Marking Time (12 page)

“Oh, I love Newport! I’m Diana Cummings, by the way.” She extended her hand to Clare. “I own this dump.”

Clare laughed and shook her hand. “This is no dump, and that was the best stew I’ve ever had. I’m Clare Harrington.”

“With compliments like that, I hope you’ll be a regular.” Diana wiped the counter and refilled Clare’s coffee.

“Definitely,” Clare said with a warm feeling inside. Diana seemed like someone who could be a friend. “I’m going to have some work done to the house. Can you recommend anyone?”

“What kind of work?”

“Painting, hardwood floors, a new kitchen, and remodeling several bathrooms.”

“The best person I can think of would be Aidan O’Malley, but he can be hard to get. He’s really popular around here.”

“Does he live in Stowe?”

“Just outside of town. I think his card’s on the board.” Diana gestured to the crowded bulletin board next to the cash register. “You might have to dig a bit to find it.”

Clare went over to poke around on the bulletin board. She finally found the card for O’Malley Restorations under several layers of cards for local businesses and wrote down the number.

“Thanks for the info,” Clare said as she put her coat on and paid her bill.

“My pleasure. Welcome to Stowe. Come back soon.”

“I will,” Clare promised.

She went back to the house and attempted to start a fire from the wood stacked on the front porch. When it finally took, she went into the kitchen to call Aidan O’Malley. His answering machine picked up, so she left a message and the phone number at the house. If she didn’t hear back from him in the next day or two, she would ask around about other contractors.

Clare also called the girls and her mother to let them know she’d arrived in Stowe. Tony had warned her that cell service could be spotty in the mountains, and she wanted the girls to have the number at the house.

Finished with her calls, she pulled a down comforter around her and settled into the sofa with a book she’d found on the living room shelf. But instead of opening the book, Clare stared into the fire, trying to identify an odd feeling that had been with her all day. After several long moments spent thinking about it, she decided what she felt more than anything else was relief.

C
lare was bringing in groceries the next morning when the house phone rang.

“This is Aidan O’Malley. You called?”

“Yes, Diana Cummings at McHugh’s recommended you. I need to have some work done on my house.”

“Inside or out?”

“In.” Clare followed his lead by cutting to the chase. “Kitchen, bathrooms, floors, painting.”

“I can come by around three today to take a look. Does that work?”

“Three would be fine. It’s 22 Maple Street.”

“I know that house. An out-of-towner bought it last year. Is that you?”

“I’m from out of town, but I don’t own the house. My brother does. I’m helping him with the work.”

“All right, then. I’ll see you at three.”

He was gone before she could say okay or good-bye
. Well, hopefully his renovation skills are better than his phone skills
, Clare thought as she unloaded cereal and pasta from a bag on the kitchen counter.

When everything was put away, she donned her heavy parka to walk into town to take a closer look at the stores on Main Street. She wandered through several antique shops, making mental notes of items that would be perfect for Tony’s house when the work was finished. He had given her carte blanche on the restoration and the furnishing, and Clare looked forward to spending his money.

From outside the Book Nook, Clare watched an older woman tape a “Help Wanted” sign in the window. The woman smiled at Clare and waved her inside.

“Come in, come in,” she said when Clare opened the door. “You looked frozen standing out there.”

A fire burned in a corner woodstove in the cozy shop, which seemed to be designed more for reading books than selling them. Sofas and well-worn chairs were arranged around the woodstove. Bookshelves were so unobtrusive they seemed to be almost an afterthought.

“Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?” The woman managed to make a flannel shirt and jeans look fashionable. Her long, gray braid made her look older than she actually was. Her pretty heart-shaped face told the true story—that she was closer to fifty than sixty.

“I’d love some coffee, thank you.” Clare rubbed her hands together vigorously. She hadn’t realized how cold and out of breath she was and had to be careful not to push herself too hard. The last thing she wanted was a setback in her recovery.

