Nolan began to protest, but one glance at Traci’s face silenced him. Something in her eye told him he’d better take the money. “Thank you, London. That’s very responsible. I’m proud of you.”
While London skipped off to continue the water fight outside, Nolan gathered his ruined photos and threw them in the garbage. Traci picked up a package and pulled the prints from inside of it. “These are fine—” She stopped abruptly. “Why are there pictures of houses? You do trees, animals, insects, flowers—you know, natureish stuff. Why the suburban sprawl?”
“That’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you and Mike.”
Mike accepted the pictures from his wife and flipped through them quickly. “You’re investing in rentals?”
“I’m thinking of moving.”
“Out of state?” Traci’s dismay was heartening.
He shook his head. “No, one of the cities around the loop. I’ve considered Brunswick, Marshfield, and Hillsdale. They are all close enough for a commute into Rockland. Marshfield is the largest, but it’s packed with planned communities. I don’t want a covenant or association to dictate if my vehicle is too large to park in my driveway.”
Mike and Traci Finch looked over the information Nolan spread before them. “Have you attended any of the churches?”
Nolan shook his head. “I’ve spoken to several pastors and ministers and found that Brunswick has a few doctrinally solid churches, both denominationally and non-denominationally. It’ll be hard to choose there I think. I’d hate to choose a church based upon the percentage of single females—”
“Why not?”
Nolan looked askance at Traci. “Choose a church because of the number of single women? Are you crazy?”
“Once you’ve determined doctrinal agreement, why not? Why do we play these games as if it is somehow more spiritual to pretend we don’t know how many eligible females are present? If ‘he who finds a wife, finds a good thing,’ then why isn’t it a good thing to go where the highest potential for finding a wife
is
?”
Mike looked at Nolan and back at his wife. “Traci, I think you are onto something. I wonder if that is what is wrong with modern dating. It is taboo to admit that you are looking for someone to
marry
.”
“Exactly,” Traci nodded, “we are in the market for a spouse, but we’re not even supposed to say we are window shopping; we’re just supposed to be passing by and the right one drops in our lap. The fact that we set up the meeting, paid someone to push them into our lap, and made sure we were perfectly situated to impress at that particular moment is just a deliberate accident of pure happenstance.”
Mike shoved his open laptop across the coffee table and pointed to the results of a Google search. “Brunswick. The per capita of single females in Brunswick is eleven percent higher than Marshfield or Hillsdale.”
“Brunswick it is,” Nolan agreed.
Chapter Four
Mid-September
“… And what are the prices on the pears this year?” Grace Buscher mentally tallied her large order. Suffering a short-term financial famine, she mentally kicked herself for taking a weekend trip to Mackinac the previous month. The money spent on that trip would have covered her groceries for months.
Each year she struggled with the idea of taking a vacation. In prior years, her father had been the one to insist that they go. “Vacations are medicine for the heart, soul, and body. It’s preventative maintenance—kind of like an oil change or tune-up on a car.”
Grace stopped her reminiscing, confirmed her order with the orchard, and hung up the phone. The Buscher family bought their fruit from Stead’s Orchards every fall. Often, the orchard also gave Grace many boxes of seconds that they couldn’t sell at their trips to Farmer’s Markets in nearby Rockland and Fairbury. Canning the fruit would take the next two weeks, and though it was hard work, Grace loved it and had customers who paid well for freshly canned fruit. Few things, in her opinion, produced a greater feeling of accomplishment than seeing glistening fruit lining her pantry and mudroom shelves.
Grace opened the front door and sniffed the brisk afternoon air, as autumn rushed at her in the breeze. In a matter of weeks, she’d wear her sweaters and her favorite corduroy skirt. Geese flew overhead and she looked up at the sprawling oak tree in her front yard. The leaves were already turning colors. Before long, the streets would be a riot of color, with leaves crunching under the tires of her neighbors as they drove home after a long day at work.
The living room clock chimed the hour. Humming Glen Miller’s “In the Mood,” Grace cleared her budgeting from the table and headed for the kitchen. Cade was coming soon, and on Fridays he tended to have extra homework. She pulled lasagna from the fridge and set it in her pre-heated oven. Cade’s mother, Mrs. Crenshaw, paid Grace extra every other Friday for two-thirds of a pan of her excellent lasagna.
