by Neta Jackson
Grace! What’s the matter with you? So what if he sees the wedding dress. At some point he’d have to know her wedding plans were on the rocks—unless he really was clueless that she’d been engaged. Either way … so what? Her personal life was her business, and it was only his business to the extent that it impacted her career—which, she had to admit, it did. But only in the short term. She would find a way to spin her concert message so it made sense. Or change it all together …
She heard the guest-room door open and Jeff appeared in the living room in jeans, denim shirt, navy fleece vest, and gym shoes. He was holding her thick socks. “Here … thanks. I had a pair in my bag. And, hate to ask, but—” He also held out the charcoal slacks he’d been wearing. “—do you have a dryer I can toss these into? These pants are pretty damp.”
Grace laughed. He looked even more boyish now. “I do. Here, I’ll take them. You go see what’s what about the car. But you know you’re just going to get those dry clothes wet pushing cars around.”
He grinned. “Well, at least I can throw the gym shoes in the dryer. Don’t try it with my leather ones.”
Adding the soggy pair of socks he’d taken off earlier to her armload, she headed for the clothes dryer in the basement, even as she heard the front door open and close.
With Jeff’s slacks and socks tumbling cheerfully on Warm, Grace decided to change out of her own business casual and get into some jeans. And she might as well gather up her dirty laundry and start a load to kill time until he got back with a report about the car situation. While she was in the basement loading the washer, she heard her ringtone going off faintly somewhere—where in the world had she left her phone?—but decided to let it go until she got back upstairs.
But once back on the first floor, she couldn’t find the phone. Not in the kitchen … not in the living room … ack! This was awful. She needed her phone. Then, miraculously she heard the strumming guitar again. Following the sound, she found her cell phone at the bottom of the laundry hamper. Good grief.
She had two voice-mail messages. One from her parents and one from her brother. Probably just concerned, wondering if she was okay. But she didn’t want to call them back right now—not with Jeff Newman coming back in soon. She wasn’t quite ready to try to explain what he was doing here. She’d just send a quick text to both of them, let them know she was hunky-dory, and she’d call later.
Besides, it was already five o’clock. She ought to think about fixing something for supper. For two.
She was casing the refrigerator, trying to figure out what kind of meal to throw together, when Jeff came back in, stomping his feet on the doormat and shrugging off his jacket. “No luck. Nobody’s out shoveling because it’s still coming down. I did knock on a few doors, but nobody seems to know whose cars are boxing me in. One guy, Jewish fellow I think, had those curly sideburn things—” Jeff circled his forefinger near his ear. “—said sometimes people in the next block park in this one since it’s not as crowded.” He held up his damp jacket. “Where do you want this? Kitchen again?”
She nodded and led him into the kitchen, where he draped the jacket on the back of a chair and sat down to take off his gym shoes, now also wet.
“What about the fender bender at the corner?”
Jeff shrugged. “Still a bottleneck. More than a fender bender, because there’s a cop car there, and at least one of the cars is pretty banged up. Looks like a third car slid into the first two. Cars coming down that street are having to back up and go around some other way. Cop said they’re waiting for a tow to clear out the cars.” He snorted. “Yeah, right. Good luck.”
Grace held up a bag of tortilla chips and a can of refried beans. “You okay with nachos? I think I’ve got all the makings to make it a main dish.”
“You’ve already fed me once today … look. Let me call the towing company again, and see if they can still come out tonight. If so, maybe I can return the car and get a hotel out by the airport. I’m going to miss my flight anyway, might as well get out there, see if I can get standby.”
She opened the can with the electric can opener. “Fine. But in the meantime, we’re going to eat. All we had for lunch was salad, and I, for one, am getting hungry. Go make your call. Nachos coming up.”
