Seasons of the Fool by Lynne Cantwell Read Free Book Online Page A

erstwhile flower bed in front of the house when she heard a familiar voice from the street. “Looking good!”
    She turned in her crouch and grinned at Dave as he came up the walk. “Thanks, but I’ve just started.” She glanced around the yard as she straightened, sweeping stray strands of hair back from her forehead. “There’s so much more to do. Why do we have so many trees around here, anyway? Maybe I’ll have them cut down.” It was an old joke between them, born of too many autumn weekends spent raking for their families.
    “Not a bad idea,” she said. “I guess we’d miss them in the summer, though.”
    “You’ve mellowed in your old age,” she teased. “Last time we had this conversation, you were ready to go crazy with a chainsaw.”
    “Yeah, well, maybe I have,” he allowed. “Need a hand?”
    “Yes, please,” she said. “There’s another rake in the shed. And I need to get at those vines over the driveway, too.”
    “I’ll trim them for you,” he offered as he followed her around to the backyard.
    “That would be great,” she said. “I’ll have to help you with your yard in return. Or don’t your trees drop their leaves?”
    He grinned. “I have a lawn service. It keeps the place looking lived-in when we’re not here. I can hook you up with them, if you want.”
    She thought of her dwindling bank balance. “No, thanks. That’s okay. I need the exercise.” She pulled open the shed door and handed him the spare rake and the pruning shears.
    He ran a critical eye over the shears. “I hope I don’t knock too much rust off of these. It may be the only thing holding them together.” He grinned at her. “Got any bags for the clippings?”
    “Right. Yes. Inside.” She pushed hard on the back door, and it made its familiar screech of protest.
    “Yikes,” he said, wincing. “Let me send my guy over to fix that for you this week.”
    She gave him a grateful look. “That would be awesome. Finding a handyman is on my to-do list, but it keeps getting bumped back.” She went inside and retrieved the box of bags from under the kitchen sink.
    “No problem,” he called. “His name’s Ron Gorski.” He winced again as she emerged from the house and pulled the door shut again. “Yeah, you really need to get that fixed. I’m a little worried that the door will swell up this winter, and you won’t be able to open it at all.”
    She glanced back at it, newly concerned. “I never thought of that. Okay. Give me his number. I’ll give him a call Monday.”
    They pulled out their cell phones and made the exchange. Then Dave said, “You know, Jule, when I got here and said it was looking good, I didn’t mean your raking job.”
    “Oh? So you’re criticizing my technique now?”
    He ignored the joke. “What I meant was I was glad to see you.” He was not that much taller than her, and he seemed to look right into her eyes. “This place hasn’t felt right without you here.”
    “I know what you mean,” she said. “When I pass your place during the week, it seems wrong – too empty. Like something’s missing.”
    “Welcome home,” he said, grinning.
    “Same to you,” she said. “Now get busy, mister. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
    ~
    Given her experience with repairmen over her years of maintaining multiple residences in Chicago, she was sure it would take forever to get hold of Ron Gorski. But to her surprise, he returned her voicemail immediately, and was willing to come by the following day.
    He showed up early on a drizzly Tuesday morning, in a pickup truck laden with ladders and cabinets that seemed to contain every possible kind of tool and part known to man.
    “Nice truck,” she said as she let him in the front door.
    He gave her a confident smile. “Thanks. I only wish it was mine.”
    “You work for Ames Construction?” she asked, reading the sign on the side of the truck as she closed the front door.
    “Yeah. We’re doing some work for Mr. Turner up