shook his head. “No. I am not—I repeat—I am not kissing the dog.”
Jane shrugged. “Okay, fine, but if you don’t, she won’t let you get up. You can try if you want.” Her pigtail swinging, Jane turned to leave the kitchen. “While you’re deciding, I’ll just mosey up to the attic and start throwing things out.” For emphasis, she shook the trash bag she’d gotten out of the hall closet.
Mike rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Pucker up, Olive.” He bypassed her wet nose and kissed her forehead instead.
“I taught her that,” Jane said with pride, as Olive bounded out of the kitchen.
Mike’s face was an unflattering shade of red. “You better not plan on telling any of our colleagues what I just did, Jane Lewis.”
“It’s on the top of my agenda to tell everyone at the psychiatry convention in New York later this year,” Jane giggled. “Love is a many-splendored thing, you know. Animals, especially dogs and cats, love unconditionally. It didn’t hurt you to do that, and it made Olive feel good. Let’s just forget it, okay?” Jane turned and started for the stairs.
“On one condition,” Mike said behind her.
Reaching the top step, Jane turned to confront Mike. “I don’t think you’re in much of a position to lay down conditions, but what is it?”
His gaze was riveted on her face. “That you tell me the truth. Did you or did you not have a crush on me back in high school?”
Jane laughed out loud. “I think I might have been smitten for a day or two. Then again, it was a long time ago, and it could have been Hughey Monroe.”
“For a day or two?” His voice rose. “What the hell kind of impression did I make?”
“Actually, you were rather disgusting back then as I recall,” she said, enjoying the gentle sparring as much as he did. “That’s why it only lasted a day or two.”
“Disgusting how?”
“Stuck-up. Full of yourself. I suppose you had good reason. Every single girl in my class would have prostituted herself for a smile from you.”
“Except you, right?”
“Except me,” Jane lied. She opened the attic door. “Here we are. Are you sure you want to go through all this old junk?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
She flicked on the light and led the way up a steep, narrow flight of stairs. “I haven’t been up here since just after I moved in.” The steps creaked under her weight. “I hope there aren’t any mice up here. I don’t like mice.”
The attic smelled of dust and decay. There were stacks of old books everywhere. A tattered dress form stood off in one corner, looking lost and forlorn. Wooden crates and humpbacked trunks lined the wall beneath the one window—a round, stained-glass window. She looked at the garbage bag in her hand and laughed. One bag wouldn’t even make a dent.
Mike reached the top seconds after her. “Wow! This is great. I can’t believe you haven’t been up here looking through all this stuff.”
Jane sighed. “I told you I’ve been busy.” She walked toward the window. “Since I don’t know exactly what it is you’re looking for, I don’t know where you want to start.”
“I don’t know myself,” he said, gravitating toward the trunks. “An old Bible, maybe. In the old days, they used to list the births and deaths in the front of the Bible. You did say the family died off, didn’t you?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Jane busied herself going through a trunk of old clothes. They’d been carefully wrapped in an old quilt to keep the dust off them. She found a two-piece dress of a heavy, black material, the bodice decorated with jet beads. She recognized the style as Victorian, around 1885, if she wasn’t mistaken. And in mint condition. Not something she should be throwing away. Maybe at some point in time she could donate them to a museum or historical group.
Three hours later, Mike whooped with pleasure. “I found one. Wouldn’t you know it would be at the very bottom of the last
Jane shrugged. “Okay, fine, but if you don’t, she won’t let you get up. You can try if you want.” Her pigtail swinging, Jane turned to leave the kitchen. “While you’re deciding, I’ll just mosey up to the attic and start throwing things out.” For emphasis, she shook the trash bag she’d gotten out of the hall closet.
Mike rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Pucker up, Olive.” He bypassed her wet nose and kissed her forehead instead.
“I taught her that,” Jane said with pride, as Olive bounded out of the kitchen.
Mike’s face was an unflattering shade of red. “You better not plan on telling any of our colleagues what I just did, Jane Lewis.”
“It’s on the top of my agenda to tell everyone at the psychiatry convention in New York later this year,” Jane giggled. “Love is a many-splendored thing, you know. Animals, especially dogs and cats, love unconditionally. It didn’t hurt you to do that, and it made Olive feel good. Let’s just forget it, okay?” Jane turned and started for the stairs.
“On one condition,” Mike said behind her.
Reaching the top step, Jane turned to confront Mike. “I don’t think you’re in much of a position to lay down conditions, but what is it?”
His gaze was riveted on her face. “That you tell me the truth. Did you or did you not have a crush on me back in high school?”
Jane laughed out loud. “I think I might have been smitten for a day or two. Then again, it was a long time ago, and it could have been Hughey Monroe.”
“For a day or two?” His voice rose. “What the hell kind of impression did I make?”
“Actually, you were rather disgusting back then as I recall,” she said, enjoying the gentle sparring as much as he did. “That’s why it only lasted a day or two.”
“Disgusting how?”
“Stuck-up. Full of yourself. I suppose you had good reason. Every single girl in my class would have prostituted herself for a smile from you.”
“Except you, right?”
“Except me,” Jane lied. She opened the attic door. “Here we are. Are you sure you want to go through all this old junk?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
She flicked on the light and led the way up a steep, narrow flight of stairs. “I haven’t been up here since just after I moved in.” The steps creaked under her weight. “I hope there aren’t any mice up here. I don’t like mice.”
The attic smelled of dust and decay. There were stacks of old books everywhere. A tattered dress form stood off in one corner, looking lost and forlorn. Wooden crates and humpbacked trunks lined the wall beneath the one window—a round, stained-glass window. She looked at the garbage bag in her hand and laughed. One bag wouldn’t even make a dent.
Mike reached the top seconds after her. “Wow! This is great. I can’t believe you haven’t been up here looking through all this stuff.”
Jane sighed. “I told you I’ve been busy.” She walked toward the window. “Since I don’t know exactly what it is you’re looking for, I don’t know where you want to start.”
“I don’t know myself,” he said, gravitating toward the trunks. “An old Bible, maybe. In the old days, they used to list the births and deaths in the front of the Bible. You did say the family died off, didn’t you?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Jane busied herself going through a trunk of old clothes. They’d been carefully wrapped in an old quilt to keep the dust off them. She found a two-piece dress of a heavy, black material, the bodice decorated with jet beads. She recognized the style as Victorian, around 1885, if she wasn’t mistaken. And in mint condition. Not something she should be throwing away. Maybe at some point in time she could donate them to a museum or historical group.
Three hours later, Mike whooped with pleasure. “I found one. Wouldn’t you know it would be at the very bottom of the last
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