By the time Grace heated the refried beans and set out the makings for do-it-yourself nachos, Jeff had once again tried the three original towing companies plus a few others from the Yellow Pages. “Can’t believe it,” he said, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. “I either got a busy signal, or my call went to voice mail, or no one answered. Now I am hungry.” He surveyed the outlay of tortilla chips, bubbling refried beans, grated cheese, chopped tomatoes, sliced green onions, sliced black olives, and jars of sliced jalapeños and chunky salsa in the middle of the table. “That looks great … uh, you go first.”
“Okay.” Grace piled cheese on a layer of tortilla chips, zapped her plate in the microwave until the cheese melted, and then added the other condiments. “Go for it,” she grinned.
Her phone rang again as her accidental supper guest started his own pile. She pulled the phone out of her jeans pocket and glanced at the caller ID … what? Roger! “Uh, excuse me a moment,” she said and took the phone all the way into the bathroom. If she didn’t answer, he might show up at the door like he had last weekend. That would not be cool. Not tonight.
“Hello?”
“Grace! So glad you answered. Are you okay? This is turning into quite a storm.”
“Uh-huh, I’m fine. Everything’s good.”
“Your voice sounds better.”
“Yeah, thanks. Getting there.”
“Well, don’t try to go out. It’s a madhouse on the tollways. I left my car at work and took public transportation. Even that’s crawling.”
“Smart.” But she felt annoyed. What made him think he could tell her what to do? He’d butted out of her life. Let him stay there.
“You need anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
Silence stretched on the other end, but she didn’t try to fill it.
“Well, okay. I just wanted to check, make sure you were all right.”
“Well, I’m fine. Thanks for checking.” She hung up first. But she stood still in the bathroom for a few moments. Hearing his familiar voice, his concern for her, touched something. She’d kept her answers short, no more than necessary to be polite … but it had been all she could do to not fall into the cozy chitchat that had characterized their phone calls so many times in the past.
He still cared. Why else would he call to check on her?
Shaking off those thoughts, Grace strode back into the kitchen, where Jeff was lofting a loaded tortilla chip from the plate and into his mouth. “’Ou caug’ me,” he mumbled, mouth full, grinning. He sucked stringy cheese off his fingers, chewed, and swallowed. “Everything okay?” He made a “phone” out of his thumb and little finger and held it to his ear.
She nodded, sticking her plate back into the microwave for half a minute. “Uh-huh. Just a friend, making sure I’m okay.”
Jeff regarded her as she sat back down. “‘Friend’ … as in, your fiancé?”
Grace caught her breath. Where did that come from? She finally blinked. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Fowler told me you were engaged. And I saw some of your recent New Year, New You shows—amazing what you can find on YouTube—trying to get up to speed before we met. You talked freely about your engagement to … Roger? Is that his name? But have to admit I’m a little confused. You haven’t said anything about your fiancé all day. And then I realized”—his eyes dropped to her left hand—“no ring. I just wondered …”
Well, there it was. The elephant in the room. She looked down at her plate of uneaten nachos. “The engagement’s off. That’s why I’m not wearing the ring.” Was that enough? “It only happened a week ago,” she added, her voice suddenly husky. “It’s … hard for me to talk about.”
Jeff seemed taken aback. He sp
read his hands out contritely. “Grace, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just, you know, so public, but today …”
Argh! Those darn tears. Grace fished for another tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I … I should have said something.”
Jeff cleared his throat and stood up. “Look, I think I should get going. You’ve been kind to put up with me, but … the weather’s not your fault, my rental car being stuck isn’t your fault. I should go.” He picked up his dishes and set them on the counter. “Thanks for supper. But, uh, if I can get my slacks from your dryer, maybe I can call a taxi to take me to a hotel and sort out this rental-car thing tomorrow. Unless you know of a motel or hotel within walking distance.”
Grace blew her nose and frowned as he pulled on the leather jacket that had been hanging on the back of his chair. “Wait. Just … sit down a minute, will you?” She needed to get herself together.
He hesitated a moment, but sat down again.
She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “There are no motels or hotels within walking distance around here, so scratch that. And given the state of the roads until the snowplows get out there, even getting a taxi is going to be a gamble. So don’t do anything stupid.”
