The Way They Were (33 page)

Angie Sorrento, (you remember, the girl with the frizzy hair and bandanas?), and I are talking about starting a business. Since my degree is in Art and Design and hers is in Marketing, and since we both LOVE dollhouses, we thought we’d make our own dollhouses. What’s the high concept? We’ll model them after the customer’s house, right down to the ceramic tile in the bathroom. Great idea, huh?

Angie will do the initial interviews, take pictures, etc, and then if I have to, I’ll travel to the customer’s home and get a more detailed assessment. Of course, I wouldn’t be traveling any more than a twenty mile radius since most of our customers will be friends, relatives, and referrals, but maybe one day, I’ll actually get to travel.

Maybe I’ll come to Chicago. Bad idea.
Very
bad idea.

Clay thinks Angie and I are crazy, but he says whatever makes me happy is fine by him. And I think I am happy. Finally. Maybe. Or at least I’m on my way to becoming happy.

Happy Graduation, wherever you are. I love you.

***

To file:

Client: Rourke Flannigan

Subject: Kate E. Redmond

Date: July 23, 2004

Ms. Redmond, Mr. Maden, and daughter packed up Ms. Redmond’s Toyota Corolla and drove to Huntington Lake where they proceeded to picnic on a red and blue plaid blanket.

How could you eat on the same blanket we made love on, Kate? Was it the same one? Did you think about that night while you were feeding your husband watermelon balls?

Mr. Maden and his daughter walked to the edge of the lake and spent approximately 20 minutes attempting to catch tadpoles. Attempt successful. Ms. Redmond remained on the blanket.

Ms. Redmond, not Mrs. Maden. Good job, Graves. How much extra do I pay you to remember that tidbit?

Ms. Redmond gathered up picnic basket and blanket at 3:25 p.m. and returned home with Mr. Maden and their daughter.

10:35 p.m.—Ms. Redmond left residence and returned to Huntington Lake where she spread out the same blanket and sat down, facing the lake. She was alone and remained there until 11:30 p.m. at which time she returned home. Downstairs light remained on until 2:10 a.m.

What were you doing, Kate? And why? Why, why, WHY?

***

How could Graves call her hair brown? Brown was the color of a mouse or manure. Kate’s hair had been streaked with golds and reds and when the sun hit it a certain way, he would have sworn he saw a glint of silver. Of course, she could have dyed it—brown- or red—or purple for all he knew.

Eyes: blue

God, he really would have to have Graves start a new profile. There were a hundred shades of blue. Kate’s blue matched the waters of the Caribbean on a perfect day when the sun beat across the surface and reflected back. Didn’t Graves know anything?

Height and build: five foot seven or thereabouts, svelte

The top of her head fit under his chin…Svelte? Christ, Graves. She’d had curves at eighteen. He wouldn’t think about that now. On the other hand, maybe having a kid and being married to a demolition contractor had given her no good reason to keep up with her appearance. Maybe that’s why Graves had her flitting around town in jeans and a Maden Demolition sweatshirt. Rourke didn’t know if that possibility filled him with relief or remorse.

Activites:

There was nothing listed this time. Why? Last year, Graves had reported she’d taken a Yoga class, started horseback riding lessons, and a pottery class.

Business: Dream Houses by Kate. Owner, Kate Madden. Designer of specialty dollhouses—interested in replicating your home in miniature? Call Kate Madden, designer, artist or Angela Sorrento, sales, marketing.

Angie Sorrento. Witch. He’d never cared for her and she’d never much liked him either, said he’d end up breaking Kate’s heart. If he’d succeeded, then they were even.

Financials: Clay & Kate Maden borrowed $50,000 against their line of credit at First National Bank. (Maden Demolition did not meet last year’s projections.)

Personal: Clay and Kate Maden signed for $100,000 equity loan.

I could have given you ten times that amount.

Rourke rifled through a few more pages of background information, none of which had changed in the past few years, and settled on the final two sheets. These were the pages that always held his interest. Graves had given him a strange look the first time he requested the information, but after the second report, he’d automatically provided the detail, and stopped asking questions.

Ms. Redmond, (Rourke insisted on using the name she had when she was eighteen), was spotted at Starbucks Cafe, drinking a Venti Sumatra and eating a medium slice of New York style cheesecake. Party was seated at a corner table, sketching on a pad with a #2 pencil. Attire—Levi jeans, dark wash
,
straight cut, flat front, red short-sleeved t-shirt with left pocket, white Nike tennis shoes—red swoosh. Jewelry—Seiko watch—black leather band, white face, gold wedding band, diamond engagement ring of less than 1/3 karat. Hair—pulled back in high pony tail, no makeup, no lipstick. Engaging smile.
Good God, Graves, engaging?
Remained at café for 1.35 hours with one refill.

In the eight years since he’d employed August Graves, the man had only questioned him once.
Why do you keep doing it, Rourke? Haven’t you tortured yourself enough?

The answer was the same now as it had been back then.
Apparently not.

Copyright 2011 by Mary Campisi

THE WAY THEY WERE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and situations are all products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to real persons, locales, or events, are purely coincidental.

About the Author

Mary Campisi should have known she’d become a writer when at age thirteen she began changing the ending to all the books she read. It took several years and a number of jobs, including registered nurse, receptionist in a swanky hair salon, accounts payable clerk, and practice manager in an OB/GYN office, for her to rediscover writing. Enter a mouse-less computer, a floppy disk, and a dream large enough to fill a zip drive. The rest of the story lives on in every book she writes.

When she’s not working on her craft or following the lives of five young adult children, Mary’s digging in the dirt with her flowers and herbs, cooking, reading, walking her rescue lab mix, Cooper, or on the perfect day, riding off into the sunset with her very own ‘hero’ husband on his Electra Glide Classic aka Harley.

Mary has published with Kensington, Carina Press, The Wild Rose Press, and Jocelyn Hollow Romance.

www.marycampisi.com

Mary loves to hear from readers at
[email protected]