Forgotten Boxes (6 page)

“This store stocks only items made in Vermont.”

“Really? Wow, that’s very… patriotic of him.”

Another shrug. “Good for business, both ways.”

“Well, I, for one, help support several Vermont products, even
though it’s not my home state. I am particularly loyal to Ben and Jerry’s, Keurig,
Cabot Cheese, Lake Champlain Chocolates, and, thanks to you, my new personal favorite,
maple cream.” The playful grin she flashed him morphed into a frown. “Wait. All
of those revolve around food, don’t they?” Mild worry teased her voice.

Tarn chuckled aloud. “Some of our finest products, by the way.”

If his voice was comparable to dark maple syrup, then his laugh
was like maple cream. The sound was rich, heady, and absolutely delicious. Charity
wanted to slather herself with the sound and drown in the excess.

“Mmm,” was all she could think to say.

“So you liked the maple cream?”

This time she nodded emphatically. “Undoubtedly the best thing
I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

“Told you so.” His words might have sounded smug, if not for
the intimate tone that slipped into his voice. It was as if they shared a secret
between just the two of them.

Rather belatedly, Charity noticed he had shaved since the last
time she saw him. He still had the mustache and beard, but the ends were trimmed
and shortened. His hair was trimmed, as well, and not nearly as unruly. Once she
stopped staring into his eyes, she realized more of his face was visible. He was
probably rather nice-looking beneath all the hair, she imagined. But with eyes like
his, the rest hardly seemed to matter.

They spoke at once. “What brings you to Vermont?” collided with
“I read up on maple syrup.” Both said “You first” at the same time. With a nervous
laugh, Charity yielded the floor with a wave of surrender.

“What brings you to Vermont? A couple of weeks early for leaf
peeping.”

She twirled the bottle of water between her hands. “My aunt died.
I came to settle her estate.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Me, too. The saddest part is, I never really knew her.”

“And she left you her estate?” he asked in surprise.

“I know, right? That was my reaction when I first heard the news.
But her husband died years ago, and they never had children. I was her only living
relative.” Sadness seeped into her voice.

“All done?”

“For the most part. I have a couple of loose ends to tie up before
I leave.”

“When will that be?” His voice came out sounding more dismal
than he intended.

“I-I’m not sure.”

The conversation stalled, neither knowing what to say or do next.
Charity made an attempt with a bright, “Guess what I found today at the other Dan’s?
I picked it up on my way out of town.”

When I went there looking for you.
She added the words
silently as she dug in her purse for the small brown sack.
I really should clean
this thing out more often
, she thought, searching all the way to the very bottom
before finding her trinket.

“Look. Isn’t this amazing?” she asked, unwrapping a small hand-carved
bird in perfect detail. “It’s one solid piece of wood and totally natural, but look
how the wood is lighter here on the breast of the bird. And look at the detail.
Can you imagine how long it took to carve this?”

A strange emotion choked around Tarn’s chest, making it difficult
to breathe. He knew exactly how long it had taken, because the carving was one of
his own. Her appreciation for his work made the tedious hours all worthwhile. He
glanced down to make certain the buttons of his shirt were still intact; pride,
after all, had a way of busting them wide open.

“That’s a hermit thrush, the Vermont state bird,” he told her.

“Well, it’s amazing, whatever it is. The wood is so smooth and
perfect.”

Like your skin.
He swallowed down the thought and said
instead, “Maple.”

“Even better!” she grinned. As she carefully re-wrapped her treasure,
she missed the look of wonder playing across his face.

A man pouring coffee from the nearby urn noticed the couple sitting
at the table and called out a greeting. “Morning, Tarn. What brings you down out
of your mountains today?” His voice boomed across the room, drawing more eyes their
way.

“Same as always. Deliveries.”

The man chuckled, sliding his gaze toward Charity. “Might be
a little something more, I see. Say, did you bring any one-gallon jugs down? Mildred
says we’re running low, and yours is the only tap she’ll buy.”

“Just put three on the shelf,” Tarn confirmed.

“I’d better hurry then, before they’re gone.” He tipped his fingers
to his cap as he ambled by. “Tarn. Ma’am.”

“Tarn?” They could hear the other voice speaking from around
the corner. “Where’d he get off to?”

Charity blushed when she heard the first man’s answer. “Talking
to a pretty little lady, that’s where.”

“Tarn?”

This time, Tarn’s face turned red. The unseen man was clearly
shocked at the mere prospect of Tarn and a woman.

“Guess I’d better get back to work,” he mumbled, color still
visible above his beard.

“And I have… a delivery to make.”

Once again faster than she gave him credit for, Tarn came round
to pull out her chair.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” he offered, taking her elbow.

