doorknob.
“Who’s there?” she called.
TJ Farrelly identified himself and she pulled open the door. Scruffy and blond, midthirties, he stood on the stoop in the swirl of snow and greeted her with a kind smile and tired eyes. His hair was too long and he needed a shave, but that unkempt quality made him more handsome instead of less.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “And thank you so much for coming out today.”
Allie stood back to let TJ enter. He stamped snow off his boots on the little rug in the foyer and his eyes found the book in her hand.
“Sorry to interrupt your reading.”
“Oh, not at all,” she said with a nervous laugh, closing the door. “Honestly, I kept rereading the same section over and over. I haven’t been able to focus on it at all.”
TJ adjusted the heavy tool belt on his waist in that unconscious, get-the-job-done way she had always loved to see in men. It gave an aura of confidence that was contagious.
“No worries, Ms. Schapiro,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
Though he seemed a bit wary of her, Allie gave a little inward chuckle at the sexy-handyman clichés that popped into her mind. As a younger woman she would have blushed, but once she had passed fifty something had changed in her. Yes, she kept her hair dyed an attractive auburn and had it styled regularly, and she chose her clothes carefully, but those were things she did for herself and not for others. She no longer cared quite as much about what other people thought. Once it had bothered her that she had a reputation as being a bit of an uptight bitch. People ought to have understood, given the losses in her life, or that was the way she’d rationalized it. Now she understood that life was all about loss, that everyone suffered in his own way. She just wasn’t ever going to be able to be the kind of person who pretended to be happy when she wasn’t.
“Please, TJ,” she said, “I’m not your daughter’s teacher anymore. You can call me Allie.”
The man looked surprised. “All right, Allie. Lead the way.”
She picked up the heavy-duty flashlight from the little table in the foyer and clicked it on. TJ unclipped a small but powerful light of his own from his belt and followed her down the short hall to the kitchen, through the cellar door; and down the steps into the basement. Even less of that gray light filtered through small box windows close to the ceiling, the glass rectangles half covered by the newfallen snow outside, making the flashlights helpful but not entirely necessary. Not until nightfall, at least.
“The fuse box is over there,” she said, shining her flashlight on it.
“Gotcha.” He went over and opened the panel, moving the light over the circuit breakers.
“It really does mean the world, you coming out in the storm.”
“I couldn’t leave you in the dark,” he said, almost casually clicking the breakers and snapping them back into place. “Not with the snow…”
He trailed off, pausing as if rooted to the spot, one hand on the metal door of the fuse box. The flashlight wavered in his hand.
Allie’s chest hurt. She had forgotten to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning toward her, the beams of their flashlights throwing ovals of illumination on opposite walls.
She wet her lips. “It’s okay. After all this time I’d better be able to talk about a little snow without letting it get the better of me. Besides, you lost someone in the storm, too. I’m sure you’re happy to talk about your mother, to remember her.”
“Most of the time,” TJ allowed. “Though for some reason it’s harder to talk about her when it snows. It always feels wrong, somehow.”
“I know the feeling. But it’s okay. If you and I can’t understand each other, who could?”
He didn’t quite manage to smile, but nodded and turned his light back to the electrical panel.
Allie had first met TJ at a memorial for those killed or lost in that blizzard on the one-year anniversary
“Who’s there?” she called.
TJ Farrelly identified himself and she pulled open the door. Scruffy and blond, midthirties, he stood on the stoop in the swirl of snow and greeted her with a kind smile and tired eyes. His hair was too long and he needed a shave, but that unkempt quality made him more handsome instead of less.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “And thank you so much for coming out today.”
Allie stood back to let TJ enter. He stamped snow off his boots on the little rug in the foyer and his eyes found the book in her hand.
“Sorry to interrupt your reading.”
“Oh, not at all,” she said with a nervous laugh, closing the door. “Honestly, I kept rereading the same section over and over. I haven’t been able to focus on it at all.”
TJ adjusted the heavy tool belt on his waist in that unconscious, get-the-job-done way she had always loved to see in men. It gave an aura of confidence that was contagious.
“No worries, Ms. Schapiro,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
Though he seemed a bit wary of her, Allie gave a little inward chuckle at the sexy-handyman clichés that popped into her mind. As a younger woman she would have blushed, but once she had passed fifty something had changed in her. Yes, she kept her hair dyed an attractive auburn and had it styled regularly, and she chose her clothes carefully, but those were things she did for herself and not for others. She no longer cared quite as much about what other people thought. Once it had bothered her that she had a reputation as being a bit of an uptight bitch. People ought to have understood, given the losses in her life, or that was the way she’d rationalized it. Now she understood that life was all about loss, that everyone suffered in his own way. She just wasn’t ever going to be able to be the kind of person who pretended to be happy when she wasn’t.
“Please, TJ,” she said, “I’m not your daughter’s teacher anymore. You can call me Allie.”
The man looked surprised. “All right, Allie. Lead the way.”
She picked up the heavy-duty flashlight from the little table in the foyer and clicked it on. TJ unclipped a small but powerful light of his own from his belt and followed her down the short hall to the kitchen, through the cellar door; and down the steps into the basement. Even less of that gray light filtered through small box windows close to the ceiling, the glass rectangles half covered by the newfallen snow outside, making the flashlights helpful but not entirely necessary. Not until nightfall, at least.
“The fuse box is over there,” she said, shining her flashlight on it.
“Gotcha.” He went over and opened the panel, moving the light over the circuit breakers.
“It really does mean the world, you coming out in the storm.”
“I couldn’t leave you in the dark,” he said, almost casually clicking the breakers and snapping them back into place. “Not with the snow…”
He trailed off, pausing as if rooted to the spot, one hand on the metal door of the fuse box. The flashlight wavered in his hand.
Allie’s chest hurt. She had forgotten to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning toward her, the beams of their flashlights throwing ovals of illumination on opposite walls.
She wet her lips. “It’s okay. After all this time I’d better be able to talk about a little snow without letting it get the better of me. Besides, you lost someone in the storm, too. I’m sure you’re happy to talk about your mother, to remember her.”
“Most of the time,” TJ allowed. “Though for some reason it’s harder to talk about her when it snows. It always feels wrong, somehow.”
“I know the feeling. But it’s okay. If you and I can’t understand each other, who could?”
He didn’t quite manage to smile, but nodded and turned his light back to the electrical panel.
Allie had first met TJ at a memorial for those killed or lost in that blizzard on the one-year anniversary
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