With a nod, Trish followed him to the back door that led onto the porch. She grabbed her grandmother’s old camel-colored coat off the hook by the door and slipped into it. “When will you contact someone about the furniture?” They walked the large deck that made a half circle around the house until they reached the front.
“I’ll wait till you call Henry’s about the antiques. He’ll come by and give you an appraisal. That way you won’t give away anything of value.”
“You don’t approve, do you?” Trish asked as they walked to his large white van. Handyman Specialist, LLC, was emblazoned in red on the side along with his phone number and website address. Another website address in blue and a different font, cadsbycadman.com, sat under his name.
“We all have to do what we have to do.” Craig turned to survey the Victorian-style home. “I’ve always liked this house.” His hand on his chin, Craig stood there for several seconds before hitting the side of his van with an open palm. “I’ll get back to you with the estimate. Great seeing you again, Trish.”
Trish walked back to the house, remembering when she’d babysat for the Cadmans. Craig was nine and she was twelve. She loved children and always wished she had brothers and sisters. Starting as a mother’s helper, Trish took over the full duties of a babysitter eventually when both parents had to work. When he no longer needed a sitter, they spent a great deal of time together as friends. Extremely precocious, Craig had skipped a grade. He adored her and insisted she wait till he grew up so they could marry.
He skipped another grade. By the time she was a junior, Craig entered his sophomore year and seemed determined to catch up with her. Although he was shorter than his entire class, he stayed ahead of everyone scholastically. When she had trouble in algebra, he offered to help and their roles switched.
The memory made her smile. Craig turned out to be far beyond his years in more than academics. The day tutoring led to a kiss, her mother walked in and put a stop to any further education. Her father was transferred soon after, and they had to move.
The three-year age difference seemed less important now than it did then. Thinking back to some of the men she’d dated, Trish couldn’t recall their kisses. But Craig stood out.
CRAIG TRIED TO concentrate on his driving, but thoughts of his meeting with Trish continued to play havoc with his mind. He was over her, wasn’t he? Of course he was. Hadn’t he been dating Cyndi for months? Then why did seeing Trish drag up all those memories and send his hormones into overdrive?
She hadn’t checked those secret drawers in the secretary. If she had... He had to find some way to get back there and remove his note. He’d been so upset when he learned she was moving. No way would he want that note surfacing now.
Craig drove to the back of Moody’s Lumber Company and stopped at the small office. His father had first rented the place from Moody when Craig was an infant, and it had served them well over the years. The Cadmans’ business had grown thanks to his father’s well-known integrity, and Craig was determined to fill his father’s shoes. Not much chance of that with everyone still referring to him as Butchy, Craig Cadman’s kid. Bringing Trish’s house back to its original splendor might be exactly what he had to do to prove he was as good as his father.
When Craig stepped inside the office, his mother was looking over some papers with Maxwell Moody, the owner of the lumber company. Craig’s little brother, Noah, was sitting in her lap.
“How did it go, Butch?” she asked. “Trish give you the job?” Besides being a wife and mother, Rachel Cadman had served as secretary and journeyman to his father over the years. In many ways she’d provided the stability that kept the business from faltering when her husband became ill and died. Rachel also worked for Maxwell, who provided the crew that assisted Craig in his repairs. He looked up as Craig advanced. They acknowledged each other with a nod.
“Butchy,” Noah shouted. A moment later, he came around the desk and propelled himself into Craig’s arms.
Craig attempted to balance himself while the boy squirmed. “Noah. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” The boy placed a stranglehold around Craig’s neck.
“Teachers’ meetings.” Rachel came around the desk and took a reluctant Noah from Craig’s arms.
“I want to show him the hat I made for Thanksgiving,” Noah said, still reaching out to Craig.
“It’s at home. He’ll have to wait and see it when we celebrate with the big turkey dinner.” Noah pursed his lips and gave her his grumpy face. “How about you build a house? Your brother and I need to talk.” She placed the boy on the floor and watched him run to the box of wood pieces.
“I told her to call me Craig.” His mother raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips but didn’t add anything. “I want her to think of me as a grown-up, not the little kid she babysat.”
Rachel pushed several strands of light brown hair behind her ear. Sometime during the past six months, she’d started dyeing away the gray. “I know.” Rachel sighed. “It’s just...”
“I understand it’s hard, Mom, but if she calls...”
“When she calls. Trish hired you, didn’t she?”
Craig gave his mother a peck on her cheek. “I think we’re in once I finish some estimates. I’m sure the roof needs to be repaired. And the bathrooms are way out of date.” He took out his iPad and showed her the pictures he’d taken. Maxwell strained his neck so he could see, as well.
Noah came over with several pieces of two-by-four and tried to look at the pictures. Rachel held the iPad so he could see, too, and flipped slowly through the album. She stopped. “What’s this?”
Craig leaned over. “Oh, that’s her old secretary. She’s getting rid of everything and I thought... I’m going to offer her something, maybe deduct it from the cost of the repairs.”
He took the iPad from her then. He’d forgotten he’d snapped Trish’s picture and didn’t want his mother asking questions about it.
With a shrug, Rachel went back to her desk. “What we really need is money,” she said, rubbing the tips of her fingers and thumb together. “Antiques may be nice, but you can’t eat them.”
Craig nodded. “It’s just...”
“I know. You want something for the house you’ll build for you and Cyndi,” Maxwell said, assuming Craig’s relationship had gotten that far. Craig didn’t bother to correct him. There was no chance of that, but he knew most people seeing him and Cyndi together would come to the same conclusion.
Cyndi was an enigma. He never knew what to expect. One minute she’d throw herself at him, kissing him to distraction, and the next she’d be flirting with someone else.
They’d grown up just a few houses from each other and often played together with Trish and other kids in the neighborhood, usually at Trish’s grandmother’s. He thought of Cyndi as a butterfly that flitted here and there and didn’t offer any kind of permanence. He still enjoyed her company, but he wasn’t interested in marriage to Cyndi or anyone else.
She had come up to him at Moody’s, having returned to live with her parents after a divorce. They’d talked a bit and caught up, and then she asked him out. The most popular girl in high school, head cheerleader, prom queen, and she asked him. Back in his nerdy days, she’d forgotten he existed.
Maxwell stood and picked up his empty coffee cup. “Don’t go overboard with an offer on that antique. The woman probably inherited a good deal from her grandmother, and you don’t have to be overly generous.”
Craig