Marion Ekholm - Forget Me Not

Trish pushed away and tried to look undisturbed, but warmth radiated from her cheeks. “Still planning on marrying me, huh?” She grinned. “You should be over that by now. What’s it been? Ten years?”

“Me? Forget my first love? Never.” He sobered. “I’m really sorry you had to come back under these circumstances. I know how close you were to your grandmother.”

She swallowed and nodded thanks for his sympathy. Gram had left her this house in her will with the hope Trish would move back, keep it in the family and reestablish her roots. That wasn’t likely.

Trish rubbed her arms to fight off the November chill. With only two and a half weeks before Thanksgiving, they couldn’t expect the Indian summer to last much longer. “Okay if we go inside?”

“Sure.”

Trish and her parents used to live here in Riverbend, New Jersey, near Gram. Moving away had been difficult—Trish left a grandmother she adored as well as all her friends while starting her junior year in high school. Her father’s promotion had taken them to Virginia, where he could commute to his new job in Washington, DC. When her grandmother became ill a year ago, Trish moved to New York City so she could be close by. If only she’d relocated earlier. Their time together had been so short.

“So, Butch,” she said once they were in the large vestibule, “are you here on your father’s behalf, or will he stop by later to give me an estimate?”

“Dad died nearly two years ago.”

“Oh.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He nodded. “I took over the business, so I do all the estimating and most of the renovation work. And there’s another thing. I don’t go by Butch anymore. It’s Craig. Now that my dad’s gone, there’s no more confusion.”

“Okay. Craig it is.” She hesitated. The senior Cadman had had a sterling reputation not only for his integrity but also for his superior craftsmanship. Her grandmother had trusted him to do all the repairs on the house, from the plumbing to the electricity. But Craig, being so young...

“Do you need references?”

Trish shook her head. “Of course not. I just remember you tagging along with your dad...”

Craig took in a deep breath. “My father taught me everything he could, and before he died, I earned my contractor’s license. Besides that, I work with an experienced crew who also worked with my father. My mother can supply you with names of people I’ve worked for.” He chucked her chin with his knuckles and smiled. “Always ask, Trish. There are too many people out there who will do a rotten job and take you to the cleaners.”

Her faith restored, Trish waved toward the arched entrance to the living room. “Shall we look at the house?” They stopped at the large staircase. “No one’s lived here since Gram went to a nursing home. Neighbors kept an eye on it, and I’ve been up a few times to check. But I’m afraid there’s damage from the roof leaking when the last hurricane came barreling through.”

“Right. We’ve taken care of a lot of damage from storms this past summer.” Craig removed his heavy blue windbreaker and placed it over the staircase’s carved newel cap.

“I’ll need the roof repaired or replaced. I’d like an estimate on both. While I’m here, I’ll start on the central staircase, sanding it down and refinishing it. I’m hoping to get it back to its beautiful oak finish once that carpet’s removed.”

They walked into the living room, which was still loaded with heavy, outdated furniture. “No damages here. Just some ratty-looking wallpaper I’ll need to remove.”

Craig made notes on his iPad, scrutinizing the fieldstone fireplace as well as taking a quick picture. “When was the last time this was used?”

Trish shrugged. “I remember one Christmas...” She sighed. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I’ll check it out. Don’t want any unwanted fires messing up the repairs.”

When he looked in the direction of the old-fashioned furniture, Trish asked, “Do you know where I can donate all of this?” She swung her hand around, indicating several items in overstuffed maroon velvet. “I have no use for it, and I’d really prefer having the room cleared before I remove the wallpaper and paint.”

“Sure. Several churches in the area have banded together to help people affected by the hurricane. I’ll contact them and have it moved out.”

Trish clasped her hands together in delight. “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.