cracked in one corner. But after spending so much on Mold Man’s bill, I don’t want to spend any more money on this room yet.”
Though he gave her a look of approval when she mentioned not spending money, he shrugged. “So rent it to a man. Guys don’t care about stuff like that.”
He went still. An odd look came over him, as if he’d noticed something astonishing. Millie glanced at the corner where he stared, but nothing looked amiss.
“Albert? Is something wrong?”
Eyes wide, he hissed in a breath. “Why didn’t we think of this before?”
Millie exchanged a glance with Violet. “Think of what?”
“I have to make a phone call.” He whirled and brushed past Violet on his way out of the room.
Al could hardly wait for softball practice that night. He insisted on arriving early, which meant Millie had her pick of places from which to watch. Not that she would have had trouble finding a place to see. The regular crowd of spectators had dwindled over the past few practices. Now the only people who showed up to watch were the spouses and children of the players, along with the occasional friend like Violet. Even Thacker had not attended the last three, for which Al was grateful. He was not sure he could stomach seeing the man tonight. If he had not already arranged to take tomorrow off to extend his holiday weekend, he might even consider calling in sick. It wouldn’t be a lie. If he had to face Thacker with the murdered camelias fresh in his memory, he would be sick.
Al retrieved the tote containing the team’s balls and spare gloves from the trunk and slung the bag of bats over his shoulder while Millie spread her quilt in the place she’d selected.
“Look, there’s Eulie and Norman.” Millie nodded at
an approaching truck as she set a basket in the center that included a picnic treat she’d prepared for the Wainright children. “I’m glad he’s finally getting around.”
When the Pilkington’s pickup rolled to a stop, Little Norm got out and rounded the front bumper to help his father and mother down. Millie went to greet them while Al carried the equipment to the infield. He set the tote down and glanced around. After Saturday’s practice, their softball field would once again become a pasture, home to the crankiest bull in three counties.
Parents settled, Little Norm joined Al on the field. Though itching to make his announcement, Al nevertheless greeted the Goose Creek pitcher with his customary reserve, scanning the arriving cars. Where was the mayor?
The Geddeses, Alice, Paul, and Fred had all arrived before Al finally spotted Jerry’s car. Normally the first one there and bubbling enthusiasm, tonight the team’s coach approached with a slow step, his feet dragging. Cindie, looking resolved but equally unenthusiastic, trod across the grass at his side.
When they approached the team Jerry lifted a hand to wave. “Hello, everyone. Sorry we’re late.” He glanced at those gathered around home plate. “Where are Justin and Susan?”
“They’ll be here in a minute.” Al couldn’t hold in his news another second. “Before we start practice, I’ve got great news.”
Everyone’s attention fixed on him. From the sidelines, he caught Millie’s grin and returned it.
“Oh?” Jerry arched an eyebrow. “What’s that, Al?”
“We’re going to win this game.” He straightened, exuding confidence from his stance.
Several doubtful expressions appeared. Fred shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe against the plastic base.
“I think we’ll do okay,” Sharon said. “We’re a lot better than when we first started.”
Alice nodded, her wide-set eyes guileless.
Paul, who had stepped up to the shortstop position when Junior broke his arm, squinted. “As long as they’re not too good we might not embarrass ourselves.”