“There you are.” The woman pointed to a cream and sugar station. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you. Your shop is adorable. I could spend a whole day sitting in front of that fire with a good book.”

“Feel free to do just that any time you’d like to. I’m Beatrice Simmons, but everyone calls me Bea.”

Clare shook her hand. “Clare Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

“This is my second day in Stowe.”

“Oh! Welcome! Do you like it so far?”

“I love it. Everyone’s been so friendly.”

“That’s Stowe. You couldn’t have found a friendlier town to visit. Will you be here long?”

“I’m planning on three months, maybe a little longer. I’m having some work done on a house, and my stay will depend on how long that takes.” She told Bea about her brother’s house.

“Have you hired anyone yet?”

“Diana at McHugh’s recommended Aidan O’Malley. Do you know him?”

Bea chuckled. “Oh,
yes
, I know him. He’s a bit of a local celebrity.”

Her curiosity piqued, Clare said, “A celebrity? Diana didn’t mention that.”

“Let’s just wait and see what you think of him when you meet him,” Bea said with a twinkle in her eye. “You’ll have to come back and let me know.”

Clare smiled. “That’s one way to guarantee a return visit by a potential customer.”

“You aren’t looking for a job by any chance, are you?”

“Not really. Why? What do you need?”

“I’m desperately seeking some holiday help, a few hours here and there during the crunch periods.”

The idea struck Clare as ideal. Working part-time would be a great way to meet people, and it would get her out of the house. She made an impulse decision. “I’ll take it.”

“You will? Really?”

“I’d love to—but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want you to pay me. I don’t need the money, but I sure could use a diversion.”

“I can’t do that! Of course I’d have to pay you.”

“You’d be doing me as much of a favor as I’d be doing you. Plus, I might be a little rusty since I haven’t worked in a while.”

“That’s no problem. We can get you trained in no time. It’s pretty easy, really.”

“I should tell you I’m recovering from an accident, so I might need to sit down every now and then.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

Oh, no, nothing serious, just the ruination of my entire life
. “It shouldn’t keep me from pulling my weight.”

“Can you start tomorrow afternoon? We’re usually slow after two, so I could get you trained. We’ll discuss the issue of payment later.”

“I’ll be here.” Clare shook Bea’s hand. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Bea reached for the sign that Clare had just watched her tape to the window and pulled it down. “Me, too. Thanks, Clare. You’re saving my life.”

“My pleasure. See you tomorrow.”

The bells on the door jangled when Clare left the warmth of the bookstore behind. The blast of cold air was almost shocking—and invigorating.
I have a job
.
I’m saving someone’s life!

By three thirty, Clare was convinced that Aidan O’Malley wasn’t coming and got out the yellow pages to find someone else. The doorbell startled her when it rang at three forty-five. She got up to answer it and encountered the broad back of a tall man talking on one cell phone while another one rang with insistence from its position next to a pager on his belt. Clare could almost taste the anticipation as she waited for the pager to go off, too. It didn’t disappoint. Without missing a beat in the heated discussion he was having on the first phone he checked the caller ID on the second one and the LCD on the pager.

He wore a beat-up red down vest over a red plaid flannel shirt with jeans and filthy work boots. A hint of a red bandanna poked through a hole in the back pocket of faded jeans—not that she was looking at the back of his jeans or anything. He just happened to be there on her front porch. Where else was she supposed to look? The cuffs of his flannel shirt were rolled up to reveal a long-sleeved white thermal undershirt. Dark brown hair curled around the edge of what might have been a Red Sox ball cap.

“I have to take another call,” he said. “Get over to the cabinet place before the end of the day and get the right order. You can be at the Millers’ by six in the morning to get them installed. They have to be in by this time tomorrow so the floor guys can start.” He paused to listen. “Just do it, for Christ’s sake.” He slapped the phone closed with a curse of aggravation that told her he didn’t realize he was being watched.

