Actions Speak Louder

by Rosemarie Naramore

  With a sigh, he turned to his side, willing sleep to come.

  Chapter Eight

  After several hours of tossing and turning, Marcia woke to the sound of her alarm buzzing. As tempted as she was to clock the clock, she turned it off and rose with a weary sigh. If she hadn’t been expecting a big delivery at the store, she might have considered taking the day off. But she knew she was needed to assure the delivery was correct, since Angie had taken the day off, and her newest hire hadn’t been adequately trained to sign off on the orders.

  She readied for the day and finally climbed into her car. She cast a hesitant glance at the bungalow beside her. All was quiet. She wondered if Ethan had managed to get any sleep after his exciting night.

  Hadn’t he mentioned he had a crew coming to work on his house? Or was that yesterday? Oh well, she thought, it wasn’t her business, or her problem, if indeed there was some problem.

  At the store, she completed her opening routine, and then settled in to await customers. She didn’t have to wait for long and she was kept busy for several hours.

  It occurred to her as she was mixing paint that her big delivery had yet to arrive. Part of the order had been placed by Angie and included twenty cans of paint for a customer who intended to use it on the interior of a huge shop in her back yard, in order to turn it into an art studio. The woman was eager to receive the paint so she could get started.

  Marcia grimaced, remembering the color. It was a mustard yellow hue, a special order she didn’t stock, and if possible, was less attractive in person than the real thing. Why the woman had fallen in love with it, she had no idea.

  It was odd the order was late, so she hurried to the back of the store to place a quick call to the paint supply company. The customer service representative told her that since the order was large, and since they were running slightly off schedule, it would be delayed.

  “Do you know how long it will be until we receive the paint?” Marcia inquired, dreading telling her customer the paint would not be coming today.

  “We can guarantee delivery by … Friday … next week.”

  Marcia gasped. Friday? Next week? “But that’s too long,” she protested. “My customer is champing at the bit to get that paint.”

  She could envision the person at the end of the phone line shrugging as she said, “I’m sorry, but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances.”

  She wondered what particular set of circumstances the woman was referring to, and probably should have asked. Unfortunately, she had already hung up. It was likely the company was simply inundated with orders. It had happened before.

  She placed the dreaded call to her customer, a Mrs. Dunneford, who was not pleased. Apologizing profusely, she offered to throw in a new roller and a paint brush for free, and the customer was adequately placated. She hung up the phone with a sigh.

  Her new employee, a young twenty-something named Stewart, glanced at her with interest. “Everything all right?”

  She forced a smile. “Everything is fine.”

  She followed by hurrying to the back of the store to unload a pallet of PVC piping, and then returned to the front of the store just as a customer walked in. She immediately recognized Ethan, wearing a baseball cap. He was whistling a happy tune, as if he’d actually gotten a decent night’s sleep, which she knew full well, he hadn’t.

  He approached with a smile. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said brightly. “You?”

  “Never been better,” he said cheerfully, and then pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a couple animal traps, about yay big?” he said, demonstrating the length, width, and height of the desired items.

  “It just so happens I do,” she told him, leading him to the other side of the store.

  He selected the traps, carrying one in each hand. Since they were large and ungainly, she took one from him and led him to the front. She set hers on the counter, and he followed suit.

  “Was there something else you needed?” she asked him.

  “Uh, yeah,” he muttered distractedly. “Do you have something I can use as curtains?”

  She bit back a chuckle. “Really, you need curtains?” she said in a teasing voice.

  Apparently, her tone was missed on him, since he only nodded. “Yeah, I’d better cover up that window in my bedroom.”

  “You think?”

  He gave her a bewildered glance. “Yeah, it’s probably a good idea.”

  She watched him bemusedly. Had he not heard a single word she’d said about that darned window last night? Had he not heard her running commentary about the absence of curtains? Unfortunately, she didn’t presently have any curtains in stock.

