“The brains? That implies you know what you’re doing.” Penn selected a rod and punched the air with it, emphasizing her argument. “Let me repeat my question—when have you ever laid a paper bag floor?”
Winnie shrugged. “That’s beside the point.” She dusted salt crumbs from her iris-colored blouse.
Penn leaned against the counter and, still clutching the pretzel, crossed her arms in front of her chest. “That is my point.”
Jancie slid a rod from the bag and joined in. “Penn, honey, we know all about it. We looked it up on the Internet.”
Penn rolled her eyes. “You looked it up? On the Internet?”
Jancie waved her pretzel. “We know about stuff like that.”
She bit the tip of the rod. “Anyway, Francine’s cousin over in Gibsonia put one in her powder room a couple of years ago. She loves hers. It’s easy. You’ll see. John’s excited about it.”
Winnie bobbed from one purple tennis shoe to the other. “We’re bringing breakfast, and then he’s taking us out for lunch at Uncle Bob’s. He said he’s been wanting to try out that place for weeks.”
Uncle Bob’s? Penn hadn’t eaten at Good Ole Uncle Bob’s since at least fifth or sixth grade. Uncle Bob’s used to be the only place for Saturday lunches after youth soccer games. The aunts ordered the fish sandwich every time.
She folded her arms over her stomach. “I’m sure he suggested Uncle Bob’s.” Her chest tightened. Saturday would be a lost day of studying. “Do I have to remind you that I’m all thumbs when it comes to crafts and DIY projects?” Her stomach churning, she laid her pretzel on the counter, untouched. “And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that he’s...he’s a...well, you know how I feel about flying. So quit your little matchmaking schemes.”
Winnie blinked wide, innocent eyes. “We’re helping a friend spruce up his kitchen. Don’t worry about your thumbs, sweetheart. Just do what we tell you to do, and everything will be fine.”
Famous last words.
~*~
The wafting aroma of cinnamon rolls woke Penn on Saturday morning. She smiled at the decadent scent and rolled to her back, extending her toes toward the edge of the mattress. A knock accompanied the sweet scent.
“Good morning. Good morning. Good morning to you. Good morning. Good morning. I’m fine. How are you?”
For as long as she could remember, Winnie had greeted her with the same little song.
Her aunt stepped halfway into the room. “Time to rise and shine, sleepyhead. The rolls are almost done, and we need to get over to John’s.”
Penn’s eyes flew open. The morning ritual definitely did not include mentioning John Townsend. She peeked at her clock. The hands pointed to seven o’clock. A groan rumbled at the back of her throat.
Winnie jiggled the mattress. “Come on, now. John’s waiting. We don’t want to disappoint him.” She bustled back out the door.
Penn pulled a pillow over her head. Fifteen minutes later, wearing a pair of ancient shorts and a vintage Pittsburgh Pirates t-shirt, Penn joined her aunts in the kitchen.
The rolls cooled on a trivet.
Jancie and Winnie bent over a board propped up on the table.
Winnie pointed to the board. “See this one is definitely upside down. Good thing we tried it out first.”
Jancie lifted her glasses and bent to the table. “I see what you mean. We’ll have to be careful.”
Penn poured herself a glass of orange juice. “What’s up?” She dreaded the answer but dreaded the surprise of learning the answer later in the morning more.
“Good morning, sweet pea.” Jancie greeted her with a smile. “We’re just looking over the template we made for the floor.”
“A template?” Penn grabbed a banana and broke the top of the peel.
“We wanted to try out our ideas before we got to John’s. We practiced on this board last night while you were studying.” Jancie gestured to Penn to observe their handiwork.
Penn snorted. “So you’re a little skeptical about this paper bag thing, too, huh?”
Winnie jabbed a finger at Penn. “Absolutely not. We just want to be prepared to the fullest extent. Good thing, too.” She studied the board again. “We found out that there’s a right side and a wrong side to paper.”
“A right side?” Sleepiness fled from her widened eyes. “Seriously?”
