Tilting at Windmills (23 page)

Now into our second week of being together, our routine was achieving a comfort level. One day, Annie had dashed off to the antique shop early, leaving me to my chores. I was staying at the house until Janey returned from school, so I decided there was no better place to wait than under the welcoming shading of the farmhouse porch.

I found myself dozing beneath the sun-dappled sky, the wind on my face, the breeze in my hair. The night before at the Corner had been a busy one, and I’d stayed up late cleaning the bar. I gave in to sleep and had a wonderful dream where I was not just a visitor in this village but a full-blown resident, a native. In my dream, Annie and I had met years ago and Janey was our daughter and this was our farmhouse, and out beyond the dewy hill was the windmill we’d built, a place that fed us our lives, happy day after happy day. And at nights, I’d help out George Connors, who was still alive and pouring drinks, and I’d work by his side, learning not just the bar trade but also the real lessons to be learned from life. And in my dream, the mailbox at the foot of the driveway said
THE
DUNCANS
, and atop the tavern was one simple word that embodied its very spirit. It said, GEORGE’S.

That’s when I woke to find inspiration staring at me in the face.

“You okay?” Janey asked.

I rubbed my eyes, once, a second time, as though doing so would blend the fantasy in my mind with the reality before me.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t say—”

“I know, Janey. Sorry. Yes, I’m fine.”

She giggled.

“How was school?”

“It was school.”

So worldly, and at such a tender age. But the worldliness was because she was smart, and that counted for something; she was one kid who actually listened to her parent and paid attention to her schoolwork.

“Your eyelids were all jumpy—did you have a nightmare?”

“Actually, it was a dream, and it was a nice one. And that dream gave me a great idea. And you can help with it, if you want.”

She dropped her knapsack, a heavy thud against the wooden porch. “I love ideas. And I love helping.”

“Good. Let me grab a couple Cokes and then we’ll get on our way. Go ahead and hop in the car.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Ooh, a surprise. Those are the best.”

That was all it took, and while I left Annie a note and fetched our cold drinks, Janey did as I’d instructed. Before long the Grand Am was heading down the driveway, out onto the main road, and toward downtown Linden Corners. The ice-cold colas were refreshing on this hot day.

For a midweek afternoon, business was noticeably slow. Marla and Darla sat in their lawn chairs, watching the passing traffic. The Five-O looked deserted, and I guess that was par for the course for that time of day; it wasn’t named the Three-O, after all. Martha was probably already in the kitchen, though, working up dinner specials in anticipation of the evening rush. But I passed the Five-O and pulled into a nearly empty parking lot.

“What are we doing at the hardware store?” Janey asked.

“I need some hardware—what else?”

“Okay,” said my agreeable companion.

We entered the store, the jangling bells over our heads announcing our arrival. A blond checkout clerk looked up and waved a hello and welcome before turning back to her customer at the counter. Janey smiled and returned the wave and I smiled and returned the hello. Friendly neighbors were what Linden Corners was all about, right?

Then Chuck Ackroyd stepped into my sight line and my smile disappeared.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled.

“I need some lumber,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

I took that to mean “follow me,” since Chuck started toward the back of the store, where a large LUMBER sign hung above the aisle. So I followed, Janey’s hand in my mine, she skipping by my side. We entered a separate room that smelled of fresh-cut wood, shavings littering the floor. Janey sneezed and giggled and pushed some sawdust with her sneaker. I took a look at Chuck and decided it would be best to be quick about my task. Luckily, Chuck was all business, and we talked and debated and measured until finally he guided me toward the right size wood and he wrote down the order.

“I also need some paint, a couple of paintbrushes. That ought to do it.”

He guided me out of the lumber room and toward the paints and I picked out a gallon of gray, and smaller sizes of red and gold, and then grabbed a couple brushes and a tin of turpentine.

“I can have your wood cut to size and ready by tomorrow afternoon. You wanna pick it up?” he said as he walked us to the checkout at the front. The young woman who’d been so friendly earlier began adding up my bill.

I thought of my car and its lack of trunk space and asked Chuck about delivery service.

