Her Great Expectations

by Joan Kilby

  A twinge of guilt made Jack turn the wrench too hard. He swore as he stripped the bolt. “Your house doesn’t keep you busy?”

  “I’ve fixed every bloody thing that needs fixing, some twice.”

  Jack worked in silence a moment. He hated to admit it, but Sienna was right—his dad needed something. “Do you remember that wooden rocking horse you made for me when I was small? And the dollhouses you built for Lexie and Renita?”

  “’Course.” Steve helped himself to another cinnamon bun.

  “That sugary stuff will kill you,” Jack warned.

  “Once in a while doesn’t hurt.” Steve licked the icing off his fingers.

  “You still got the patterns?”

  “They must be somewhere in the boxes I stored in the garage,” Steve said. “Why?”

  “Just thinking. Would you go to a Men’s Shed if one was available?”

  “Have you been talking to that doctor, Sienna?” Agitated, Steve put down his half-eaten sweet roll, crumbs spilling over the plate onto the table. “What is she saying about me?”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a knot. She asked me to run a Men’s Shed. I said no.”

  “Oh.” Steve settled down and reached for the bun again.

  Jack stroked his jaw, noting his father’s flat expression and mindless chewing. “But I’m considering it.”

  SIENNA BACKHANDED the perspiration from her forehead as she jogged along the cliff-top road overlooking the bay. The sun was setting over the water, turning the horizon scarlet and glinting off the towers of Melbourne in the distance. Dog walkers and cyclists shared the quiet street lined on the beach side with a narrow park and the other side with large homes on leafy lots.

  As a doctor she liked to practice what she preached—that the cornerstone of a healthy life was physical exercise. She wasn’t fast but she was disciplined. Rain or shine she ran three miles every second day.

  Footsteps thudded on the pavement behind her and she moved over to allow the runner to pass.

  Instead the steps slowed. “Sienna.”

  “Jack!” When he fell into pace beside her she forgot everything in frank admiration of his muscular legs, ripped biceps and broad shoulders, gleaming with perspiration.

  “This is a coincidence,” she said to hide her confusion. “Running into each other out here.”

  “No coincidence. I called your house,” he said. “Oliver told me where you run.”

  Sienna slowed her pace. “You wanted to see me? Why?”

  “I’ve decided to give Men’s Shed a trial,” he said.

  “You’re kidding.” She was so surprised she stopped running altogether.

  “No, I’m serious,” he said, jogging on the spot. “We’ll make toys for the Trivia Night.”

  “That’s wonderful! What made you change your mind?”

  “My father. You were right—he’s floundering.” Jack slanted her a hard glance. “I don’t want anything official, mind you. This is only temporary until Trivia Night is over. Hopefully Dad will get himself sorted out by then. I figure if he meets a few men his own age, it’ll help him adjust to retirement.”

  “I’ve still got the brochures and the information I downloaded from the internet,” Sienna said. “Do you want to stop by my house and pick them up after your run?”

  “Sorry, no time.” He started jogging backward. “I’ve got to clean up my workshop and get it ready for next week.”

  Sienna started running again. “Then I’ll drop the information off next time I’m going past. How are you planning to find recruits?”

  Jack ran along beside her. “I’ve put up notices around Summerside and spread the word among my friends.”

  “Sounds like you’re all organized.”

  “Don’t get the idea that I’ll devote my life to this project.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” Sienna ran onto the grass to avoid a woman walking her dog. “I’m just pleased you’re doing it at all. You should come to the Trivia Night. It’ll be fun and you’ll get to see the toys you make raffled off.”

  “I might. Are you going?”

  “Of course.” She flicked her gaze sideways. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, giving nothing away. Why was her pulse racing as if she was sprinting instead of jogging? “I’m on a team with one of my patients, Penelope, who’s a teacher. I think she’s filled all the other seats at our table.”

  “I’ll sit with Sharon and Glenn.” He grinned. “We’ll whup your ass.”

  “You want to make a bet on that?” Her chin came up, and before she knew what she was doing, she surged forward, overtaking him in a burst of speed.

