Love Built to Last

by Lisa Ricard Claro

  Maddie gave her statement to police while the firemen and EMTs extricated Jenny from her totaled Volvo.

  The paramedic approached Maddie with the intent of transporting her to the hospital, but she declined. She allowed him to perform a cursory exam and to check her vital signs, but continued to refuse a trip to the emergency room for herself. She offered to accompany Jenny French to the ER, but the woman insisted Maddie go home.

  Maddie’s phone, retrieved by one of the police officers, appeared undamaged from its trip to the blacktop. The veteran patrolman who handed it to her surveyed her through sharp eyes that looked like they had seen in all. “You sure you don’t want to leave your car overnight, ma’am? Call someone to come drive you—husband, friend? Or we can see you home safely, if you like.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t live too far from here.”

  “You sure? You might want to reconsider going to the hospital. Sometimes after events like these you feel okay, but you’re really not.”

  “I didn’t hit my head or hurt anything. I just want to go home.”

  In his eyes, Maddie read “stubborn woman,” but ignored it. She took the card he offered with his contact information, thanked him, and climbed into her car.

  Trembling from head to toe, she prayed her way home.

  Maddie gulped down some over-the-counter pain medicine before trudging into Jack’s study. She removed her glasses and laid them on the credenza, then sat in Jack’s chair, folded her legs against her chest, and rested her forehead on her knees. The fear that swamped her when the Charger swerved into her lane and the horror of watching Jenny’s car skid and roll pumped through her anew. She and Jenny might both have died tonight.

  That burst of paralyzing terror when the Charger became an instrument of sure disaster—was that what Jack felt in the split second before he died?

  A flash in time. A single, unexpected moment, and everything could change.

  Live, Mads. You’ve got to live. Because it could all be over in a heartbeat.

  Maddie’s tears oozed through her closed eyes. The wrenching sobs began in her belly, a storm that would not abate, and she wept until her chest burned and her throat ached, until her crying ebbed to shuddering breaths.

  Her mind conjured an image of the Charger. Did those kids have any idea of the havoc they wreaked, the damage they caused? And if they knew, did they care?

  She thought, too, of the middle-aged businessman who changed both their lives forever when he made the decision to drive home after bar hopping and doing drugs with a friend. Jack died because the man fell asleep at the wheel, and when his Mustang careened out of control, it crossed the median and plowed, head-on, into Jack’s Honda Accord.

  It was not the man’s first DUI conviction, and he pled guilty to involuntary manslaughter. He had so far served four years of a ten year sentence, leaving his wife to raise their three children without him. At least he had the chance to have kids. At least he can go home when he’s served his time.

  The bitter thoughts, like poison in her blood, spread through Maddie’s veins and chilled her. She shivered, lifted her head, and stared at the mass of papers on Jack’s desk. Her exhaustion twisted her deep sigh into a shuddering yawn. When she spoke, her voice rasped through a throat raw from tears. “What do I do, Jack? What do I do?”

  But she didn’t delve into the pile for an answer. Instead, she made a pillow with her arms on top of it all, laid her head down on Jack’s papers, and slept.

  ***

  Daylight through the window woke Maddie. That and the distant ringing of her phone.

  Groaning, she lifted her head. The memory of the accident came back to her in rapid fire snapshots, and she sat up straight and then flopped backward to rest against the cushiony back of Jack’s chair. The leather eased to her shape, and she rested there a few minutes, eyes closed, taking her time to fully awaken.

  She didn’t try to guess the time. A glance through the window told her the sun was up.

  “Morning, Jack,” she murmured, and drifted until the phone started up again.

  Maddie pushed from the chair and tried her limbs. Every muscle in her body ached and her neck pinged with stiffness and stabbing pain when she moved the wrong way.

  She shuffled like an old lady to the kitchen, downed another dose of ibuprofen, and checked her phone, surprised to see it was nearing ten o’clock. She hit redial and yawned as she waited for Brenna to answer.

  “Hey, what took you so long?”

