10. The Day is Done

On the day of Verna’s dinner party for the whole building, Richard woke up feeling anxious. He lay in bed for a few more minutes after his alarm went off and stared searchingly at the ceiling. This is it, he thought, Judgment day is here. Unknowingly, Verna had determined the date and time of his fate. Tonight he would go to bed knowing that the odds had slightly improved or that he needed to cut his losses. He got up, thankful that he could at least go to work for the next 8.5 hours and try not to think about Blythe

At 5:45 that evening, Josh and Jacki were getting ready to go up the stairs at 6:00. Josh was wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He didn’t think it was necessary to dress up for a visit with the neighbours but Jacki considered the words “dinner party” a great excuse to dress up and had put on one of her new sundresses that matched perfectly with the real sapphire necklace and earrings that Josh had given her for her birthday.

“Oh no!” said Jacki, “Do I need to bring a hostess gift?” She ran into the office and started rummaging through one of her drawers.

“Josh,” she wailed, “I don’t know what to bring? I’m so bad at this.”

Josh smiled and opened the snack drawer in the kitchen.

“How about this nice box of chocolates you said we shouldn’t open in case we needed it?” he asked. Jacki appeared in the doorway to look at the box he was holding up.

“Exhibit A,” he said with a flourish of his hand.

“Perfect!” said Jacki, relieved, “I’ll just put a ribbon on it.”

Josh sighed,

“You’re always giving away the dessert I want to eat,” he mourned.

“Always?” said Jacki, raising one of her eyebrows.

“Sorry,” said Josh, grinning, “I meant it seems like it happens often.” One of the best pieces of marital advice they’d received two years ago was to never say “Always”, “Never” or “You’re the one who” when speaking to each other. Surprisingly, it had stuck in both their minds and did help to diffuse many potentially tense situations.

“We finally get to find out who the financial guy is,” said Jacki.

Upstairs Verna was trying not to swear at Leroy.

“You stupid dog,” she said, as she almost tripped over him again. Leroy was having the time of his life. Verna so rarely cooked large meals anymore and in the flurry of activity, her usually spotless kitchen floor had been the recipient of many delicious drips. Verna kicked at Leroy as he darted forward again.

“Get out of here,” she yelled. “GEORGE!”

George got up and hauled Leroy out of the kitchen and into the office.

“Sorry, Leroy,” he said, “but you’re not invited to dinner.” He closed the door. Leroy lay down and put his nose on his paws, pouting. He always got left out of everything fun.

Richard knocked on the door at 5:59, wearing a white dress shirt and gray slacks. He blushed when he realized he was the first to arrive. His habit of punctuality was like a curse when it came to social engagements. Josh and Jacki came next and acted as a buffer when Blythe walked in the door, in a striped boat-neck sleeveless top and soft black gouchos.

Verna smiled from Richard to Blythe and seated them next to each other at the table. Actually, thought Richard, it’s easier this way. This way he didn’t need to worry about staring at her.

“Did you know,” said Jacki, as they worked their way through the delicious steak and potatoes Verna had prepared, “that they have little yellow rain jackets for dogs now? I walked by a lady whose dog was wearing one and I thought ‘How odd!’ because half of the dog was still totally wet from kicking up the water on the pavement.”

“That’s really silly,” said Verna, “Imagine trying to get a rain coat on Leroy!” Everyone laughed as they tried to picture the rather overweight Bernese Mountain dog in that much yellow material.

“Did you see the lightning today?” Blythe asked. George, Verna and Jacki nodded.

“There was lightning?” asked Richard at the same time that Josh said, “What lightning?”

“We had a mini-storm right after 2:00 this afternoon,” said Blythe, turning to look at Richard with a smile, “Don’t you have a window in your office?” Richard paused blankly.

“Well, I sure don’t,” said Josh, obliviously to the sudden shift of atmosphere in the room, “and we have the radio going all the time so I wouldn’t have heard the thunder either. I’m sad I missed it.”

Next to him, Jacki had suddenly picked up on the fact that Richard liked Blythe. He had looked from her to his plate and back so quickly and shyly.

