And he had gotten over her, he reminded himself, as images of Sandra throwing back her head and laughing at something her longtime friend Vicki had said played through his mind. A laugh that reached her eyes and illuminated her entire face.
He used to make her laugh like that, he thought. Back then the pitch of her laughter was higher, giggle-infused and incredibly sweet.
Tonight, it had been softer, and held a husky note he found incredibly sexy.
Isaiah drove the truck past the three-story office building that housed Martine’s business and design centers. He stayed on the path that wound through the complex, driving past the huge warehouse from which they shipped furniture ordered at any of their fifteen showrooms, located throughout Massachusetts, Maine and New Hampshire.
He shifted the truck’s gear stick into Park next to a storage shed that had been the company’s original warehouse when it opened for business seventy-five years ago. No matter how many times they’d painted the old shed red, it didn’t stay that way long. Within a year the combination of salty ocean air, summer sun and harsh winter nor’easters turned the wood back to a weather-beaten gray.
Using the same key code he’d punched in at the gate, Isaiah waited for the electronic lock to click before pulling open the shed’s wide double doors and turning on the fluorescent overhead lights.
It was odd being out here without his father by his side giving orders.
Ben had always set up the children’s games for the recreation center Halloween party personally, saying it gave him an opportunity to get out from behind his desk. They’d done it together when Isaiah was growing up.
Surprisingly, his old man hadn’t protested when Isaiah had volunteered to do it alone this year. They both knew the radiation treatments had sapped the stamina needed to lift the heavy wooden props used for most of the games.
Since the unexpected Sandra sighting had vanquished his hunger, Isaiah decided to dig the games out of storage and check their condition tonight before hauling them over to the recreation center Friday. The physical labor would reignite his appetite and give him something to do besides dwell on a woman he no longer knew.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder.
Had Sandra gone through with the plans they’d made together, after he’d left for Annapolis? Had she spent that summer in Chicago attending the prestigious School of the Art Institute’s early college program? Did she study fashion design there after graduating Wintersage Academy?
Isaiah shook his head, as if the gesture could shake off the onslaught of memories and questions that seeing her again dredged up.
“Whatever Sandra Woolcott did then or is up to now is none of your business,” he muttered.
Easily locating the games in the same corner of the dusty shed they’d always occupied, awaiting their annual Halloween appearance, Isaiah pulled work gloves from his back pocket. He lifted the two six-foot wooden panels used for the giant beanbag tosses from the floor, and leaned them against the wall. One was in the shape of a giant pumpkin and the other a giant tricolor corn candy.
Both looked shabby. Their once bright orange paint had either faded, peeled or chipped away.
Isaiah sighed. It was a good thing he’d made a trip over here before Friday. These definitely needed work, and he suspected the rest would, too.
He walked back to his truck to grab his phone, planning to make a list of things he’d need to get them looking festive again. He opened the driver’s side door, leaned inside the cab and opened the armrest compartment. He paused at the sound of his name.
“Is that you?” a voice called out in the darkness.
Isaiah straightened and watched a tall, heavy-set man approach. As he got closer the lights illuminating the complex revealed a round, vaguely familiar face.
“Hey, it is you.” The man’s eyes brightened. He slapped him on the back as Isaiah struggled to place him. “When did you get back into town?”
“I got home on Friday.” Isaiah’s eyes narrowed. “Tony?” he asked, the voice jogging his memory.
“Yeah, it’s me.” The round face split into a wide grin as he patted a belly threatening to pop the buttons on his jacket. “Me and fifty pounds of my wife’s good cooking.”
Isaiah laughed and gave his old teammate’s hand a vigorous shake. “Great to see you. How’ve you been, man?” He looked down at his friend’s stomach. “Besides well fed.”
During Isaiah’s stint as quarterback of Wintersage Academy’s football team, Anthony Green had been his go-to receiver.
The two of them had been a powerful combination guaranteed to make big plays and put points on the board. Unfortunately, their efforts were rarely enough to keep pace with the points their team’s notoriously weak defense gave up every game.
“I’m good. The wife and I are expecting again, twins this time. Fortunately, I survived the latest round of layoffs here, and your mom recently promoted me to warehouse supervisor.”
Layoffs? His parents hadn’t mentioned letting employees go. Isaiah made a mental note to ask them about it.
“Congratulations all around,” Isaiah said.
“What about you, Lieutenant Jacobs? You on leave?”
“Yup, permanently. I put in my time, and I’m officially an honorably discharged civilian.”
“Cool.” Tony leaned against Isaiah’s truck. “Figured you’d be back sooner or later to take over the company.”
Isaiah shook his head. “I’m just visiting with my folks for a couple of weeks.”
Retrieving his smartphone from the truck and tucking it in his pocket, Isaiah inclined his head toward the shed. “I came out to check over the games for the children’s party at the rec center on Friday. I just got started, but from what I’ve seen so far they’re going to need some work.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Tony fell in step beside him as he walked back to the shed.
“Are you sure? After all, you have a family at home waiting.”
“My mother-in-law’s in town. I got off an hour ago, but I’m trying to drag the workday out until she either leaves or goes to bed.”
Isaiah laughed at the pained comical expression that crossed his old high school classmate’s face.
Inside the shed, Tony wasn’t much help. However, he kept Isaiah company with a steady stream of chatter, updating him on happenings in Wintersage.
“Wintersage Academy’s football team actually has a shot at making the finals this year,” Tony said.
A spider skittered across the gravel floor as Isaiah brushed a coating of cobwebs off another old board with what looked like a black cat painted on it.
“Didn’t they manage to win a championship a few years after we graduated?” Isaiah thought he’d read a brief about it in the online edition of the Boston Herald.
“They made it to the finals, but lost the championship to Bourne High School.”
Isaiah let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Those Bourne High Canelmen were some big boys, weren’t they? I remember them sacking me like I was a rag doll.”
Tony pinched a chunk of fat above his waist between two fingers. “I feel a twinge in the ribs they bruised every time it rains.”
Isaiah chuckled, his smile fading as he looked at the pitiful assortment of Halloween-themed games.
More than worn and faded, they all seemed terribly