As she returned to the front of the house, she saw Cade and waved through the window. The careless boy dashed between two cars, waving a handful of papers jubilantly. She tried to call out a warning but was too late. A metallic midnight blue SUV hit Cade before the driver could brake. His papers fluttered across the street, much like the leaves of the overhead trees. Grace rushed from the house and raced across the street, arriving just after the vehicle stopped. Cade moaned as Grace felt his limbs and head.
“You okay, buddy?”
“Hurts, but…”
The driver hurried from his vehicle, calling for help on a cell phone. “Is he ok?”
“He will be.”
Grace listened as he explained what happened and received instructions from the dispatcher. At each of his questions, she shook her head or nodded in response. When they heard sirens in the distance, the 9-1-1 dispatcher disconnected the call, and Grace asked permission to use his phone.
“I need to call his mother. She’s usually not here until after six on Fridays, and he could have internal injuries. It looks like your bumper might have hit his belly. It’s the perfect height.”
The driver sighed and kneaded the back of his neck with his fingers. “I don’t know where he came from. I didn’t even brake.”
Briefly, Grace focused her attention on the driver. The man was visibly upset. Her voice gentle and firm, she reassured him. “It wasn’t your fault. Cade had something to tell me and didn’t look.” She smoothed the boy’s hair out of his eyes and winked as she added, “I’ve told him a thousand times to look first, and he was careless—again.” She stretched out her hand. “I’m Grace, by the way, Grace Buscher.”
“Nolan Burke. I’m moving in this weekend, I just— Do you really think he’s going to be ok?”
Grace nodded and dialed the boy’s mother. Staring confused at the phone in her hand, she mumbled, “It’s not ringing.”
Nolan looked at the screen and smiled. He reached over, pushed the send button, and nodded at her before kneeling beside the whimpering boy. “Hey, buddy, the ambulance is here to help you. I’m very sorry that I hit you.”
The boy’s voice was soft but steady. “It’s my fault. Miss Grace is right; I didn’t look.”
The paramedics edged Nolan from their space as they examined the child. An officer pulled him aside and questioned him, while Grace tried to relay messages from the paramedics to his frantic mother.
“Cade, honey, your mother is going to meet us at the hospital. They’re taking you there just to make sure nothing is wrong inside. Ok?” Grace smiled at the young boy as he grinned and nodded.
She ran inside the house and grabbed her purse and medical authority note. Dashing back out the door, Grace barely remembered to lock it. She climbed into the back of the ambulance with a wave and a reassuring smile to Nolan as they drove toward the hospital.
Once the officer finished with his report, Nolan realized that Grace might not have a ride home and asked directions to the hospital. Though he hardly expected her to accept it, he felt obliged to make the offer. If nothing else, it was a good excuse to find out if Cade was truly fine.
~*~*~*~
“Miss Buscher? Is Cade’s mother here yet?” Nolan saw the strain in Grace’s eyes, and it bothered him. He thought it probable that she felt responsible, however impossible it was for her to prevent the accident.
Grace jumped at his voice. “I didn’t know you were here!”
“I was concerned that you might not have a ride home. I know you don’t know me, but I had to offer.” Nolan’s eyes twinkled as he joked, “I can provide references, if that helps. I had to bring them for the realtor.”
A shrill woman’s voice interrupted them before Grace could reply. “Grace, where is he? Is he going to be ok? What am I going to do with that boy?”
Turning from Nolan, Grace spoke quietly and calmly to Mrs. Crenshaw. Cade’s mother listened intently and watched her son as he waited for an ultrasound. Grace introduced the worried mother to the doctor, told her the investigating officer’s name, and then left her alone with her son.
Nolan watched the calm, capable manner that radiated from her. Grace was unruffled, her name perfectly suited to her. As she signed release of responsibility forms, Nolan observed her more carefully and wondered how someone would describe Grace. It seemed that her personality overshadowed her physical appearance. Instead of observing her eye color, he noted that they were clear and kind. He did not notice her height as much as he did her poise. As he considered the impression she left upon him and the hospital personnel, “casually regal” came to mind as the optimal description for Grace. She conducted herself like a princess, yet without pretense or self-awareness.
