“Which ones?” She dabbed at her nose again. “They’re all old.”
“I don’t know. The ones you used to make quilts with.”
“Now, why would I want to spend my Saturdays with blind old biddies, sticking myself with needles?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Reece chuckled.
His grandma then veered to a safer realm, a basic catchup on his life. Between sips he filled her in about work, and how his team had managed to salvage an account the day before. In the middle of his logistical recap, his thoughts looped back to the photo on his desk. Suddenly he recalled the second reason he’d come here today.
Yet, unsure how to ask, he detoured to highlights of his recent travels. He described the weather, landscape, and culture in London and Seoul. “Did you and Grandpa ever visit Asia together?”
“No, no,” she said. “We talked about taking a vacation there, but just never got around to it.”
Reece nodded, remembering how he and his sister used to gobble up popcorn while admiring the couple’s travel photos, compliments of a white wall and a projector that tended to stick every ten slides.
At the silent lull, his grandmother tilted her head at him. “Dear, is there something else on your mind?”
No reason to stall.
He cleared the nerves from his throat. “I was wondering if . . . well, do you remember my girlfriend, Tracy?”
His grandma scrunched her brow.
Dumb question. As a longtime hospice volunteer, his grandmother had given him plenty of helpful tips about Tracy’s daily care—sponge baths around her bandages, helping her out of bed.
“My point is . . . we’ve been dating for more than two years, and . . . she’s amazing. Her family’s great and . . .”
“And,” his grandmother finished slowly, “you’re going to propose.”
Embarrassed yet relieved she had said it for him, Reece explained, “You and Grandpa had such a great marriage. Guess I was hoping I could borrow your ring for good luck.”
She gazed down at her vacant wedding finger, then rubbed at the loose skin that had prompted her to retire the ring into a jewelry box. “One thing I’ve learned, you don’t need luck for a happy marriage. It’s something you work at every day.”
Reece didn’t know how to respond. Maybe he should have waited. She was already losing so many belongings she valued. “If you’d prefer to keep it, I’d completely understand.”
Ignoring the assurance, she continued, “But if you love this girl with all your heart”—a warm smile lifted her cheeks—“I know your grandpa would’ve been honored to pass it along.”
Responsibility pressed onto his shoulders, as if his grandfather’s hands were reaching down. Reece came around the table and gave her a hug, taking care not to squeeze too hard. “Thanks, Grandma.”
“My pleasure, dear.” She patted his back.
As he stood, she added, “I’ll have your mother bring the ring here when she stops by tomorrow. Why don’t you come over on Monday, and I’ll have it all ready for you?”
“That’d be wonderful.”
Once they traded good-byes, he threw on his coat and scarf and headed for the front door. His grip was on the handle when he glanced into the formal room. There, items were strewn across a long folding table, prepped to be priced.
Any other year, a fresh-cut tree would already be centered before the large picture window. Its decor never mimicked a store display, color coordinated and too pretty to touch. Instead, the ornaments were a hodgepodge of random shapes and handmade crafts, each holding a special memory.. . .
A noise from upstairs sliced through the thought. Reece strained to hear more. Over the years, thanks to the surrounding forest areas, he’d been credited with ridding the place of a bird, a mouse, and even a bat that had entered through the attic.
He grabbed a newspaper and rolled it as he climbed the stairs. At the top, he waited, listening. Another sound seeped from the guest room on the right, the one he’d used for his overnight stays since childhood. He clutched his weapon and cautiously opened the door. The sight of a person caused him to jump.
With a gasp, the woman spun to face him. Then she released an audible breath, hand over her chest. “God, Reece. You scared me.”
His reflexive demand of Who the hell are you? died at the recognition of his name. Wait . . . the girl he’d met yesterday. Outside his parents’ house.
“Jenna?”
She raised her hand in an awkward wave.
His delight from seeing her again whirled into a mix of surprise and utter confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“When I saw your car outside, I—I thought about coming back later to give you and your grandma privacy. But my crew’s off till Monday, and I had some inventory to do, and—” She paused, slowing herself, and smiled. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”
The pieces were assembling: the clipboard in her left hand, the moving boxes, the filled trash bags.
“You’re the one selling off my family’s things.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if thrown by his statement. Uncertainty washed over her features. “I’ve been assigned to this property, yes. But I assure you, we’re a professional company.”
Reece glimpsed his baseball, setting off an internal alarm. The ball rested on the inside lip of a white trash bag tipped onto the floor. He pulled it out, running his thumb over the seams, ratty from use. “You’re throwing this away?”
She shook her head and replied, “No.”
He relaxed a fraction, before she added, “The white bags are for donations.”
As in, doling them out for free? Dumping them at The Salvation Army?
“You can’t do that,” he bit out. “My grandfather caught this. It was the first Mariners game he ever took me to.”
She straightened her posture and spoke evenly. “You’re welcome to keep it if you’d like.”
Thanks for your permission, he expressed through a huff.