  “I don’t happen to have any window coverings in the store right now,” she told him, frowning, but perked up. “You know what? I have something at home you’re welcome to have.”

  “You do? Hey, that would be great.”

  “Sure. I’ll leave a couple of curtain panels on your front porch tonight. They may be a bit long but they’ll work until you find something better.”

  “I appreciate it. I’ll be home later,” he told her. “You know, you could always knock on the front door. It’s the neighborly thing to do,” he said, smiling a ghost of a smile.

  “It is, huh?” she said with a laugh. “Well, okay then.”

  “Yeah, in fact,” he said, still smiling, “I met another one of our neighbors today.”

  “Who?” she asked with interest.

  “Oh, uh, a lady named Mrs.—” He frowned, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I am so bad with names,” he mused, but then grinned triumphantly. “Her name is Jamison!”

  Marcia’s jaw dropped open. So Ethan had met the nosiest neighbor in the neighborhood. Had the woman come to his door, all a fluster, accusing him of being an exhibitionist? Had she threatened to call the police on him? Had she announced she was starting a petition to have him thrown out of the neighborhood? The greater metropolitan area? The county?

  “Oh, really?” she said with a wince. “Mrs. Jamison stopped by? What did, uh, she have to say?” She braced for his answer.

  “She welcomed me to the neighborhood,” he related. “Gave me a cheesecake she said she baked special for me. I’ve already had a slice. It’s great. I’ll cut you a piece if you come by my house tonight.”

  “She … baked … you … a cheesecake?” Marcia said, incredulous.

  He nodded. “Yeah. I guess it was a sort of ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ cake. Nice of her,” he added.

  “Yes,” she mused, shaking her head.

  “You seem confused,” he observed, watching her with a similarly bemused expression on his face. “Are you really that surprised at Mrs. Jamison’s neighborly gesture?”

  “Well, yeah, if you must know, I’m really surprised. I guess she was welcoming you to the neighborhood.” She would have to puzzle out exactly why later.

  “Yep, she was probably just welcoming me, but then, maybe…” He let his words trail off.

  “Maybe what?” she asked crisply.

  “Maybe … it was her way of alerting me to the fact that she enjoyed seeing me in my boxers,” he announced with a cheeky grin.

  Marcia watched him, mouth agape, and then burst out laughing. “Or …” she said, raising a clarifying finger, “she was under the misconception you weren’t wearing any.”

  He met her gaze, smiling. “That did occur to me. I’m actually rather disturbed by it.” He shook his head, as if ejecting a troubling image from his mind. “So you know, I heard you last night when you were warning me about the window. But, what could I do? I needed to find that flashlight. How was I supposed to know we have a peeping Thomasina in the hood?”

  “Well, now you do, and you should probably count your lucky stars you’re not down at the precinct, explaining yourself to a bunch of suspicious cops. They might have developed some serious misconceptions about you.”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, okay, you’re probably right.” He grinned again and cocked his head, but suddenly sobered. He remembered he had something to tell her, that he’d entirely forgotten about. He still hadn’t clarified her misconceptions about him. He’d intended to tell her the day before, but the opportunity just hadn’t presented itself. “Marcia, there’s something I do need to tell you…”

  “Marcia!” Collette cried, as she threw open the door.

  The couple glanced toward the door, in time to see the girl burst into the store, her hair windblown and her cheeks bright pink.

  “Hello, Collette,” Marcia said, smiling. “You seem in good spirits. Do tell why.”

  “Yeah, do tell,” Ethan said without enthusiasm.

  Collette smiled gleefully. “Drew and I went to a movie last night. And afterward, we went to that ice cream place down the street…”

  Ethan emitted a sound much like air escaping a tire. “Okaaay,” he muttered, and turned to Marcia. “I guess I’ll talk to you this evening.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Will you join me for cheesecake later?”