“Seriously, Penny. We’ll show you how to tell the difference.”
Penn swallowed the last of the banana and carried the peel over to the compost canister. “Two more bags of trash already? I emptied the can Thursday. How can three people create this much garbage?” She nudged a white garbage bag leaning against the cabinet with her canvas docksider.
“Wait.” Jancie lunged for the bag. “That’s not garbage. They’re full of paper balls. We started last night so we could get a jump on things for this morning.”
Bags of paper? Get a jump on things? Penn unwound the bread tie on one of the bags and peered inside. “It’s full of crumpled up paper.” She removed a handful of paper balls from the bag.
Jancie nodded. “Exactly. We tore and crumpled last night so that you and John could start gluing first thing this morning. Winnie and I will tear and crush to keep you supplied with pieces to glue.” Fiddling with her scarlet collar, she wiggled her eyebrows. “Teamwork.”
Penn closed her eyes and sighed. “You have this all worked out, huh?”
Both gray heads nodded this time.
“And we have to crumple the paper to make it work?” She dropped the balls back inside the bag.
“Yes, dear. The wrinkles add texture and depth to the floor.” Jancie covered the cinnamon rolls with aluminum foil and draped a dish towel around the pan for carrying.
Penn arched a brow. “Depth and texture. To a paper bag.” She retied the bag. “If you say, ‘the floor will make the kitchen pop,’ I’m handing in my resignation. And meaning it.”
“Grab the rolls, hon. Winnie, don’t forget the glue and mixing bowl. We don’t want to keep John waiting. He’s making some special coffee for us.” Jancie collected the roll of contractor’s paper and the bags.
Let’s do keep him waiting. In fact, let’s not do this. She dragged her palms over the soft denim of her shorts.
Another morning with him plus that whole day at the park equaled too much time with him. How many times could she look foolish in front of John? The orange juice and banana warred in her stomach.
She pushed the warm pan against her midsection to quell the butterflies shivering inside. She hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks, yet she still had to force him from her mind so that she could study. She didn’t want him filling up her thoughts every day.
Didn’t want to ride that disaster-bound train.
~*~
John stirred his coffee. “So you don’t really use paper bags?” He lifted his mug sporting a team emblem and hid a smile.
Jancie shook her head. “I guess it’s...what do you call it? Poetic license to call it a paper bag floor, but contractor’s paper is more durable.” She poured more water into the chipped enamelware bowl and stirred the glue mixture with a paint stick. She waved to John and Penn. “Could you two fetch the trash bags, and I left the rubber gloves in the car, too.”
John licked his forefinger and thumb before wiping his hands on a napkin. “Mmm. These rolls are the best.”
Penn fixed her aunt with an I-know-what-you’re-doing glance before following John out of the kitchen.
He held the door open for her. “Nice shirt. Number twenty-one. That’s...Clemente, right?”
“Yeah, my dad’s all-time favorite player.” She chided herself for donning this shirt. She should have dug deeper into her drawer. Maybe John didn’t know anything about Clemente. Maybe it was a lucky guess when he knew whose number she wore.
“Interesting.” He descended the front steps two at a time.
OK...he wants to go there. She’d learned that John always chose to dive in, not ignore sticky sub
jects. “Don’t you mean ‘ironic’?”
He frowned. “Ironic?”
“He died in a plane crash.” Her tone implied the “duh” at the end of the sentence. She glanced down the street, hoping to see a runaway dog, or a siren-blasting police cruiser, or maybe even Peri trotting down Clay Avenue. Anything that might distract John from this conversation.
“You’re right. He died in a plane crash, just like your parents.” His voice dropped. “But do you remember why he chartered that plane?”
“Of course. He took a humanitarian trip.” She caught a whiff of a late-blooming peony, her mother’s favorite flower. Her thumb groped for her lapis ring. Empty. The ring remained at home, safe from floor renovation. Her arms hugged her middle instead.