What else of value was she planning to toss out? Reece sifted through an open box on the bed and picked out a pennant flag from his Notre Dame years. His mother always cleared out memorabilia with every passing stage of his life. But his grandparents were different. His room here was like a precious time capsule.
At least it had been—until now.
Jenna gripped her clipboard with both hands. “If the flag is special to you, please, take it. But my work here is under contract. Everything of significant sales value is considered frozen inventory.”
“Inventory? This isn’t a store.”
“I’m sorry if this is hard for you,” she offered. “But it’s a job my company takes great pride in—”
“Yeah. The pride of a vulture.” The reply flew from his mouth. Her lips flattened into hard lines before he registered the full harshness of his remark. Jenna, specifically, wasn’t the villain here.
“Listen,” he tried to explain, “this wouldn’t be happening if it was up to me. There are things here that are really special.”
“Yes,” she burst out, “I know. Everything is special to everyone.” She stopped abruptly. Lowering her gaze, she wheeled around.
Reece sought appropriate words, all of which eluded him—as did the true core of his anger. He wanted to halt time. Or, better yet, to go back to a period when life made sense. He glanced down at his hands, desperate for an answer. Between his fingers, emotion hummed, trembling the cracked letters of his pennant, his grandpa’s weathered ball. Finally, at a loss, he dropped them into the box and walked away.
Chapter 8
Jenna hurried through the doors and scanned the chattering crowd. Decorative saddles and rodeo posters adorned the walls. She located her mother in a far booth; the profile of her bangs were tough to miss.
As Jenna threaded through the restaurant, emp
ty peanut shells cracked underfoot. The scent of barbecue ribs and the sizzling of steaks made her light-headed, or perhaps it was simply the good news. And good news was definitely what she needed after yesterday’s run-in with Reece Porter. The arrogant, self-righteous twit. If she had known better, she never would have helped that deadbeat with his dead battery.
The single upside of their last exchange was the amount of work she had plowed through after he’d left. Some people eat when they’re upset, some opt to exercise, some like to bake. Jenna organized. Toss, repair, sell, sell. Toss, repair, sell, sell.
Still, she’d been unable to fully purge her frustrations, most of which were at herself, for letting him get under her skin. It wasn’t like Reece had said or done anything worse than a handful of other clients’ emotionally charged relatives. Yet from him, the words and glares came with tentacles. They’d latched on and kept her reeling half the night. Pondering. Justifying. Far more people were grateful for her services, simplifying an overwhelming chore after a loved one’s passing or when downsizing to a retirement home.
Fortunately, today’s announcement had pried away Reece’s hold.
“Sorry I’m late.” Jenna scooted into the seat across from her mother. She plopped down her purse beside the mini-bucket of peanuts. “I was about to leave when I got some fun news.”
“Did you get my message?” Her mom religiously phoned the day of their monthly luncheons to confirm their date.
“Oh, I forgot to check it,” Jenna confessed. “I was on the other line with Sally—which is what I have to tell you about. Apparently, the director of the Portland History Museum was scheduled to be a guest on Morning Portland. You know, the TV show?” Reliving her earlier excitement, Jenna didn’t wait for affirmation. “The lady was slated to promote a Jackie O exhibit. But since they’re in-between curators, things slipped through and they didn’t get proper clearance from the family trust. So now there’s no new exhibit, and . . . anyway . . .” Back to the point.
“Since Sally’s the one who helped arrange the TV spot through her producer friend, she was trying to help find another guest. And turns out, they liked the idea of me doing a segment about appraising used jewelry. As part of a budget-wise series for the holidays.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic.” Her mother’s eyes shone bright with anticipation, her makeup remarkably toned down. “But, honey, about my message . . .”
“Gosh, sorry. I’m rambling.” Jenna laughed at herself, wondering if she’d taken a single breath since arriving. “Why, what were you calling about?”
The conversation broke off as a man approached their table. He was decked out in cowboy boots and a western shirt, like the rest of the themed staff, but with the added touch of a bolo tie. Maybe it denoted employee of the month.
“You must be Jenna,” he said.
He knew her name? Oh, boy. Ten minutes late, and her mother had already loaded the waiter up with too many details. Jenna hoped to God it wasn’t meant as a setup, since the guy had to be in his fifties.
She was about to ask for a minute to peek at the menu, when he slid into the booth beside her mother.
“Great to meet you finally.” He offered Jenna his hand for a shake. “Your mother has raved on and on about you.”
“Honey, this is Doobie,” her mom chimed in. “The friend I’ve told you about. From the studio, remember?”
This was what Doobie looked like? A cowboy—in downtown Portland?
Her mother fidgeted with the end of her fork, and said, “Jenna . . .”
That’s when it dawned on Jenna that she hadn’t provided him with her hand in return. “Hi,” she said, reaching out.
His palm was rough and his shoulders a bit thick, as if he’d been a football lineman back in the day. A crew cut appeared where Jenna had envisioned dreadlocks or a salt-and-pepper ponytail. Everything about his appearance surprised her—although nothing shocked her more than watching him now, draping an arm over her mom’s shoulders. His blatant coziness eliminated any possibility of mere friendship.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you. Your mom and I were supposed to grab lunch tomorrow. But plans changed, and I need to meet my daughter, Cee Cee, to do a gift exchange.”
