Tribute

the now familiar sound of whoosh-bang! to the living room.
    She stood on a ladder shooting nails into window trim.
    “You’re working.” It was an accusation.
    She glanced back. “A little. I wanted to see how this trim looks against the paint since my father finished it. I still can’t believe he painted all this, and so well. If he didn’t have a job, I’d hire him.”
    “Is there coffee?”
    “Yes, there is. Spock’s out back. He fears the nail gun.”
    “Minute.”
    He heard more whoosh-bang ing behind him as he dragged himself into the kitchen. The coffeemaker stood on a small square of counter as yet undemoed. Shielding his eyes from the sunlight blasting through the windows, he found a mug, poured. After the first couple sips, the light seemed more pleasant, and less like an alien weapon designed to blind all humankind.
    He drank half the mug standing where he was, and after topping it off felt mostly awake. Carrying it with him, he walked back to the living room and watched her work for a few minutes while the caffeine wove its magic.
    She stood on the floor now, fitting the diagonal edges of the bottom piece to the sides she’d already nailed up. In what struck him as wizard-fast time, the dark, wide trim framed the window.
    She set the gun down, took several steps back. He heard her whisper, “Yes, exactly.”
    “It looks good. What did you do with what was there before?”
    “This is what was there before, or mostly. I had to build the sill to match because it was damaged.”
    “I thought it was white.”
    “Because some idiot along the way slapped white paint on this gorgeous walnut. I stripped it. A little planing, a little stain and a couple coats of poly, and it’s back to its original state.”
    “Huh. Well, it looks good. I didn’t get the paint color until now. Thought it looked a little dull. But it looks warmer against the wood. Like, ah, a forest in the fog.”
    “It’s called Shenandoah. It just seemed right. When you look out the windows in this room, it’s the mountains, the sky, the trees. It’s just right.” She walked back, picked up another piece of trim.
    “You’re still working.”
    “We don’t have to leave for . . .” She looked at her watch, calculated. “About ninety minutes. I can get some of this trim run before I have to get ready.”
    “Okay. I’m taking the coffee and my dog and heading across the road. I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half.”
    “Great. But you might want to put some pants on first.”
    He glanced down at his boxers. “Right. I’m going to put on pants, possibly shoes, take the coffee and so on.”
    “I’ll be ready.”
    HE DIDN’T EXPECT her to be ready. Not because she was female, but because he knew what often happened when he himself got lost in the work. If he didn’t set an alarm, being late, or in fact missing an appointment or event altogether, was the norm.
    So it surprised him when she came out of the house even as he stopped in front of it. And her appearance left him momentarily speechless.
    She’d left her hair down, as she rarely did, so it spilled dark, aged gold, down her back. She wore a dress of bright red swirled against white, with a kind of thin and floaty skirt and thin straps that set off those strong shoulders.
    With his paws planted on the window, Spock leaned out. Ford translated the series of sounds the dog made as the canine version of a wolf whistle.
    He got out of the car—he just had to—and said, “Wow.”
    “You like? Check this.” She did a turn, giving him a chance to admire the low dip of the back with the flirt of crisscrossing ties.
    “And again, wow. I’ve never seen you in a dress before, and this one pulls out some stops.”
    Instant distress ran across her face. “It’s too much, too fussy for a backyard cookout. I can change in five minutes.”
    “First, over my dead body. Second, ‘fussy’ is the last word I’d use. It’s great. You look all summery sexy, ice-cream-sundae cool. Only now I wish I’d thought to take you out where you’d wear dresses. I feel a fancy dinner coming on.”
    “I prefer backyard picnics.”
    “They are permanently top of my list.”
    SHE’D EXPECTED IT to be awkward initially, the introductions, the mixing. But she knew so many of the people there that it was as easy and pleasant as Matt’s backyard with its generous deck and smoking grill.
    Josie, Matt’s pretty and very pregnant wife, snatched Cilla away from Ford almost