“Stupid?” he repeated, with a slight laugh.
Which sparked an embarrassed giggle. “Okay, I meant, don’t do anything rash.” Did she know where she was going with this? There was only one option that made any sense. “You need to wait for the tow truck, and I’ve got a guest room. So just take off that jacket and wait this thing out. And those …” She pointed at the wet gym shoes he’d taken off. “Take them down to the basement and throw them in the dryer so you’ll have at least one pair of dry shoes the next time you go out—dry for five minutes, anyway.” She gave a little snort. “You know you’re playing Russian roulette with your clothes.”
Jeff reached for the gym shoes with a resigned grin. “Yes, ma’am. If you’re sure about the guest room. So, where do I register for Hotel Meredith?”
“Ha. This is a bare-bones operation. No complimentary robe, no chocolate on the pillow, wait your turn for the bathroom.” Now that she’d accepted the inevitable, offering hospitality to a business associate stuck in the storm didn’t seem like such a big deal after all. “But we do offer entertainment—how about a game of Scrabble? But I’m warning you: the Merediths take no prisoners.”
Chapter 14
Shouts … an engine being gunned … BANG!… metal hitting concrete …
Grace sat up with a start. Daylight filled the bedroom. What was all that noise? Better be the city snowplows clearing Beecham Street.
She threw back the covers and headed for the hall in bare feet and nightshirt—but stopped short. Wait. She wasn’t alone in the house. Jeff Newman had spent the night and was hopefully still asleep in the guest room. They’d played Scrabble till almost midnight.
Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt—at least long enough to find out what all the commotion was outside—Grace once more headed out of her bedroom. Was that coffee she smelled?
She glanced at the schoolhouse clock as she came into the living room. Nine thirty? How could she have slept so late? Only then did she realize her guest was standing at the front window of the living room, drapes pulled back, coffee cup in hand. “Oh—good morning. You’re up.” Her first words of the day came out hoarse. Not surprising. All that laughing and talking last night.
He turned. Dressed in the same clothes as last night: jeans, denim shirt, and navy fleece vest. She had no idea what he’d slept in, since she hadn’t had anything to offer him—
Don’t go there, Grace.
“Good morning yourself.” He tipped his head toward the window. “Something’s going on across the street, but can’t figure out what. Did you hear the siren a while ago?”
“No.” Curious, Grace joined him at the picture window, suddenly conscious that she hadn’t brushed her hair or put on any makeup. “Just some shouting and someone gunning their engine.” She peered through the window. It had stopped snowing and blowing, but a foot of fresh snow covered everything. Everything—lawns, sidewalks, roofs, cars, the street. No city snowplows had come up Beecham yet—
“Whoa!” Jeff nearly spilled his coffee. “What is that guy doing?”
“Where … oh!”
From the direction of the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, she again heard an engine being gunned, and suddenly a large green pickup truck came roaring down the sidewalk across the street, plow affixed to the front, sending a large spray of snow over parked cars on that side. She gasped. “He’s … he’s plowing the sidewalk!”
Jeff snorted. “You think? Using a plow for a sidewalk is like cleaning your teeth with a rototiller. Uh-oh … there go a couple of bushes. Who is that guy? Do you recognize the truck?”
She nodded. “It belongs to the guy directly across the street—Middle Eastern family, Iraqi maybe? He’s got a yard service.” Her eyes followed the truck as it growled its way down the block, and then focused her gaze across the street at the two-flat one building over. A woman in a headscarf that showed only her face stood in the open front door, looking anxiously after the truck that was now halfway down the block. “That’s his wife, I think, over there at the two-flat—except that’s not their house. The two-flat belongs to an elderly lady …” Grace frowned. “Wonder what that’s about?”
A few other people came out of their houses at the commotion. One man hollered after the big pickup, throwing up his hands at his ruined bushes. For half a minute there was a lull as the truck turned around down by the corner … and then it roared back up the sidewalk again, clearing a wide path. People jumped. “Is the guy nuts?” Jeff asked—but at that moment they both heard intermittent blasts from a siren and saw an ambulance following behind the truck, skidding to a stop in front of the two-flat.
