The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade Read Free Page B

Already the image of the entry hall she would create loomed clearly in her mind’s eye. Comfortable and welcoming, something that would set people at ease the moment they stepped through the doorway. Not too much furniture, or it would feel crowded. A simple runner on the floor, a few old-fashiony pictures on the walls. A small table, a coat rack, and maybe an antique wooden bench. She’d always admired those. The handrail on the stairway would take on a regal gleam with a little polish and a lot of work.
    When Albert came out of the bathroom in his pajamas, she casually set the magazine face-down on her nightstand.
    â€œThat yard is mammoth,” he announced as he slid beneath the comforter beside her. “Do you know how long it would take to mow it?” He pounded his pillow, a tad more violently than necessary, and settled his head into the indentation.
    â€œYou could buy a riding mower.” The moment the suggestion left her mouth, she realized her mistake.
    Albert sat straight up. “Do you know how much those things cost?” Accusation sparked in the glare he turned on her. “I’m not made of money, you know. I’m retiring in three years. Three years, Millie. We need to start tightening our belts. Saving our pennies. Stretching every dime.”
    â€œYou sound like Violet,” she remarked mildly.
    Momentarily distracted, his mouth snapped shut. Violet’s constant use of clichés drove her husband insane.
    â€œIn this case, it’s justified. Mildred Richardson, you’ve gotten an idea in that head of yours and it’s addled your brains. You’re not thinking clearly. We need to be on the same page, now more than ever.” He warmed visibly to his topic. “Retirement looms, Millie. It looms over us like clouds on the horizon. Those clouds can be white and fluffy”—the heavy creases on his brow deepened—“or they can be dark and threatening.”
    Oh, dear. His voice had taken on the dramatic tone of a bad Shakespearian actor. Never a good sign.
    â€œDon’t take on so, dear. Remember your blood pressure.”
    â€œI am remembering my blood pressure,” he countered. “What do you think my blood pressure will be when I’m seventy-two years old and forced to go back to work because we’ve spent all our money fixing that behemoth of a house? By then the computer industry will have left me behind. My skills will be obsolete.” Reproach settled over his features. “I’ll have to go to work as a Walmart greeter. Is that what you want, Millie?”
    â€œNow you’re just being ridiculous.” She rearranged her pillow. “You act as if the house were ready to collapse, and you haven’t even seen it. For all you know it might be in perfect condition. It could be a real bargain. Maybe even an opportunity to make money.”
    There. Though that was definitely a broad hint at step two in her plan, it wouldn’t hurt to let him ponder the idea of making money. She turned off the light on her nightstand and slid lower beneath the comforter. “The least you could do is look at the house so we know what we’re turning down.”
    In the silence that followed, she turned onto her side—facing Albert, because after all tomorrow was their anniversary and she did love him and didn’t want him to think she was angry with him even though he was being stubborn—and closed her eyes in preparation for sleep.
    â€œFine. I’ll look at it.”
    Surprised, Millie’s eyes flew open. “You will?”
    â€œAs an anniversary present.” His expression hardened. “And just so you know, while we’re inspecting the house I intend to point out all the flaws and pitfalls of this crazy scheme so you will put it out of your mind once and for all.”
    Of course he would. But getting him through the door was an important step, and it had happened rather more easily than