The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(60)

“That didn’t take long.”

“I told you it wouldn’t.” George turned and replaced his coat on the same hook he took it from. She immediately sized him up as a creature of habit. “Any visitors?”

“None.”

The next few weeks went quickly at work as she learned the ins and outs of a new job. Her schedule varied little other than the days of the week. Some weeks she worked three days, some four and others, all five. She was relieved that offices were closed on the weekends. It wasn’t long before she felt as if she had been there for years. It was comfortable, one of the few things in her life that was.





*


The weeks dragged by as she went about her days, the routines of life taking hold. Having a degree in history, this job had a special calling for her. This place held the history of the town and what happened within, and that got her to thinking about the little package she had found.

The next few weeks became nearly a cloak and dagger mystery. She had kept the package unopened, the faded paper and bow resting on her nightstand. She looked at it every day. It called to her, the one word written on the tag; Willy. She had made up her mind, she would find its owner.

During her lunch times or when it was just generally slow, she delved into the drawings and paperwork that told the story of 45 Front Street. She was impressed at how much paperwork a little old house brought to life. Then, the Monday after Thanksgiving, she pulled a roll of paper from a file drawer in the basement of the building. She could smell the must folded into the paper. Several large drawings were rolled together and tied with string, the words ‘45 Front’ written in grease pencil on the outside.

Her heart nearly skipped a beat as she ran back up the stairs, sprinting to the center table. She fumbled with the string, at last just cutting it with a scissors. The pages remained curled but she gingerly spread them out, weighting them down at the edges. Her eyes scanned the top page, coming down to the bottom corner and the name, Willy McGuiness.





*


The next week began a new adventure as Vicki Sumter had a new passion in life; she was now a detective. Knowing it would be too large of a job for just herself, she enlisted the help of her daughters and her mother-in-law. It soon became a game; who could find a clue? They poured over every list and form they could to find a clue to Willy McGuiness. After two weeks and endless internet searches, she was ready to give up until the door to the office opened, the bell a revealing tell. “Leave it to the pros,” she thought. That’s when she knew her words rang true as she turned and came face to face with the Chief of Police.

“Morning, Vicki.”

“Good morning, Chief.” Vicki laid her forms down and gave him a warm smile. “What brings you in today, Chief?”

“Just waiting for George. He’s to meet me here.”

“Well, since you’re waiting, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Suppose I was looking for someone, someone from a long time ago.” Vicki leaned on the counter, crossing her arms on the top. “What’s the best way to find them?”

“Got a name?”

“Willy McGuiness.”

“From how long ago?”

“I don’t really know, the forties, perhaps? I found something in the house that belongs to him. I’d like to return it.”

“That’s a long time ago,” he said, “But let me see what I can find.” The Chief turned as the bell behind chimed. “I’ll let you know.”

The next two days were near agony for her. Every time she walked by the phone she stared at it, willing it to ring, yet it stayed silent. The dreariness of New England weather started to take its toll as well. The pretty winter scenes on mugs and tapestries now hung only on calendars as the dark skies covered her world. She lifted a warm mug of coffee to her lips as the bell rang at noon and she watched the Chief step into her office.

“Got a name for me?”

“You don’t mince words, do you?” That quickly brought a smile. “Willy McGuiness fought in the war. He purchased that house you live in when he got married. He was killed in France.”

“Oh, that war.”

“Yes, that war. It was a long, long time ago.”

“What happened to his wife? I’m sure she married and changed her name.” Vicki’s posture said it all as she slumped onto the counter.

“His wife remarried, yes, but it was never the same. Her second husband died a few years ago.”

“How did you find all this out in just two days?” Again, her body language said it all as did the smile on her face.

“My uncle was a priest back in those days for the army. One of his duties stateside was to deliver the unfortunate news to families about their loved ones.”

“Oh my.” Vicki raised her hand to her lips. “That must have been terrible.”

“It is a burden he lives with to this day. He remembers every one of the families; has kept in touch with many of them over the years, as a matter of fact.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. That was his life.”

“Where can I find her?”


“She lives in the retirement home at St. Stephen’s. All I know is, she is very old and frail.”