  “I just woke up.” Maddie tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear to free her hands for brewing a pot of coffee. She yelped when a spasm of pain stabbed into her neck like the jab of an ice pick. The phone hit the floor and Maddie squatted to retrieve it, wincing when her muscles throbbed from the effort.

  “Sorry. I dropped you,” was all she said to Brenna.

  “Have you made coffee yet?”

  “In the process.”

  “Well, stop it. I’m on my way over with your caffeine rush. See you in ten.”

  Maddie used the time to visit the bathroom and brush her teeth. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and splashed water on her face, but there was no hiding the splotchy redness and puffy eyes, offering proof to the world of her latest crying jag.

  Mindful of her muscle aches she took her time returning to the kitchen.

  “There you are.” Brenna looked up from the table where she had deposited two large coffees and a white bag bearing the Lump & Grind logo. She lifted the bag and shook it. “Greta’s cinnamon buns. I owed you from yesterday.”

  Maddie lifted the coffee, removed the plastic lid, sniffed the tantalizing brew, and took a swallow. “You’re a goddess.”

  “Bet your ass,” Brenna replied.

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” Brenna’s wry tone made Maddie laugh.

  “Thank you, really. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

  Brenna studied Maddie’s face but declined to comment. Instead, she offered a lopsided smile and gave Maddie’s ponytail a cheery tug on her way to the cabinets. She made herself at home, collecting two plates and utensils which she carried onto the porch. She returned a moment later for the bag of pastries and Maddie.

  “C’mon, Mads. It’s gorgeous out. Let’s go sit and watch your cats. I only saw Horace yesterday, but today you have the whole bunch of them. What’s that called again, when you have a group of cats?”

  “A clowder.”

  “Okay. Well, then, you have a clowder today. Hey, are you limping?”

  “A little. Let’s go nosh. I’ll tell you about it.”

  The two women sat, and while they enjoyed their sugary treats, Maddie provided details of the accident and showed off the bruise she’d developed across her chest and shoulder from the crush of the seatbelt.

  “I wish I had thought to get the woman’s number. Jenny French. I’d like to call her and see how she’s doing.” Maddie glanced at Brenna and frowned. She reached across the little bistro table and laid her hand on Brenna’s arm. “You’re white as a sheet. Are you okay?”

  “My god, Maddie.” Brenna sniffed and looked away into the yard.

  “It happened, but it’s over and I’m okay.” Maddie squeezed Brenna’s arm. “Don’t be upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m pissed.” Brenna’s eyes shone with a fierce light. “Those little bastards in the Charger better be out-of-towners, because if they cross my path, they’ll find themselves in a world of hurt. I’m not losing anyone else because of some asshole with a muscle car.”

  Maddie sighed and leaned back in her chair.

  “I’ve been thinking about something Jenny said. She’s a widow, too.” Maddie removed her glasses and set them on the table to rub her tired eyes. “I wonder if I’m holding myself back by keeping everything completely status quo, afraid to make any changes.”

  “Ya think?” Brenna snorted.

  Maddie ignored the sarcasm. “I’m getting the quote from the carpenter,
but I didn’t really plan on having the work done. It was more about just testing the waters, see how much it would cost, and then tuck the information away until I’m ready to deal with strangers in my house tearing things up.”

  “Not just tearing things up, Maddie. Rebuilding, too.”

  “Right. But I’m thinking I should have the work done, no matter what. It isn’t like I have to worry about hiring the wrong guy. Jack was clear. He wants me to use Caleb Walker—don’t roll your eyes at me—so there’s no reason not to go ahead with it, right? And in a way, I’m honoring Jack, because when we bought this place it was with the intent to restore it. So what do you think?”

  “I think that’s the sanest thing you’ve said in four solid years.”

  Maddie slid her glasses back on. “You’re probably right about that. So that’s it then. I’m going to do it. And not just the kitchen, Brenna. I’m going to do the whole house, everything Jack and I dreamed of.”

  “Does this mean you’re ready to clear out all the junk on Jack’s desk? Go through his clothes and stuff?”