“Exactly.” John slid his hands into his back pockets. “He died taking emergency aid packages to victims of an earthquake. People might not remember that he had a lifetime batting average of .317. Or that he won the Worlds Series Most Valuable Player award. Or that he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom.”
He cocked his head. “But, if people know Roberto Clemente, they know he died helping people.” He reached into the car, grabbed the box of rubber gloves, and handed them to Penn. “That says a lot about your dad. His favorite player was Clemente?” He collected the bags. “Cool.”
Tears burned behind Penn’s eyes. She cleared her throat and searched for something else to say. “You seriously know his batting average?”
He chuckled. “I don’t play the game.” He glanced at his leg, “but I love it.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “The thinking man’s game.”
She swiveled toward the house.
“Penn.” He touched her elbow.
She stopped with one foot on the front step, turning back to him. She dropped her gaze to the white letters on his faded green t-shirt, resisting eye contact until he lifted her chin with his knuckles.
“Are you OK?” His thumb stroked her jaw, spiraling tingles all the way to her stomach.
Her heart melted at the genuine concern in his brown eyes, but she couldn’t tell if the emotion generated from friendship or from something more. Did she want it to be something more? She squared her shoulders. “Sure. I’m good.”
“Well, then. Let’s get this party started. I need a paper bag floor.”
~*~
John pushed his empty plate away and reclined in the booth. “Delicious fish sandwich. Tremendous, but delicious. I’m stuffed.” He patted his stomach. “If I continue eating like I have today, I may have to change the way I calculate weight and balance on my next flight.” He held his breath when he realized he’d mentioned flying, but let it go when Penn didn’t wince.
“Oh, you worked hard this morning. You need sustenance.” Jancie dredged her last fry through the ketchup puddle on her plate.
“All of us worked hard. Thanks so much again. The floor looks great.” He dipped his head. “I have to admit. I had my doubts.” He raised his hand when Penn started to protest. “At first. The idea intrigued me, though, and I’m glad we went ahead with it. I’m the only guy I know with a paper bag floor.”
“You’re likely the only person in a one-hundred mile radius with one.” Smirking, Penn swiped the condensation on her glass of iced tea.
Winnie dismissed Penn’s statement with a wave of her hand. “Now once the glue’s dried—check it tonight—probably tomorrow morning, for sure−you can apply the first coat of polyurethane. You’ll need at least five or six. Usually takes about a day to dry between coats.”
“I’ll check tonight, but tomorrow I’m out bright and early for a trip down to Florida.” He tossed his napkin beside his plate.
“Ooh, nice trip.” Winnie glanced at her sister, who agreed with her. “No problem. We can stop by and put on some coats while you’re gone.”
The color that rose in Penn’s cheeks heightened her cuteness.
“I’d never put you to that much trouble. David can apply the coats while I’m gone. I’ll explain the schedule tonight.”
“Well, if you’re sure. We wouldn’t mind a bit.”
His smile softened his refusal. “I’m sure. Thanks, though.”
“And since your kitchen is out of commission for at least a week, please let us cook for you and David.”
‘Thank you, but I’m gone the whole week. I’m sure he’ll enjoy an invitation.” A burning sensation zapped John’s chest. He clenched his teeth. The idea of David accepting a dinner invitation from Winnie and Jancie felt wrong.
Especially if the invitation included Penn.
11
The numbers blurred before Penn’s weary eyes. She’d been studying account balances for two hours, and at this point in the day, the column of assets looked too much like liabilities. She pushed her chair from her desk just as a squeal came from downstairs.
“Penny. Guess what? Penny.” Winnie’s twittering voice skidded up the stairs. “Our John’s a hero. A real hero. Penny, come down and see the paper.”
Penn opened her door.
Newspaper crackled along with giggles and sighs.
The aunts were hunched over the kitchen table with the weekly Mars Trumpet spread on top.
Winnie pointed to the corner of a page. “Look at that picture. Very photogenic, don’t you think?”
Jancie fanned herself with a circular. “Of course. Handsome, smart, community-minded, good citizen—the whole package.”