Grace caught her breath. “Oh no! Must be the old lady.” Almost forgetting Jeff standing beside her, she watched as paramedics jumped out of the ambulance, one disappearing inside the house accompanied by the woman in the headscarf as two others unloaded a gurney. They had trouble wheeling it up the unshoveled walk and finally picked it up, hefting it on their shoulders as they waded through the deep snow.
“Hey, where’s your shovel?” Jeff said suddenly. He grabbed his gym shoes, now dry and sitting by the front door, stuffed his feet inside, and reached for his jacket. “They’re going to need that walk shoveled when they come out.”
A few minutes later, Grace watched as Jeff slogged his way across the street, red scarf wrapped around his ears, shovel in hand. Another man—it was hard to tell who it was all bundled up in a parka—also showed up with a shovel, and set to work. Then the driver of the pickup joined them. They’d only cleared the steps and a few feet of snow on the front walk of the two-flat when the paramedics came out the front door again, someone swathed in blankets now strapped to the gurney, carefully lifting their burden down the front steps. Jeff and the other men dropped their shovels and, together with the three paramedics, helped lift the gurney up over the snow to the area cleared by the pickup plow where the ambulance was idling.
Once the gurney was loaded, the back doors of the ambulance slammed shut, and the ambulance began backing up the way it had come, the siren pumping short warnings as it slowly disappeared from Grace’s sight. After a minute or two, she heard the regular siren begin to wail and then slowly fade into the distance.
She breathed a quickie prayer they’d found Mrs. What’s-her-name in time—though she had a momentary doubt God would pay any attention to her prayer, since she’d basically gone AWOL in the prayer department. She watched at the window as Jeff stood talking to the other two men a few minutes; then he shook their hands and started back toward the house.
Grace opened the door before Jeff had time to ring the doorbell, and he came in stomping snow off his gym shoes and brushing off his jeans. “Looks like it’s their turn for anot
her go in the dryer,” she said wryly.
“No, it’s okay—but this is the last time I come to Chicago without a pair of mukluks unless it’s July.” He pried off his wet gym shoes and flopped onto the couch, frowning. He seemed distracted.
“Did you find out what happened?” Grace curled up on the nearby chair.
“Yeah. The old lady fell down the basement stairs, broke her hip or something.”
Grace gasped. “Oh, the poor thing! This morning?”
Jeff shrugged. “They’re not sure when. Guess she was pretty incoherent when they found her.”
“Found her? Who?”
“Not sure I got the whole story, but the guy who plowed the sidewalk so the ambulance could get through—the end of your street is still blocked by cars—said his son was throwing snowballs this morning and broke one of the basement windows in the two-flat, That’s when they heard the old lady calling for help down there.”
Grace was wide-eyed. “You’re kidding. What if … oh, dear.” The old lady lived alone. What if the kid hadn’t thrown that snowball? She shuddered. It was too awful to think about.
“Krakowski,” he said.
“What?”
“The old lady’s name. That’s what Farid said.”
Krakowski … Didn’t even sound familiar. “And the other man who helped?” she asked to cover the awkwardness she felt. These were her neighbors, after all.
“Jared Jasper he said.” Jeff jerked a thumb. “Came from the house next door. He was supposed to be at work at O’Hare—air traffic controller he said—but the airport’s shut down. Good thing, I guess. He couldn’t get his car out either.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Must be the twins’ father.”
Jeff’s phone rang. He dug it out of his jeans pocket. “Newman here … Yeah, yeah, that’s great … Thanks. I’ll be there.” He clicked off and grinned at Grace. “North Side Towing. Said they’d be here in the next thirty to sixty minutes. Guess the police called them to clear the cars blocking the intersection. Said they’d get me out too.” He stood and began gathering his things. “I will finally be out of your hair.”