“Costs extra. Twenty-five-buck delivery charge.”

“I guess I’ll pick it up.” I could always borrow Annie’s truck.

Just then Janey tugged at my shirt, and I looked over at her, only to see her pointing at a sign behind the cash register. It said, matter of factly,
FREE
DELIVERY
FOR
PURCHASES
OVER
$100. I gazed at my receipt; I’d spent ninety-eight dollars and forty-three cents.

“Janey, do you like to paint?” I asked.

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

I looked at Chuck. “Toss in another brush.”

Ka-ching.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon—about this time,” Chuck said.

“Thanks. Bring it to Annie’s farmhouse.”

He grimaced but said nothing. I was ready to leave anyway, having spent more than enough time with my least favorite resident of Linden Corners. Janey, though, having picked out a paintbrush for herself, decided she had some unfinished business of her own.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ackroyd?” she said.

“Yeah?”

She shot me a knowing look; his language was far too casual.

“Why don’t you like Brian?”

“I . . . I . . . ” he tried, apparently flustered by Janey’s forthrightness. “Hey, kid, mind your own business, huh?”

“You’re mean,” she replied, and then (after all, she was only seven) stuck her tongue out at the sour-faced adult. I had to stifle a laugh, and I took hold of Janey’s hand and led her from the store and back out into the sunlight. Once we were back in the car, I did start to laugh.

“Oh, Janey,” I said, “What would I do without you?”

Instead of the usual sunny reply, my question was met with silence. Concerned that I had somehow hurt her feelings, I gazed over at her and saw her smile had nearly become a pout. This was completely out of character.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Janey didn’t reply. She just stared out the window and continued to do so for the entire ride home. My mind was swirling with questions, with ways of interpreting her silence. I’d never seen this side of Janey, and I felt ill equipped to deal with the change.

Finally, we arrived back at the farmhouse. Janey had scooped up her knapsack from the porch, and she turned to me. I saw tears in her eyes.

“Janey, please, what’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” she said, “not yet.”

“What is it you think I’m going to do?”

“Leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean? . . . I won’t leave you, Janey. Why would you ever think that?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she ran toward me and threw herself into my arms, where she proceeded to let the tears fall, incredible sobs that wracked her little body and made me hold her tight—until I knew that not only could I not leave her but I could barely stand to let her go. But I did, eventually, as she unclasped her arms from around my neck. She wiped some tears away from her reddened cheeks.

“I love you, Brian.”

She bounded into the house, leaving me there with my own tears streaming down my face, wondering how a simple trip to the hardware store had brought on this heartfelt, puzzling moment between us.

T
he answers came later. I’d closed up the Corner for the night and found myself bypassing my upstairs apartment and heading back out to Annie’s. A light was on in her living room when I drove up, and I flicked off the headlights. I quietly took the steps to the porch, where I was met by the nicest sight I’d seen all night—Annie herself. She had been late in coming back from the antique shop and so Cynthia had agreed to watch Janey when I had to go open the Corner. Before I left, I called Annie and told her I’d like to come back, that I needed to speak to her.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” she said, opening up the screen door and stepping out onto the porch. Our lips touched, and we embraced each other and kissed again. In the glow of moonlight, I saw worry in her eyes and I reached up to touch her face to feel the worry and share it, or maybe even take it away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Did something happen today?”

“Janey.”

“So something did happen.”

“That’s why I wanted to see you—tonight, before too much time passed. Come here; sit.”

We sat on the wooden swing that hung from the roof and settled in. Then she faced me and I faced her, and briefly, we smiled at each other.

“Janey asked me if I was planning to leave,” I said.

“Leave? You mean . . .”

“Leave her. Leave here. I don’t really know. She took me by surprise, Annie, and it kind of scared me. Janey’s so full of life, always laughing and smiling and so open with others. Today, though, I saw a very different side to her. We’d just come from the hardware store, where we were buying—”

I stopped mid-sentence, since I knew I’d already hit on something, but I couldn’t quite understand what it was. Annie, her face a trembling mask, was fighting back tears and a wave of déjà vu overcame me, remembering how Janey had fallen so quiet and how I didn’t know what to do except embrace her. So I leaned over and now took Annie in my arms, still wondering what I had triggered.