Grace turned back to Nolan as she finished “May I borrow your phone? We’ll have to step outside, but I know from experience that the pay phones here are coin eaters, and cell reception is dismal.”
“Accident prone?”
Grace laughed. “No. I just spend time reading to a few older patients once in a while, and my Aunt Fran has been here a few times.”
Outside, she dialed the number and then searched for the elusive send button. Knowing how irritated some women became at the slightest offer of help, Nolan refrained from doing it for her. Grace eyed him in mock annoyance. “You’re enjoying this; aren’t you?”
Nolan raised his eyebrows and cocked his head questioningly. Exasperated, Grace pointed to the phone. “You know where that stupid button is and won’t show me.”
Nolan laughed and this time showed her where he punched the button. Grace responded mockingly. “Send? You have to hit a button that says ‘send?’ Why not ‘go’ or even ‘call?’ Doesn’t that make more sense?”
“Mel? Is Craig around?” Grace smiled at Nolan and nodded into the phone. Nolan found it comical how often people made gestures while speaking on the phone, as if the person on the other end could actually see what they were gesticulating with their hands and faces.
“Hey, Craig, I’m at the hospital. Cade was hit by a car—ran right out between two cars and splat. Thankfully, the guy wasn’t one of those crazies who tear around that corner.”
Grace nodded again, and Nolan stifled a snicker. She looked at him sharply but continued her conversation. “Listen, Mr. Burke, the driver? He’s offered to drive me home; I think he’s renting out the house across the street, where Mabel Gantry lived. What would you like me to do? Uh huh—don’t start, Craig. That’s not funny. Ok, I’ll do that. Call you when I’m home and settled. Love you. Tell Mel to give you a scoop or two of ice cream to cool you off. Uh huh—bye.”
Snapping the phone shut, Grace handed it back to Nolan. “Thank you for the offer, but my brother would be more comfortable with me taking a cab. He’s calling one for me now. I hope you understand.” Grace’s smile was genuine and slightly apologetic.
“Not at all. I wouldn’t want my sister, if I had one, to ride home with a strange man.”
They chatted for a few minutes until a cab turned into the parking lot. As she signaled her position, she smiled at him. “Feel free to stop by if you need help with anything. I’ll be gone for a while tomorrow morning, but then I’m pretty much chained to the house for the next week or two.”
Nolan opened the door for Grace as the cab pulled up under the portico. “I’ll remember that. Have a good evening.”
He sprinted across the parking lot and tried to follow the cab, but it was already out of view. Retracing the streets he had driven en-route to the hospital, Nolan realized that it was likely a shorter route back to Grace’s street. He found himself on residential streets and outer main roads. Traveling well within the speed limit, he turned into his new driveway just as the taxi rounded the corner.
As he stepped outside his vehicle, Nolan smelled the distinct odor of something burning. “Some poor guy is having a charred meal tonight,” the bemused man murmured. A wistful pang followed. Charred food might even be enjoyable, providing you had someone special to laugh with as you tried to eat. If you couldn’t choke it down, experience had taught him that take-out food could right many culinary wrongs.
He mentally calculated the cab fare and stood ready to pay the driver when Grace’s cab turned into her driveway. As he opened the door for her, Nolan leaned through the passenger window and paid the middle-aged man behind the wheel. He dismissed Grace’s protest, waved, and sauntered to his new home. He started to unlock the door, but a wail from Grace’s direction stopped him. Rushing back, he found smoke billowing from the doorway and Grace laughing as she choked her way through the house to the offending oven.
“Oh, boy, I forgot about the lasagna. Mrs. Crenshaw will be disappointed. Well, I guess she has other things on her mind doesn’t she? Oh, Grace Buscher, you have to learn to think before you rush into things. You could have burned the house down!”
Amused to hear her talking to no one, Nolan realized that she wasn’t aware of his presence and turned back toward home. He grabbed his cell phone and placed two quick calls. After a moment’s thought, he ordered a split pizza for his neighbor, pepperoni on one of the halves and everything but anchovies on the other. For himself, he ordered Chinese. Nolan had not realized how hungry he was until he began placing his order. He added rice, egg rolls, and soup to his order, and asked twice for utensils.