  Seconds later he floated effortlessly past her, tweaking her braid. As his long legs carried him ahead she laughed.

  Then her laughter faded. She had put childish things behind her when she’d become a doctor. When she’d taken full responsibility for her son. She needed to set a good example for Oliver…for herself.

  By flirting with Jack, an unemployed charmer, she was misleading him. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

  FOUR MEN STOOD in a semicircle in the center of Jack’s workshop, waiting expectantly for him to tell them what to do. Why had he ever agreed to do this? Right now all he wanted to do was blow off the Men’s Shed and go for a bike ride.

  His father, at least, was a known quantity. The others were a mixed bag. Ralph was eighty if he was a day, thin and wiry in dark blue overalls. Above the collar of his brown shirt his leathery neck disappeared into a shock of thick white hair. Bob, in sleeveless T-shirt and baggy shorts, sported a straggly dark ponytail, tattoos and an earring. He looked to be around forty and was on disability after injuring his back working as a laborer. Paul was in his fifties and, with his well-groomed gray hair, polo shirt and neat slacks, would have looked more at home on the golf course or in the boardroom. He’d been let go from his management position six months ago as a result of the economic downturn. He stood a little apart.

  “Okay, guys, listen up,” Jack said, more gruffly than he’d intended. He was out of practice at organizing other people. “Our project is to make toys to raffle off for the high school’s new sports center. Steve knows how to make rocking horses. Does anyone else have any skills or ideas of what they could do?”

  Ralph raised a shaky, gnarled hand. “I can make wooden toys. Cars, boats, trucks. I got my tools out in my truck.”

  “Excellent,” Jack said, nodding. “Steve’s brought over his lathe and I have a circular saw, so we should have woodworking covered. Bob, what’s your specialty?”

  Bob shrugged beefy shoulders colorfully decorated with dragons and pouncing eagles. “Dunno.”

  “Do you have any hobbies?”

  “Making beer.”

  Over the chuckles of the other men, Jack said, “I’m not sure the PTO will let us raffle off alcohol, even to help the kids.”

  Bob smoothed the soul patch beneath his bottom lip with a calloused thumb. “I learned how to make fighter kites in prison.”

  “Nothing dangerous,” Jack said.

  “No worries,” Bob said cheerfully. “I’ll leave the metal knives and ground glass off the kite string.”

  “O-kay, you can give that a go.” Jack turned to Paul. “What about you—any hobbies?”

  “Polo—” He broke off as Bob sniggered. “Do you have a problem?”

  “Polo? Pah-don me.” Bob put on an exaggerated English accent. “I didn’t know we had royalty in the shed.”

  “Cool it,” Jack said sharply and threw Bob a warning glance. “Do you know anything about bikes?” he asked Paul.

  “I cycle around the bay from Brighton to Mount Eliza every Sunday morning.” The ex-executive’s face brightened as he spoke.

  “You’re one of those wankers in Italian Lycra who ride in a pack and clog up the highway on your ten-thousand-dollar bikes,” Bob muttered.

  “We’re not all wankers, as you so crudely put it. Some of us are serious riders.” Paul turned to Jack. “Wh
y do you ask about bikes?”

  In the background Bob mincingly mimed “serious riders” to Ralph, who frowned back at him. Paul noticed. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he reached into his pocket. Jack heard a metallic clink and then he saw that the guy had two small steel balls in his palm, rolling them.

  Ignoring Bob, Jack explained, “A couple of used kids’ bikes have been donated, but they need refurbishing. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes,” Paul said. Clink, clink.

  “Let’s get started,” Jack said before Bob could make any more comments. “Steve and Ralph, take the long section of the workbench. Bob, we’ll clear a space at the far end, next to my electronics. Paul, why not spread out the bicycle parts on the floor over by the ultralight? I’ll lend you a pair of overalls. I’ll get them and be back in a minute. You boys play nice while I’m gone.”