“I see.” Jenna tried to say more, but her lips had gone numb.
“Besides, I told Rita, here, it’s about time the two of us got introduced.” He slanted a smile at Jenna’s mom, making her giggle.
Jenna flashed back to her own reaction of first meeting Reece, and how foolish that now seemed. Meaningless. A passing attraction. No different than this, she assured herself. Since the divorce, her mother had occasionally mentioned dates that never developed into anything. Just because Doobie was the first to make Jenna’s acquaintance didn’t mean it was serious. After all, the guy already had his own family. No doubt that entailed enough emotional baggage to fill a whole pickup truck.
The thought sobered Jenna’s mind. “So, you have kids.”
“Just one daughter. About your age, actually.”
“Were you married before?”
“Sure was.”
“How long?” Jenna pressed on.
“Oh, a smidge over ten years.”
“What broke the two of you up?”
Her mother snapped, “Jenna.”
Maybe a business mode of appraising wasn’t appropriate. Jenna hated to dull her mom’s enthusiasm, just as she didn’t enjoy informing clients that their perceived “treasure” was worth less than a jelly roll. But in their best interest, someone had to be objective.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Doobie said, smiling. “When Cee Cee’s mom started dating Gary—that’s her husband now—I hear my daughter grilled him for hours.” He laughed, visibly relaxing Jenna’s mother, before he addressed the question.
“My ex and I were friends all through high school. Probably should’ve kept it that way. Good news is, we get along better nowadays than when we were married.”
Jenna grappled with his answer. What was he saying? They might reunite as a couple one day? She was tempted to ask, but her mom intervened.
“Speaking of good news.” Her segue came off forced and awkward, a direct reflection of this surprise meeting. “Jenna, tell him about the morning show.”
The guest spot. A deflated topic.
None too soon, a waitress arrived with three mason jars of water. “Sorry for the wait, folks.” She produced an order pad from the half apron over her jean skirt. “Are y’all ready?”
Jenna didn’t know what she was ready for. But she did know she needed space to organize her thoughts. “You two go ahead and order.”
Worry creased her mom’s features. “Honey, you aren’t leaving, are you?”
An empty raft on the Titanic couldn’t have been more appealing.
Doobie gently patted her mom’s hand. The gesture, to Jenna, was equally sweet and terrifying.
“Of course not,” Jenna replied, pasting on a smile. “I just need to go to the restroom.”
The server moved aside as Jenna slid out.
Relief spread across her mom’s face and lowered the shoulder pads of her sweater.
Jenna wove her way toward the bathroom, enticingly close to the exit. Again, shells crunched beneath her soles, the sounds like glass—like the memory of her life, her mother—shattering.
This man could be the nicest guy on the planet, but if things didn’t work out, what would happen to her mom? One more rejection, one wrong step, and crack! Would there be enough pieces to put back together?
Chapter 9
“Hello?” Reece hollered again from the base of the staircase.
No answer. No creaking on the floor above. Had he misremembered? He was sure his grandmother had said to stop by on his way to work, that her ring would be ready for him by then.
It’s not as if he was on a deadlin
e to propose. All the same, it was better not to lose momentum. “Grandma, are you home?”
She had to be around here somewhere. He strode through the dining room and on to the kitchen. Maybe she’d moved back into his parents’ house already. But why leave the front door unlocked?
Oh, yeah—Monday. Jenna and her crew would be here soon. It was something he didn’t like to think about. A call to his mom would confirm his grandma’s whereabouts. With no working landline, he’d have to use his cell. Then he remembered: He’d forgotten his mobile at home.
Great.
He turned for the hallway before he heard a voice, faint and strained. It came from the laundry room. A whisper of fear brushed over the back of his neck. He rushed in and found his grandmother slouched on the floor in her bathrobe, leaning up against the dryer. A load of damp laundry lay across her lap.
He knelt beside her, his pulse pounding in his head. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“It hurts . . . in my chest.” Her breaths came sharp and choppy. “My arm, I can’t feel it.”
Oh, God, a heart attack. Like his grandpa.
“I’ll get some help. You’re gonna be fine.”
No phone. There was no phone to call. Damn his father! And damn himself for forgetting his cell!
The hospital. It was less than ten minutes away.
“I’ve got you now.” He fought the tremble in his tone as he picked her up. One of her hands gripped his shirt. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Carrying her toward the entry, he kept a cautious pace, all the while wanting to break into a run. He was nearly at his SUV when two cars pulled up and parked along the curb. Jenna Matthews jumped out and raced over in a panic.
“What happened?”
“She needs a doctor.”
“Is there something I can do?”
He glanced into his passenger window. Work files and empty water bottles littered the front seat. “Open the back door,” he told her, which she did in a blink.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Jenna hopped inside and guided Mrs. Porter onto the backseat. “Go on and drive. I’ll stay with her.”
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