She nodded. Halfway to the front door, she remembered her purpose
of stopping. “I was going to get chips…”

He snagged a bag off the end cap. “These kettle chips okay?”

“Fine.”

Tarn waved the bag in the air as they passed the register. “I’ll
pay in a minute,” he assured the cashier. He grabbed bottled water and a small bag
of hard candy before he opened the door and ushered Charity through.

“I can pay,” she protested.

“I got it.”

“Oh, uhm, okay. Thanks.”

His hand moved from her elbow to the small of her back. With
the giant of a man towering over her, Charity felt almost delicate. Caught up in
the glorious feeling, she almost walked past her car.

“Oh, this one’s it,” she said in something akin to surprise.

Her fingers were unsteady as she fished for her key fob and pressed
the ‘unlock’ button. Tarn crowded into her personal space, presumably because there
was a car parked in the adjacent spot. No matter the reason, her heart clattered
in response to his proximity.

“Guess this is goodbye,” he mumbled none too happily. Why, he
wondered, did he feel so miserable? Walking out to the car, his feet felt leaden,
like he was on his way to the guillotine.

“I don’t suppose you’ll show up at the other three Dan’s locations
if I stumble across them, will you?” Charity’s tone was as much hopeful as it was
teasing.

“Only if you give me your schedule.”

Surprising herself with her forwardness, Charity held her breath
as she handed him a business card. “Will my number do?”

“It’s a start.” His mustache lifted as he smiled. When he took
the card from her, his entire hand closed around hers.

They stood in a public parking lot in broad daylight, but the
moment was strangely intimate. “Thanks for the snacks,” she said, surprised when
her voice came out in a whisper.

“Maybe the candy will remind you of me.” His voice was low and
close.

“It will.” Any and everything would remind her of him, she was
sure.

Time stuttered between them. Charity stared into the beauty of
his eyes, committing each detail to memory. Tarn cataloged her features, taking
a mental snapshot of the twinkling blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, the cute
upturned nose, the healthy complexion of porcelain and pink.

He took a clumsy step forward.

She drew in a sharp, shaking breath.

He made a noise deep in his throat, something that could have
been a word, might have been a question.

She answered, placing a tentative hand on the breadth of his
broad chest. Beneath the flannel, his flesh was firm and solid. She could not resist
curling her fingers with just a little pressure, assuring herself there was more
there than muscle and bone.

Charity watched in wonder as his huge hand came up to her face.
He pushed away a strawberry lock, allowing his touch to linger. Charity turned her
face into his palm, amazed that her entire face, full cheeks and all, would fit
into his hand.

The gentle giant cradled her cheek in his palm. In his Grade-A
Very Dark and delicious voice, he poured out the sweetest words she had ever heard.
“Until next time, my beautiful Charity.”

Then he did the unthinkable.

He kissed her.

Charity almost missed her turn. She
was still reliving the magic of Tarn’s kiss, replaying every glorious sensation,
every delicious taste.

She popped another hard maple candy into her mouth from the bag
he had given her. Sucking on the sweetness, remembering his kiss that tasted much
the same, was almost a sensual delight. And yes, the man
did
taste like maple
syrup! Maybe he had maple candy in his mouth, maybe he had it flowing through his
veins. It didn’t matter; his kiss was deep, delicious, and sweet, and the most spontaneous
thing that had ever happened to her.

It did not matter that he was a total stranger. It mattered that
she might never see him again — the mere thought made her heart ache in the craziest
of ways. Nevertheless, she could not dwell on that fact. His kiss was the catalyst
she needed to break free of her stagnant rut. It was time to make changes in her
life.

She could not afford to stay in her apartment and she did not
want to move in with her stepsister, but Tarn’s kiss reminded her there were other
options. Nothing said she had to stay where she was. She had always liked Rockville;
maybe she would look for an apartment there.

She and Tarn, Chasity decided, were fated to meet. How else could
she explain running into him not just once, but twice? It was destiny. Sweet, delicious,
electrifying destiny.

Dozens of other adjectives floated around in her head, dancing
a happy tune upon her heart. She was sorting through the delightful descriptions
when she noticed the road sign coming up sharply on her right. With a stern lecture
to herself discounting the notion of love at first sight and why it was surely impossible,
she forced her thoughts away from Tarn the Mountain Man — the very man who called
her
his beautiful Charity! — and focused on the task at hand.

Dialing the number she found through her internet search, she
waited for the line to pick up.

“May I speak to Carl Upjohn, please?”

“Speaking.”

Charity cleared her throat and summoned up her most professional
voice. “Yes, this is KP Delivery. I have you on the schedule for a one p.m.  delivery,
sir. Will you be available for a signature at that time?”

