A light drizzle settled in as he backed down the driveway. A greasy film on his windshield erupted into a wall of bubbles that wouldn’t come off with the wipers. He shut off the engine, ran back inside and grabbed a roll of paper towels. His raincoat protected his suit as he wiped as much goo off the windshield as he could reach. The rain was not hard enough to wash the substance away. He grabbed the hose. Cool water slapped his pant leg against his calf. The stupid hose backfired.
Inside the office, the workers participating in sick out shifted places, leaving the building understaffed in key areas. This time, part of the billing department played hooky. He drank the rest of his Mylanta by noon.
The rain stopped by the time his workday ended. His windows were even filthier than earlier. Bits of leaves stuck to the areas he hadn’t been able to clean properly. The gas station car wash was out of order, but the attached convenience shop had glass cleaner, bottled car wash detergent, and a fine selection of antacids. As he passed through the residential streets, he spotted Claire’s leather jacket and saucy gait. She pulled a passenger in her little red wagon.
He pulled over to the sidewalk. She looked beautiful, her cheeks slightly flushed and hair coming loose from her ponytail. The bright red streak on the side was the same shade her lips grew when enflamed from kissing. Her expression exuded the easy-going warmth that drew him to her.
“Claire!”
Everything changed as he shouted her name. Her mouth hardened as she protectively placed her body between him and the child. She glared at him, her eyes daring him to confront her.
She hated him, yet he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hold her in his arms, make her understand how much he needed her. That evening on his porch and that night she came to dinner, she’d freed him from the daily grind. Since that day at his office, that grind became a pulverizing. He climbed out of the car. Her body tensed.
“I have nothing to say to you.” The flatness in her voice pained him more than the insult of a thousand eggs thrown at his house. She stared at him a second longer then leaned her head towards her charge. “Come on Kevin. Let’s go.”
Finding his voice, he shouted “Wait!” She didn’t. He called down the street. “Nothing personal. It was a business decision. I miss you.”
She didn’t break her stride as she covered the boy’s ears with her hands. She wouldn’t return his calls; she wouldn’t speak to him here. He suspected she hid when he tried stopping by her house. Yet he knew, more than anything that he needed to hear her voice, and not only to persuade her of the rightness of his decision to cancel the trains. As much as he hated to do it, there was one place he knew he would find her where she wouldn’t have an easy out.
THE JINGLING OF BELLS drew her attention to the arrival of another customer. Usually, the store didn’t become busy until after two on Saturday. She had wanted on a quiet morning to get the bills paid, organize paperwork, and prep orders for shipping, but customers were good too. Without looking up from the antique engine she carefully wrapped for the customer at the counter she called out. “Welcome to CJ’s. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“I’ll wait.” Her heart sank upon hearing that deep masculine voice. Of course he would wait.
Closing her eyes, she folded the last piece of tissue paper and closed the cardboard box before returning her full attention to the middle-aged woman across the counter from her.
“I hope the recipient will be pleased with the work.”
“Thank you. Dad is going to be so excited to see this again. You’re a miracle worker.”
No matter how many times she heard it, she never knew how to respond. She was an expert in tools and paint, time and patience, but not a miracle worker.
“Thank you. If I could get it looking that good on the cheap, that would be a miracle.” The customer smiled at her awkward attempt at humor.
“You’re worth every penny,” she replied as she ran her credit card through the machine.
Claire handed her the receipt and the woman picked up the box and started toward the door. James paced by the central display. Claire clicked her tongue. It was too late to turn the open sign to closed. The bell jingled. Crap.
“Mrs. Appelbaum?”
“Yes,” She paused with her hand on the door. The cool air fluttered one of the banners on display.
“I almost forgot. If you send me a photo from the happy present day, I’ll add your father to my wall of fame.” She gestured toward the left wall where photos stretched back to a time before she was born. The customer tittered, but she knew she’d soon get an email of the woman’s father wearing an engineer’s cap and the ear to ear grin of a young boy as he held his newly restored train.
She longed for another customer to walk in. Anything to postpone dealing with the man who broke her heart in more ways than one. She turned toward the back to refill her water, keeping an eye on him in the security mirror as she did so. The curved mirror further distorted the disgusted wrinkle of his nose. He looked like a man who had smelled week old rotten fish. His rigid stance seemed uncomfortable, even when he startled slightly as one of the larger trains on display burst through a tunnel near where James stood. She turned from the mirror and pressed a counter button to play a whistle. He jumped and looked around half-panicked. Good.
He approached the counter. She could barely stand to look at him. He was handsome and a great lover, but what a waste. Unless he