“I do have a window,” Richard said to Blythe, “but it’s behind me and with the bright fluorescent lighting I don’t think I would notice lightning.” Verna smiled at George, who rolled his eyes. They would be such a nice couple, she thought.

For dessert, everyone moved to the living room and Verna brought out pie and ice cream for everyone. Then she let Leroy out of the office.

“Help yourself, Leroy,” she said, indicating the kitchen floor. Leroy wagged his tail at her. It was so nice to get these kind of rewards for being good. He went to work on the gravy spots and also found some good-sized crumbs under the dining room table before he settled in the living room at George’s feet. A piece of the steak would have been nice, but he knew that was hoping for too much.

When the sounds of scraping the last drops of ice cream from the bowl had ceased, there was a short and contented silence in the group.

It’s nice to have good neighbours, Jacki thought.

I wish my family coulds be this quiet, thought Blythe.

That pie was good, thought Josh.

So far, so good, thought Richard.

That pie was good, thought George.

And Verna said,

“George dear, this peace was just making me think of that beautiful Longfellow poem you memorized in high school. Would you say it for us?”

And without thinking it was the least bit odd, the rest of the company turned and waited for George to speak.

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

-Longfellow

9.Generally Disregarded Advice

Josh drove home from work frustrated. The beautiful view of the sound as he drove down into the Edmonds bowl didn’t cheer him up like it usually did. And the fact that the Mariners game always went static half way down the hill didn’t help. Every patient today had not been doing his home exercises as instructed and were therefore not seeing the results Josh had expected. He hadn’t been doing his job long enough to just let it go. The other practitioners at the clinic could just shrug. It didnt’ bother them anymore that some people really didnt’ want to get all, as long as there were the few star patients who improved drastically and made great efforts to be more healthy.

He pulled into the garage at 515 Walnut street and sat in the car for a few more minutes listening to the scratchy but audible Mariners game in hopes of a home run to put him in a better mood. No such luck. He got out of car and noticed George in the corner of the garage, going through a storage closet.

“Hi George,” said Josh, feeling that he should do the neighbourly thing and at least say hello, “How was your day?”

“Oh the usual,” said George, emerging from the closet with a large box, “Breakfast and paper, walk to the dog park with Leroy, coffee, reading, lunch, nap, more reading, maybe some TV . . .”

“Sounds like a nice life,” said Josh, “don’t you get bored?”

“Of course,” said George, opening the box and looking through it, “That’s why I’m down here rifling through boxes trying to find my old slide-viewer. A friend of mine says we can get all our slides onto the computer and saved on CDs. Figure it will save the kids a lot of time, if I go through them all now.”

“How many kids do you have?” asked Josh.

“Two. A son in California in the film business. We don’t hear from him much. And our daughter in Spokane. The grandkids come stay with us every few months. You’ll meet them soon.”

“Hmmm,” Josh nodded and turned to go the steps.

“How was your day?” George asked, his head deep in the back of the closet again as he pulled out the next box.

“Fine,” said Josh. He paused for a second, “If you were going to a physical therapist because you were in a lot of pain and he or she gave you great exercises to do at home so that you could get better faster, would you do them?”

George straightened up and looked at Josh with a smile.

“Nope,” he said, “I probably couldn’t be bothered.”

Josh laughed.

“That’s honest,” he said, “Most of them say they’re too busy or too tired or can’t remember. Or they lie and say they have done them, but I can tell that they haven’t.”

“Well,” said George, “I think we do things like that all the time. I call it the ‘Generally Disregarded Advice’ category, where all useful instructions get filed that we don’t actually want to do. The barrier is usually the perceived amount of effort we would have to put in. We keep them tucked away in the folder, knowing we should do those things, but mostly choosing to ignore them.”

“But they’re paying to receive the advice!”

“You can’t fight where they file your advice,” George laughed, “I used to give my kids very clear instructions, study these chapters, read these sections, do the sample test questions at the end of the section and you’ll be well prepared for the test. How many kids do you think did it?”

“Not many?” asked Josh.

“Usually only 5-6 kids,” he said, “The rest would complain there was a question on something we didn’t talk about it class. It was always in the sections I had told them to read. First few years I felt like kicking a wall. Then I realized it was probably good for me. Kept me humble, knowing there were 50 or 60 kids disregarding my excellent advice.”

