Courting Mr. Emerson

by Melody Carlson

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  “Fine. How about we get started tomorrow?”

  “Fine.” Josie’s jaw jutted out. “What do I do first?”

  “The carpet and linoleum need to be pulled up. And I’ll have to arrange for a Dumpster.” Willow reached for a notepad, starting a to-do list. One for her and one for Josie. She knew that this plan could completely fall apart or blow up in her face, but what was the worst that could happen? Even if it wasn’t done right, Willow had planned to gut that apartment anyway. If Josie could invest some real energy and time into it . . . well, maybe it could be a win-win for everyone. Or else it could all go up in smoke. Willow added “install more smoke alarms” to her list.

  fourteen

  At the end of his first week of retirement, George was uneasy. Perhaps even antsy. As he went about his usual morning chores, he tried to pinpoint why he felt like this. Having time off in summer was nothing new to him. But even reading in the hammock had gotten a bit old. While sweeping the kitchen floor, he thought perhaps it had been errant not to plan some sort of travel event—something to commemorate the end of his teaching career. He remembered how teachers before him had boasted of the exciting globetrotting they planned to do in their retirement. As he returned the broom to the closet, George wondered if he should be contemplating going somewhere.

  But George had traveled a lot in his forties. Always on organized tours, of course. Where every minute and mile had been spelled out on a detailed agenda that George would begin studying in midwinter. Over the course of a decade, George had stepped onto every continent, and his passport boasted colorful stamps from dozens of countries. Traveling had always been a bit stressful, but when fall came, he recalled how his “adventures” had impressed his fellow teachers. Of course, these trips had been the result of his friendship with Brad and Tracie. Owners of Wilson Travel, they always recruited George for their annual summer trips—mostly to balance the tour groups, since there’d always been a majority of single women. But Wilson Travel had folded with the economy, and George hadn’t been on a tour in more than ten years.

  George sometimes saw ads for group tours in the local newspaper. He’d read them with amusement but never enough interest to respond. In fact, the very idea of getting on a plane and going to another country sounded rather horrifying to him right now. The honest truth was that George had no desire to go anywhere. But why was he so unsettled?

  As George cleaned his coffee maker, his thoughts wandered to Willow West . . . again. These musings, which had become habitual, were most unwelcome. They popped in and out, uninvited, throughout his day until he finally decided that since there was little he could do about it one way or another—why not simply give in?

  He made a small grocery list, wondering what Willow was doing right now. Probably working at her gallery. He could imagine her dressed in one of her exotic outfits, casually chatting with a customer as quiet classical music played in the background. Not a bad sort of life. But was her obnoxious daughter still tormenting her, or had Josie moved on by now? And had Collin gotten that job at the bookstore? The owner had called George as a reference and, naturally, George had spoken favorably.

  Maybe George should stop by on his way to the grocery store. Maybe he’d even buy a book—something outside of his normal reading habits. That could shake things up. As he gave his counter a final wipe down, he wondered if Willow was planning any more exotic parties to be held out on her wonderful terrace. The weather forecast for the weekend was good. He could imagine her and her artist friends up there in the moonlight. There’d be music and laughter. They’d probably dine on fancy hors d’oeuvres and drink fine wine—having an enjoyable evening. All of this, though out of his comfort zone, was still rather intriguing. But George had been determined to put some time and space between himself and Willow. That relationship, even when it was enjoyable, had grown too close for comfort.

  As George changed into a clean white shirt—without a tie—he felt a deep longing . . . a need to escape. Not this house necessarily. Or even the small town of Warner. No, George felt the need to escape himself. But as quickly as that feeling swept over him, he pushed it away. With his shopping bag folded neatly inside of his dark trousers pocket, he headed to town.

