Myra follows Jim’s eyes and gets a sinking, overwhelming feeling again when she thinks about the monumental task ahead of her. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine.”
“Nonsense. This is definitely not a one-person job. Give me a knife and a box, and I’ll get started.”
“I’m serious, Jim. I can do this on my own.”
“Nope. Now where’s that knife?” he asks with authority in his voice and a big smile on his wrinkled face.
Myra sighs and smiles back before reluctantly agreeing and walking into the kitchen to retrieve him a knife.
* * *
“I’m going to have duplicates of everything because of all of Grampie’s things, but if we can get the boxes emptied and put into the right room, I’ll go through everything later,” Myra tells Jim.
They work quietly for a long time, getting through a majority of the boxes.
Jim clears his throat. “You know, I’m really going to miss your grandfather. Davis was a very dear friend to me, and my only neighbor for miles around,” he says with a chuckle. “No, it wasn’t just that. We were very close.” Myra sees the pain on his face, the pain of losing a friend, someone he loved.
She walks to the sofa and sits, patting the spot next to her. “Let’s take a break,” she says softly.
Jim sits, resting his arm comfortably on the back of the couch. “Davis and I had so many things in common. We were neighbors for what seemed like forever, we both had just one child, and we both had careers that weren’t incredibly lucrative, but we loved what we did. And we both lost the love of our lives before we should have.” He stops talking and looks out of the window with a look of longing on his wrinkled profile.
He slowly turns back to Myra with a sad, faraway look in his eyes. “Ah, Emma, God rest her soul. Never a day goes by that I don’t think about her. Did you know she’s been gone ten years now?” Myra nods. “She loved Davis as well; although she loved your grandma even more. Those two were the best of friends. The four of us had some really good times together,” Jim says, shaking his head slightly as if recalling fond memories.
“And your dad,” Jim says, smiling and causing the wrinkles around his eyes to crinkle. “I think I loved him as much as I loved my own daughter. He was really something special.”
Myra nods and wipes the tears in her eyes.
“He was such a good man. One of the finest men I’ve ever met. He was truly one of a kind.” Jim takes Myra’s hand into his own; it’s been twisted by arthritis, but he manages to rub her hand gently. “Sweetie, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted to let you know how special your family was to me; and how special you are to me.”
“I know,” Myra says before throwing her arms around Jim’s neck, choking on a sob. “Thank you,” she whispers. Jim will never know how much his words mean to her as she tucks them away in her heart.
* * *
“I don’t have much for dinner; how about some turkey sandwiches?” Myra suggests before picking up a box of kitchen utensils.
“Sounds wonderful. Did I ever tell you the story about when your dad went biking?” Jim asks as he follows Myra into the kitchen.
“No,” Myra says, knowing full well she’s heard the story dozens of times, but longs to hear it again. Jim sits at the table as Myra starts preparing the sandwiches.
“Your dad must’ve been around eleven or twelve, and he got a new bike. He was so excited, he could barely contain himself. So he headed off, and it was sunny out so he had sunglasses on, the big kind that were so popular with all the young kids back then.” Jim makes big, comical circles with his hands around his eyes imitating glasses. Myra nods and giggles as she hands Jim a sandwich.
“Your grandfather and I were sitting on the porch, enjoying the beautiful day and drinking a beer when all of a sudden here your father comes, covered in mud from head to toe, except where those sunglasses were. He’d hit a root or a rock or something and went flying over the handlebars face first into a puddle. Your grandfather and I laughed until our sides…”
Jim stops talking when the lights in the kitchen flicker on and off.
“That’s weird,” Myra says as she frowns and looks up at the light fixture on the ceiling. Abruptly, all of the lights in the entire house go off.
“
Okay
,” Myra says to Jim in the darkness.
A moment later, the lights come back on. Jim’s bushy eyebrows pull together as he stares up at the ceiling. “Hm. You must have an electrical problem somewhere. I guess you've noticed by now this place isn't exactly in the best shape. Your grandfather didn’t do much upkeep the last few years or so.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Myra agrees as she glances at the cabinet door leaning up against the wall and thinks about the hole in the ceiling upstairs.
“For some reason, Davis got very miserly in his last years. Felt like he couldn’t spend a dime on anything other than necessities. I tried to get him to hire someone to do some work, but he wouldn’t do it. You know how stubborn he was.” Jim raises an eyebrow.
Myra smiles and nods in agreement.
“I have someone you can call. He did some work on my house a few months back; did a real good job. Let me run over to the house and get his card.”
Jim returns within minutes handing Myra a business card. “Just call that number and set up an appointment for an estimate. He’ll put everything in writing before you agree to anything.”
Myra glances down at the card.
Dylan Lawson, Contractor
“Thanks,” she says as she tucks the card in her jeans. “Let’s call it a day. I can’t thank you enough for all of your help.” She leans in and gives him a hug.
“Not a problem, sweetheart. I have to go into the bookstore in the morning to take care of a few things, but I should be home by late afternoon. I’ll stop by and see if we can get the rest of these boxes cleared out, all right?”
“Perfect.”
Myra calls out a goodbye as she watches him from her doorway as he makes his way back to his house.
* * *
Myra calls Susie as she lies on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
“Took you long enough to call me back. I was starting to get all pissy,” Susie says.
Myra laughs. “My neighbor Jim stopped by and offered to help me unpack so…”
“Ooooh,
Jim
, what’s he look like?”
“He’s in his seventies.” Myra shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Is he hot? Sean Connery’s hot. I would bang that man any day, any time, and he’s gotta be at least a hundred.”
