Mending Defects Read online

  Mending Defects

  Lynn Galli

  Penikila Press

  MENDING DEFECTS © 2011 by Lynn Galli. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored by any means without the express written consent of the publisher. For information address Penikila Press, LLC, 4917 Evergreen Way, Ste. 439, Everett, WA, 98203

  Cover photo © 2011 SeDmi/Shutterstock.com. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions of the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Also by Lynn Galli

  Wasted Heart

  Imagining Reality

  Uncommon Emotions

  Blessed Twice

  Full Court Pressure

  Finally

  Chapter 1

  I was shoveling the last third of my driveway when I noticed an unfamiliar woman emerge from the house closest to mine. She waved at the big truck in her drive as it rumbled to life and pulled away. I hadn’t paid much attention to it because the McGraths were always changing out the furniture in their winter home. Even from a distance, I could tell this woman wasn’t a McGrath. Without the massive staff of minions to order around, she couldn’t be a designer either.

  When I got back inside, a message on my answering machine satisfied my curiosity. The McGraths had sold their home, or so my realtor friend told me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. As tourists, the McGraths never stayed longer than a couple months a year. For the rest of the time, my quiet corner of the neighborhood stayed noise, traffic, and chitchat free.

  I sighed, knowing I should go introduce myself. I haven’t had to do that in years, but it was the neighborly thing to do. Maybe I should make something. There weren’t many restaurants open nearby on a Sunday night and no one remembers to label the box with the coffeemaker. Yeah, I should put something together.

  Not knowing what she liked, I decided on quick and easy staples. I made some sandwiches, soup, added half the pasta salad I was having for dinner, and wrapped up the banana and zucchini breads I’d made this afternoon. If all that failed, she’d hopefully appreciate the fresh coffee I added to a thermos. Picnic basket now full, I went into the mudroom to gear up in Sorels, a parka, mittens, and a ski hat before I could head back outside.

  Snow fell in a light dusting still, making the air feel heavy. Out on the street, I took stock of my neighborhood. Smoke curled up into the white sky from my friend Spencer’s house. Across the way and up from his place, Nancy and Calvin’s house glowed bright enough to be seen from space. Neither of them had given advance warning of a new neighbor, which was surprising since Nancy liked to think that nothing happened in this neighborhood without her knowing. As it was, she’d probably spent her afternoon with binoculars trying to track every movement at the former house of McGrath.

  Halfway to the new neighbor’s house, I paused to catch my breath, setting the basket down. Cold weather always did this to me. Like a punch to the gut, it could stop me dead. My heart constantly struggled to pump blood through my body in winter. It would be smarter to move to a warmer climate, but I wouldn’t let a heart condition force me out of this beautiful ski town. I’d learned to work around it with lots of breaks and slower movements.

  Ten minutes later, I landed on the McGrath’s porch. Knocking went unnoticed. I hoped she wasn’t trying to massage away her moving aches in the bathtub. No way would she accept a picnic basket sitting on her stoop without first meeting the basket giver, but I didn’t have the energy for a roundtrip back to my house to pick up a notepad. I should have planned this better.

  While I was beating myself up, I heard a soft noise from inside. The curtains in the front window fell back into place, and after a long delay, the door opened. Cracked would be more accurate, just far enough to show a sliver of that face that had drawn my interest from afar.

  Up close, it was captivating. Rich skin tone, darker than most pale folks around here. My German-Irish self looked ghostly after a full winter. This woman didn’t have that problem. With brown, almond shaped eyes set at an angle, her skin tone wasn’t the only alluring thing about her. Prominent cheekbones and a fine nose distinguished her beautiful triangular face as unique. Her long hair in a shade between brown and black was slicked back into a thick braid. At roughly five-seven, she was tall compared to my sixty-two inches. Fit, too, which was a nice change from the typical tourist twiggy. She had muscle definition under her silk turtleneck and strong thighs encased in comfortable jeans. She wouldn’t be snapping any bones putting on her ski boots.

  I realized I’d been staring too long and flipped on my neighborly smile. I was going for harmless, although I’d settle for looking like I hadn’t poisoned my food. “Hi, I’m Glory Eiben, your neighbor just down the road.” I turned and pointed toward my house, only part of which could be seen through the trees. “Welcome. I noticed the movers leaving and thought I’d come introduce myself.”

  Her head tilted, eyes narrowing. After an interminable moment, she smiled and opened the door wide. “Hi, Glory, I’m Lena.” Her voice was as rich as her skin tone. It moved like honey out of a jar, oozing over the space between us.

  We stared at each other, me not knowing if that constituted an invite inside, and her probably shocked at having a neighbor show up on her doorstep. We did things a little differently here in Aspen. If she was from a big city, she’d probably think I was pulling a prank on her.

  I held up my picnic basket. “I brought some food to tide you over until your kitchen’s unpacked.”

  She scrutinized the proffered basket. Time slowed under her careful examination. Bomb sniffing dogs weren’t this thorough. Finally satisfied, she stepped back, waving me inside.