“Who did you say this was?”

“KP Delivery, sir.”

“Never heard of you.”

“We’re a courier service, Mr. Upjohn. Will you be available to
sign for the package at that time?”

“Exactly what kind of package is this?” he asked, his tone filled
with suspicion. “Who sent it?”

“I’m afraid I do not have that information readily available,
sir. Our courier is already en route to your location.” She rattled off the address,
hoping it sounded as if she read from a computer screen. “That is the correct address,
isn’t it, Mr. Upjohn?”

His reluctance to answer was clear, but finally he answered with
a stiff, “Yes, that is correct.”

“Thank you, sir. You should have your package in approximately
twenty-three minutes. Have a good day, Mr. Upjohn. And thank you for using KP Delivery.”

She thought she heard him mutter something about not having a
choice, but she had already punched the end button. Besides, her adrenaline was
flowing, flying high after a successful first contact. No point letting his skepticism
bring her down.

At the rate she was driving, she would be there much too early.
She found a place to pull off the road and wait out her arrival time. She practiced
her speech as the minutes ticked away, meticulously planning what she would say.

Two minutes before one, she pulled into the driveway marked as
Carl Upjohn’s. The moment the door opened and she saw the plump, middle-aged man
roll his wheelchair onto the porch, the carefully crafted words died upon her tongue.

“You’re the courier?” he asked, his eyes watchful as she slid
from the unmarked car with a small package in her hands.

“Yes.” Her voice lacked the confidence of their telephone conversation.
She came forward hesitantly, her mind suddenly filled with more questions than answers.
“Carl Upjohn?”

“That’s me.”

“My name is Charity Gannon, and I have a package for you.” When
he reached for the box, she held back. “But first, I’d like to visit with you, if
you don’t mind. I have… I have a story to tell you.”

The man studied her for a few moments, then nodded to the bench
behind him. He rolled his chair out of the way so she could pass.

“Mr. Upjohn, do you remember a small start-up company in the
early 80’s by the name of Kingdom Parcel?”

The man’s forehead puckered with concentration. He looked to
be in his early to mid-fifties, with brown hair turning gray around the edges and
eyes that were sharp with intelligence. After a moment of thought, he nodded his
head. “I haven’t heard that name in ages, but yes, I remember. They didn’t last
long. But then again, most of them don’t, not against the big boys.”

“I don’t know the particulars, Mr. Upjohn, but on that last fateful
day of business, it seems that not all the packages were delivered.”

“I don’t think I understand. Wasn’t… didn’t their driver get
killed? Yes, I remember now, out on Route 14. His truck broke down on the side of
the road and he was found shot to death.”

“I-I didn’t even know that much,” Charity admitted. Her mind
raced with new possibilities, but she reined in her thoughts. Her mission here was
not done. “You see, the driver was my aunt’s husband, and she recently passed away.
While going through her effects, I discovered some undelivered packages. Again,
I have no idea how it happened, but somehow the boxes must have been forgotten over
the years. I know it’s over thirty years late in arriving, but I believe this belongs
to you, Mr. Upjohn.”

The man stared at the small box she offered. With a hesitance
rife with dread, he slowly reached for the package. Head bowed, his hand was unsteady
as he traced the return address. Instead of ripping the package open as Charity
expected, he simply turned it over in his hands several times.

Fairly squirming with the need to know what was inside, Charity
nonetheless forced herself to ask, “I’m sorry. Would you-Would you prefer that I
leave?”

The startled expression in his eyes told her he had forgotten
she was there. Not wanting to intrude any further on his private moment, Charity
started to rise.

“No, stay. Now it’s my turn to tell you a story.”

She sank back onto the bench, eager to hear what he had to say.

Carl Upjohn cleared his throat and stared down at the package
in his hands. Charity waited patiently for him to begin his tale.

“My father was a chiropractor, just as his father was before
him. There was never any question that I would follow in their footsteps and take
over the family practice. By the time I was twenty-one, my entire future had been
mapped out, including the woman I would marry.” He cleared his throat again. Obviously,
it was an emotional story for him to tell, even after all these years. “Marissa
Colburn was a beautiful young woman I had known most of my life. Our fathers were
old friends and our families vacationed together in the summers at Kennebunkport.
Marissa and I shared the same background, the same values, the same goals for the
future. Or we were supposed to, at any rate.” Carl Upjohn shifted his gaze to the
trellis of roses at the end of the porch. He stared with unseeing eyes as he admitted,
“You see, I didn’t want to become a chiropractor. And even though I loved Marissa,
I wasn’t sure I
liked
her. She could be very … goal-oriented, very image
conscious. It very much mattered to her what other people thought.

