The Most Famous Illegal Goose Creek Parade (7 page)

Doc clapped a hand on Fred's arm. “Give her a chance, will you? She's going to be a good vet.” He held a hand out to Lizzie. “Ready?”

Watching the couple stroll hand-in-hand down the sidewalk,
Millie's irritation with Albert softened. Yes, he was irksome at times, but she loved him. In twenty years, she fully intended to be walking down this street, holding his hand, just like Doc and Lizzie.

The group headed out and bid Fred goodbye when he turned left on Cross Street. At the next intersection, Jacob and Doris veered off, leaving Millie, Albert, and Violet to cover the last block on their own.

“Would you like to come for lunch?” Millie asked her neighbor when they reached Mulberry Avenue. “We're having leftover roast beef from last night.”

Before Violet could answer, Albert spoke. “Actually, we're not having lunch at home today. We're going out.”

Surprised, she looked at him. “We are? Where?”

“It's a secret.”

She studied him. A smile hovered around his lips, giving him a satisfied air. In fact, he looked quite pleased with himself. She felt a rush of warmth toward him. No doubt this lunch was an attempt to apologize for his brusqueness yesterday. He knew she was still irritated with him, and this was his way of making amends. How sweet.

“I'll take a rain check then,” Violet said as she veered off the sidewalk toward her front door. “Call me later.”

Naturally, she would expect a full report on Albert's secret plans.

Millie waved. “I will.”

Al sat on the edge of the dock and swung his feet into the canoe. He planted his weight and tested his balance before reaching up to take the picnic basket from Millie.

“I still can't believe it.” Happy tears sparkled in her eyes as she handed the basket down to him. “When did you arrange this?”

“Last night, while you were out front talking to Violet. It was too late to go then, on our actual anniversary. I'm sorry I didn't think of it earlier in the day.”

He truly was sorry. Had he remembered about this manmade lake
on the outskirts of Lexington earlier, he might have spared himself the misery of his wife's tight-lipped silence over the most uncomfortable anniversary dinner they'd ever spent. He drove by this neighborhood twice a day on his commute, and knew his coworker had built one of the giant new homes that circled the lake. Last summer Ben had showed him pictures of his kids paddling their inflatable canoe around the lake. All it had taken was a phone call, and he received permission to borrow the canoe for a few hours. Ben had blown it up with his air compressor last night, and his wife had even volunteered to pack a picnic lunch for them so he wouldn't have to tell Millie of the plans until they arrived.

Judging by her tearful and almost speechless reaction, this surprise would go a long way toward restoring matrimonial harmony in the Richardson home.

“Don't apologize,” she told him. “This just makes our anniversary last longer.”

The basket stowed behind his bench seat, he helped her down from the dock. The canoe pitched unsteadily, and she emitted a nervous giggle. “It's not as sturdy as a rowboat.”

“No indeed.”

Al held on to the dock to steady the craft while she got settled on her bench. She sat facing him, the way she would in a regular boat. The seats were so close together they had to sit almost sideways, knees pointing at opposite angles. If Ben's family were watching from their house, no doubt they were enjoying a good laugh at the thought that the old folks didn't know what they were doing. They'd be wrong. This wasn't a canoe lesson. It was a date.

When they felt comfortable with their balance, Al took up the plastic paddle and shoved off. The craft drifted slowly away from shore. He plunged the blade into the water and pulled. The canoe shot across the smooth surface, and then Millie's end swerved inward. Another stroke, this one not quite as swift, and their circle continued, pointing them toward the shore.

“It might take me a minute to get the hang of this.” Al lifted the paddle and swung it to the other side.

“Oh!” A surprised exclamation escaped her lips, and she ducked forward. The paddle blade swept over her head, narrowly missing her skull, and the canoe teetered unsteadily.

“Sorry,” Al muttered.

He plunged the oar into the water, feeling the drag on his shoulders as the canoe's spin halted. A few experimental strokes later, he achieved the right amount of effort, and the boat moved more or less smoothly toward the center of the lake.

“There.” Satisfied, he slid the paddle beneath their seats. Though he'd been glad of his jacket a moment before, the exertion warmed him enough to produce a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. No doubt his muscles would complain about the unaccustomed activity later.

“Nicely done,” Millie told him.

“Thank you.” He glanced around. Houses surrounded the lake, all of them big and expensive-looking with windows facing their direction. “Not as private as the last time, I'm afraid.”

“But every bit as romantic.” The smile she gave him was even more dazzling than the sunlight that sparkled on the gently rippling water.

When they had eaten the sandwiches and carrots dipped in Ranch dressing provided by Ben's wife, Al pulled a small book of poetry from his pocket.

She glanced at the cover, and her expression became soft. “Robert Burns. You remember.”

“Of course I remember.” He turned to the page he'd marked this morning. A Red Red Rose. The poem that had defined their love so beautifully forty years before was even more perfect now. When he reached the third verse, his voice became husky.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

I will luve thee still, my dear

While the sands o' life shall run.

