Until There Was You(7)
“He’s already eaten three donuts,” Posey said. “You have to up the ante, Al. Maybe a filet mignon.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Al said, getting back into the giant brown truck. “Have a good day, Posey.”
“You’re such a baby,” Posey told her dog. “Some watchdog you’d make. You’d hide and watch the killers hack me to pieces, wouldn’t you?” With the UPS truck safely gone, Shilo gave a fond woof and licked Posey’s wrist with his massive tongue.
Last year, Posey had made the mistake of going to the pound. Being adopted herself, she’d taken one look into Shilo’s red-rimmed eyes and just couldn’t say no. Bad enough that she’d inherited three cats with the church she’d bought, now she owned a 150-pound black-and-white Great Dane whose talents seemed to be sleeping, baying and cowering from deliverymen. He was, however, deeply devoted to Posey during his waking hours and didn’t quite realize that he outweighed her by a third; he often tried to sit on her lap (and succeeded more often than not).
Now that he was safe from Big Brown, Shilo went to sniff the pair of giant concrete lions from the old library up in Maine. Though her parents often frowned over why Posey had devoted her career to things that had outlived their purpose, Posey felt just the opposite. Salvage was practically a religion to her. Someone would want these things—the barbershop pole all the way from the Bronx, the wheel from an old tugboat, the stained-glass windows from an old Victorian, the chipped gargoyle from a church in Winooski—and they’d be cherished and enjoyed once more, and Posey’s job would be done.
But now it was donut time. Today was Thursday, the day when her two closest pals came over for goodies after school. Jon, her brother’s longtime partner, and Kate, Posey’s friend from grammar school, were both teachers at Bellsford High. Jon taught home-ec and was quite adored by the students… Kate, as phys-ed teacher, was not. Each year without fail, the seniors would dedicate the yearbook to their beloved Mr. White, something Jon enjoyed lording over the other teachers.
“Hi, guys!” Posey called, holding the door for her dog, who trotted happily inside, licking his chops. Three cream-filled pastries had apparently not been enough.
“Hi, Posey! How are you?” Elise Wooding, one of Posey’s two employees, beamed at her as if it had been years since they’d seen each other, not two hours. “How was Vivian today?”
“Well, she was Vivian,” Posey answered. “She didn’t love my haircut. And she didn’t sign anything, of course. Down East Salvage is taking her to dinner on Friday, as she told me three times. She showed me the date on her BlackBerry, just in case I was getting cocky.” Though a hundred and one years old, Viv was quite current when it came to the latest tech.
Vivian Appleton was the owner of The Meadows, a glorious old Victorian home on ten acres of land. The house was stunning—a three-story Victorian with ornate fireplaces and a butler’s kitchen, curved staircases and window seats. Every corner seemed to offer a treasure, whether it was an iron heating grate or a slipper tub as pretty as a calla lily. Viv didn’t live there anymore, having moved to a swanky elderly housing complex in Portsmouth. For more than two years, Vivian had been dangling the rights to The Meadows in front of every salvage operation in New Hampshire, Maine and Vermont.
Vivian’s heirs, four grand-nieces and-nephews, planned to tear down the beautiful old house, the caretaker’s cottage and the barn and sell the land, with its orchards and stream, to a developer. It was a tragedy, Posey thought. But the heirs—or the Vultures, as Viv called them—would get more for the land than they could for the house and property, and Vivian was determined to let them do as they wished—some sense of Yankee familial duty or something. But if the house was going to be torn down, Posey wanted to be the one who did it. It would be like giving last rites to a much-loved friend, and she and Mac, her pathologically shy carpenter, would take the time to do it right, with care and respect, and yes, even love.
Despite being something of a diva, Viv recognized Posey’s love for the place and had given her the code to the alarm system. About once a week, sometimes more, Posey went out to The Meadows, just to walk around the empty house and still-lovely grounds, check the roof in the winter, make sure the place was untouched by vandals or kids.
“She’ll sign with us? Right? I just know it.” Elise had the habit of making all her comments into questions, but she was a sweet girl—only six years younger than Posey, but seeming much more. “Oh, right? I forgot? Brianna’s here already. With Mac?” Elise blushed from her cle**age on up—she’d had a crush on Mac since the day she started here two years ago.
Posey went to the back of the barn, where Mac, balding, stoic and solid, did restoration work on pieces that needed repair or refinishing. He was talking (a rare occurrence), his voice low, telling Brianna how to see the difference between oak and maple. Brie looked up in relief.
“There you are. You’re late. I’m reporting you.” Brianna folded her chubby arms across her chest and glared, then relented when Shilo trotted up to her and licked her elbow.
“Hi, Mac,” Posey said. Her right-hand man nodded at her. A man of few words, Mac, but the reason Posey could run Irreplaceable. “You guys hungry? I brought donuts.”
“Duh. Yes. Aren’t you? Aren’t you always hungry?” Brie said.