Josh sighed.

“How many of your patients are male?” George asked.

“Today? All of them,” said Josh.

“Not to be biased,” said George, winking, “But from one man to another, we men don’t like to follow other people’s advice that much . . .  especially when it comes to health care.”

Josh grinned. George was funnier than he thought.

“Have a good night, George,” he said on his way out.

8. Bugs

Blythe sat on her balcony, sketching the geranium leaves and the spider web in the balcony railing below them. She had two window boxes of geraniums attached to her balcony railing and so far they hadn’t died. She was quite impressed with herself. She forced herself to sketch for an hour or two every week. Even though she loved drawing and painting, it felt like a chore. Why does it still require discipline to do the things we love doing? she wondered again. Every week, she procrastinated, unable to find something interesting enough to sketch, feeling like she had already drawn every object in her house. Surely I don’t need to sketch that chair again, I could probably do it blind-folded, she would think.

Today, it had suddenly hit her, that the geranium leaves would be perfect. Thrilled with actually having a moment of inspiration, she grabbed her pencils and sketchbook and settled down outside. The weather was coolish but it hadn’t rained yet. The geraniums were getting some good evening light. A nice little challenge. An organic object.

As she sketched, she thought about the crazy professor she had had for Life Drawing in college. On the small platform in the art room, he would walk around and around the models, in his white lab coat and a short pointer which he had probably carved himself.

“Remark the angle of the femur,” he would say, pointing at a thigh, “Notice the pronounced clavicle”, indicating the collarbone. Except for the fact that there was a living nude model, it could have been an Anatomy and Physiology class. She smiled. He had definitely embraced the image of mad scientist. At the time, she hadn’t thought twice about it, but now she wondered if he had done it on purpose, subtly linking art and science, trying to show them the benefit of understanding both worlds. Her observation skills had improved dramatically.

Below her, she heard the squeak of the balcony door opening in Number #2.  The balconies were all private, in-set into the building but you could still easily hear any conversations floating in the air. There was an almost unwritten rule that you didn’t use your balcony if you knew someone else was out on theirs. Blythe heard the click-click-click of the gas barbeque starting. Hmm dinner, she thought, what am I going to eat? She had a sinking feeling that she had eaten the last of her frozen dinners two nights ago.

Blythe hated cooking. In this one area of her life, she felt completely and totally uncreative. She could open a fridge door and stare for long minutes without coming up with any ideas, whereas several of her friends had this uncanny knack for opening the same fridge door and whipping up marvelous and unique creations in thirty minutes.

Suddenly a large flying ant landed on Blythe’s arm. She shrieked and brushed it off. The noise on the balcony below her stopped.

“I’m fine,” she called out spontaneously and then instantly regretted it. Thankfully there was only silence below and then a soft shuffle as Richard went back into his living room.

Downstairs, Richard was blushing. She had talked to him, she had realized he was listening. In the kitchen, he picked up the plate and the BBQ sauce and walked slowly back towards the balcony door. If only he could just call up casually, “Want to have a burger?” There was nothing to it – she had even started the conversation.

He walked out the door and laid the burgers on the grill and then sat down in the small folding chair. He couldn’t say it. He listened. Above the sizzle on the BBQ, he heard six or seven distinct thwacks, like a large fly hitting a window.

“Hello bugs,” said Blythe and giggled. She doesn’t realize I’m back out here, thought Richard holding still.

“Look at you trying so desperately to get in.” It made her laugh to see the large black fly repeatedly hurl itself against first the balcony door, then the window next to it. The burger smell started to make her hungry. She wanted one too. She got up, the geranium leaves completed. Time to treat myself to a burger, she thought and walked inside to find her wallet and keys.

Downstairs, Richard looked up.

“Would you like a burger?” he said out loud. But he was now the only one out on the balconies of 515 Walnut Street. He sighed.

7. Alaska vs. Hawaii

Two weeks after Josh and Jacki moved in, Verna came down and rang their door bell.

“Hello dears!” she said, when Josh opened the door, “I don’t know your phone number so I just popped down to let you know that we haven’t forgotten about having you two over for dinner, but we decided we should invite the other half of the building as well as we’ve never invited them over either. We shouldn’t play favourites.”

