“When did your grandparents pass?” she asked as George helped himself to more salad.
“Oh, it’s been about fifteen years. They died within a year of each other,” he said absently.
“So this house has remained empty since then?”
He nodded. “I considered selling it, but it’s been in my family so long.”
“And it’s a beautiful house.” She gazed around the dark paneled dining room. “Do you ever wish these walls could talk?”
He frowned. “Not particularly.”
“Do you have unhappy memories here?”
“No, not at all. Some of my happiest memories were in this house.”
“Have you ever considered living here?”
“No . . . it’s too big.”
“Are there any other family members who would want to live here? I know your brother was killed in Vietnam. But aunts or uncles, cousins?”
“My grandfather’s only brother was killed in World War I and he wasn’t married, no children. And my mother was an only child. She grew up here and would’ve inherited everything.”
“I see.”
“So I suppose I feel some sort of responsibility to this house.”
“Like it owns you—instead of the other way around?”
He nodded with a perplexed expression. “It does feel a bit like that.”
Willow didn’t know what to say. She was tempted to urge him to sell the old house—to be free of its hold and to allow another family to come here and love it. Yet, she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate that sort of advice. “Well, it’s a lovely old home,” she said. “But honestly, that kitchen.” She laughed. “It’s so wrong.”
He smiled. “I know. I’ve always felt like it was a mistake.”
“You’re so smart about woodworking and all that,” she said. “I’m surprised you haven’t torn into it and restored it to something that matches the rest of this house.”
“Maybe I will.” He pursed his lips. “Although I don’t really know what it should look like. I don’t think a hundred-year-old stove would be too practical.”
“I know what I’d do to it.”
“You do?” He looked genuinely interested.
“I’d get some nice, tall wooden cabinets and maybe some open shelves too. Then I’d have soapstone countertops, and if money was no object, I’d get Wolf appliances. You know—those big oversized ranges and fridges. They have a sort of timeless look and that kitchen is big enough for something like that.” She paused to think. “For the floors, I’d use some kind of stone. Maybe even a checkerboard.”
“Interesting.” He nodded. “Those are good ideas. Maybe if I actually take this on, I’ll have to get you to help with the design.”
“Well, I certainly owe you for the way you’ve helped with Josie’s apartment.”
George pointed to his empty plate. “That was a pretty nice thank-you.”
“Did you really like it?”
He nodded. “I don’t go out for dinner much. And as you probably guessed, I’m not much of a cook. But I do enjoy a good meal occasionally. I must admit it feels rather special to have a meal here.” He looked around the room with a happy expression. “I’d forgotten how much I love this place.”
“It’s a lovely home.” She gathered their dishes.
“To be honest, I don’t look around much when I come up here. I just check on things, do the basic maintenance, make sure no one’s broken in . . . then leave.”
“Well, the house feels a bit sad to me,” she admitted. “Like it’s lonely.”
“I know.” He nodded with a furrowed brow and she immediately regretted her negativity.
“I have vanilla bean ice cream and raspberries for dessert.” She stacked the dishes. “How does that sound?”
“Good.” He smiled. “Need any help?”
“No. You just relax.” As she went into the kitchen, she felt hopeful. Almost as if she’d made some kind of breakthrough with George. Was it possible he was warming up to her? Or was there some sort of magic in his childhood home . . . something to help him let his guard down? Whatever it was, it felt like progress.
sixteen
As Willow surveyed Josie’s apartment, she could hardly believe the progress they’d made during the past week. She knew they’d never have gotten this far without George’s help. Besides putting the cabinets back together, he’d brought over a sander and gone to work refinishing the oak floors. And then he’d helped Josie to lay checkerboard tiles in the kitchen and bathroom. Of course, the two of them had butted heads a fair amount—George was a perfectionist and Josie, well, she just wanted to get it done. But by the end of the week, the little apartment was finished and Josie was actually smiling. Willow couldn’t remember ever seeing Josie this happy. It was almost scary.
“What kind of furniture are you planning to put in here?” George asked Willow and Josie as he set his tools by the door.
“Just odds and ends,” Willow told him.
“Well, if you have any missing pieces, I’ve got a lot of miscellaneous things in my grandparents’ attic. My grandmother never threw anything away.”
“Seriously?” Josie’s eyes lit up.
George frowned at the lime-green living room walls. “Although I’m not sure anything would go with the, uh, interesting colors you selected.”
“Collin calls this my crayon box,” Josie told him.
George smiled as he picked up his electric screwdriver.
“Well, if you really have things you’d like to get rid of, there might be ways that Josie could adapt them to fit in her crayon box,” Willow suggested. “A little paint and fabric can go a long way in transforming a piece.”
“So when can I come look in your attic?” Josie said.
George rubbed his chin, almost as if having second thoughts. “Well, how about if you make out a list of the sorts of things you need,” he told Josie. “Then I’ll poke around and see what I can find. It’s pretty crowded in the attic. More of a one-man show.”