  Jack crunched down the driveway and up the path to his house, Bogie at his heels. “Thank God I only agreed to do this temporarily,” he muttered to the golden retriever. “We’ll make a few toys, raise some money and then I’ll resume normal programming. Sound good? It does to me.”

  Bogie nudged his hand with a cool moist nose. Jack took that as a sign he agreed and stroked the soft golden fur. Dogs were pretty darn smart.

  “Do you always talk to your dog?” a woman asked, laughing.

  “Sienna?” He looked over his shoulder.

  There was no one there.

  This was weird. She’d invaded his peace with her plans and her projects, spurring him into action. Now he was hearing her voice when she wasn’t there. He’d hate to think what a shrink would make of that.

  He hadn’t been able to help flirting with her the other day while out running. She looked good in her T-shirt and jogging pants. Approachable. Sexy.

  But he couldn’t fall for a woman who regarded work as some kind of religion, a woman who would never be happy with him for who he was.

  Walking faster, as if he could escape his thoughts, he let himself into the house and went through the kitchen, along the hall and into his bedroom, Bogie dogging his footsteps.

  Jack slid open the closet door and rummaged through the back of the shelves among the piles of folded sweatshirts and blue jeans until he found a pair of old overalls. As he pulled them out, he knocked over a shoe box hidden among the clothes. Postcards spilled out.

  His heart twisted. He thought he’d gotten rid of those. The postcards were painful reminders of the weekends he and Leanne would fly the Cessna to wherever fancy took them. As long as it had a landing strip. She would collect a card from every town they visited. She didn’t write on them or mail them to anyone; she just bought them as a souvenir.

  Warrnambool, Wagga Wagga… He flicked through the colorful cards. Merimbula. His hand stilled and he felt sick all of a sudden. They’d arrived at the seaside town on the New South Wales coast on a Friday afternoon. By Sunday morning when they’d departed, a low pressure system had rolled over the Great Dividing Range, bringing heavy rain.

  He shut his eyes as he remembered the sound of her voice, the things they’d talked about that day. The hopes and dreams they’d shared. All gone now. All his fault. Like his broken GPS, these postcards anchored him to the past, to his grief and guilt.

  Jack shoved the postcards back into the box, grabbed the overalls and hurried back to the shed, forcing Bogie into a trot.

  The scent of warm cinnamon and caramelized sugar hit him as he walked in. The men had abandoned their tools and were clustered in the kitchen area. Ralph’s wife, Jean, orange haired and plump in flowered capri pants, was cutting a freshly baked coffee cake.

  “Ralph asked me to make something for morning tea,” Jean told Jack as she handed around big slices. She was as round as Ralph was spare and clearly pleased to have a group of appreciative men to bake for.

  Steve’s gaze met Jack’s as he lifted a piece of cake to his mouth. His dad hesitated. Jack raised his eyebrows at his father’s sheepish expression. His dad needed to lose weight, sure, but since when had he needed Jack’s approval to eat?

  Jack dropped the overalls on the bench and walked over to get some cake. Within a few minutes Steve was reaching for his second piece. “Go easy, Dad,” he said with good humor. “Save some for the rest of us.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to him.” Jean thrust the plate under Steve’s nose. “You go right ahead.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Steve helped himself.

  A pair of boys in gray-and-green school uniforms with schoolbags on their backs appeared in the open double doorway. The curly blond head belonged to Oliver. With him was a shorter boy with shiny brown hair that fell across his eyes.

  “Hey, Oliver,” Jack said. “Don’t you have school?”

  “We got out early because of a teacher’s conference. Mum said you were starting the Men’s Shed. We came to help you make toys.”

  “Does Sienna know you’re here?”

  “We stopped at the clinic on the way. It’s cool.” Oliver came to a halt in front of Jack. “This is Jason.”

  The Men’s Shed was available to males of all ages, although Jack hadn’t anticipated teenage boys coming along. But why not? “You boys want cake?”

  Oliver’s eyes lit. Jason smiled, revealing a mouth full of stainless steel braces. “Yes please,” they said in unison.

  Jean happily fussed over them as if she was their own grandmother.