“That’s fine,” said Josh, “Just let us know when. We’re not going anywhere this summer.”

“Where would you go, if you could? Cruise to Alaska, or Hawaii?” Verna asked, suddenly looking very serious.

“Hawaii, probably . . .” said Josh.

“Definitely the cruise!” said Jacki from the couch, “I’ve always wanted to go on one of those!”

“Me too!” said Verna, “Nothing sounds better than eating fabulous food you didn’t have to prepare for an entire week!”

“But you could do that in Hawaii too,” Josh objected. Verna dismissed this with a wave of her hand.

“A cruise is the perfect vacation,” she said, “everything is included, you don’t have to do a single thing after you step onto the boat.” And she nodded twice, very distinctly. Josh didn’t feel like he could say anything more. He just shrugged. Verna smiled.

“Have a nice evening, you two,” she said.

“A dinner party with the whole building, hmmm,” said Jacki, getting up to turn off the TV, “That should be interesting. Maybe we’ll actually meet Number 2 – I don’t think I’ve even seen him yet.” She put on her runners and dug through the junk basket on the counter for her gym card.

“I’m ready,” she said. They had just gotten memberships at the gym up the hill at Five Corners and with the hot days continuing so unusually, the gym really only became a palatable option around 9:00 in the evening. Downstairs in the garage, they climbed into their Jetta and noticed that Number #2’s car was gone.

“What does he drive?” Jacki wondered, “If he’s a banker, he probably has a nice car. Have you ever left for work at the same time?”

“He doesn’t drive to work,” Josh said, backing out of their spot, “I think he walks. He drives a Golf and it’s usually here. It’s black.”

“Oh,” Jacki sounded disappointed.

As they walked into the gym, Jacki momentarily panicked when she saw a short dark greasy head at one of the weight machines. She had worked with Misty for the first three days at work and each consecutively shift had gotten worse. The third day, they didn’t speak to each other at all unless they had to. On the fourth day, a Thursday, the manager came back and Misty didn’t come in. Jacki finally got her schedule. Thursdays through Saturdays 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.

“What shifts does Misty usually work?” she had asked as casually as possible.

“Misty works the 11:00-7:00 shift Mondays through Thursdays,” the manager said, “You’ll be working most of your shifts with a guy named Ethan.” Jacki’s huge sigh of relief had escaped before she could stop it and the manager had raised an eyebrow at her.

Josh and Jacki climbed onto two elliptical machines and started their warm-up.

“I think that’s him,” Josh said in a low voice, turning to Jacki.

“Who?” asked Jacki.

“Shh,” said Josh, “Number 2, our neighbour, I think.”

“Where?”

“On the treadmill by the door,” said Josh.

“How do you know?” Jacki asked, scrutinizing the shoulders and back of the tall man running on the treadmill, watching the Mariners game on the screen in front of him.

“He was walking out of his door when I was leaving a few days ago,” Josh said.

“WHAT?!” said Jacki.

“Shh,” said Josh, glaring at her.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?” she hissed.

“There’s nothing to tell,” said Josh, “he was locking his door and he didn’t even see me.”

When they got back to their place, George was just coming back from a quick walk with Leroy. Leroy licked both of Jacki’s knees happily. Jacki patted his head.

“Good thing I like you,” she said.

“How are you?” Josh asked George.

“Fine, just fine.” George said, “Tell me, if you had your choice, what would you do? Take a cruise to Alaska or go to Hawaii?”

Jacki and Josh looked at each other.

“The cruise,” said Jacki at the same time that Josh said, “Hawaii.” George frowned.

“Huh,” he said. He appealed to Jacki,

“You’d really pick the cruise?”

Jacki wanted to laugh.

“Yes, I really would,” she said.

“But why? It’s a floating prison, you can’t get off . . . ” George sighed.

“Good luck winning that one,” Josh laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. George straightened up as much as he could.

“I haven’t given up yet,” he said, “Hawaii will happen!”

Vacation

Going to Nanaimo tonight for a four day vacation . . . so no further story until I get back. sorry!

6. Murphy’s Law

Jacki walked out the door to her first day of work, slightly nervous but mostly confident. She had worked in various cafes for years now. It was mostly about figuring out where everything was and memorizing the menu.