“Cool.” Josie did a little spin on her gleaming living room floor. “Don’t you just love it?”
“I think it’s very charming, honey,” Willow told her. “Okay, I’d like to give George a lift home with his tools. If you need help getting that bed frame put together, let me know and I’ll come—”
“I can do it myself.” Josie put her hands on her hips with a confident nod. “I’ve actually gotten to be quite handy, Mom. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“I’ve noticed.” Willow picked up George’s toolbox. “Ready to go?”
His nod looked weary as he went out the door.
Willow nudged Josie. “How about you run into my apartment and get that container of leftover linguini? I want to send it home with George.”
After everything was loaded into Willow’s car, George sat quietly in the passenger seat, his tool box in his lap.
“I hope we haven’t worn you out too badly,” Willow said as she drove.
“No, no. Not at all. I was just feeling a bit disappointed that we’re finished.”
“Really?” Willow laughed.
“Although I am a bit stiff and sore,” he admitted. “Might need a good hot soak in the tub tonight.”
“I hear you. Even though I like to convince myself that today’s fifties are yesterday’s thirties, I don’t remember wearing out as quickly.”
“Probably good to pace yourself.”
“Probably.” She sighed. “George, I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for all your help on Josie’s apartment. Did you see how happy she looked?”
“In her little crayon box.” George chuckled.
“It is definitely bright. But it’s cheerful too. And I think she needs cheerful more than ever right now.”
“I hope it helps to make her happy.”
Willow parked in front of his house then helped him to carry his things in, finally setting the package of leftovers on his kitchen counter. “I thought you might enjoy this
for dinner, George. Just a small token of my appreciation.”
As Willow drove home, she tried to think of a special way that she could show George their appreciation. Something more than just food. She’d actually offered to pay him for his work, but he’d refused, saying it was just “friends helping friends.” And, although she liked that philosophy, she wasn’t sure of the best way to return the favor.
She was just walking past the gallery when she noticed a poster on the window. It was to promote a hot-air-balloon festival a few miles out of town. She stopped and stared at the poster—that was it! She would surprise George with a hot-air-balloon ride. Perfect! Before long, she’d called the number and made a reservation for two o’clock on Sunday.
Although George had intended to enjoy an afternoon of some well-deserved R & R the next day, he felt surprisingly energetic after finishing his Saturday morning chores. So despite his plan to lounge in his hammock with a book, he found himself walking up the hill to his grandparents’ house.
He hadn’t been up there since the night Willow had made dinner. That had been a most unusual evening. In some ways unsettling . . . but also enjoyable. George didn’t really know how to describe it, but it had left him with a desire to make some changes in the house. Particularly in that kitchen. He’d never liked the eighties remodel, but seeing it through Willow’s eyes had made him actually hate it. And her suggestions had made sense.
After George did some basic measurements of the kitchen, made some notes, and pondered it a bit, he decided to go up to the attic. But once he got up there, he felt instantly overwhelmed. And claustrophobic. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. After all, he didn’t even have any clear goals in mind here. As much as he’d like the entire space cleared out, he realized there were some family heirlooms and valuable antiques mixed in the mishmash.
He stared absently at the dust particles coming in from the high window, sparkling in the sunlight. Did he want to thin things out up here in order to help Josie? Or was it because he intended to sell the house? In that case, shouldn’t he simply clear the whole place out? But what if he didn’t want to sell? After all, he really did love this house. Maybe he actually wanted to live here someday. Yet that sounded ridiculous. The place was far too big for him. He backed out of the attic, closed the door. Perhaps he would think about this later. Right now his hammock was calling.
George missed Willow but didn’t plan to call or visit. Not for a while. Although he’d enjoyed working on Josie’s apartment—especially when Collin was around to help—the noise and mess and bickering had taken its toll on him. Quite frankly, George didn’t know how Willow could stand it. Yes, he felt sorry for Josie. She had definitely gone through some difficult things—she’d made no secret of it while he’d been working there. But the girl was also her own worst enemy.
So when Willow showed up at his house on Sunday afternoon, George wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Yes, he was glad to see her . . . but also on his guard. He stopped sweeping his front porch as she got out of her car and strolled up to his house. Admittedly, she looked pretty in a blue-and-white sundress and sandals. He wondered if she was on her way home from church. He knew she attended an odd little church, where services were held in a barn on the edge of town. Although she’d invited him a couple of times, he always had a handy excuse.
“I have a surprise for you,” she announced as she came onto his porch.
“What do you mean?” He didn’t see a bakery bag or anything else.
“No questions asked,” she said. “Just lock up your house and come with me.”
“Well, I don’t know.” He set his broom aside.
“Please, George. You’re going to love this. And there’s no time to waste.”
“But I, uh, I—”
“No excuses.” She smiled brightly. “Just trust me, okay? This is my way of thanking you for all your wonderful help last week.”
George sighed then turned to lock his front door. Maybe her surprise would involve food. George hadn’t had lunch yet. “Okay,” he told her. “I trust you.”