  The men had finished eating and gone back to work. Jack approached Steve, who was measuring a length of pine with a metal ruler and a carpenter’s pencil. Smedley had slithered under the bench to snooze, his muzzle resting on his front paws. “How would you like to teach Dr. Maxwell’s son and his friend to make rocking horses?”

  Steve nodded. “Send them over.”

  Jack found Oliver and Jason washing their plates under Jean’s supervision. “You boys go see Steve, the older man with the glasses. He’s my father. He’ll sort you out.” The boys hurried off and Jack turned to Jean. “Thanks for bringing the cake. It was delicious.”

  Jean’s round face was wreathed in smiles as she picked up a tea towel to start drying. “I’ll bring scones and jam tomorrow. And I make a nice pound cake, too.”

  “Excuse me?” Oliver was at his side.

  Jack turned. “Yes?”

  “I’d rather help you if that’s okay. I brought some old computer disks to make robots.” Oliver’s soft-featured, pimply face was transformed by interest and hope.

  Jack rubbed the back of his head. “I guess I could fast-track the school project I’m developing. How would you like to help me build a prototype dogbot?”

  “Cool!” Oliver grinned, eyes shining. “What’s a dogbot?”

  The boy’s eager curiosity reminded Jack of himself at that age. Something tripped over in his gut. It must be tough on Olly not to have his dad around. If Leanne hadn’t died, Jack might have had a son who would look at him the way Oliver was looking at him now.

  He clapped an arm around Oliver’s shoulder. “That is what we’re going to find out.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “DIABETES IS ONE of the leading causes of kidney disease—more than excessive drinking or smoking,” Sienna informed the guys at the Men’s Shed later that week.

  She’d asked Jack if she could give a talk on men’s health issues as a community service and he’d suggested she come at their morning coffee break. Standing beside her posters propped on an easel, she concluded, “I have a patient who contracted type 2 diabetes at the age of thirty-three. Without treatment, his kidneys slowly deteriorated. Now, at fifty-five years old, he has to spend fifteen hours a week on a dialysis machine just to stay alive. He can’t travel or do any of the things he’d planned to do in retirement. One in four people with diabetes develops long-term kidney damage.”

  She glanced around the room, her gaze resting briefly on Steve. “Don’t be one of the statistics.”

  Over the smattering of applause, she added, “Are there any questions?”<
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  Paul, Ralph, Steve and Bob were seated on the couch and chairs. They’d listened in polite silence. Now they shook their heads—no questions. All through her talk Sienna had been conscious of Jack leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, watching her.

  She unhooked her flip chart and started to dismantle the stand. She hoped the men—especially Steve—had taken in the message, but it was hard to tell. “Help yourself to the fruit and veggie platter. I’ll stay around for a few minutes in case you want to ask me anything.”

  Paul reached for a handful of carrot sticks and dipped one into the chickpea dip Jack had made for the occasion. The other men, including Steve, gravitated toward the chocolate chip cookies Jean had dropped off earlier.

  Sienna left the chart stand and offered the veggie platter to Steve. “Can I have a word?”

  Steve threw a hungry glance at the chocolate chip cookies, then sighed and took a few cucumber sticks and a slice of melon. “Sure.”

  Sienna set the platter on the table and followed him away from the others.

  “A cookie wasn’t going to kill me.” Steve eyed the cucumbers in his hand with distaste. “Were you aiming your talk at me?”

  “Not just you. Men’s health is an important issue. I give the same talk to other groups in the community. But I’m glad of the chance to speak to you privately.” Sienna glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance, then continued. “I received the lab results from your blood sugar tests. Your blood sugar is three times the acceptable level.”

  Behind his steel-framed glasses, fear flickered in Steve’s eyes. “There must be some mistake.”

  “There’s always a possibility these results are an anomaly,” she said. “That’s why standard procedure is to confirm with a follow-up test. Same thing again, on a different day.”

  Steve groaned. “Not more fasting.”

  “I’m afraid so.” From her purse she produced a pamphlet and gave it to him. “Read that. Discuss it with your wife and family.”