  Maddie finished off her coffee. “The clothes aren’t hurting anything by hanging in the closet. I’ll get to those when I’m ready. But the desk isn’t up for discussion, and you know why.”

  “Yeah, I know why. Because you’re a nut,” Brenna said without bite. “I’m just happy you’re moving forward with something you care about, doing something substantial to make a change.”

  Maddie nodded and popped a chunk of cinnamon roll into her mouth. “It’s a start.”

  “And if you have to have a stranger in your house,” Brenna wriggled her brows, “he may as well be fine.”

  Maddie smiled and didn’t argue.

  Sunday afternoon passed with nothing to mark it, and Monday morning began much like Saturday and Sunday, with the ringing of the phone. The jangle broke into her sleep, and Maddie considered beginning a new practice of shutting the darn thing off before she climbed into bed at night.

  “Hello?” she rasped and stifled a yawn.

  “Hi, Maddie. It’s Caleb Walker. Did I catch you at a bad time again?”

  His honey-in-whiskey voice flowed through the phone and her eyes flew open in surprise. She jolted upright, heartbeat thrumming.

  Certain he must know he’d awakened her again, she said, “You’re being polite.”

  He laughed. “Guilty. Sorry to wake you. I’ll apologize for that and ask when it will be convenient to meet so we can go over your quote.”

  “Are you free this afternoon?”

  “I can be. Two o’clock?”

  “Two o’clock is perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  ***

  A few hours later Maddie slipped into a cotton sundress and swiped mascara over her lashes, something she hadn’t bothered with for a long time. But, in the aftermath of the accident, she promised herself and, by extension, Jack, that she would enact personal changes, and she figured taking more pride in how she looked was as good a start as any.

  She grabbed her scrunchie—the only one left from a package of three Jack had picked up for her at the drugstore a lifetime ago—with the intent to ponytail her hair. She stared at it, knew the elastic was worn and that the ratty thing deserved a trip to the trash bin, but because Jack had given it to her, she dropped it back on the bathroom counter. She ran a brush through her hair, reviewed her appearance with a cursory glance, and thought of Caleb Walker.

  Her stomach did a butterfly tumble.

  She bit her lip. Of course, she thought of him. She had an appointment with him. Why wouldn’t she think of him?

  “I’m just excited about the project. That’s all it is, Jack.”

  Even as she uttered the words she knew them to be a lie. Guilt fluttered in her belly with the butterflies. The idea that another man might interest her was one she pushed away. How could she be attracted to someone else when Jack hovered so close?

  And so, Maddie ignored the sense of excitement in knowing that Caleb Walker would soon fill her kitchen with his larger-than-life presence, just as she had ignored the surprising rush of pleasure at the sound of his voice when he phoned to schedule the appointment. It wasn’t the idea of Caleb Walker, she told herself, but the fact that she had at last taken a concrete step toward her dream, and Jack’s, of renovating the house.

  Maddie slipped her feet into her flip-flops and walked outside to check on the barn cats, stopping to scratch behind the ears of old Horace who lay sprawled in his favorite spot in the sun. She saw the newest addition to her little feline band, a petite calico she named Snippet, pounce on something in the tall grass beyond the barn, but whatever had been her prey must have escaped because the cat stood up, shuddered her tail, and repositioned herself into stalking position for another go.

  An orange tabby meandered from the barn, blinking its yellow eyes against the sun. He offered a resonant “meow” and trotted over to rub against Maddie’s bare legs.

  “Hey, Cheeto,” Maddie cooed, squatting to return the animal’s affection. “I missed you yesterday.” She smiled at the rumbling purrs he emitted for her benefit. “You must have been off chasing the ladies, hm? Or the field mice. Both, probably, you old stinker.”

  Two other cats sauntered from the barn, one a tuxedo cat, the other black as pitch. Cheeto ignored them, meowed again, and continued his sinuous rubbing against Maddie. His ears perked when Caleb’s truck rumbled up the drive.