Watching him juggle fifty things at once brought back memories of her life as a Realtor when there had never been enough hours in the day, and she, too, had been tied to multiple cell phones and a pager. She didn’t miss that life and said a silent thank you to the man on her porch for convincing her to let go of the idea that she might one day return to it.
No thanks
, she thought, intrigued by the somewhat major revelation on this, her second day in Vermont.
This place is working wonders!

After he extricated himself from the second phone call by barking out some more orders, he seemed to finally remember where he was. When he turned around, Clare almost gasped. Standing on her front porch was one deadly gorgeous carpenter, and he was in a foul mood.

“I’m O’Malley. What can I do for you?” His cheeks were rosy, as if he’d been outside all day.

“Come on in,” she said. With one quick glance, Clare saw the kindred spirit of a wounded soul in his stormy green eyes. Later she would pick over the meeting to try to understand how she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he too had experienced some kind of devastating tragedy.

Rattled, she led him into the house. “The kitchen is back here. I want to start with that. There’re three bathrooms to be updated and hardwood floors to be refinished. We’d also like to paint the whole interior.”

He released a low whistle. “That’s gonna cost you a pretty penny,” he said, lifting his hat to pull a pencil out of his hair.

“That’s all right. My brother has it to spend.”

“Do you have decision-making authority? I hate getting bogged down in decisions by committee.”

“I’m it. He doesn’t have time to deal with it right now, so I’m doing it for him,” Clare said as she followed him from room to room.

Other than an occasional grunt, he didn’t say anything else. He made notes, took a few measurements, and grunted some more. He ignored both cell phones and the pager when they rang again.

Clare followed him downstairs.

“What’s the plan for the kitchen? Are we gutting?”

“Yes, they want new cabinets, countertops, and appliances.”

“Granite?”

“Yes.”

He grunted again, twisted his head, seemingly to gauge the number of cabinets that would fit in a reconfigured kitchen, and wrote something in the notebook.

“Same with the bathrooms? Gut and start over?”

“Yes.”

He tucked the notebook into his shirt pocket and jammed the pencil back under his hat. “I have what I need. Ten thousand for labor. I’ll get you a written estimate for each room within a day or two.”

“I’ll be getting a couple more quotes.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“If I hire you, how soon could you start?”

“Probably two weeks or so. I’m finishing three other jobs right now and then cutting my crew loose for the winter. I’d do this one myself.”

Clare raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you need help?”

“You hire me, the job gets done. Don’t worry about how.”

His tone bordered on rude, but after witnessing the scene on her front porch, she understood he was more harried than rude.

“Fine. Drop off your estimate when you can.”

Both cell phones and the pager rang in concert. He sighed, and with a halfhearted wave, he was gone.

Aidan sat in his truck to take both calls. He returned two pages and gave some more orders.
Damned idiots
, he thought of the guys who worked for him.
Can’t make a freaking decision on their own
. He couldn’t wait to get these last few jobs finished so he could be done with them. They were going to Florida to work for the winter, which was just fine with Aidan. Good riddance!

He leaned his head against the headrest.
Something has to change
. The dreaded phones and pager sat on his lap, links in a chain holding him to a life he’d stumbled into and no longer wanted. For some time now he’d been thinking about giving up the new construction end of his business so he could focus on the kind of restorations the cute blonde inside was looking to do. O’Malley Restorations had strayed too far from the
restorations
.

Somewhere along the way, he’d become tied to phones, pagers, and idiots. Maybe it was because his thirties were slipping away that he was feeling introspective
. Who knows? Maybe it’s the freaking idiots
. As he started the truck, Aidan hoped the blonde—he had her name written down somewhere—hired him. This job could be the new start he desperately needed.

After Aidan left, Clare used the phone book to identify two more contractors. She left messages for both of them before she wandered over to the window to find Aidan O’Malley’s large navy-blue pickup truck still parked in front of the house. She watched him lean his head back in a gesture of weariness that tugged at her heart. He seemed so unhappy that Clare ached for him. It didn’t occur to her to wonder why.