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“Please don’t take offense. The comments posted online said that you do good work, that you’re dependable, and that you’re a one-man operation. At first, I didn’t see that as an advantage.”
“Now you do?”
“Yes. Because you don’t have a crew, I thought perhaps you would be a good choice.”
He propped his butt against the worktable and hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “You thought I’d work cheap.”
So much for diplomacy. His stance was challenging if not downright belligerent. The placement of his hands was a none too subtle assertion of masculinity. He seemed set on being blunt. To all of the above, Fine. “All right, yes, Mr. Burnet. I thought you might work cheap. Er.”
“No doubt I would. But I’m not the guy for the job.”
She gave a short laugh. “Before you determine that, couldn’t you at least hear me out?”
“Waste of time.”
“How do you know?”
“An extensive project that would take considerable time? Lots of hard work? Sounds like what you have in mind is a complete overhaul of your house.”
“More or less.”
“I don’t do complete overhauls.”
“Would you at least come and see—”
“I’ve seen it.”
Her heart gave a bump of alarm. She had identified herself by name on the voice mail but had said nothing about the location of her house. The vehicle that came past her house each night sprang to mind. “You know where I live?”
He bobbed his square chin.
She studied him for a moment, then said slowly, “When you turned around and saw me here, you recognized me, didn’t you?”
Another brusque nod.
“How?”
“Somebody had pointed you out to me.”
“Where?”
“I think it was in the fried pie shop.”
“I didn’t even know there was a fried pie shop.”
“Oh. Well, then it must’ve been somewhere else.”
“Why was I being pointed out to you?”
He pulled his thumbs from his pockets and pushed away from the table, then glanced aside for several seconds before coming back to her. “You’re the lady who had the…emergency…in the grocery store.”
Her breath hitched, and instinctively she took a step back. “Oh.”
The recollections swarmed her, blocking out light and sound, everything. Her mind unreeled the memories at warp speed, but they were as distinct as though it had happened yesterday instead of two months ago.
She recalled being jerkily conveyed from the ambulance into the ER, the rapid-fire questions of the medical personnel, the pervasive antiseptic smell, the biting coldness of the stirrups against the arches of her bare feet, the kindly voice of the nurse asking if she would like to hold her daughter. Her lifeless daughter.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, remembering, but, as the kaleidoscope of memories receded, she realized that she was slumped forward, hugging her elbows. Her skin had turned clammy. Self-consciously, she straightened up and swiped a strand of hair off her damp forehead with the back of her hand.
