sometimes it’s all I can do to get myself out of bed in the morning. Would you like a cup of tea? Did you know you can make a box of twenty-five tea bags last for a month if you’re willing to use them a couple times each? I don’t mind sharing, not with a fellow as purty as you. Can you find the contraption that nice nurse brought over the other day for me…sort of a cane with legs?”
“Thanks, but I just ate breakfast, Miss Ethel,” Jeremiah said, spotting the cane leaning against her chair. “Why don’t you stay put, and I’ll paint the crown molding and the baseboards for you. How about that?”
“What on earth is crown molding?” She smiled at him. “Well, you just do whatever you want, sweetie. You’re so good-lookin’ I could keel right over.”
“Don’t do that, Miss Ethel,” Lara warned. She took an afghan knitted in orange, blue and black stripes and tucked it around the woman’s lap. “We need you to stay warm and tell people what to do. Especially Jeremiah. He’s clueless.”
Giving him a wink, Lara turned and headed for the front door. “Enjoy the blessing,” she said.
Jeremiah was about to tell her that he was hoping for a different kind of grace—the blessing of a woman with strawberry curls and green eyes and a voice that made his knees weak. But she was already out the door, letting the screen slam shut behind her.
“You ever had kidney trouble?” Miss Ethel asked as he dipped the brush into a can of white paint. “You know, we used to eat kidneys when I was a girl. My mama would kill a chicken and fry up the heart and liver—well, nearly all of it, to tell you the truth. Giblets, we called those leftover parts. I wonder if that’s why I’ve had so much kidney and heart trouble. Payback, you know. From the chickens. Do you suppose that could be it?”
“Lunchtime,” Lara sang out as she stepped back into the house. She half expected Jeremiah to have fled. Instead, he was down on his knees brushing glossy white paint onto the baseboards that rimmed Miss Ethel’s living room.
“I went to work for the telephone company during the war,” the old woman was saying. “My husband had been sent off to England. The European Theater of Operations, they called it. Left me at home with three babies and hardly enough to live on.”
“That must have been rough.” Jeremiah’s eyes locked on Lara’s face. “I asked Miss Ethel how she came to live in this house. She’s been telling me the story.”
“Ahh.” Lara smiled. “You’re up to World War Two. So, she’s told you about the births of Reggie, Betty and Sue.”
“We’ve gone back and forth a little. We began with the Depression. Then we traveled forward to the sixties when one of her sons got involved in drugs.”
“Reggie,” Miss Ethel spoke up. “That boy never was the same.”
“How about a break?” Lara asked, sensing Jeremiah’s need for a respite from Miss Ethel’s warbling monologue. “It’s noon. You can have half my sandwich, Jeremiah.”
He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, smearing white paint on the thighs. “I could run home—”
“I’ve got enough for two. Come sit on the porch. It’s a beautiful day for late November.”
As Miss Ethel began eating the lunch that Meals on Wheels had just delivered, Lara led Jeremiah out into the sunny afternoon. She had managed to stay away from him all morning, determined not to read more into his appearance at the site than she should. After all, the man had a busy career, active sons, new renters…and Melissa. Whoever she was.
They settled onto the porch, side by side, leaning against the clapboard wall of the old house. The rest of the crew had scattered nearby—some picnicking on a blanket in the yard, others resting in their cars. Lara handed Jeremiah half of her sandwich, poured him a cup of cold water and set a container of carrots between them.
“Did you see the Murayas this morning?” she asked, making conversation to keep
“Thanks, but I just ate breakfast, Miss Ethel,” Jeremiah said, spotting the cane leaning against her chair. “Why don’t you stay put, and I’ll paint the crown molding and the baseboards for you. How about that?”
“What on earth is crown molding?” She smiled at him. “Well, you just do whatever you want, sweetie. You’re so good-lookin’ I could keel right over.”
“Don’t do that, Miss Ethel,” Lara warned. She took an afghan knitted in orange, blue and black stripes and tucked it around the woman’s lap. “We need you to stay warm and tell people what to do. Especially Jeremiah. He’s clueless.”
Giving him a wink, Lara turned and headed for the front door. “Enjoy the blessing,” she said.
Jeremiah was about to tell her that he was hoping for a different kind of grace—the blessing of a woman with strawberry curls and green eyes and a voice that made his knees weak. But she was already out the door, letting the screen slam shut behind her.
“You ever had kidney trouble?” Miss Ethel asked as he dipped the brush into a can of white paint. “You know, we used to eat kidneys when I was a girl. My mama would kill a chicken and fry up the heart and liver—well, nearly all of it, to tell you the truth. Giblets, we called those leftover parts. I wonder if that’s why I’ve had so much kidney and heart trouble. Payback, you know. From the chickens. Do you suppose that could be it?”
“Lunchtime,” Lara sang out as she stepped back into the house. She half expected Jeremiah to have fled. Instead, he was down on his knees brushing glossy white paint onto the baseboards that rimmed Miss Ethel’s living room.
“I went to work for the telephone company during the war,” the old woman was saying. “My husband had been sent off to England. The European Theater of Operations, they called it. Left me at home with three babies and hardly enough to live on.”
“That must have been rough.” Jeremiah’s eyes locked on Lara’s face. “I asked Miss Ethel how she came to live in this house. She’s been telling me the story.”
“Ahh.” Lara smiled. “You’re up to World War Two. So, she’s told you about the births of Reggie, Betty and Sue.”
“We’ve gone back and forth a little. We began with the Depression. Then we traveled forward to the sixties when one of her sons got involved in drugs.”
“Reggie,” Miss Ethel spoke up. “That boy never was the same.”
“How about a break?” Lara asked, sensing Jeremiah’s need for a respite from Miss Ethel’s warbling monologue. “It’s noon. You can have half my sandwich, Jeremiah.”
He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, smearing white paint on the thighs. “I could run home—”
“I’ve got enough for two. Come sit on the porch. It’s a beautiful day for late November.”
As Miss Ethel began eating the lunch that Meals on Wheels had just delivered, Lara led Jeremiah out into the sunny afternoon. She had managed to stay away from him all morning, determined not to read more into his appearance at the site than she should. After all, the man had a busy career, active sons, new renters…and Melissa. Whoever she was.
They settled onto the porch, side by side, leaning against the clapboard wall of the old house. The rest of the crew had scattered nearby—some picnicking on a blanket in the yard, others resting in their cars. Lara handed Jeremiah half of her sandwich, poured him a cup of cold water and set a container of carrots between them.
“Did you see the Murayas this morning?” she asked, making conversation to keep
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