  “Thank you.” She reached out to take it from my hands. Her arm dipped, having underestimated the reason I was using two hands. “What’s in here?” She looked down at the offending basket as we strolled farther inside.

  I laughed and those alluring eyes blinked several times before refocusing with intent. “I figured you hadn’t been grocery shopping yet, and you won’t find many restaurants open about now.”

  “If you tell me there’s coffee in here, I’ll worship you forever.” She slid the basket onto the marble countertops the McGraths had installed years before they were fashionable.

  “There’s coffee in there.”

  Her eyes grew larger, a wide smile touching her full lips. Beautiful and so not right that she’d just moved in next to me. She’d taunt me with her perfect, no doubt straight self every day until some other tourist decided that wintering in Aspen was an absolute must.

  “You’ll have to wait until I unpack my shrine supplies.”

  Such a dry delivery, I almost didn’t know if she was kidding. We both turned to look at the multitude of boxes scattered around the big open layout. It was a lot of stuff for a winterer.

  “Need some help unpacking?” I heard myself offer. Something must have taken over my brain. This would take all night even with both of us, and I barely had the energy left to walk back home.

  A soft laugh pulsed from her lips. I must not be the only one who thought my offer was crazy. “No, thanks, I’ll get to it all.”

  I nodded, glancing around to take in the tasteful furniture. “Are you familiar with Aspen or do you need a map? I’d be happy to draw one up with all the exciting spots.”

  She checked her watch. “You mean the ones that close down by seven o’clock?”

&n
bsp; I both resented the jab and loved the biting tone. She’d be fun to have as a friend, but her guarded look told me she wasn’t looking for any new friends. She was in for a huge surprise. Small town life made it so she’d gain new friends whether she wanted them or not. She’d only have to deal with it while she was vacationing, but she’d get those unwanted friends.

  “At least one of the bars stays open till midnight on Saturdays,” I countered with a smile.

  “Let me guess; it closes at midnight because the bars aren’t open on Sundays?”

  “You are familiar with Aspen.” I joked about the abandoned practice in town. At one time, Aspen had been just a ski town. Now it was a resort destination that garnered the interest of some of the wealthiest people and celebrities in the world. Old time rules had to be updated as the town changed.

  “I was kidding, but I see you’re not. God, what have I let myself in for?” She seemed to be talking to herself, but her words made me second guess her tenure here.

  “You’re not a winter wonderer, are you?”

  “Pardon?” Suspicion entered her gaze.

  “Someone who winters here or only comes for the skiing?”

  She paused, making me feel like I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question, even if it wasn’t that personal. “No, I’m not.”

  A permanent neighbor. This I liked even less than I’d liked the idea of the McGraths no longer living here. That she wasn’t the friendliest puppy in the litter made the situation all the more awkward. “Then I really mean the welcome wishes. Before I was just being polite. Now I want to get on your good side.”

  She chuckled again, sizing me up. “An oddball, how refreshing. Didn’t think I’d find one in such a small town.”

  “The oddest,” I confirmed, not at all insulted.

  “Good to know.” She lifted the top of the picnic basket and peered inside. “Tell me you’re a good cook, and I’ll carve a statue of you to go in the worship corner.”

  “I’m a good baker.”

  She plucked up the zucchini bread and brought it to her nose for a long sniff. Bliss took over her expression. My mind went straight to the notion that this might be her afterglow face. Such a wrong thought when meeting my beautiful, straight, permanent, straight, statuesque, yet still straight, neighbor.

  “Seems like,” she said between sniffs. “It’s a big promise. I have a thirty-five point rating scale when it comes to baked goods.”

  “Only thirty-five? Not very particular, are you?” I grinned and caught the one she tried to hide by looking at the piles of boxes surrounding us. There really were a lot of them. I should help her. My neighbors all liked each other. I needed the same from this woman. “Please let me help you unpack. This looks like it will take you weeks.”

  Her glance sharpened. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  So much for trying to be neighborly. “The offer stands. I’m usually around in the evenings. I’d be glad to help you get rid of the boxes or restock your bakery section. Just let me know.”

  Her nod wasn’t as curt as I expected, but she did start toward the front door. “It was nice of you to bring over the basket. I hadn’t counted on this as a benefit of moving to a small town.”

  “We are very Mayberry at times,” I said, following her.

  She laughed again and I paused. Nice laugh, short, breathy, and genuine. “I caught on when I stopped off at the gas station outside of town and got everything but a heat lamp with the interrogation.”

  Now her guarded stance made sense. Small towns could be a little annoying to newcomers. A little annoying to current residents, too, but newcomers were especially assaulted by the we-will-find-out-everything-about-you-we-have-our-ways attitude.

  “If you can make it past the initial curiosity phase, you’ll be interrogation free. After that, everyone will just think they know everything about you.” I’d benefited from this small town practice my entire adult life.

  “I’ll be looking forward to that.” She reached for the doorknob.

  I admired her superpower. Deflection would suit her well here. I hadn’t learned anything about her other than her name and fondness for coffee and baked items. Oh, and she was independent, didn’t like to accept help, and wasn’t used to small towns. On the whole, I’d learned a lot, but not the stuff that I was sure everyone else in town would want to know about her.

