Marion Ekholm - Forget Me Not

Craig brought the grilled sandwiches to the table while Dave dished out the soup. At any moment Craig expected his crew to return. And he didn’t want an interruption, not when he had an opportunity to observe Harrison. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Craig, Harrison had trimmed dark hair that hadn’t started to thin, even though he was older than everyone else at the table. He looked as though he worked out, probably in some office gym.

What did Trish see in him? Was he the right one for her?

Craig reached for his sandwich and let old memories wash over him. “Remember when we sat in this kitchen, eating our favorite meal with your grandmother’s cookies baking in the oven?”

Trish grinned and pointed to her mouthful. She swallowed before adding, “Yes. Dozens of times.” She glanced at Harrison before concentrating on her sandwich again. He looked miffed.

Craig decided continuing down memory lane might not be the best idea. But Trish did remember. Was she experiencing the same nostalgia? Was the same knot tying up her insides?

He put down the sandwich, not able to deal with what was lost and could never be.

* * *

“SO, WHAT DO you think this secretary is worth?” Trish asked Dave.

He started to reply, but Harrison came over and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from Dave. “When I come here in the future, I’ll expect one of your home-cooked specialties.” He gave Craig a look that could only mean the meal he’d just consumed wasn’t up to par. “Really sorry I’ll be missing out on Thanksgiving.”

Did Trish know how to cook? She used to help her grandmother, but back then they were always happy with nothing fancier than a plate of cookies. Craig turned his attention back to the secretary. What would he do if Dave discovered the note? What would Harrison do? Laugh himself inside out?

“I’m sorry you’ll miss it, too.” She and Harrison embraced only a few feet away from him. Did Harrison really have to act so touchy-feely in front of everyone? And did Trish have to enjoy it so much?

“You’ll only have one day to help me paint?” Trish looked away, and Craig saw the hurt in her eyes. The rat.

“Right. I’m taking all of that Sunday off. We can get most of it done then.”

Sure. One day of painting and they’d be lucky to complete one room out of the half dozen that needed work. Didn’t the guy know anything about how long it took to mix the paint, put up tape, cover the walls, trim the woodwork and clean up afterward?

Harrison kissed her again on the cheek, and Craig considered bashing him in the head with one of the antique ornate brass lamps. As much as he wanted to know more about the secretary, Craig felt like leaving.

“Don’t your parents live in Chicago?” Trish asked. “Will you be joining them for Thanksgiving?”

“I may stop by, but it wouldn’t have much meaning if I can’t bring my fiancée.” Another embrace. At least her response was less than enthusiastic this time around. Was it the subject matter? Why wasn’t he taking her there to meet his family?

Trish managed to slip from under Harrison’s possessive arm and walked closer to Dave to re-ask her question. “So, what do you think, Dave? What kind of price can I get for the secretary?”

“Could one of you help me move it away from the wall? I’d like to see if there’s any signature or an indication of who might have made this. Do you have the history on this, Trish? Where it came from?” Craig moved over to the opposite side and helped swivel the large piece around to expose the back. Trish joined him.

“It’s always been here. I think Gram mentioned once her grandfather bought it for his wife as an anniversary gift. In fact, most of the items in the house were purchased by her father’s parents or grandparents. Gram didn’t see the point in replacing anything with a newer model unless the old one no longer served the purpose.” Trish chuckled. “She did upgrade to a flat-screen TV, though.”

“Oh, my!” Dave traced his finger on a faded mark while everyone else came over to see what had intrigued him. “This WW is from Willard Williams, a cabinetmaker back in the early eighteenth century. What a find! I’ll have to do a little more research, but we’re talking thousands. Especially since it’s in pristine condition.”

Thousands! Craig caught his breath and wondered how he’d ever come up with that much money for something that served no practical purpose.

Harrison again embraced Trish. Dollar signs must be floating in his head. Can’t she see where his interest lies?

Dave came around to the front and pulled down the writing section. “Yes, this is definitely Willard’s. See all the carved leaves and flowers on the drawers? And if I remember... Yes, the one with an animal opens...” Dave reached for the tiny carved squirrel and tried twisting and turning the decoration. Nothing happened.

To Craig’s total relief. Sweat trickled down his back. Had the heat kicked in? He searched for any excuse to leave. “I think the crew has returned. I’d better get back to work.”

“Thanks for lunch,” Trish said.

“You provided the ingredients. Dave and I merely threw them together.”

She reached for his arm. “I’ll walk you out.” When she disentangled herself from Harrison, he gave Craig a fish-eyed glare but didn’t join them.

“The meal brought back great memories, Trish. Thank you.”

“And it tasted just as good as when Gram served it.” Trish chuckled. “I don’t think Harrison appreciated it much.”

“How could he? It’s only special to us.” Craig reached in his pocket and pulled out her key. “I didn’t get a chance to put it back.”

She took it from him, gripping his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” Her fingers felt cold in his.

“You might not want to keep it in such an obvious place. Especially if what Dave said is true. Your antiques have some great value.” He held on to the old-fashioned metal a moment longer while he thought about it.

“Yeah, what a surprise.” Trish removed the key from his hand. “I’ll find a better hiding place.”

“You know, you really need these locks upgraded to dead bolts.”

“But this works well.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.”

Surprised that she’d be affectionate in front of Harrison, Craig turned toward her just as Harrison came over and placed an arm around her shoulders. As he pulled her out of Craig’s reach, he said, “He’s right. Dead bolts are a must.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“You do that. Nice meeting you,” Harrison said, but his expression didn’t reflect any pleasure.

“Same here.” Craig gave the lie back, not adding any warmth in his reply.

* * *

DAVE WENT THROUGH each room, scribbling notes in a small loose-leaf notebook. Occasionally he took pictures, and he appeared extremely pleased at each new encounter. Although the upstairs bathrooms held no treasures, Dave said that claw-foot tubs were a real find. In one bathroom, he kicked at the linoleum that had begun to curl against the wall before he dropped to one knee and held on to the tub’s rim.

“These tubs are magnificent.” He examined it thoroughly both inside and out. “I rarely see so many beautiful details in an old house like this that haven’t fallen into decay.”

“Can I get a good price for the tubs?”

Dave straightened. “Is it true you plan to sell the house?”

Trish glanced at Harrison. “Well, yes.”

“Then I suggest you leave the tubs. You’ll fetch a much higher price.”

Harrison chortled. “Really?” He leaned over and pulled on the linoleum, managing to rip off a good chunk of it. “How much will this add to the value?” After showing the curling piece to Dave, he tossed it into the tub. “Who buys this kind of stuff?”