“Mrs West’s housekeeping service,” I call, then let myself in.
I get the shock of my life. Dirk’s not there, but a young man is. Jamison? Last time we met, he was in a tux, schmick and fit. This time he’s dishevelled, but it’s definitely him. He has the same build as Dirk, lean and tall and strong.
He’s at the dining table, papers spread all over it, a laptop open in front of him. He stares long and hard at me, then frowns.
“Don’t mind me,” I say. “Housekeeping services. I can work around you. Just ignore me.”
And he does. Phew. I can’t pretend total indifference. Dirk’s not untidy, but he does live here, unlike when I unpacked his things with Donna a while ago.
I strip his bed and change the sheets; hang his suit coat back in the cupboard; gather up his dirty clothes and sheets and towels and run them through the closet washing machine as I vacuum and dust.
I wipe the surfaces in the bathroom, straighten his aftershave. The scent is alluring. I miss the man, wonder if he’ll accept my proposal, hope he will, wonder what will become of us, wonder about the young man at the dining table, worry about the sale of my apartment, then head to the kitchen.
The apples in Dirk’s fruit bowl are going soft. I duck down to my place and retrieve flour and lard to make a proper pie crust. His kitchen is as beautifully equipped as I remember. There’s even a fluted pie dish; the chopping board is clean and new; and the knives are sharp.
The pie is on the lower shelf of the spacious oven in a flash, a chicken casserole baking above it. I smile at the irony of it. Dirk hated all the free casseroles in Franklin, but in town, he pays for them. And I’m his biggest suitor yet. I don’t woo him with sympathy and baked items, like the good widows of Franklin.
I’ve offered him diamonds, with casserole and apple pie on the side.
Chapter 42
Dirk
Ihead for Franklin, hoping the open road will clear my mind about Lucy’s proposal. I would have liked to see Lucy again before setting out, to offer her my support. But she made it clear to me she wants to buy the apartment herself.
And with Jamison under my feet, I need to act now to get my own unfinished business over and done with. No point delaying it.
In Jamison’s red car, I step on the gas, up the highway. Farms and fences and forests blur as the city disappears in the rear vision mirror. There’s so much space out here. Too much space.
I park at the Franklin realty company, Eric Nettleford and sons. He and Millie were at school together. Everyone was at school with Millie. As we shake hands, I try to forget his wife’s obsession with her bunions, and ignore Eric’s growing girth and family history of heart disease. I can’t move on fast enough. But there’s the talk of the families, the weather, the price of cattle, the way Franklin has been discovered by citysiders wanting weekenders, by the tree changers.
He rubs his hands together when he hears what I want.
“I want out,” I say.
“No! We want you back, Doc. Find a little bride and bring her back with you. Hey. Find one in Franklin. No shortage of spinsters and widows pining for ya, Doc.”