She arrived at the front door at quarter to 10:00. It was still locked. She knew there had to be a back entrance somewhere, but they hadn’t told her were it was, so she decided to wait. It was a glass door and they would see her as soon as they opened up. Except that at 10:01 she was still standing outside. Were they doing something in the kitchen and expecting her to find the back door? She knocked tentatively, peering into the darker room. It didn’t look like anyone was there.

She hated situations like this. If she stood here, they might not see her for ages. If she went to find the back door and they finally came out to open up than it would look like she was late, even though she had been early. As she stood, trying to decide what to do, the door finally opened.

“Hi,” said a short girl with greasy dark hair.

“Hi,” said Jacki, not recognizing her, “I’m Jacki – I’m here to start training with the manager?”

“She’s not coming in today,” said the girl, “Family emergency.” She turned around and headed back towards the kitchen. Jacki followed her uncertainly. This was not a good beginning. It is a truth universally acknowledged, thought Jacki, that your new coworkers will not like you if you are better-looking. She sighed as Misty started to set up in the kitchen, ignoring her presence.

“What would you like me to do?” Jacki asked. Misty shrugged.

“I guess, I’ll have to train you enough to, like, get through the day, obviously,” she said, making it sound like Jacki wouldn’t last much beyond that.

It was well into the afternoon before Jacki got the chance to ask for a break. She didn’t know the normal procedure but she was starting to get a little shaky like she always did when she was really hunger. If I don’t eat now, I’ll end up breaking something, she thought.

“Misty, I need to take a break to eat some lunch,” she said, try to sound positive towards her. Misty frowned but Jacki knew the law was on her side – it had been at least four hours since she had started.

“I’ll only take 15 minutes,” she said, “I’ll be back at 2:45.” She walked out as quickly as she could before Misty could make up some excuse for her not to leave.

She pulled out the sandwich she had made that morning, and inhaled it on her way down 5th. Usually Jacki thoroughly enjoyed every bit of her homemade sandwiches which featured avocado, tomato, cucumber, ham and cheese. Today she barely noticed the taste as she thought, Don’t hate Misty yet, don’t hate her yet. Maybe she’s just having a bad day, maybe she’s mad she doesn’t have more help today. It could be any number of reasons but Jacki couldn’t kill the animosity it had only taken four hours to develop. Hopefully they wouldn’t have a lot of shifts together.

Matthews Gallery was open and she decided to go in, seeing that she still had ten more minutes before she had to be back. The gallery was cool and it took her a few second to adjust to the light after the bright glare of sun on the pavement.

The lady at the desk looked slightly exotic with her beautifully curly black hair (Not greasy, Jacki noted), gold jewelry and bangles on her wrists. She was wearing a black t-shirt and a long bright turquoise skirt that looked perfect for twirling.

“Hello,” she said, “Welcome to the gallery. Have you been here before?”

“No,” said Jacki, walking up to the desk, “My husband and I just moved in to a condo here on Saturday. Actually – we wondered if you’re the ‘Matthews’ on the mailbox.”

“Oh!” said Blythe, “Are you the new Number Ones? At 515 Walnut Street?”

“Yes,” said Jacki, “I’m Jacki and my husband’s name is Josh. Which one do you live in?”

“I’m Blythe. I live in Number 4″ she said, “Above Number 2.”

“Do you know who lives there?” asked Jacki, “We’ve only met the couple upstairs, George and Verna . . . and Leroy.”

“Leroy is hilarious,” laughed Blythe, “We’re not supposed to have animals larger than 25 pounds but nobody seems to mind. Number 2 is a very nice man. I barely ever see him. His name is Richard and he does something financial.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Jacki said, glancing at her watch, “I have to get back to work – I just started today at the Red Twig bakery.”As she walked towards the door, several elderly ladies started to enter the gallery, one with a walker and Jacki had to wait for them to pass. It was 2:43 and she had one minute before she had to be back. It took the ladies 1 minute and 35 seconds. As soon as they cleared the door, Jacki ran out, nearly colliding with another group of ladies.

