Nora Roberts - Tribute

Ford filed that away, tried to wend his way back. “I guess back when there was only one school, all of you shared a lot of teachers. Like Brian, Matt, Shanna and I did. Mr. McGowan taught us all, and Matt’s little brother, Brian’s older sister. Back in elementary school, Mrs. Yates taught us to write. She always crabbed by my penmanship. I bet she’d be surprised by what I do today. Who taught you to write, Granddad?”

“God, that takes me back.” He smiled now, eyes going blurry with memory. “My mama started me off. We’d sit at the table and she’d have me trace over letters she made. I was right proud when I could write my own name. We all had Mrs. Macey for penmanship, and she’d mark me down for writing the way my mama taught me. Made me stay after school to write the alphabet on the board.”

“How long did she teach there?”

“Years before, years after. I thought she was old as the hills when I was six. I guess she wasn’t more than forty. Sure was a hard case.”

“Did you ever write her way?”

“Never did.” Charlie smiled, bit into a cookie. “My mama taught me just fine.”

Ford reported to Cilla under the blue umbrella, over a cold beer. “It’s not much. Shared teacher in the person of the persnickety Mrs. Macey. A lot of Morrow’s generation, and those coming up behind him, would’ve been taught to write by her. He was friendly with Hennessy, at least until he threw over Hennessy’s sister for the rich and snooty Jane. He put Keystone Plumbing on the map, along with other businesses. He may or may not have had some shady dealings and/or extramarital affairs that prevented him from running for governor. He had friends in high places and you could say boosted friends into high places. Through the connection to him, some of them could have met your grandmother, and an affair could have followed.”

“The who you know and how you connect doesn’t run that different here than it does in Hollywood.” Or probably anywhere else, Cilla mused. “Buddy worked here when he was in his thirties? It’s a little hard to see Janet tumbling madly in love with a plumber, especially Buddy. Still, he’d have only been a few years younger than she was.”

“Can you picture Buddy writing phrases like ‘I place my heart, my soul, in your lovely hands’?”

“Really can’t. There are more connections between the then and the now than I realized, or appreciated. I may never know if there’s more to then than just the continuity of the place. The way it’s going, I may never know how, even if, what’s been happening here connects.”

“The Hennessy house is up for sale.” Ford laid a hand over hers. “I drove by after I saw my grandfather. Curtains are drawn, no car in the drive. Spanking-new Century 21 sign in the front yard.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know, Cilla.”

“Maybe if she’s responsible for this morning, it was a final fuck-you.”

It didn’t play that way for Ford. The panels didn’t fit, and the images in them didn’t form true. He’d keep shifting them, he thought, changing, resizing, until he had not only the picture, but the whole story.

With a great deal of pleasure, Cilla hung her first kitchen cabinet. "Looking good.” Thumbs hooked in his front pockets, Matt nodded approval. "The natural cherry’s going to work with the walnut trim.”

“Wait until we get the doors on. Things of beauty. So worth the wait. Guy’s an artist.”

She laid her level on the top, adjusted.

“It’s beautiful work, and a lot of it.” He scanned the space. “But we’ll get them in today. How long before the appliances are back?”

“Three weeks, maybe four. Maybe six. You know how it goes.”

“The old-timey stuff’s going to be great in here.” He winked at her as she stepped down off the ladder. “Don’t let Buddy tell you different.”

“It’ll give him something to complain about instead of my pot filler.” She ran her hand, lovingly, over the next cabinet. “Let’s get her up.”

“One second,” Matt said as his phone rang. He glanced at the display. “Hey, baby. What? When?”

The tone, the merging of the two words into one stream had Cilla looking over.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I’m on my way. Josie’s water broke,” he said, snappinghis phone off. “I gotta go.” He lifted Cilla off her feet, a happy boost into the air.

“So this is what goes on around here all day,” Angie said as she came into the room.

Matt just grinned like an idiot. “Josie’s having the baby.”

“Oh! Oh! What’re you doing here?”

“Leaving.” He dropped Cilla back on her feet. “Call Ford, okay? He’ll pass the word. I’m sorry about-” He gestured toward the cabinets.

“Don’t worry about it.” Cilla gave him a two-handed shove. “Go! Go have a baby.”

“We’re having a girl. I’m getting me a daughter today.” He grabbed Angie on the way out, dipped her, kissed her, then swung her back up as he ran out of the room.

“Boy, talk about excellent timing.” With a laugh, Angie tapped her lips. “He gives good kiss. Wow, big, huge day. I need to call Suzanna, Josie’s younger sister. We’re friends. And another wow, look at all this!”

“Coming along. Look around if you want. I need to call Ford.”

While Cilla made the call, Angie poked around the kitchen, in the utility room and back out.

“Men are odd,” Cilla stated, hooking her phone back on her belt. “He said, ‘Cool. Got it. See ya.’”

“A man of few words.”

“Not usually.”

“Well, I’ll use some to say, Cilla, this all looks amazing.” Angie spread her arms. “Totally amazing. And how the hell do you know where to put all these cabinets?”

“Diagram.”

“Yeah, but you had to make the diagram. I have a hard time figuring out if I can move my bed from one place to the other in my room, and where the dresser could go if I did.”

“I had a hard time getting through a class, much less imagining teaching one the way you’re going to do. We all know what we know.”

“I guess we do. Well.” Angie gave a snappy salute. “Private McGowan reporting for duty.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m here to paint. I could try to help you put these up now that Matt’s otherwise occupied. But I think you’ll be a lot happier with my painting skills than my cabinet-hanging ones. How do you hang them, anyway?” she wondered. “I mean, what holds them up? And never mind, I’d rather use a paintbrush.”

“Angie, you don’t have to-”

“I want to. Dad said they’ve finished scraping the old paint on the front and one of the sides, and they’ll be working on the back today. And if there was more help, we could get some of the primer on what’s been done. It’s my day off. I’m the more help.”

She tugged at the leg of her baggy white painter’s pants. “Look. I have the outfit.”

“As fetching as it is, I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Angie’s face turned from teasing to solemn. “Are you ever going to think of me as a sister?”

“I do.” Fumbling, Cilla picked up her level. “Of course I do. I mean… we are sisters.”

“If that’s true, then let me say: Shut up, and show me the paint.” Her smile went sly. “Or I’ll tell Dad you’re being mean to me.”

Amusement came and went, but the quiet glow remained. “You’re a lot like him. The, ah, one who made us sisters.”

“I have only his good qualities. You, on the other hand-”

“The paint’s out in the barn. We can go out this way.” Cilla opened the back door. “Maybe I don’t like having a sister who’s younger than I am and has a cute little cheerleader body.”