  “It was nice meeting you, Lena. If there’s anything you need or you decide the woods around you sound too quiet, like I said, I’m just up the road a bit. Come on by anytime.”

  “Thanks,” she said before closing the door behind me.

  A little mystery. I liked that.

  From the Journal of Lena Coleridge:

  It’s as small as I remembered. Maybe smaller, but still breathtakingly beautiful. The mountains seem to be calling to me. This was the right decision. The high school would be like any other school, smaller, but a high school. Only now, when I finish work, I have the beauty of this place to surround me instead of city streets, obnoxious noise, and smoggy air.

  One detriment-damn, these people are nosy. No less than five people asked who I was and where I was moving when I stopped off for gas in town. I’m glad I remembered the directions or I would have led them right to me. And my four neighbors, yes, only four on this street, two of whom live in the same house, showed up within the first hour of unpacking.

  The retired couple had lots of questions under the guise of polite conversation. They expressed concern after learning I would be living here alone. I should have known it would be too much to hope for the same kind of disinterested, self-involved neighbors I had back in Baltimore.

  The guy from the architecturally stunning house up the way seemed nice. Younger by probably five years. With a groomed beard and glasses, it was hard to tell. He let me know he lives in the house alone. Name and marital status must be a standard greeting around here. Right before he left, he mentioned he was the mayor. Of the town. Where I now live. He just happened to mention it, like he was telling me to have a nice day.

  My next door neighbor, or as next door as a hundred yards away can be, showed up last. At least she’d given me a full hour to settle in. Sweet girl, well, woman by most standards, but really still a girl, probably mid twenties. Very all-American girl next door look about her, complete with heart shaped face, vivid blue eyes, and shoulder length, strawberry blond hair. Truly strawberry, I’m not making that up. And pretty. Really pretty. Annoying not going to be able to look past it pretty. Genuinely sweet, too. Brought over a picnic basket with enough food to sustain me for a week. Her zucchini bread melted in my mouth and the superb coffee was exactly what I needed. I’d be days from finding all my cooking supplies, and I could never bake like this. Really nice of her, but her repeated offers to help me unpack the house were a little much. No one is that nice. She must have been angling for something. Probably wanted to be the first person to report back to the town elders on the stranger in town.

  God, listen to me. I’d better cut this attitude or the years here might be as bad as my last two in Baltimore.

  Chapter 2

  The classic Victorian, once my business partner’s family home in the West End, now served as an office to her investment firm, my best friend’s law practice, and my accounting firm. The slate blue house sits on a corner lot three blocks over from Main Street. If it hadn’t been purchased by Brooke’s grandparents over fifty years ago, we’d never have been able to afford it. Victorians in the West End required oil baron money these days.

  I slipped my car into the third space of the detached garage out back. As I emerged, the neighbor’s side door opened up and out bounded the fifteen-year-old dynamo known as Ashlyn, star soccer, volleyball, and softball player, national merit scholar, and all around great girl.

  “Hiya, Glory!” she called out in a cheery tone. Nothing seemed to get this kid down even with all the pressure she faced as the eldest child in a house that now included a younger brother and two-year-old t
riplets. She bounded across the long side yard to the small picket fence separating us. “I was going to shovel that berm before I headed to school. Did you have any trouble getting in?”

  “Nope, didn’t snow as much as they said it would.” I glanced at my watch. Still forty-five minutes before school started. I knew she’d have time, but I felt bad that she’d miss out on the socializing before. “Come inside when you’re done. I’ll give you a ride to school on Slick.”

  “Outlaw! You’ll have time?”

  My heart hurt by how much a little attention meant to her. The triplets and her six-year-old brother demanded it all from her parents. I tried not to resent them, but it was getting harder and harder. “Clear it with your mom first. Hey, did Brooke pay you for last week?”

  Red appeared on her cheeks. Just as I suspected. Ashlyn had a hard time asking to be paid for the yard work and snow shoveling she did for a lot of neighbors. She ducked into the garage before I could give her another lesson on bill collecting.

  “Morning, Hazel,” I greeted our office manager when I walked inside.

  A short white crown of hair lifted from staring down at her desk. A few months shy of sixty-five, Hazel ran this place as well as the eight-child household she’d run for forty years. “Good morning, Glorious One.”

  I smiled at the pet name. “Will you do up a check for Ashlyn, please? Big surprise, Brooke forgot on Friday.”

  She laughed at the dichotomy that was Brooke, expert investment strategist but hopeless with personal finances. Reaching for the firm’s checkbook, she said, “Heard you got a new neighbor.”

  I stopped my advance and turned to face her. She knew? I had no idea how the town network spread news so fast. “Guess so.” I didn’t comment further. Lena didn’t deserve to be the source of gossip.

  “Is she a turkey?”

  I giggled at Hazel’s name for tourists who bought homes to use for two weeks and rented them out for the rest of the ski season. “Not that I could tell.”

  “You didn’t say hello?” She leaned forward over her desk.