In the kitchen the clock said 2:47 as Jacki rushed in, and Misty was glaring at her. She turned her back and wrote something down on a piece of paper. Great, Jacki thought, she’s going to tell the manager. She looked at her watch – it said 2:45:54. It was so unfair.

5. Lies and Spies

Blythe tried to smile graciously at Gary. Of course, he was the one waiting on her doorstep. The other two were, at least, a little more socially “with it” while Gary could only be described as happily oblivious. Most people put this down to the fact that he was an artist, an assumption that made Blythe fume.

“What a surprise, Gary,” she said, trying to keep any hint of sarcasm out of her voice.

“Where were you?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Walking,” said Blythe, irritated. Again, the other two would at least have known not to ask. They paused. He was obviously expecting her to invite him in. As Blythe moved towards her stairwell, she thought she saw the Venetian blinds in Number 2 move.

“I’m sorry I can’t invite you in tonight Gary,” she said, “My mother is visiting.” Oh dear, she thought, Why didn’t I simply say, ‘because I want to be alone’? But she knew he would never believe her if she said that. It was necessary to lie. It really was.

“That’s a surprise,” said Gary, “You didn’t mention it last week at the Art Walk.”

“That’s because I didn’t know then. My mother is spontaneous to a fault.” This was true at least.

“Goodnight Gary,” she said firmly, “Have a good weekend.” She walked up the steps and closed the door. And locked it. Then she thought about the Venetian blinds. Had Number 2 been spying on her?

She had barely spoken to him at all, even though he had lived at Number 2 for over a year now. A tall, fairly thin man probably about 35, with normal brown hair and brown eyes. His name was Richard Webb and he did something financial. That was all she knew. The two times she had spoken to him, he had come across as aloof. Actually she had always kind of assumed that he didn’t like her for some reason. He barely said hi. How refreshing, she thought.

Downstairs, Richard sat back in his lazy boy and flipped on his TV. Blythe lied to that man, he thought, therefore she must not like him. He smiled. Such conclusions were beautiful. He liked it when real life was able to supply him with equations like that. It didn’t follow that therefore she would like him, but at least that man wasn’t a serious threat. He sighed. Who was he kidding? Blythe could probably hardly picture him. He could often hear her coming down the stairs, clicking her high heels or flapping her sandals. He would wait until she was safely past before he opened his door. He just knew he would have no idea what to say to her. She was an artist and obviously saw the world through much more colorful lenses then his.

They had had two conversations that he could remember. The first one had occurred at the mailboxes on the corner of the house just a few days after he had moved in.

“Hi, you must be the new Number 2,” she’d said and smiled, holding out her hand, “I’m Blythe Matthews and I own the Matthews Gallery on Fifth. You should come by and see it some time.”

“I’m Richard,” Richard had said, “I’m a financial consultant at RBC Wealth Management.”

“What does the RBC stand for?”

“Royal Bank of Canada.” Her burst of laughter wasn’t offensive, but he had turned a deep full red, in a way he hadn’t done since middle school.

He still blushed when he thought of the second conversation. Three months after moving in, he had finally garnered enough courage to go see her gallery. When he’d gone in, she was busy with a couple at the desk so he had taken a few turns around the room looking at each piece, waiting for her to say hello.

“Hello,” she said, “Can I help you?” It was instantly clear that she didn’t recognize him. And there was the blush again, betraying him brutally. He saw the recognition creep into her eyes.

“Richard, right?” she said, “So glad you came in to check it out. What do you think?”

“It’s great.” He said. He wanted to say how vibrant the place was and how he liked the lighting she had used for showing off the paintings, that he was more interested in these exact representations of objects in the still life pieces than in the landscapes or the ones with people. She waited for more and he couldn’t say it. He wasn’t sure if it would be the right thing to say, if she would judge his ability to appreciate art. He wanted desperately to impress her, the way he could with clients – calmly explaining rows of perfect numbers, their balance, their meaning. He lost his chance. Another visitor approached Blythe and he had walked out.