“Annie, what did I do wrong?”

“Don’t worry,” she said, breaking free from the embrace and facing me once again. “It’s nothing you did. It’s nothing you could have known, and frankly, it’s . . . well, wow—that’s one incredible child I have.” She paused, collecting her thoughts before putting them into words. “Brian, one of Janey’s favorite things as a child was riding in the car beside her father. She worshipped Dan, followed him around, and cried when he would leave for work. But on the weekends—she knew when those were because Daddy didn’t wear a tie and that meant he was going to be around all day. Often she would accompany him on his errands. I guess she remembers more about him than I expected. You see, the last place she ever went with Dan . . .”

“The hardware store?”

Annie slowly nodded. “I remember the day so vividly because it was only two days before Dan’s accident. He’d been working on a project in the barn and needed some supplies, and so he headed down to Chuck’s store, and of course he took Janey with him. She was only five, but somehow that memory must have stuck with her. Today brought it back—brought all of it back. Not just the trip, but the fact that it was the last one she took with her father.”

“And today it triggered the memory?”

“Mostly the memory that he never returned.”

“And now she’s afraid that will happen again?” I asked.

Emotions were rippling throughout me, some reaching just beneath the skin, prickling my nerves and tugging at my heartstrings and washing over me until I wasn’t sure what to feel, what to know, certainly not what to do. Worried that I’d opened unhealed wounds in this little girl, I was waiting for Annie’s scolding, but all she did, and how telling it was, was hold my hand and say nothing. In that tender touch and beautiful silence, I knew that Annie didn’t blame me. That she trusted me, with herself and with Janey.

Finally, the silence was broken by my own voice, cracking from the lack of moisture on my tongue.

“What do we do?”

Annie leaned in and kissed me. “We show her that you’re not going anywhere. We give her what she wants.”

“And what’s that?”

“Us,” Annie said. “Stay with me tonight, and in the morning, the three of us will have breakfast and we’ll send Janey off to school together. Will you do that, Brian? Will you sleep by my side and hold me?”

I didn’t answer and I didn’t need to. Annie had taken my hand, and we stood up from the swing and she guided me along the porch and into the house and down the hallway to her darkened bedroom, where, through the light of the moon that somehow knew to follow us, she lay me down on the soft bed and snuggled in beside me.

That night, our clothes fell away and our bodies became one. Later, we fell asleep with satisfaction written on our faces and love etched on our hearts.

The next morning, I woke with the sun and I was glad to see it because its presence represented how I felt, that the day held great promise and was filled with potential. I threw on my jeans and T-shirt from the night before and wandered into the kitchen. While my two angels continued to sleep, I began to fix breakfast. In thirty minutes, coffee was brewed, bacon had sizzled, and pancakes had browned. The smells that filled the house guaranteed that no one would sleep for long.

My magic worked.

Janey, wrapped in a robe and her feet in bunny slippers, entered the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her purple frog.

“It’s not Saturday, Momma,” she said. “Why are we having a big breakfast?”

“Because I felt like cooking one,” I said.

The final remnants of sleep fell from Janey’s eyes and they widened with excitement.

“Brian!”
she squealed, running over to me and jumping into my arms and hugging me tight, a good solid welcoming embrace that erased any of yesterday’s doubt.

And so I held her, and that’s when I noticed Annie standing in the door frame of the kitchen, a smile on her face that surely gave the morning sun a run for its money. I felt, at that moment, that we had taken our first step toward creating something I’d wanted to start for so long—a family.

J
ust a few days later, July officially arrived and with it came lazy days of sunshine and spreading warmth. But summer had its surprises, too, and those included unexpected thunderstorms and even the occasional wind-driven pelting downpour. But we dealt with those as they crept up, and our days passed and our wounds continued to heal, and Annie and Janey and I continued to build our new life together. I had found within myself a new kind of comfort, and perhaps that’s where I went wrong.