She leaned forward and pressed her fingertips to his cheek, her gaze soft. “Thank you for bringing me here. I'm sorry I was so cranky last night.”

“I'm sorry too.” He looked down at the book to turn a page. When he raised his gaze again, her smile had taken on a slightly rigid look. “What?”

“Do you mean you're sorry you were cranky last night, or you're sorry I was cranky?”

He cocked his head, considering. “Both, I guess.”

Wrong answer. Her nostrils flared the way they did when she was angry, and the air between them dropped a frosty fifteen degrees.

A bit of backpedaling was definitely in order.

“What I mean is, we were both upset and I'm sorry that ruined our anniversary dinner.” No change in her expression. “Not that the dinner was ruined. The food was wonderful, as always. It's the mood that was ruined, and that wasn't your fault.” He rushed on, lest she think he was conceding his position. “Or mine either. It was because of that blasted house.”

“The
blasted house
that I happen to love,” she shot back.

Her tone grated on his nerves. “That house is a disaster. It's falling apart. You saw it with your own eyes. I was afraid to walk through the place without a hardhat.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Peeling wallpaper doesn't constitute a disaster, and it certainly isn't dangerous.”

“Rotted roof trusses are.”

“How do you know the trusses are rotten? You didn't even go into the attic.” Her lips pressed into a hard line.

With an effort, Al managed to reply in an even, if tight, tone. “The price is eight hundred thousand dollars, Millie. We can't afford it.”

“They would take five fifty.”

Surprised, Al's irritation receded a fraction. That was more than thirty percent below the asking price. “Why would the Updykes let their family home go for so little?”

“I told you the other day. They need money.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did Louise tell you what they'd settle for?” If so, the woman should have her real estate license revoked for unethical practices.

But Millie shook her head. “Louise told me the Updyke brothers would entertain any offer, but Violet heard the number from Cheryl, who got it from Laura, who is still friends with Sammy Updyke's wife.”

A fairly reliable chain of information, he had to admit. The number had probably been reduced a few times to inflate the juiciness of the gossip, but even if the Updykes' actual bottom price was six hundred thousand, that would be twenty-five percent lower than—

He jerked upright, causing the canoe to wobble. What was he
thinking
?

“The repairs would probably be at least a hundred thousand,” he told his wife.

“We could do a lot of the work ourselves.” She leaned toward him and planted her elbows on her knees. “My friends and I can strip the wallpaper, and we can certainly do the painting. You're handy with a hammer and screwdriver, so you can do a lot of the fixing up yourself. For the bigger stuff, Laura knows a young man over in Frankfort who just started his own home repair business. She says he's very good and his rates are reasonable.”

Good golly, she had the whole thing planned already. This was no spur-of-the-moment idea. She'd spent time looking into it.

“But Millie, we don't
need
six bedrooms and seven fireplaces. And while I admit that back porch would be nice—”

“I knew you'd love that,” she put in, her tone bright with excitement.

Al continued. “The fact is we can't afford to wipe out our savings three years before we retire.”

“It wouldn't wipe out our savings.”

True. They had always lived frugally, and had been planning for retirement from the early years of their marriage. “It would certainly put a huge dent in them.”

She averted her gaze toward the gently rippling water beside them. “What if the house
made
money for us?”

“Huh?”

“Once we got it fixed up, I think the Updyke house would pay for itself.”

“You mean, fix it up and resell it? Like that TV show,
Flip or Flop
?”

“No.” One delicate finger trailed across the canoe's rubber edge as she spoke. “I mean we could open a bed and breakfast.”

In the silence that followed, Al replayed the words in his mind. Individually, he understood every one, but strung together like that, they made no sense. Surely his wife, the love of his life, his levelheaded Millie, had not just suggested that they launch a new business at the time when they were finally ready to kick back and enjoy themselves.

“Excuse me.” He put a finger in his ear and shook it dramatically. “For a moment I thought you said you wanted to open a hotel.”

“Not a hotel. A bed and breakfast.” She leaned toward him, enthusiasm dancing in her eyes. “I've always wanted to run one. You know how I love to entertain, and I have such marvelous decorating ideas. It would be tremendous fun, like having houseguests every night.”

Definitely not his idea of fun. “Who in their right mind would want to visit Goose Creek?”

“Horse race enthusiasts,” she replied. “Keeneland Race Course is just fifteen miles away, and the Kentucky Horse Park, and all the thoroughbred farms, and of course there's the Derby. And all the wineries in the area, and the Bourbon Trail. And the state capital in Frankfort. Besides, people would love the chance to stay in a Victorian house on a beautiful property.”

Who
was
this woman?

He reached out and gripped her shoulders. “Millie, listen to yourself. We're about to
retire
. Our house is paid for, our kids grown. We have no commitments, nothing to tie us down. I want to travel, to visit places we've never seen. The Grand Canyon. Florida. San Francisco. Yellowstone and Old Faithful.” He released her and waved his
hands expansively. “There's a whole country full of places we've never been to, just waiting for us to discover them.”

“Albert, be reasonable. Do you know how much airline tickets are these days? And hotel rooms?”