by Mic Roland
“That’s kind of a long story.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. “I suppose I can fix your jacket. I’ll have to give it a darn good cleaning first. Were you rolling in the mud, or what?”
Margaret took a deep breath and launched into a rapid-fire update. “Anyhow, I got your message and sent you one back, but then there was no signal. I was going to tell that I had things working pretty good since the power went out, but yesterday the generator just died while I was running it for a half hour to keep the fridge cold, but it just conked out and I couldn’t get it started again, but I remembered what you said about the spark plug getting fouled if the choke was partially on, so I got the spark plug wrench from your workbench — you are really going to have to clean up that workbench. It took almost forever to find anything. I don’t know how you can work in a space like that.”
“So was it the spark plug?” Martin asked, hoping to derail the critique and get her back on her original topic.
“Yes. I took the spark plug out, cleaned it and sure enough, it started right up and I was so glad because I really needed to run the blender just a little while more to finish processing the berries which reminds me that I still need to get out there and pick the rest of them before we get a real frost and…”
“Wait.” Margaret interrupted herself. “I heard you talking. Why were you talking as you came up to the house?”
Susan took a step sideways to make herself more visible at the bottom of the stone steps.
“Oh. Hello.” Margaret was taken aback for a moment. She looked at Martin, her eyes expected an explanation.
“Um. Margaret, this is Susan Price. Susan, Margaret. Susan works for Bank of Boston downtown. I met her while I was walking home, you know, when the power went out? Her house was destroyed in a fire and she had nowhere else to stay…so I thought, well, Lindsey’s room is empty and…” He did not sound as self-assured and casual as he had hoped.
Susan stepped up the stairs with her hand out for a handshake. “I thought it was so kind of your husband to offer some help. I really had nowhere else to stay, and the hotels I tried were either full or damaged.”
Martin appreciated Susan’s tact at calling him ‘her husband’ instead of using his first name. That would have sounded far too familiar. Nonetheless, there was a long silence while Margaret took in this clearly unexpected development.
“No problem,” Margaret said flatly as she shook Susan’s hand. “I am glad my husband was able to help a stranger in need.” She gave Martin a firm look that said his explanation was insufficient, before looking back to Susan with a hostess smile.
Her emphasis on ‘husband’ was a gentle territorial challenge. The emphasis on ‘stranger’ signaled the category she expected Susan to fit into.
“I do appreciate your kindness,” Susan added, with emphasis on ‘your.’
That was a good touch, Martin thought. Margaret cast in the role of generous hostess was far better than him having a woman stay with him. The two women walked ahead of Martin up the walk. He pulled the roller bag.
Martin was relieved that they were getting along fairly well for a first meeting. Margaret was being politely territorial. Susan was being especially tactful. Things were cordial. Perhaps he had worried too much for nothing.
“Hopefully, the power will come back on soon, and I won’t have to stay long,” Susan said. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Margaret held the front door for Susan. “Oh, I’m sure everything will be fine,”
Fine. Martin’s fragile hope for peace crumbled. That dreaded word came up during their first minute together.
Two hens in a nest. He was doomed.
The End of Book One
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