“Wonderful.” She led him to her car and they were on their way. But as she drove out of town, he grew suspicious.
“Where are we going?”
“Remember—no questions.” Now she began to tell him how much Josie liked her apartment. “You should see her crayon box now. I took her to the thrift store where she picked out some crazy, colorful pieces. It’s a bit like going to the circus, but she loves it.”
“That’s nice.” George frowned out the window. They were about ten minutes from town now, going down an old country road through farmland. Where on earth was she taking him? “What is that?” He pointed to something colorful looming above some treetops.
“You’ll see,” she said mysteriously. She turned off the road, parking in a field where dozens of other cars were already parked. “Come on.”
With her arm linked in his, she led him down a trail that passed through a grove of trees and into an open field where lots of hot-air balloons were in various stages of inflating. “My goodness,” he exclaimed. “What a surprise!”
“Isn’t it fabulous!” she said. “I’ve always wanted to come to one of these festivals.”
“It’s very beautiful.” George looked over the rainbow of hot-air balloons. “Will they be going up?”
“Yes. Liftoff is at two.” She continued to lead him, moving past a number of bright balloons where balloonists were in various stages of preparation. George would’ve liked to stop and look at what they were doing, but Willow continued to nudge him along. Perhaps she knew of a good vantage spot where they could watch the colorful liftoff. Maybe there would even be a concessions stand. George thought he could actually go for a hotdog about now.
“Let’s get a closer look at that one.” Willow led him over to a large red-and-yellow-striped balloon that was fully inflated. “Let’s see what it’s like in the basket.”
“Oh, he probably doesn’t want us in there,” George said.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked the young man who was fiddling with some ropes. “I’m Willow and this is my friend George.”
“And I’m Rod. Feel free to check out my airship. I call her Molly.” He opened a little gate. “Come aboard. I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”
Willow tugged George into the basket. “Look at that.” She pointed up. “You can see the inside of the balloon.”
George peered up to see the striped interior illuminated by the sunlight overhead. “Is that a propane heater?” he asked Rod.
“That’s right.” Rod stepped inside to demonstrate how it worked. “See how the hot air goes straight up through the envelope?”
“The envelope?” George asked.
“That’s what we call the opening to the balloon.” Rod cranked the flame higher.
“Don’t you worry about it catching on fire?” George frowned with concern as Rod tampered with the propane.
“Nah. It’s easy to control.”
“How do you control the balloon once it’s in the air?” George asked.
Rod chuckled. “That’s pretty much up to the wind.”
“Make way.” Rod nudged George and Willow back as a man and two young boys entered the basket. Rod welcomed them, explaining the balloon basics as they all stood crowded into the small basket. George was about to say “excuse me” and ask to get past the newcomers when Rod closed the gated entryway and yelled instructions to the ground crew. “Anchors aweigh!” he said, and suddenly the balloon began to lift.
“Wait a minute!” George felt his stomach lurching. “We’re still on here.”
“Up, up, and away,” Willow sang out happily. “This is your big surprise, George. We’re going for a balloon ride.”
“I’m not going.” George grasped the edge, leaning over to see, and he stared down in complete shock. They had to be at least twenty feet up and quickly climbing higher. “Let me out of this crazy thing!” he yelled wildly.<
br />
Rod just laughed. “You’ll be okay, George. Just enjoy the ride.”
“What’s wrong with that man?” the smaller boy asked.
“He’s scared.” The older boy snickered.
As the dad quieted his sons, George felt his knees turn to jelly and his stomach go upside down—similar to the sensation of being in an elevator.
“Isn’t this wonderful,” Willow chirped at him. “Look how beautiful it is with the other balloons lifting off.”
George continued to cling to the basket railing. Closing his eyes, he felt clammy and shaky and sick . . . on the verge of throwing up. This was too much! Way too much!
“Are you okay?” Willow looked at him with concern. “You’re so pale, George.”
“I—I’m sick.” He opened his eyes, wondering if she’d planned this whole thing—intentionally.
“I’m sorry.” She put her hand over his. “Take some deep breaths. Try to relax, George. You’re perfectly safe. This will be fun. You’ll see.”
“I—I don’t like heights,” he whispered. “I—I can’t do this.”
“Here.” Rod helped George to sit down on an upside-down bucket then handed him a bottle of water. “Take some slow sips and some deep breaths.”
George’s hand trembled as he opened the bottle, gingerly sipping and trying to breathe. What if he threw up all over the place? Or worse yet, what if he had a heart attack up here? How long would it take to get down and to get help? As he sat on the bucket, slowly sipping and trying to breathe, he could hear the others commenting on how amazing and beautiful the view was up here. The boys were taking turns snapping photos with their dad’s phone, acting as if it were perfectly normal to be floating up in the air like this. Didn’t they know that this balloon could get punctured or go up in flames—and that they would all plummet to the ground?
“Don’t you want to see it?” Willow asked George. He simply shook his head no, and she returned to the railing to look down.
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 15