  She gave him a distracted glance, since Collette was practically bouncing with nervous energy beside her. She attempted to focus on him. “Why don’t you plan on bringing that cheesecake over to my place around seven…?”

  He raised a questioning brow. “You don’t want to come to my house?”

  “If memory serves, I don’t recall seeing a single chair in your place,” she pointed out.

  “Oh, yeah, you make a good point.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll stop by your place.”

  With a tip of his cap at her, and a quick glance at Collette, he left the store. He came back in not a moment later. “I forgot my traps,” he said in response to Marcia’s raised eyebrows, and strode to the register to pay.

  On the rebound, he paused and gave Collette a mock, angry glance. “Your timing needs work,” he told her.

  She only laughed. “Pretty boy,” she taunted.

  ***

  When Marcia arrived home around six-thirty, she saw that several men were at Ethan’s place, many apparently shutting down for the day. As she drove into her garage, one of the men from the crew nodded in her direction. She smiled in return.

  Since it was evident the men weren’t working on the front of the place yet, she surmised they were probably dealing with the bug-infested, dry-rotted back porch. To see if her hunch was right, she hurriedly dashed to her sunroom, greeted Tootsie and Allie, and then called them outside with her.

  Sure enough, she could see from her vantage point that the back porch had been torn off. She spied Ethan standing beside a man, who was gesturing toward the house, as if explaining what he intended to do to the place.

  Sighing, she worried for Ethan. She sincerely hoped the contractor wasn’t taking advantage of his lack of expertise and planned to overcharge him. She hoped he wouldn’t use substandard materials on the job either. She had read that it happened a lot, to inexperienced and unsuspecting people.

  Maybe she should go over there, to assure things were done properly. She fixed her gaze on Ethan’s face. He looked perplexed, and she just couldn’t bear to think he might be preyed upon by an unscrupulous contractor. Yes, she should go over there.

  The dogs were not pleased when she put them back in the sunroom, so she could hurry over to his house. “We’ll play later,” she assured Allie, who stood with her ball in her mouth, giving a small, hopeful wag of her tail.

  Marcia bent to give both animals a pat on the head, and then dashed out her front door. The two men were now at the front of the bungalow, standing beside a large pickup truck, with the logo E.J. Winslow on the side. Before she could get to them, she watched as the man climbed into the truck and backed out of the driveway.

  She frowned, noticing the name on the truck again. It sounded so familiar. Wasn’t that a large, commercial construction firm? If so, why were they at Ethan’s? A home remodel was small scale and she recalled reading in the newspaper that the firm’s current project was a massive, downtown high-rise.

  She furrowed her brow. Perhaps even the largest construction firms were facing economic hard times and had to make do with whatever work they managed to get.

  She reached Ethan just as he was about to return to his house. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he glanced away, toward the truck that was reaching the corner. He didn’t pull his eyes away from it until it made the turn, and then he turned his attention to her.

  “Hi, Marcia.”

  “Hello, Ethan. Isn’t that a commercial construction firm?” she asked, watching after the truck. “It was E.J. Winslow, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “They don’t do home renovations, do they?” she asked, frowning.

  “Uh, well, about that…”

  “Marcia!” a male voice called from across the street.

  Ethan heaved a sigh. Once again, his attempt to come clean had been thwarted by an interruption. He and Marcia turned to the source of the voice. It was Mr. Grambel.

  The elderly man hurried toward them, waving. “I found ‘em, Marcia!” he said gleefully. “I found a nest of carpenter ants out back. Can’t believe I missed ‘em. They’ve ruined several feet of my fence, but I finally got ‘em.”

  She smiled. “Good for you! I suspected there was a nest on your property.”

  “That you did.” He turned to Ethan, and then his eyes widened in recognition. “Ethan! Is that you? How’ve you been, son? It’s been what, five, six years since I’ve seen you in the old neighborhood?”

  Ethan accepted his proffered hand. “About,” he said, smiling broadly. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Grambel.”