Mother would never approve of her, he thought. Richard groaned, miserably aware of how much his mother still interfered in his life and how little he did to stop it. The path of least resistance had always been easiest. At least he had won out on becoming a financial consultant rather than a lawyer. He could still hear her voice, “I named you Richard so that you could become a distinguished doctor or lawyer.” He couldn’t see what his name had to do with any profession. But he hated it. Rich was just a bad joke in his line of work, Dick was completely unacceptable and didn’t even make sense as a shortened form of Richard. Rick sounded too much like a sleazy salesman. There was no way out.

He got up, suddenly antsy and did what he always did when he started feeling depressed. Zipping up Walnut, onto Bowdoin and finally to Five Corners, he hopped out of the car and walked into the gym.

Our new home to be . . .

Well I missed writing my chapter yesterday due to some major life events. We accepted the counter-offer from the bank on this house:

and if everything goes smoothly we will be moving in here sometime in late August. Woo hoo!!  and also EEK! because it needs a lot of work done to it. It was foreclosed on, so it’s been empty for a long time and the yard has gone crazy in the back.

4. Avoiding Love

Blythe Matthews sat on the floor at the back of her gallery in the dark.  It was 8:45 p.m. Usually she closed the gallery at 8:00 p.m. Since the early afternoon, she had been planning the perfect evening in her head. She would go home, take a long bath, open the bottle of wine her father had given her for her birthday and inaugurate the beginning of her weekend by going to bed early. That or turning on the TV and watching several of the thousands of decorating shows to which she was mildly addicted. Either option sounded good.

The threats to her perfect evening had occured at 7:35, 7:45 and 7:55 p.m. One of them was named Gary, another local Edmonds artist. He had been pursuing her acquaintance for the better part of a year. He walked past the gallery windows at 7:35 p.m. and surreptitiously glanced in (so Blythe thought) to make sure she was still there. She knew he would continue his walk and then circle back in time to coordinate with her exit. At 7:45, it was Andrew, the much-younger-than-her college student she had unfortunately collided with at the PCC while trying to find the rather exotic ingredients to a new bread recipe. Four months later, he continued to appear in her vicinity, no doubt hoping to be the victim of another collision. He sauntered past without looking in. Blythe could imagine him going into the Starbucks, ordering the nightly-caffienated coffee that contributed to his college sleeping habits and then watching the clock.

It was against her policy to close early, but tonight it seemed like a emergency. Any minute now, either of them would return, come in and offer to walk her home. So, at 7:53 p.m., she locked the front door and turned out the lights. Two minutes later, she heard the front door handle. She froze as she turned to see which one it was. Brad. Why is he in a suit on Saturday? she thought, as she held still and hoped he couldn’t see her in the dark. Brad was a new lawyer in Edmonds. They had met at the Edmonds Art Walk – his first time – and she had known right away he was going to be one of those difficult ‘How can you want to turn me down?’ types. Her mother would have said, ‘He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’

Blythe rolled her eyes. Here she was, sitting in the back of her gallery, hoping that if she waited long enough, they would give up and not be waiting somewhere outside to intercept her on her walk home. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head again. “Most women would give anything to have multiple men chasing after them – be a little grateful!” Most women don’t understand it’s like having three salesmen vying for your attention, Blythe thought bitterly. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to get married. In fact, she was very interested in the idea. The cute young couple who had stared in the windows around 8:30 – she had definitely seen a ring on his finger. No, she was not against marriage, she was not even against romance. But she was very specifically against Gary, Andrew and Brad. Not one of them interested her, why could they not see that?

Her greatest fear was that eventually one of them would wear her resistance down through sheer persistence. Like the salesmen who talked so much, you said yes just so that you could get a little peace and quiet. She couldn’t let that happen. Her other greatest fear was that her mother would finally convince her that she was too picky and make her settle. Maybe I am too idealistic, Blythe sighed, why can I never find anyone who really makes me laugh? She couldn’t even count the number of men who had approached her out of nowhere to ask her out. Blythe couldn’t understand it. I must have available written all over me somewhere. The more she tried to ignore and discourage, the more interested they seemed to become. She was going to need some stronger tactics soon.

At 9:00 p.m. she decided that enough time had elapsed. She peaked out of the back door. No one was in sight. Quickly she locked the back door and set off at a brisk pace with another glance over her shoulder. It’s almost as if I’m in a spy movie, she thought, as she slowed down at the corner at Beck’s Funeral Home and checked to see if anyone was in the alley. Just a few more steps to freedom, she thought and hurried up the path to 515 Walnut Street.

