Forget Me Not. Marion Ekholm

to function.”

      “Whew. What’s got his dander up?” They both watched Craig’s determined stride into the house.

      “I haven’t a clue,” she said barely above a whisper.

      “So, Trish, you planning on staying here, living in your grandmother’s old house?”

      They continued to talk while Marty filled the oil tank. “You’ve got to come by and see Mary Ellen and the girls.”

      “I’d love to.”

      “And what’s up with Craig? Hostile. I only asked about Cyndi because everyone knows they’re dating.”

      “I’ll ask him.”

      When he was through, Trish went into the house to find Craig. She followed the banging noises coming from the basement. “This should work. It’s primed.” He stood, brushing off his hands. “Why don’t you stop by and see my mother? She was asking about you. The furnace will take an hour or two before it warms the whole house. I noticed before your hands were freezing.”

      He reached over and grasped her hands again. His felt decidedly warm and comforting. “What did you mean before?” she asked.

      “Before what?” They started up the stairs.

      “About zero kids. Does Cyndi feel the same way?”

      When they reached the hall, Craig stopped to feel the register. “This won’t warm up until the water flowing through it is heated.”

      Trish pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Why wouldn’t you want kids? When you talked about your brother...”

      “In case you haven’t noticed, Trish, my brother doesn’t have a father. Dad didn’t even reach fifty, and heart conditions run in my family. I’m not bringing children into this world if I might not see my own son through college or dance at my daughter’s wedding.”

      “What about Cyndi? How does she feel about this?”

      “The subject hasn’t come up.”

      “Well, it should if you’re planning to get married.”

      “Who said we’re getting married?”

      “Didn’t you say...?”

      “We’ve dated. Nothing more than that. And I can’t help it if some of our nosy classmates come up with their own interpretation.” He maneuvered past her. “I’d better get back on the roof and see how things are going up there.”

      Trish watched him, feeling a terrible ache. What if her parents had decided not to have children? She had often felt unwanted, as though she interfered with their lifestyle. They rarely took vacations as a family. Her parents liked adult entertainment—a trip to Las Vegas, a cruise to the Caribbean. Most of the time she was dropped off with her grandmother whenever her parents went on a trip. The few times they did go as a family, it often included Craig’s parents.

      Not that Trish had any regrets. She camped, hiked and played with Craig and his parents, so she knew firsthand what a family should be like.

      She and Harrison planned to have many children, something they’d talked about at great length when he proposed. She’d raise them differently from how she’d grown up.

      No sending her children off for someone else to care for. She’d play with her kids, get involved in their lives and help them with their homework, something her parents never did. Homework was done at Gram’s, usually with Craig’s help. Her father didn’t get involved in any physical recreation, but Craig’s dad often participated in softball or went for bike rides. All the things she couldn’t get her own parents to join in. Now they roamed the country “playing” in their RV.

      Maybe Craig had a point: don’t have kids if you really don’t want them. Trish planned to be a stay-at-home mom, and Harrison had agreed. Thank goodness they were both on the same page.

CHAPTER SIX

      TRISH WALKED OVER to Franklin Avenue and headed to Craig’s aunt’s home. She paused in front of the two-story Cape Cod structure built at the end of World War II. It was similar to the one Trish had lived in down the street. The homes had serviced returning GIs, one of them Craig’s grandfather. When he died, the house went to his oldest daughter, Jenny.

      A flag fluttered by the door, snapping close to her head, and she pushed it aside. Before Trish could ring the bell, the door opened.

      “I thought it was you.” Rachel came out and swept Trish into an embrace. “Come in, come in. I want you to meet Noah.”

      A young boy, a replica of Craig, avoided looking directly at her. He glanced up at his mother as Trish went down to one knee and held out her arms.

      “This is Butchy’s friend Trish. Say hello, Noah. Don’t be bashful.”