by Mary Manners
Now, Grant shrugged, fighting back a stab of pain that always seemed to coincide with the mention of his father and all of the failed memories that drifted back as he recalled those difficult times. “After Mom died so suddenly, it was as if Dad’s spirit broke, too. He was never the same after we buried her, and he was tough to live with. But I suppose I was no picnic, either.”
“We all have our moments.”
“Yeah, well…my moment was more like the better part of a decade.” Grant fisted his hand at his side, wishing once again with all his heart that he could travel back in time to say to his father what had remained unspoken for so many years. “I’m thankful for Cara…my sister. She never gave up on me through it all—the good and the bad. And I’m thankful for Gemma, as well. She’s helped me to become more grounded than I ever dreamed I’d be.”
“Yes, she’s a bright little spitfire.” Maggie lifted a hand and cupped her palm to Grant’s cheek, bringing a measure of calm that he savored. “She’s smart as a whip, too. She must take after her uncle.”
“Let’s hope not, or there’s a rocky road ahead.” Grant laughed slightly, his pulse thrumming as Maggie’s hand dipped from his cheek to his jaw before settling back into her lap.
“I beg to differ. Taking after you would be just…lovely.”
Grant swept Maggie’s hair back and pressed a palm to her forehead. “Call the doctor. I think you’re running a fever.”
“You are modest beyond words, Grant.” Maggie’s lips bowed into a smile as she reached for his hand and linked her fingers with his. “I like it.”
“Do you, now?” His gaze skimmed the length of her, drinking in the shapely calves that peeked from beneath the hemline of her floral skirt and toes polished in a shade of pink that mimicked the softest leaves fluttering from the trees that lined the road. “Well, I think we’ve both been elevated to hero status following the infamous zoo trip. The day is certain to be catalogued into the annals of history.”
“That’s good to hear, because I just might have another stellar opportunity to keep you perched high on that pedestal.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes…that’s if you’re game.”
“Oh, I’m game all right, presuming the opportunity includes time with you.”
“It does…along with a passel of squirmy and unquenchably inquisitive children.”
“Ours?”
“Isn’t that getting a little ahead of things?” Maggie lifted one eyebrow so it disappeared beneath those luscious bangs. “Our first lunch together is barely beginning to digest.”
“First lunch? Does that mean you’ll go for a second?”
“You did kiss me, after all, so I might be persuaded. Yes, I’d like that.”
“Great…fantastic.” Grant lowered the music that drifted from the radio as he turned in the seat to face her. “OK, then, spill the beans on this next wild adventure you have up your sleeve.”
“How do you feel about mixing up a batch of flour and water, maybe brushing on a little acrylic paint with a flurry of glitter sprinkled in for good measure, then top things off with a bit of shellac?”
“Is it legal?”
“Um…yes.” Maggie laughed. “In all fifty states.”
“Do tell more.”
“The students and I are starting a unit at school to study autumn and in one of the activities the kids will be creating their own leaf designs with a batch of salt dough. I plan to use decoupage glue and—”
“Day-co-what? You’re talking a foreign language, Maggie.” Grant recalled his mud-splattered dress slacks and the soiled shirt that he’d sent off to the cleaners. The leather dress shoes were beyond repair; he’d tossed them into the trash as soon as he’d arrived home following the zoo trip. “Just give me the bottom line, sweetheart. What am I in for this time? Don’t sugarcoat it, either.”
“Right, sorry. OK, here we go…wear something that can get dirty—better yet, tossed in the trash when we’re through—and plan to stick around awhile, because craft day usually devours most of the instructional time. Of course, I’ll mix in a little reading, writing, and arithmetic for good measure. That’s the bottom line.”
“So, no suits allowed?”
“No. Absolutely no Egyptian cotton dress shirts or pressed linen slacks. No polished Italian leather shoes. No perfectly-knotted silk business ties—unless you plan to dip them into the decoupage glue.”
“It’s easy to see why Gemma adores you.” Grant caught a lock of Maggie’s hair between his fingers and savored the silky texture. “I adore you, too.”
“Hmm…Would you like to—?”
“Kiss you again? Yes.”
“I was going to say walk me to my door, but your idea sounds better.” Her laughter echoed the soft melody of wind chimes. “So…”
Grant drew her in, nestling her close to his chest. He dipped his head, pausing to drink in the expressive blue-gray of her eyes. “I never imagined rolling up my sleeves for the zoo could lead to…this.”
Maggie’s slow sigh mesmerized Grant as she eased into him and murmured, “Lions, tigers, and bears…oh my.”
5
Grant tapped a pencil along the top of his office desk as he skimmed through a file for the most recent merger he’d been cultivating. This client proved to be particularly difficult, and Grant’s free hand splayed over his belly in an attempt to force back the stomach acid that had churned in a firestorm all morning. His lunch sat on the corner of his desk, still wrapped in the take-out bag, and he had no intention of diving into it anytime soon. If he didn’t get this project wrapped up and sealed by day’s end, he’d have to back out of his promise to help Maggie with the kids tomorrow.