  His first stop was the Book Nook, where, to his dismay, Collin was not working. George considered inquiring, but the salesclerk was busy. So without even browsing for a book, George continued on his way. Next stop was Mabel’s Market. He’d been shopping there for as long as he could remember. Even when old Mabel sold the small grocery store to the Patel family and moved to Florida, George had remained a faithful customer, primarily for two reasons. First, it was near enough to easily walk to and from, and second, they carried a limited selection of merchandise, which helped prevent confusion and distraction. George could easily gather the items on his list and be on his way.

  During the school year George habitually shopped on Wednesday afternoons and Saturday mornings. But since this was summer—and now that he was retired—he planned to adopt a more flexible schedule.

  “Good day, Mr. Emerson,” Mrs. Patel said politely. “How are you this fine morning?”

  “Very well, thank you.” George picked up a shopping basket.

  “We have some lovely fresh fruit today. Kiwis, papayas, pomegranates, pineapples.” She waved a hand over the produce section.

  George scanned the colorful display of fruit before picking up his standard fare—two slightly green bananas, two red delicious apples, and two oranges. “This will do, thank you.” He nodded to her then continued to the dairy section. As he made his next selections, he wondered why he ever bothered to make a shopping list since he always purchased the same things. But it felt good to have the slip of paper in his pocket—just in case he got rattled or distracted and forgot.

  With his shopping bag weighted down with groceries, George headed for home, but instead of turning down his street, he paused, glancing down Main Street to the Willow West Gallery. Perhaps he could simply pop in and say hello. He could ask Willow how things had gone with her daughter. Hadn’t he offered her his friendship? And yet he hadn’t had a conversation with her all week. What kind of friend was that?

  So, convinced that he was overdue for a casual encounter with his friend Willow, he entered the gallery and instantly wished he’d worn a tie. The sound of pleasant music greeted him, as well as the aroma of something he couldn’t quite identify. Something spicy but sweet.

  “George?” Willow practically ran into him as she rushed around a corner, carrying what looked like an old-fashioned wooden toolbox.

  “Hello.” He stepped aside since she appeared to be in a hurry.

  “What are you doing here?” Her tone was flustered, but then she smiled. “I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound very hospitable, does it?”

  “It looks like you’re busy.” George noticed her paint-stained overalls and tie-dyed T-shirt. Not exactly the sort of ensemble he’d imagined she’d be wearing in her gallery.

  “Yes. I’m helping Josie.” She tipped her head toward the door. “I just wanted to slip in and out of here to get this.” She held out the toolbox. “I wanted to make a quick getaway before any customers had a chance to see me like this. Want to make a quick exit with me?”

  “Sure.” He nodded, following her out the door and into the shadows of the nearby stairwell. “I only popped in to say hello,” he told her. “I hadn’t talked to you for a while.”

  “I know.” She set down the toolbox and pushed a loose strand of hair into the blue bandana that was holding it away from her face. “In fact, I was just thinking of you this morning.”

  “You were?” For some reason he felt surprised.

  “Yes. I was remembering that lovely cherry shelf-unit you made.”

  “Oh yes. I’m actually considering doing some woodworking again. You’d suggested as much. And perhaps it’s a good idea.” He smiled. “In fact, I’m thinking that if m
y skills aren’t too far gone, I’ll consider making that storage unit you mentioned.”

  “That’s wonderful. But I’d actually hoped to ask your advice about the project I’m working on right now.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Well, Josie and I are renovating the apartment she’s been occupying.” She lowered her voice. “I sort of convinced her to stick around here . . . by enticing her to work for me on it.”

  George felt a small wave of concern. Josie was such an unpleasant person. Wouldn’t Willow and Collin be better off without her? “So how is that going?”

  “Well, we’ve had our ups and downs. I won’t say it’s easy.” She glanced up the stairs. “But I think it’s worth the effort. And I’ve even gotten Collin to help out some.”

  “That’s interesting.” George shifted his shopping bag to the other hand. “So, he didn’t get the bookstore job?”

