Susan Kirby - Your Dream And Mine

“Take your time.” Trace shoved a hand in his pocket and went downstairs to wait while Thomasina checked out the bathroom.

The walls were tiled in white. A modern shower had been installed inside a refurbished claw-foot tub. A window overlooked the town if you cared to peer out while you bathed. The closet was deep and spacious. Delighted with everything about the place, she decided to give small-town life a whirl.

Trace was waiting for her in the laundry room. She looked past the porch and over the green lawn. “You have central air, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“July. That’s a little late for planting flowers, I suppose.”

“Then you’re taking it?”

“I believe I will. Do you need references?”

“Milt and Mary speak well of you. That’s good enough for me.”

“Is it all right if I move in right away? The air-conditioning has been broken in my third-floor flat for a week and a half,” she added. “I’d pitch a tent under a tree for some cool air.”

“It’s ready to go. No reason you shouldn’t move in.”

“Where do I sign?”

“The lease? There isn’t one.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. I don’t want a piece of paper keeping someone longer than they want to stay.”

Or vice versa, thought Thomasina. She’d wager by the set of that long upper lip, that he knew how to put an out-of-favor tenant on the road without much trouble, too.

“One key going to be enough?” he asked.

“Unless I lock myself out.”

Trace saw her safely over the plank and to her car at the curb, wondering idly if she had a significant other. She wrote the first month’s rent, then tallied the balance while he took a final appraisal from a landlord’s point of view. Just a nice honest down-to-earth working girl.

He’d have bet his bottom dollar she wouldn’t give him a moment’s trouble.

It was too early to go to Milt and Mary’s and too late to drive back to Bloomington. Thomasina killed a little time driving around Liberty Flats. It was an eclectic collection of homes with everything from refurbished Victorians to modest bungalows to ranch-style homes with a few upperscale dwellings sprinkled in.

Trees canopied the streets leading to a square in the center of town. There was a park with a baseball diamond, an old-fashioned bandstand, a few picnic tables and some playground equipment. A couple of old-timers sat on a bench in front of the post office watching her brake for a dog. They raised their hands, so she waved, too, then made a second pass through town just in case she’d missed something.

She hadn’t. There was no fast food, not even a mom-and-pop café. Wishing she’d picked up a sandwich before leaving Bloomington, Thomasina stopped at the only light in town, then followed Main Street to the country.

There was a roadside vegetable stand on the way to Milt and Mary’s. The proprietor was having a yard sale. She chatted amicably while Thomasina stocked up on fresh vegetables, picked through the paperback books, then deliberated over window coverings.

The middle-aged lady got up from the card table and came over to shake the wrinkles out of the curtains. “I can knock a couple of dollars off, if you’re interested.”

“I like them, but I’m not sure they’ll fit,” Thomasina admitted. “I’m moving, and I haven’t had a chance to measure the windows.”

“Hereabouts?”

“Liberty Flats. I’m renting from Trace Austin.” Thomasina spread the curtains out on the table. They were good-quality drapery and in excellent condition. But she had no idea if they’d fit the windows.

Watching Thomasina fold and return the drapes to the table, the woman said, “If you’re interested, I’ll see if I can catch Trace at home and have him measure the windows for you.”

“Oh, no! Don’t bother him,” said Thomasina.

“Pooh! He won’t mind for a worthy cause,” said the woman. She hurried inside and was back in less than five minutes with the measurements and a measuring tape.

“Just right! See there! And Trace couldn’t have been nicer about it once he heard the proceeds from the sale are going to Deidre’s mission. Which reminds me, would you like to buy a ticket to the soup supper? It’ll be at the church Sunday night.”

“Sure, I’ll take a couple,” agreed Thomasina. “Where is it again?”

“Liberty Flat’s church. On Church Street,” the lady added, and chuckled as she gave her the tickets. She tallied her purchases and counted back her change. “Enjoy your new home.”

Thomasina thanked her and drove on out to Milt and Mary’s. Fixing supper wasn’t part of her job. But both Mary and Milt had been to the doctor that day, and Mary was worn-out. She perked up a bit when Thomasina told her about her forthcoming move to Liberty Flats.

“What a happy coincidence!” exclaimed Mary. “You’ll like Trace.”

“Take it easy on him, rose lips,” said Milt.

“Oh, Milt! Don’t start that foolishness,” scolded Mary.

“All I said was—”

“You couldn’t want a more responsible landlord than Trace.” Mary talked right over him.

“All I said—”

“Respectable, too.”

“All I—”

“Not one word!”

Milt gave a rusty laugh. “Simmer down, Mary, and leave the matchmakin’ to me. Right, Tommy Rose?”

“So long as you leave me out of it,” said Thomasina. She smiled at Mary and whispered loudly, “Why don’t you see if you can get his meddling under control while I do the dishes?”

Mary stood by as Thomasina helped Milt to the battery-powered scooter the family had purchased when he became too weak to get from one end of the house to the other without stopping to rest. Once to the living room, Milt settled on the sofa beside Mary. He turned on the television, but soon had it on mute.

Bits of conversation drifted in from the living room as Thomasina cleared the dining room table. She saw Milt patting Mary’s knee, and Mary wiping her eyes. The words living will tugged at her heartstrings. She retreated to the kitchen, closed the door and winged silent petitions on their behalf to the One who had filled them with so many good years.

At the end of her shift at Milt and Mary’s, Thomasina returned to her apartment and began packing boxes for the move. The heat soon zapped her. She filled her white sedan with boxes and sofa cushions, and drove south to Liberty Flats.

Taking a few necessities to the upstairs bedroom, Thomasina made a bed for herself on the cushions, and slept better than she had in days. She awakened at two in the afternoon, showered and dressed in shorts and a pink oversize shirt. Ready to tackle unloading the car, she tied her hair back with a neon pink scarf and let herself out the front door.

Two towheaded, chocolate-smudged youngsters darted across Thomasina’s path and around the side of the house to where Trace was trimming bushes. The little boy kicked through the clippings as they fell to the ground. The little girl, half a head taller, tripped over the extension cord trying to copy his capers. The hedge clippers went dead.

“What’re you two doing back?” asked Trace, unaware of Thomasina’s approach.

“Momma said we didn’t have to come in yet,” said the little boy. His voice was nearly as raspy as old Milt’s.

“Well, you’re in my way, so scram,” said Trace, reaching for the rake.

“Cut our bushes,” said the little girl. Getting no response from Trace, she turned to her brother. “They’re tall as a house. Aren’t they, Pauly?”

The boy bobbed his head and sucked his thumb.

“Hear that, Win?” said Trace. He paused in raking clippings to cup a hand to his ear. “Cartoons are on.”