And that was simply an unacceptable option. Grant looked forward to seeing her again, even if it meant sinking elbow deep into decou—whatever that was—with a tribe of over-active and highly inquisitive kids. And as far as Gemma was concerned, well, if Grant didn’t stay to help with the class project tomorrow, she’d be heartbroken. She was counting on him, and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let her down.
Not like his dad had let him down on more than one heart-wrenching occasion. But those times were all water under the bridge and couldn’t be undone. There was no point in dwelling on things from the past that couldn’t be changed. Grant knew he had to focus on what could be changed.
Which brought his dilemma concerning the locket—Maggie’s locket—front and center. The silver piece sat on the kitchen counter in the ceramic bowl where he had a habit of stashing his wallet and keys when he returned home from work each night. And each morning, Grant meant to take the jewelry with him, to stop by the school and explain, face-to-face, how it came to be in his possession. But he couldn’t seem to make himself take that step, though he’d prayed about it at length. Perhaps if Maggie got to know him a bit better, she’d be less apt to judge him…to despise him for what he’d done. He’d tell her by Sunday, he promised himself. And then—
“Excuse me, Mr. Anderson?” Carol Voigt, Grant’s office administrator, rapped gently on the open office door before stepping over the threshold. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a neat bun and the wire-framed glasses propped atop her nose gave her a no nonsense aura. She was efficient, dependable, and kind beyond measure. Best of all, she’d been with him since the inception of Anderson Investments five years ago, so she knew exactly how things operated and what needed to be done. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the intercom seems to be on the fritz today. You have a call on line one.”
“Thanks.” He dropped the pencil on the blotter and rubbed a hand across his forehead as weariness seeped into his bones. He hoped the caller wasn’t Cara. She surely planned to prod him once again about the locket, and at the moment, her big-sister guilt-trip was exactly what he didn’t need. He glanced at the flashing green light on the phone console and heaved a sigh, wishing he could put off the call. Impossible…if the call was from Cara, she’d never back down. She remained the most p
ersistent person he knew.
Except for Carol. Sometimes the middle-aged woman reminded Grant of his mother—no-nonsense and to-the-point but with a heart of gold. She did her best to help him stay focused and on track. Grant never worried about the day-to-day operations of Anderson Investments when he was away, due to Carol’s watchful eye.
With great effort, he rolled the office chair in a semi-circle to snatch a stack of papers from a wire bin on the cabinet behind him. He held the sheaf out for Carol. “This file is ready to fax.”
“I’ll get it done without delay.” Carol approached the desk and took the papers. She turned slightly to curl her nose in distaste as she glimpsed the untouched lunch on his desk. “You haven’t eaten.”
“An apt assumption.” Grant pressed a palm to his gut once again and felt the chatter of gurgles that erupted at the thought of ingesting even a morsel of food. “My stomach seems to be…less than cooperative at the moment.”
“You have to eat, Grant.” Carol’s voice softened just a bit. Her lips bowed into a frown as she waggled a finger at him. “You’ve been working so hard. You need sustenance.”
“I’ll get to it, I promise.” Yet, Grant knew he was in trouble when Carol called him by name. She could be tenacious as a pit-bull, a quality that had earned her the office nickname, Bulldog.
“Well, don’t delay. You need your energy.” Her brown eyes crinkled around the edges as her forehead creased. Grant knew she must be in her sixties, but her trim figure coupled with an energetic take-charge attitude and sharp wit made her seem years younger despite the salted hair and glasses. “What good will it do you to fall ill?”
“One missed meal won’t leave a lasting mark.”
“Even so…it’s not a favorable habit to start.” She propped her free hand on her hip as her gaze held his. Suddenly Grant felt as if he were all of seventeen and under the grand inquisition in the judge’s chambers once again.
He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie that suddenly seemed to stifle his breath. The room had turned unbearably warm. “I’m not intending to make it a habit, but I appreciate your concern.”
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d eat at least a few bites of that sandwich. You haven’t been yourself lately, you know.”
“I haven’t?”
“Not at all, and you have me concerned.”
“No need to be.” He swiveled in the chair, avoiding her gaze as he busied himself with a file. “I’m fine.”
“Are you…truly?”
“Yes, ma’am.” To humor her, he turned back toward the desk and reached for the lunch sack. He delved inside and drew out the turkey on rye that had been delivered from the deli down the street. The aroma of Swiss cheese and fresh vine-ripe tomatoes ignited his appetite as he unwrapped the sandwich. Perhaps Carol was right…he should eat at least a little something. He took a bite—a big bite—and forgot his manners as he spoke around the mass of meat and bread. “How’s that?”
“It’s a start.” She nodded, satisfied, and crossed her arms with the sheaf of papers held tight to her chest. “Is there anything else you might need at the moment before I head to the fax machine with these?”
“Did you call the pharmacy to have Gemma’s inhaler refilled?”
“I did.” She dipped a hand into her pocket and approached the desk once more to hand him a slip of paper—the confirmation. “It will be ready by five.”
“Good.” Grant took another bite of sandwich and spoke around the crust. So far, his stomach seemed to be cooperating nicely. “I’ll pick it up on my way home tonight. Thank you for taking care of that.”