“I ignored my reservations and decided to propose to her anyway.
She was part of my predestined future, after all. I knew I couldn’t propose without
a ring, not to a girl like Marissa, so I found a suitable ring in St. Johnsbury
and ordered it fit for her finger. I planned an elaborate romantic dinner, telling
her I had something important to discuss with her. Come to think of it, I all but
announced my intentions to propose.” He chuckled at his own foolishness.

“As the big day grew closer, the ring still had not arrived.
I called the store and they assured me it had been shipped and was scheduled for
immediate delivery. When it still had not arrived on the big day, I knew I had to
have a back-up plan. I decided to look for a smaller cocktail ring or perhaps a
necklace, something to give her until the ring actually arrived. So I found a jewelry
store in Montpelier and walked inside.”

The man in the wheelchair collected a deep breath in his lungs
and let it go on a slow exhale. His voice turned reverent as he relived the moment
he described to her. “There was a young woman behind the counter, waiting on another
customer. She had hair the color of a new penny and more freckles than I had ever
seen in my life. And she had a huge, wide, beautiful smile that was almost as big
as she was. So right there in the middle of a crowded jewelry store, on the day
I was prepared to propose to another woman, I took one look at that little redheaded
pixie and fell immediately in love.”

Caught up in the gentle cadence of his voice, Charity was mesmerized
with his story. “What did you do?” she whispered, enthralled in suspense.

Carl Upjohn chuckled. “I wandered around the store, waiting for
her to be free. Every time another salesperson came up, I told them I was just looking,
until finally
she
came up and asked. That’s when I discovered her eyes were
green, the same shade as spring’s new grass. And in that instant, I knew I wanted
to spend the rest of my life looking into those eyes. And I wanted to see them in
my children, and my grandchildren.”

Goosebumps of delight prickled Charity’s skin. What an enchanting
love story! She was, after all, a romantic at heart, even if her own love life was
sadly lacking.

“I couldn’t very well tell her the real reason I was there. I
pretended to be looking for a gift for my sister. She was so easy to talk to and
our personalities were suited so well. I lingered at one display after another,
monopolizing her time. Her manager came over several times, thinking to speed things
along, but each time I assured him I was making multiple purchases.” Again, he chuckled.
“That little excursion cost me almost a thousand dollars, but every penny was worth
ten times its weight in gold. I even managed to talk her into showing me what sort
of engagement ring she would want for herself. It was small and perfect, just like
her. Totally unpretentious. I even had her try it on. And then, two hours before
my big fateful date with Marissa was scheduled to begin, I heard myself proposing
to a woman I had known for only two hours.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. Of course, I pretended it was in jest. She pretended
to be joking when she said yes. But when I left that jewelry store an hour later,
I knew I would be back to buy that ring.”

“You were in there three hours?”

He confirmed her quick calculations with a nod. “Long enough
to know what I had to do. I went on my date with Marissa, found out she was no more
eager to get married than I was, came back home, and called Lucy. One week later,
I went back to the jewelry store, took her on a picnic in the park, and put that
little ring on her finger. It’s been there ever since.”

Charity clasped her hands together in delight. Her eyes shone
with emotion. “What a beautiful love story!”

“Lucy and I have been married for thirty-one years. We have three
children — all with green eyes, by the way — four delightful grandchildren, and
I have everything and more that any man could ever hope for. Lucy encouraged me
to break away from the family mold and pursue my love of writing, so now I have
a wonderful career and a wonderful family. Eight years ago, I was in a car accident
and lost the use of my legs. If I had been a chiropractor as planned, my career
would have been over. As a writer, it makes no difference what chair I sit in. I
know without a doubt that, had I been married to Marissa, she would not have been
able to cope with my disability. But Lucy has been not only my private nurse but
my personal coach, my own little five-foot warrior who refuses to offer me any slack
just because my legs don’t work.” A warm laugh accompanied his words. “With that
woman by my side, it’s impossible for me to feel sorry for myself. I am the luckiest
man in the world.”

Carl looked back down at the package in his hands. “So you see,
that missed delivery was the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t even imagine
what my life would have been like if that ring had arrived and I had given it to
Marissa. I can’t fathom a life without Lucy and my children. They are my entire
world.” He shook the box only enough to hear the telltale rattle inside.

Pursing his lips decisively, he handed the package back to Charity.
“You take it. I don’t need this anymore.”

Charity gasped. “You-You can’t be serious! There’s a diamond
ring inside that box!”

“I can buy a hundred more diamond rings. I can never buy another
Lucy.”

“B-B-But…”

“Believe me, Miss Gannon; this forgotten box is best left forgotten.”