  Maddie stood and smoothed her cotton dress. She had chosen something she’d slated for the Goodwill box, a faded monstrosity that swung well below her knees and hung loose over her slender frame. Any sane person would know this sack was not intended to lure Caleb Walker’s attention.

  Anybody would know.

  Jack would know.

  ***

  Cal spotted Maddie loving on the cat as he pulled up and parked. He watched her turn her attention toward the truck, then stand and smooth the simple cotton dress in a gesture of modesty that attracted him more than any sexy spandex might. His imagination tugged and expanded and he allowed himself a crooked smile. Okay. Sundress, spandex. Maybe it was a toss-up.

  The June breeze caught at her hair, rich as dark chocolate melting in the sun, and molded the thin fabric to her slender thighs.

  And, in the biggest surprise of his day, she took his breath away.

  Maddie waved and smiled, and Cal forced himself to respond in kind.

  But it took an act of will to peel his eyes away from the picture she made standing in front of the timeworn barn being caressed by the breeze, dappled in sunshine, and surrounded by adoring cats.

  “Go on into the kitchen,” she told him after he climbed from the truck with a cylinder of paper tucked under his arm. “Help yourself to coffee or sweet tea. Both are on the counter. And cookies. I just need to take care of these guys and I’ll be right in.”

  Cal didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded and aimed for the porch stairs. Once inside, he poured himself a glass of sweet tea from a pitcher on the counter, helped himself to a chocolate chip cookie from a plate set next to the tea, and spread his sketches on the kitchen table.

  He glanced up when she came in and admired her wavy hair and slender build as she turned her back to pour a cup of coffee.

  “I was surprised to hear from you so soon. I figured it would be at least a week before you had anything for me.” She faced him and sipped from the mug.

  “My sister took my son to the park yesterday, so I had all afternoon to work on your design. Besides, after taking more than two weeks to respond to your initial message, I figured I better put a rush on. And this is a great old house. This kitchen—” He gestured to the original brickwork that comprised the counter backsplash and one full wall. “—is perfect for the space.”

  “You see perfect. I see old and dark and badly in need of a re-do.”

  “Well, considering that I want the work, I’d be an idiot to disagree.” Cal flashed a grin. “The biggest need here is functionality, and we can accompl
ish that without losing the personality of the house. Here, let me show you.” He unrolled the drawings on the table and used his hands to smooth the curling edges.

  “These are rough. Before I draw up anything definitive, you need to see the possibilities. I’m sure you’ll develop your own ideas, and those can be incorporated with any of my designs that you think will work for you. Or we can toss these out and start over if nothing I’m offering appeals.

  “You want your kitchen to be beautiful and comfortable, but it also has to be functional, with easy access to all of the tools you like to use. When I was here on Saturday we talked a little bit about the cabinets, whether to refinish them or replace them. If it were my kitchen, I’d replace them. They aren’t original to the house. You can tell because of the design and construction. My guess is these were part of a renovation in the ’60s or ’70s. Same with the countertop and floor.

  “Now, the brickwork is original. I think you should keep it. You can still modernize the kitchen but maintain the rustic qualities that are in keeping with the design of the house.”

  He flipped through the curling papers until he found the one he sought. He pulled it from the stack, flattened it on top of the others, and moved aside so Maddie could get a better look.

  “I don’t really know what I’m looking at,” she admitted, stepping back like she’d touched fire when his muscular arm brushed hers.

  Cal ignored her skittishness. He breathed in the fresh scent of her, something edible like strawberries and cream, and forced himself to focus on the work. “Let’s walk through it.” He leaned back against the table, faced the main part of the kitchen, and began describing his ideas with animated speech and gesticulating arms.

  “You really love this stuff,” she said.

  Cal stopped his description of suspended lighting over a proposed countertop island and took a breath. Her comment caught him off guard. “What?”

  “This—” She gestured around the kitchen. “The whole renovation and rebuilding of something. You don’t just do it. You love doing it. You’re lucky. Not everyone loves their work.”