“Of course.” Her smile warmed light-brown eyes that were magnified behind the lenses of her glasses. “And you’re quite welcome. Now…line one is waiting.”
“Right.” Again, he noticed the flashing green light that signaled a caller. “I’d better get that.”
When she left, closing the door gently behind her, Grant set down the sandwich and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Grant Anderson speaking.”
“Hi, Grant. It’s Maggie.” Her voice spilled over the line like warm honey. “I called to thank you. The flowers are lovely.”
“You received them then?”
“Yes, this morning just before lunch. How did you know lilies and gerbera daisies are my favorites?”
“I went on a hunch.” Grant pictured Maggie’s smile and the waterfall of dark hair as it kissed her waist. He saw her blue eyes flecked with the gray of a summer thunderstorm and wished she was here so he might hold her hand and kiss her once more…the way he had last Sunday as they sat in the car in her driveway with sunlight spilling through the windshield to warm them and the scent of autumn leaves whispering on the breeze.
“Well, that hunch was spot on. They’re perfect and it’s been…well, it’s been a long time since I’ve received such a beautiful gift.”
“That’s going to change.” He nodded emphatically, though Maggie couldn’t see the affirmative gesture. “A woman like you should receive such gifts with regularity. It’s just…right.”
“Will I see you this afternoon?”
“Cara has another double-shift at the hospital, and she asked me to pick up Gemma. So, yes, I’ll see you after school when I come for her.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” A clatter of noise in the background caused Maggie to pause. Grant heard the chatter of voices as they tumbled through the receiver. “Oh, I lost track of time. I have to go now. The kids are returning from lunch.”
“I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Yes, soon.”
****
“Miss Andrews, how are pictures made?” Gemma asked as the class gathered around Maggie at the rocking chair and settled in on the carpet that served as the story circle. The day was nearly over, and it had been a full one, for sure.
Maggie reached for the picture book she’d selected for this afternoon’s closing read. “They’re made with pencils and crayons and paper, of course.”
“No, not drawing pictures.” Gemma shook her head so her copper curls danced over her eyes. “But the kind you hang on the wall and put in photo albums—like the one you brought to school.”
“Oh, well, let me think a minute.” Maggie scratched her head. How, exactly, were those photos made? She knew it had to do with light and chemicals and special paper, but she wasn’t quite sure about all the steps in the process. And if she didn’t understand the process, how on earth would she explain it all to Gemma. “I have an idea…we can research it after school, while we wait for your Uncle Grant to pick you up.”
“Research it?”
“Yes, on the computer.” Maggie motioned toward the laptop on her desk. “We’ll search the Internet together to find the answer.”
“I like that idea.” Gemma’s sweet smile lit her entire face. “Maybe Uncle Grant will want to help us.”
“Yes, maybe he will.”
“Can I look at your photo album again, Miss Andrews?” Gemma’s gaze drifted to the desk where the album lay. “I like the pictures.”
“Of course you may, after our story. Come sit down now and join the others. You can help me read, if you’d like.”
“Oh, I’d like that, too.”
“It’s settled, then.” Maggie motioned Gemma to the blue and yellow area rug where the others waited. “Here we go.”
Gemma wove through the other students to find her place in the circle. “I’ve seen her, you know, that lady in your album.”
“Which lady?”
“The one with the apron.” Gemma wrinkled her nose and scratched one cheek as a curl brushed over her skin. “I’ve seen her.”
Maggie paused and knelt to face Gemma eye-to-eye. “Where have you seen her, sweetheart?”
“She’s in the locket at Uncle Grant’s house.” Gemma folded her legs and placed her hands in her lap. “The one we found in the pocket of his jeans in the box on the shelf of his thinking room.”
“Did you say a locket?”
“Uh huh. That’s what Uncle Grant says it’s called ‘cause it opens up and you can put pictures inside. We threw the jeans and the shirts away ‘cause they were yucky and scary and Uncle Grant said no one else should have them, but we kept the locket.” Gemma frowned and squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, as if blocking out the awful images from the clothing. “Maybe Uncle Grant will show you the picture if you ask. How did she get inside the locket…the lady from your album?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie’s heart stuttered painfully as she considered the question. How, indeed? “I suppose that’s a question that only your Uncle Grant can answer. He’ll be by soon to pick you up.”
“Are you gonna ask him, then?”
“Yes, of course I am.” Grant had the locket—her locket? Could they be one and the same? And if so…how? And why hadn’t he said anything about it? If Gemma had recognized the locket in Grandma Nell’s photo, surely Grant had, as well, as he flipped through it on the school bus heading back from the zoo.
“Is it a mystery, Miss Andrews?”
“Yes, it certainly is.” Maggie’s throat tightened at the flurry of questions, making it difficult to speak. How would she ever manage to read the story she’d chosen to the class without her voice giving out? “It’s a mystery like none other, and I truly hope your Uncle Grant has a good explanation.”
6
Grant sensed the change in Maggie the moment he stepped into the classroom. She turned her back to him slightly and avoided eye contact as she gathered picture books scattered along a cheerful blue and yellow carpet and placed them back onto a bookshelf.