Penn hesitated, prayed for strength, crossed the kitchen threshold, and braced herself for another onslaught of matchmaking entreaties. She hadn’t seen John in almost two weeks, but that hadn’t stopped her mind from entertaining thoughts of him several times every day. She’d hoped that the old adage—out of sight, out of mind—would hold true for her. The opposite one—absence makes the heart grow fonder—played out instead.
Forcing the image of his face from her page of numbers became a daily habit. Instead of accrued interest totals, she saw his mahogany eyes smiling at her. Instead of debenture stock and lending securities, she saw the dimple in his chin.
Old conversations replayed in her mind until she was sick of them. She fantasized new ones. She had to stop. Penn scrubbed a hand over her face and joined her aunts at the table. “What’s up?”
“It’s fantastic. John helped nab the burglar. The one stealing heavy equipment all over Butler County. Look.” Winnie pointed to the paper again. “See him standing beside his plane? Is that Al Martin?”
Winnie sighed. “This is so exciting.” She clasped her hands in front of her multicolored, beaded necklace.
Penn’s eyebrows scrunched as she bent over the table to get a good look. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the plane. “He did what?”
Jancie slid into the wooden chair with the blue gingham pad covering the seat. “John played an important role in apprehending the thieves. I guess it happened sometime Tuesday. Just in time for Mary to write up the story.”
Penn twisted her ring and held on to the stone. A shiver skipped up her spine as she surveyed the picture. She’d daydreamed of John for two weeks, remembering his jokes and gentle observations about Clemente.
She’d managed to block out any thought of flying or planes or heights, but the weekly paper chronicled that part of his life in black and white. The plane filled the background of the picture and commanded Penn’s attention.
John’s plane? In the image, he leaned toward Al with a victory smile in mid-pump of a handshake.
The picture taunted her.
This is what John did for a living. This was why there’d be no happy ending to matchmaking attempts.
She squeezed her ring again. “He caught the thieves? How?”
Lifting her glasses, Winnie peered under the lenses to see the words better. “It says here John saw some large holes on his way back to the Butler Airport. He called Al with his suspicions after he remembered a conversation about missing equipment.”
She skimmed her finger over the para
graphs. “It mentions the Apple Committee.” She peeked at Penn. “Did you hear the conversation?”
A vague recollection about buried equipment flitted through her mind. What she’d assumed to be small-town gossip turned out to be real news.
Winnie grabbed a pair of scissors from the junk drawer and snipped the article from the paper. “Here, dear. Don’t you have another meeting today? Give this to John.”
“No, Aunt Winnie,” Penn declined the offered picture. “He won’t want...”
“Oh, pish posh. Of course, he’ll want copies.” She waved the paper in front of Penn. “Everybody wants extra copies when they’re in the paper. He can send one to his mother and grandmother and...”
“Winnie’s right, but if you don’t want to give it to him, we’ll save it until we see him. No problem.” Jancie accepted the article from her sister, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope.
Penn groaned. She could take him the article. Especially now that it was closed inside the envelope, and she wouldn’t have to look at the plane again. “It’s just...I wasn’t exactly planning to go to the meeting.”
“Not planning to go?” Headed to the sink with an apple in her hand, Winnie stopped mid-stride to focus on her niece. “Why not? You have to go. You made a commitment. People are—”
“I know. I know, but I have to study.”
“You need to take a break. Numbers are going to start falling out of your ears.” Winnie rinsed the apple and chose a paring knife
“I’m taking a break now.” Penn stretched her neck to her left and rolled it to the other side.
Jancie folded the remaining paper. “I agree. You need a balance of studying and time off.” She pegged Penn with a quick once-over. “You look to me like you’ve lost some weight.”
“Well, you need to up-grade your glasses.” Penn groaned again, admitting defeat. “All right. I’ll go to the meeting and take the article for John, but I’m not staying more than an hour. I’m not hanging out all night.”
Winnie smiled, quartering her apple. “I’m sure you’ll be your usual gracious self.”
Mars with Venus Rising Page 9