Forget Me Not. Marion Ekholm
“That will be wonderful.”
“Except...” Craig walked over to the tall mahogany secretary before turning back to her. “Remember this?” His face lit up again with that grin. “We searched all those hidden compartments in here, expecting to find treasures.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “Right before you moved.” Craig’s expression sobered.
Trish glanced at the polished wood and remembered all too well. It was a memory she’d prefer to forget. Her parents had informed her that day they’d be moving, taking her away from all her friends and Butch. Checking Gram’s secretary for its secrets had been the last time they were together.
“Have you gone through any of the secret drawers since you came back?”
“I never did,” she said.
As Trish came to his side, he caressed the dark wood. She grasped the large panel that served as a writing surface, pulled it down and exposed all the various compartments. “You suppose there are any treasures we could have missed?” When she reached for one of the carved containers that fit seamlessly into the background, Craig placed his hand over hers.
“Your grandmother had some wonderful antiques, things you should keep.”
The warmth of his hand brought back more memories, ones she’d thought were long gone. She pulled her hand free and traced the carved surface with an index finger. “Is this valuable? Do you think I could get a good price for it?”
He looked at her as though she’d spit on his shoe. “Sure. Henry’s Antiques is always in the market for family treasures.”
She grabbed his forearm and felt his muscles tense. “Keeping family treasures isn’t a luxury I can afford. As it is, I’ll be using what Gram left me plus everything I have just to get this place ready for sale.”
Craig shook off her hand and turned toward the vestibule. “Let’s see the rest of the place.” He carried a yardstick that he swatted against his hand and occasionally used it to point to different areas.
They took the stairs to the second floor. Several rooms had ugly water stains on the ceilings. Trish opened one of the doors and scrunched her nose in distaste. “I think the bathrooms on this floor need a major renovation.” She had avoided the bathrooms yesterday when she’d arrived, using the smaller powder room on the first floor instead.
Craig stepped onto the linoleum and made a cursory examination. “If you want to get a good price, you’ll need some major modernization here. Bathrooms and kitchens can sell a house.”
“With some major expense,” Trish added as they backed into the hall.
Finally Trish stopped at the door to the attic staircase. “This was my favorite place to play. Remember all the times we stayed here on rainy days and dressed up in old clothes?” Her grandmother had made hot chocolate and provided cookies for Trish and all her friends in the neighborhood. She’d felt wanted and cared for, none of the indifference she found with her own parents. Trish had often wondered why her parents even bothered to have her. Whenever those thoughts invaded her mind, she’d run to her grandmother for all the love and hugs anyone could provide.
“Right. Your grandfather’s top hat and fedora. You still have them?”
“I’m not sure. Most of the things stored here were moved to drier areas, and I haven’t had a chance to check. Oh,” she said once they reached the top stair, “you can see the roof damage.” She pointed to the cracks in the roof where light came in.
Craig walked around, examining different beams, poking with a yardstick in places that looked particularly bad and snapping pictures. “This problem could get worse, especially if we get more rain. We should cover it with a tarp until it can be repaired.”
After checking the two attic windows for any leaks or damage, they went downstairs to the basement. “You’re lucky there’s no water damage down there,” Craig said after a quick tour. “That hurricane ruined more than roofs. Lots of homes were flooded. Fortunately, this place sits on a little rise.”
When they came back upstairs, Craig grabbed his jacket before they headed for the kitchen.
“You mentioned kitchens can sell a house, and most of these appliances are dated.” The country-style kitchen featured a pastel fridge, windowed cabinets, wallpaper with sunflower borders and colorful flower pictures. Canisters in a sunflower motif sat on the counter. She’d bought them for her grandmother. How many times had they taken flour and sugar from them to make cookies? She lifted the coffeepot, an old electric percolator. “Would you like some?”
Craig nodded and settled with his things at the kitchen table.
Trish poured coffee into large mugs and brought them to the table, where Craig continued to make notes. After putting some of her cleaning supplies back under the sink, she joined him. Once he stopped writing, she took a deep breath. “What do you think? Is this going to cost me a fortune?”
“Probably.” He glanced around a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. “This kitchen is pre–World War II. It definitely needs modernization, and you’ll find it well worth any expense. You’ll have a lovely old house to leave your own grandchildren one day.”
“I thought I made myself clear. I want to sell the place.” The words came out softly, forced past the lump in her throat. “I plan to spend my vacation fixing it up so I can get a better price. Should I bother or just let it go as a handyman’s special?”
A disapproving scowl crept across his face. Then his expression went blank, and he looked away.
Trish bit back a sigh. Hadn’t she already suffered enough guilt over her decision to sell? She stood and leaned against the sink, waiting for his verdict.
“It’s a sound structure. If you don’t mind my helping on some of the interior areas, I can have my crew do all the tough stuff.” He sat back and watched her with an intensity she found disturbing. “I was hoping you’d decided to come back and stay.”
“Why?” She laughed and propped her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. When she shook her head, her hair swished along the top of her shoulders. “You may have gotten taller, but you’re still three years my junior, and I have no intention of marrying you. You’ll just have to find another girl.”
“I have.”
All her playfulness vanished, and she stared at him, unable to think of anything more to say.
“You didn’t give me much hope,” Craig added.
“Anyone I know?” Trish asked, regaining her composure.
He sat up and folded his hands on the table, looking at her with way too much satisfaction. “Cyndi Parker.”
“Cyndi Parker! From down the street?”
“Always liked older women.”
“And shorter ones? Unless she’s grown, she has to be...” Trish held her hand out to where she pictured Cyndi might come to.
Craig swatted himself at a halfway point on his chest. “She comes up to about here in her heels.” That grin again. “What about you? You have any romance in your life?”
An image of Harrison came to mind. He was six years older than her twenty-six years, nine years older than Craig. “As a matter of fact, I’m engaged.” Trish pulled out the ring she’d slipped into her pocket for safekeeping while she cleaned and placed it on her left hand. Harrison had given her the diamond only a few days after her grandmother’s funeral, a little after the reading of Gram’s will. Both the inheritance and engagement had come as happy surprises. “My fiancé, Harrison Morris, and I are going to use the money from the sale of the house for a down payment on a new condo.”
Craig acknowledged her remark with a raised eyebrow but didn’t offer a comment. She looked away, remembering her disagreements with Harrison over the house. Even though he’d never seen it, he’d already said