“Well hi, Blythe – I didn’t think I’d run into you tonight!”

3. Beck’s Lane

“LEROY!”

The dog stiffened. Jacki and Josh heard steps coming down the stairs. An elderly man with a comb-over and large thick glasses appeared at their door.

“I do apologize,” said the man, raising his very bushy eyebrows and glaring at the dog. Leroy ducked his head behind Jacki’s knee. Jacki laughed.

“He thinks you won’t see him that way,” she giggled.

“I’m George,” the man said, smiling at her, “You’ll have met my wife Verna. She must have left the door open a smidge when she came down to bring you the pie. Usually Leroy is a very good dog but he’s very excited today.”

“That’s ok,” Jacki said, completely forgetting the fear Leroy had caused her just a few moments ago, “He seems like a great dog.” She patted his head.

“Well, so sorry to intrude,” George said, “Come on, Leroy, home we go!”

“Do you think he did that on purpose?” Josh asked after closing and locking the door.

“What? Let the dog out? Why would you think that?” Jacki rinsed their pie plates in the sink.

“He just had this smirk on his face when he left. Maybe you didn’t see it.”

“The man or the dog?”

“Well, both actually,” Josh admitted, “I just wondered if he wanted to steal his wife’s thunder by meeting us as well.”

“That pie was good.” Jacki said. She looked at the clock – it was only 8:30 p.m.

“Josh, I think I’m ready to go for a walk. I got my second wind.”

“Great! I just can’t find my flip flops.”Jacki walked to the laundry basket, stacked precariously on the pile of boxes in the middle of their living room.

“They’re right here, dear,” she said.

Outside their front door was a landing. To the left the stairs went up to Number 3. Straight ahead through an arch was the door to Number 2 and another stairwell up to Number 4. On the right a shallow flight of steps led down to the narrow alley way between Walnut Street and Beck’s Lane.

“Let’s go that way,” Jacki said pointing to the back of the building.

The path was well cared for, the rhododendrons were cut back, the ugly wilted flowers removed already. The three planters with petunias were probably Verna’s. At the back of the house was a large parking lot and a lane running through it. Beck’s Lane.

“What’s all this parking for?” Jacki asked, walking down the lane towards Fifth. She turned the corner and stared at the sign.

Beck’s Funeral Home. Wonderful, she thought. I’ll get to walk by that everyday on my way to work.

“Wow, how smart of them,” Josh said, coming up behind her, “They picked the right area.”

“Josh!”

“What?” He shrugged at her horrified look, “I’m just saying, it’s probably a strong market.” She just shook her head at him.

“It’s going to be a nice short walk to the cafe.” She said, changing the subject.

“When do you start again?” Josh asked. Jacki had just been hired as a barista at the Red Twig Bakery Cafe.

“Monday,” she said, “I’m going in at 10:00 a.m. I’m not sure what my shifts are going to be.” They wandered down Fifth and she pointed out the bakery as they went by.

“Everything closes early down here, so I don’t think I’ll have any late shifts,” she said. That was going to be a nice change after working evening shifts at Starbucks.

Josh worked at a chiropractic clinic up the hill. He was a certified athletic trainer and did rehab therapy with patients. On the side, he ran his own photography company. After almost five years, he was getting antsy to have a real studio. His dream was to find a great space in downtown Edmonds. He had an idea that there might be a niche market here for doing elegant and dramatic portraits of seniors.

“See Jacki,” he suddenly said, stopping in front of an art gallery as they neared the roundabout at Main, “Something like this would be perfect. I could display stuff here in the front window and then do studio work in the middle space where there’s still the high ceiling. I could put my office up in that balcony. It would be perfect.”

“Matthews Gallery,” Jacki read, “I thought I saw ‘Matthews’ on one of the mailboxes of our condo! I wonder if they’re connected.”

“We have to find a space like this – there has to be something available near here,” said Josh, still concentrating on his imaginary studio.

“Yeah, for a lot of money!” said Jacki, “Do you really think we could afford to rent something this big and pay our mortgage?”

Josh frowned.

“It could happen,” he said defensively.