be finished or furnished. She jumped right on the first part, completely ignored the second. Now I've got Patty calling me with menu ideas, and your mother offering to make her pork barbecue."
"It's great stuff."
"No doubt. The problem remains how I find time to squeeze in party planning while I'm installing kitchen cabinets, running trim, hanging doors, refinishing floors and hitting a very long punch-out list, not to mention exploring the world of sofas, couches, divans and settees."
"You buy a grill, a bunch of meat and a whole lot of alcoholic beverages. "
She shook her head at him. "You're a man."
"I am. A fact which I've just proven beyond any reasonable doubt." And being Sunday, he should get a shot at proving it again. "A party's a good thing, Cilla. People come, people you know and like, enjoy being with. You show off what you've done. You share it. That's why you took down the gate."
"I..." He was right. "What kind of grill?"
He smiled at her. "We'll shop."
In an exaggerated gesture, she crossed her hands over her heart. "Words most women only dream about hearing from a man. I need to go get dressed. I could pick up paint while we're out, and hardware, take another look at kitchen lighting."
"What have I wrought?"
She tossed a smile at him as she walked out of the room. "We'll take my truck."
He dragged on his boxers, but stayed where he was, thinking about her. She didn't realize how much she'd told him. She'd never once mentioned the house, or houses, where she'd grown up.
He, on the other hand, could describe in perfect detail the house of his childhood, the way the sun slanted or burst through the windows of his room at any given time of the day, the green sink in the bathroom, the chip in the kitchen tile where he'd dropped a gallon jug of apple juice.
He remembered the pang when his parents had sold it, even though he'd been in New York, even though he'd moved out. Even though they'd only moved a couple miles away. Years later, he could still drive by that old brick house and feel that pang.
Lovingly restored trim, letters hidden in a book, an old barn painted red again. All of that, every step and detail, were links she forged herself to make a chain of connection.
He'd do whatever he could do to help her forge it, even if it came down to shopping for a grill.
"Hey, Ford."
"Back here," Ford called out when he heard Brian's voice, and unfolded himself off the sofa as Brian walked in. "Weber or Viking?"
"Tough choice," Brian said without any need for explanation. "I went with the Weber, as you know, but a man can't go wrong with the Viking."
"How about a woman?"
"Women have no place behind a grill. That's my stand on it." He bent down, picked up Ford's discarded T-shirt. "This is a clue. It tells me that I've come too late to interrupt morning sex. Damn that second cup of coffee." He tossed the shirt at Ford's face, then leaned down to greet Spock.
"You're just jealous because you didn't have any morning sex."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're here. Why are you here?"
Brian gestured to the counter and Cilla's research pile as he crossed over to open Ford's refrigerator. "Where's Cilla?"
"Upstairs, getting dressed so we can go out and debate between Weber and Viking."
"You've got Diet Cokes in here," Brian observed as he pulled out a can of the real thing. "A sure sign a guy is hooked. I went by my mom's yesterday." Brian popped the top, took a swig. "Hauled off, to her surprised joy, not one but two boxes of junk she's saved for me. What am I supposed to do with a crayon drawing of a house, a big yellow sun and stick people?"
"I don't know, but you can't throw it out. According to my mother, dumping any childhood memorabilia they saved dares the gods." Ford got his own Coke. "I have three boxes."
"I won't forget it's your fault I took possession of that stuff." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, tossed it on the counter. "However, as I didn't score female companionship last night, I went through some of it, came up with this. It's a card my grandfather gave my mother on the occasion of my birth. He wrote some stuff in it."
"Thanks. I owe you one."
"Damn right. I am now housing every report card I got from first grade