“For God’s sake, Jim is like my Grampie. That’s disgusting.”
“All right,” Susie agrees, chuckling. “I’ll give you that one. Grampie-like is gross.”
“Very.”
“So,” Susie says, “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but I need to vent so I really and truly, sincerely apologize in advance, okay?”
“What?” Myra asks.
“Trent won’t leave me the hell alone. He’s driving me insane. He’s at my desk every five minutes asking about you, and he won’t quit calling and emailing me. I can’t set my email up like you did so it goes straight to trash because I have to check his damn emails because of work. If he doesn’t stop, I’m going to report his ass to HR.”
Myra sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“Honey, it’s not your fault. He just pisses me off. The man still doesn’t know that you moved. I’m so glad he never knew the address of your apartment after you guys broke up because I swear that shithead would’ve been standing on your doorstep stalking you. And just so you know, things aren’t going so well for him and his little skankmeister right now either.” Myra’s ears perk up at this bit of gossip.
“I guess she went and blabbed to Miranda about the preggo thing, and you know Miranda’s loose fish lips; the whole office knew in about ten minutes. And Trent was fit to be tied. They had a knock-down, drag-out shout fest right in the office. Of course I missed the whole thing because my sorry ass was downstairs buying a snack. Can you believe my luck? Damn it,” she says as she pauses. “I wonder if the company has it on video somewhere because I would give my right boob to see that.”
“I don’t care what happens with them anymore,” Myra says, but secretly, she’s thrilled at the news. She’d never tell anyone, but she wouldn’t mind seeing Trent suffer a little. He needs to feel just a small amount of the pain that she’s had to endure because of him.
“Well, I gotta go, hon. I need to get the boys ready for bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love ya, girlie,” Susie says.
“Love you, too.”
* * *
Myra climbs the squeaky staircase clutching her pillow. She glances at the closed door of the master bedroom at the end of the hallway before her hand reaches out and opens the door to the guest bedroom. This was the room she stayed in whenever she spent the night at her grandparent’s home as a child. It feels comfortable and secure to her. This will be her bedroom because the master bedroom just doesn’t feel right. That was a special place just for her grandparents, and she doesn’t want to mar their memory.
After switching the light off and pulling down the patchwork quilt, she snuggles under the covers. But within minutes, she tosses and turns, staring into the darkness, unable to get used to her new surroundings. The darkness of the old house makes her feel even more alone and isolated. When Myra thinks about Susie and how much she misses her, she wonders if she made the right decision moving out here like she did.
Abruptly, she sits up, frowning. Twisting her head slightly, she holds her breath. She heard something. A noise. Almost like a tapping on the wall. As she continues listening, her heart beats rapidly and her mouth goes dry. Slowly, she crawls out of bed. Opening the bedroom door, she freezes her ears straining. Her eyes widen, and her breath catches in her throat when she hears it again. The sound seems to be coming from the master bedroom.
Constantly looking over her shoulder, she creeps down the dark hallway. Her shaky hand hovers over the door knob for a second. Swallowing hard, she listens intently.
Slowly, she pushes open the creaky door to the master bedroom. Her fingers fumble for the light switch.
As her eyes adjust, she swiftly looks around the room for what could have made that noise. She startles when she hears it again.
“What the hell?” she mumbles as she frowns up at the ceiling in the corner. A huge brown spot surrounds a large portion of sagging ceiling. The roof must be leaking quite a bit to cause such substantial damage. Looking down to the floor beneath the water stain, Myra sees a puddle of standing water in the center of several warped and damaged wooden floorboards.
With a sigh, she cleans up the water and puts pots on the floor to catch the drips. Finally, she slips back into her room and into bed. Unfortunately, sleep only comes in short spurts.
* * *
The next morning, after downing several cups of coffee, Myra finds the jeans she wore the day before and digs out the card Jim gave her. She quickly dials a number.
“Myra! Did you make it back to Philly safely?” Porter asks in a booming voice. She can picture his salt and pepper gray hair and big smiling face.
“Yeah, but I’m back in Nyssa. I just moved into Grampie’s house.”
“No kidding? That’s great. Jack and Davis would be so happy. I’ll let the boys here know you’re in town so we can all keep an eye on you, make sure you’re safe and all.”
“Thanks. Jim gave me the name of a contractor because the house needs some work. I hate to ask this, but could you run a background check on him? It’s that
cop’s daughter
thing coming out in me.”
Porter chuckles. “Jack trained you well. Never hire anyone without getting them checked out first. Give me the info and about an hour and I’ll get back with you.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
* * *
Myra’s phone rings an hour later.
“Hi,” she answers softly.
“I’ve got good news,” Porter says. “This Mr. Lawson checked out fine. No criminal record and I haven’t been able to find any complaints filed against him. He’s originally from Boise. I also checked him out with some of the locals. Does excellent work from what everyone says. Not the friendliest of people; kind of a loner, but I feel safe having you hire him. And Jim’s an excellent judge of character. But if he gives you an ounce of trouble, you let me know immediately, okay?”
“I will. Once again, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Anything for you, Myra.”
* * *
Myra pulls the business card out of her pocket and dials the number on it.
“Lawson,” a brusque voice answers.
“Yeah, I wanted to get an estimate on getting some work done on my house,” Myra says.
He sighs. “Can you hold?” he asks in an annoyed voice.
“Sure.” Myra frowns when she hears what sounds like tools are being moved around and some shuffling noises followed by a mumbled curse.
He huffs when he gets back on the phone. “Name?”
“Myra Sommers.”
“Address?”
She rattles off her address to him.
“I can do tomorrow afternoon,” he says gruffly. “Two?”