  “No, he got it. But he doesn’t start until tomorrow, so I offered to pay him for helping Josie with the apartment this week.” She gave a sheepish smile. “I suppose it really has more to do with them learning to get along than anything else. But it seems to be working.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Anyway, we’re trying to figure out what to do with the kitchen cabinets today. Originally I had planned to completely gut the kitchen and order some cabinets online. But Collin thinks they can be fixed.” Willow pointed to George. “But we need someone with some woodworking skills.”

  “I see.” George was trying to think of an excuse to make a hasty escape now.

  “Would you have time to take a quick look?” she asked. “Give us your expert opinion?”

  “I’m not an expert.”

  “Compared to us you are.”

  He held up his bag. “I have my groceries. Perishables, you know.”

  “Yes.” Her smile faded. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked. Besides that, it’s sort of crazy up there. Paint and messes everywhere. My apologies.” She brightened. “But it is good to see you, George. I hope you’re doing well.” She pointed to his bag. “I’ll let you get on your way with that. Hopefully you don’t have ice cream in there. It’s already pretty warm out.”

  Now he felt guilty . . . and perhaps something else he couldn’t quite identify. “How about this, Willow,” he said. “I’ll just run my groceries home, put them away, change into some, uh, woodworking clothes, and come back. How does that sound?”

  “Really?” Her eyes lit up. “That sounds wonderful!”

  As George hurried toward home, he felt—once again—torn. On one hand, he wanted to maintain this connection with Willow. On the other hand, well, it could quickly turn overwhelming. Especially with her daughter involved in the mix. He tried not to consider the ramifications as he put away his groceries then changed into khaki pants, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, and his old shoes. As he headed back to town, he gave himself permission to simply survey the cabinets, give his opinion—if he had one—then excuse himself to go home . . . to peace and calm and quiet.

  George had just knocked on the door when he heard yelling. Tempted to turn and make a run for it, he jumped when the door jerked open. Josie stood there in a paint-streaked tank top and shorts—and a sour expression. In her hand was a paintbrush that was dripping right onto the floor. “What do you want?” she rudely asked.

  “Your mother asked me to—”

  “Mr. Emerson.” Collin hurried over. “Come in. Nana said you were coming.”

  “Why?” Josie demanded. “We don’t need another person in here. It’s already too crowded.” She glared at Collin.

  “You’re painting in the bathroom,” Collin told her. “Nana said Mr. Emerson was coming to look at the kitchen cabinets.”

  “Like I already said, the kitchen cabinets need to be torn out,” Josie told him.

  “I don’t agree,” Collin countered. “I think they’re sturdy.”

  “But this is MY apartment,” she yelled. “I should have the—”

  “It’s Nana’s apartment,” Collin yelled back. “She’s only letting you—”

  “Where is Willow?” George asked loudly.

  “She went to the hardware store for something,” Collin said tersely. “Hopefully she’ll be back soon—before Josie takes over completely.”

  George looked from Josie to Collin—both scowled darkly. What kind of hornets’ nest had he just stepped into—and what was the best way to handle it? He turned to Josie. “I don’t want to interrupt you from painting your bathroom.” He pointed to her dripping paintbrush. “By the way, that’s a nice shade of blue.”

  Josie brightened slightly. “Really? You like it? I picked it out myself.”

  “It reminds me of the Mediterranean Sea,” he told her.

  “Have you actually been there?”

  “I have.” He nodded.

  “Mom and Collin both think this color is too much.” She gazed wistfully at the brush. “But I like it. I guess I better get back to painting.”

  “Good for you.” He looked at Collin. “Well, since I’m here, why don’t I take a look at those cabinets?”

  Collin appeared to relax a bit as he led George through the maze of paint buckets, boxes, and miscellaneous messes, stopping in the kitchen. “These cabinets are the same as the ones I had in my apartment,” Collin explained. “Mine were pretty beat up and Nana didn’t think they were worth saving.” He opened a cupboard door that wasn’t closing properly. “But these look pretty solid to me. I mean, with some fresh paint and minor repairs. And I already washed them. What do you think?”

