Keeping Time: A Novel Read Free

his lack of doubt feeding her like nutrients.
    THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY. Already. The rain, continuing. Dennis’s call coming like clockwork. Ready for it, Daisy, picking up the phone, saying she had found someone else to mow her lawn and that he needn’t worry about such things anymore. Thanking him for having done it for so long.
    Her revelation, met with silence. Then sputtering, questions, apologies. Dennis, feeling his mother’s words were an accusation. In time, however, reconsidering. Seeing how reasonable it was. Why not get some kid to mow, pay him a few pounds? Dennis, suddenly quite pleased with the news. Not saying a word about The Carillion. Talking instead about Gabriel’s graduation party that was scheduled for the following day. Saying he would pick her up at three. Hanging up, his brain crowded with to-do lists.
    Daisy, feeling both good and bad—good because she had managed to get the news out about the kid and the mowing. Good because Dennis had accepted it. Bad because it was totally made up. She hadn’t actually done a thing about getting anyone to mow. Thank goodness for the rain. If it never stopped, she would never have to.
    She headed into the bathroom, ignoring the increasing drip, to get ready for lunch at the club. Stepping over the neatly organized href="page-te

THREE
    NOTHING TO IT. Just unscrew the shower head from the wall, peek into the shower stem, find the frayed washer in the valve, pluck it out, replace it with the new one, put the shower head back on, and screw it on tightly.
    Nothing to it.
    First thing Monday morning. Daisy, thinkingLet me see …plCr about her plumbing job during her tea and toast. Washing the plate and tea cup, deciding she needed more suitable work clothes.
    Heading to the wardrobe. Peering into it. Nothing. Everything too fine. Certainly no plumber would put on good clothes to set out for a day of work. Turning to her chest of drawers. Rummaging through them, not sure what she was looking for but assuming she would know it when she saw it.
    Nothing there sensible for shower repair, although she did find a pink sweater she hadn’t seen in years and now remembered how much she had liked it. Remembered buying it for their trip to Spain. Had a fleeting image of an outdoor café in Barcelona—that sweater, big white sunglasses, and a sun hat with a pink sash. Taking the sweater out, thinking how unlucky it was that Dot would be summering in Spain, probably not only this summer but every summer thereafter, unknowingly robbingDaisy of the only practical plan she had managed to come up with and relegating travel to the memories slot, not the upcoming events one.
    Of course it was hardly Dot’s fault. It was Daisy’s, and she knew it. She should be looking into tours for singles. Thinking maybe she would.
    Then thinking she most certainly would not. She had never traveled alone in her life and was unlikely to start now.
    She put the sweater in her dry-cleaning pile. Then, Daisy, out of the room, heading for the cellar, admonishing herself not to fritter away any more of the morning searching for clothes to wear to do the repair. She had to actually do the repair, because if she could get some experience with such basics as screwdrivers, hammers, nails, and pliers, she could stay in the house, send Dennis and Amanda on their way, and decide on her own if and when it was time to go.
    Down the stairs to the cellar, the old coal cellar that had been converted to laundry use and storage. Recalling a pair of old overalls that Paul used to wear. Thinking she probably would be able to find them, and use them, because they were held up by shoulder straps. It might feel good to wear something of his. He would be helping her change the frayed washer.
    It was damp in the cellar. How could it be anything but, with constant rain?
    She turned on the light and stood looking at the piles of boxes—some Paul’s, some hers. Thinking it would be interesting to see what was in