  “Well, you too. What brings you back? I saw the truck in the driveway a bit ago.”

  Apparently, Mr. Grambel had spotted the truck with the logo on it. Ethan grimaced, casting a hesitant glance at Marcia. Did she realize he was referring to the business truck? But then he felt relief. She probably thought he was referring to his personal truck, which was also parked in the driveway.

  He didn’t want Marcia to think that having Mr. Grambel out him as the owner of the business was the impetus for his coming clean to her. He wasn’t sure how she would take the news, but it needed to come from him and not their neighbor.

  Mr. Grambel cleared his throat. “Well?” he prompted Ethan. “What brings you back to your grandma’s old place?”

  “I’m renovating it.”

  “Planning on flipping it, are you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m seriously considering moving in.”

  Mr. Grambel beamed. “Well, that’s just wonderful. We’ve missed you, boy. Chuck will be glad to hear you’ve come home.” Marcia knew Chuck was his oldest grandson.

  Ethan smiled. “I hear Chuck has three little ones and one on the way.”

  “Yep, and the three little ones aren’t so little anymore. You’ll have to come by and have a look at the photos Mary keeps on the mantel.”

  “I will,” Ethan promised.

  After shaking Ethan’s hand again, he announced he had to get moving. “Mary’s made her famous meatloaf, so I’d better get back. You come by as soon as you can.” He turned to leave, but turned back. “Oh, Marcia, I’ll be needing more of your magic powder so I can off those ants once and for all.”

  “Sure thing. I’d give you some of my own stock, but I gave what I had left to Ethan. I’ll pick up some at the store tomorrow and drop it by your house during my lunch hour.”

  He shook his head. “No, no. I’ll stop by the store. I need to pick up a few things anyway.”

  “I really don’t mind,” she assured him.

  “I know you don’t, but I do have other errands.” With a final salute, he hurried off toward his house.

  Ethan watched after him, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Wow, it’s been a long time.” He shook his head, still smiling. “That man was like a second granddad to me,” he said.

  “For me too,” Marcia t
old him, also smiling fondly.

  Chapter Nine

  “These curtains should work,” Ethan declared, holding up one of the beige panels Marcia had given him. “Thank you.”

  “I figured you’d prefer them to the ladybug print on the other pair I have,” she told him.

  He cocked his head and stroked his jaw. “I don’t know. I do like ladybugs.”

  “Yes, but do you like dancing ladybugs against a backdrop of blue sky, bubble clouds, and smiling sun faces?”

  “Those are actually my favorite kinds of ladybugs,” he declared.

  “Watch it,” she cautioned, “or I’ll take back those neutral-toned curtains.”

  He laughed. “Hey, are you ready for cheesecake?”

  “I was thinking we should probably have dinner before dessert.”

  He made a mock frustrated face. “First, you take away the ladybugs, and now you’re telling me I don’t get my cheesecake.”

  “Yeah, I’m a regular drill sergeant,” she intoned. “Hey, would you like to join me for casserole? I can have it thawed in the microwave and ready to heat up in a matter of minutes.”

  “That sounds good,” he said without enthusiasm, “or…”

  “What?”

  “We could always order a pizza. I’ve been craving pizza.”

  “Okay, but didn’t I just feed you pizza?”

  He nodded. “You’re right. Are you tired of pizza? I should have asked.”

  “I love pizza,” she assured him and strode into the kitchen and pulled several takeout menus from the drawer in the island. “We’ve got Papa Bertolli’s, Mama Dinaldi’s, The Brothers Martelli, Diego Pepperoni…”

  “I like Jakes,” he said succinctly.

  “Okay.” She thumbed through the menus and found Jake’s Pizza Emporium. “What sounds good?”

  “The Mighty Man, of course,” he told her, smiling.

  “Okaaay,” she said, and reached for the phone. She placed the order and returned the phone to the hook. “It’ll be about forty-five minutes,” she told him.