  “Well, I’m not really an expert.” George tested a few drawers and doors. “But I do like the idea of restoring old things.” He told Collin a bit about his houses and how he’d managed to salvage a lot of original features. “They built things better back in the old days. And I agree with you. These are worth saving.”

  “Great.”

  “It’ll take some work.” George explained how all the hardware needed to be removed. “But as you take off the doors and drawers, be sure to number them so that you can get them back in the right places.” He checked a hinge. “I think the main problem is this hardware. Some old hardware is worth cleaning and reusing, but these are shot. Much easier to replace them with new ones.” He was about to show Collin how to easily remove a door when Willow came in.

  “Mr. Emerson says we can salvage these cabinets,” Collin told her. “He’s going to help me.”

  George wanted to correct Collin regarding his “going to help” comment, but decided to let it go for now. After all, he was here to help. But only to get them started on the right path. Not to do the actual work. At least that was not his intent. After all, he was retired—a man of leisure. And, like Josie had emphatically pointed out, this small apartment was already overpopulated with people and personalities.

  However, a strange thing happened as George showed Collin some simple steps, explaining the need for sanding, prepping, painting . . . he no longer wanted to leave. So it was that, while Willow helped Josie work on the blue bathroom, George remained in the kitchen, instructing Collin—step by step—and working alongside him. He even began to list what was needed to complete the project.

  “Now it’s time for sanding.” George picked up a piece of heavy-grade sandpaper that he found in a toolbox, showing how to fold it and use it to smooth the rough edges of a cupboard door. “We’ll need some higher-count paper too.” He explained how the grade numbers of sandpaper worked. “Higher numbers are finer paper, which you use last.” He added this to his list. “After we’re done sanding, we’ll be ready for paint. Has a color been chosen yet?”

  “That’s Josie’s territory.” Collin rolled his eyes. “And her taste is a little, uh, over the top.”

  “Well, I suppose if this is going to be her space . . . she should like it.”

  Collin frowned. “But she keeps saying she hates Warner,” he whispered. “So I don’t see why she gets to choose everythin
g. What if she leaves and then someone wants to rent this place, but hates these colors?”

  “Then I’m sure they’ll look elsewhere or repaint.”

  “How’s it going?” Willow asked as she and Josie came into the kitchen.

  Collin told them they needed to get paint and a few other things. Josie grabbed up a pack of color samples and began to spin through the swatches. “I like this.” She held up a bold orange-red tone. “Pimento.”

  “Like that nasty stuff in green olives?” Collin wrinkled his nose.

  “I like it.” Josie turned to George. “What do you think?”

  “Well, it’s certainly lively.” A color like that in his kitchen would drive him to distraction.

  “Cool. I think a kitchen should be lively.”

  “When you get the paint, make sure you tell them it’s to go on wood cabinets,” George told them. “And a gallon will be more than enough.”

  “While you’re still here, can you take a peek at the bathroom vanity?” Willow asked him. “I’m not sure if it can be saved.”

  George went into the small bathroom, blinking at the bold bright-blue paint, then stooping down to examine the vanity. “Like the kitchen cabinets, I think the main problem is the hardware. Replace it, give a coat of fresh paint, and you should be good.” He glanced at Josie. “I don’t know what color you’re considering for this, but white would be a nice, fresh contrast with your blue walls.”

  She tilted her head to one side then nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea. It will make the blue stand out more. And maybe I can get some cool knobs for the vanity.”

  Willow tossed George a grateful look. “I’ll head back to the hardware store for paint. Anything else we’ll need?”

  He held up the little list he’d been making.

  “Want to come along?” she asked. “We could get those items while they’re mixing paint.”

  As they walked down Main Street in their work clothes, George felt conspicuous, but Willow, in paint-splattered overalls, seemed oblivious to the curious glances tossed their way.