into debt. But if they didn’t run the risk and go for it, they’d never make more than they were now and… But could they even get a bank to loan them what it would take to… The monthly payments on that loan would be out of sight. Scary, very scary. But Sandra kept bringing up the subject of air-conditioning, making it clear she was tired of the hot apartment and…
Hell, he thought, hooking a hand over the back of his neck. He’d been chasing these kinds of thoughts around in his mind for weeks, driving himself crazy. It was definitely time to sit down with their accountant and start crunching some numbers as accountant types liked to say. Well, not today. He was going to enjoy his kids and cool off in the city pool, which would be packed with people but what the heck.
“We’re outta here,” David called. “Invent a new car when you finish studying, Henry Ford. We’re gone.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Henry said, flapping a hand in the air. “Go away and stop bothering me with the car jokes. My brother Roy says you always get in a zinger about when he’s going to get a horse, too.”
David laughed. “Well, what do you expect when a guy is named Roy Rogers Capelli? Come on, M and M, let’s go hit the waves.”
When Sandra finished putting away the clean wash she made a big fruit salad, minus blueberries, for dinner and set a package of ground meat on the counter to defrost.
If David barbecued outside, she decided, she wouldn’t have to turn the oven back on later and heat up the already stifling house even more. Good plan. She still needed to go to the grocery store for things that Westport’s Emporium didn’t carry, then maybe there would be time to finish her article on the award-winning roses blooming in Mrs. Barelli’s garden.
As she added things to her shopping list she heard the distant, familiar sound of the chugging mail truck and headed down to the lobby to collect the day’s offering. She retrieved the mail from the box, then walked slowly back to the elevator as she shuffled through the envelopes.
“Mmm,” she said, as she entered the living room upstairs again.
A letter addressed to David from Saunders University, she mused. That was odd. He wasn’t on the alumni mailing list—as only graduates were added to that multitude of people. So why were they sending something to David?
Sandra held the envelope up to the light, then tsked in disgust as her efforts did not reveal one clue as to the contents of the envelope. Darn it. Oh, well, it was probably a request for money even though David wasn’t an official graduate.
Sandra placed the mail in its designated spot on the credenza and headed back toward the kitchen. Her mind was once again focused on what she needed from the store, the envelope from Saunders University already forgotten.
Chapter Two
T he architect who designed the apartment building where the Westports lived had been very generous in regard to the size of the platform of the fire escape accessible through the window of the master bedroom.
Three years ago four families in the building, including the Westports, had put together a plan to spruce up the platforms. The men had provided the labor in the evenings, scraping, sanding, then painting each with glossy black enamel.
The women had supplied potluck dinners and also sewed puffy cushions to sit on to hopefully catch a breeze during the tormenting summers. Kettledrum barbecues were purchased and delicious aromas wafted through the air during the spring and summer.
At ten o’clock that night David and Sandra sat on the cushions and watched the fireflies flitting through the hot and humid air. A citronella candle burned in a small holder, casting a circle of golden light.
They’d had a pleasant evening with the kids which had included the barbecued hamburgers and fruit salad for dinner, a game of Frisbee in the playground down the street, then big dishes of ice cream with a cupcake on the side before the twins headed for bed.
David yawned.
“May I quote you on that?” Sandra said, smiling over at him.
“All that sun at the pool zapped me,” he said, turning his head to meet and match her smile. “But that’s to be expected because our charming children informed me today that I’m old because I like country and western music.”
“Well, you are in the downhill slide, sweetie pie,” Sandra said. “Me? At twenty-nine I’m still in my youthful prime.”
“Ah,” David said, nodding. He laced his fingers on his flat stomach and closed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll sleep right here tonight. It’s got to be cooler outside than it is in our bedroom.”
“The mosquitos obviously think so,” Sandra said, smacking her arm. She paused. “David?”
“Hmm?” he said, not opening his eyes.
“Are you going to tell me what was in the letter from Saunders University?”
“What—” he yawned again “—letter?”
“The one that came in the mail today. I’d forgotten about it until now.”
David opened his eyes and turned his head to frown at Sandra.
“Mail. Mail? You know, I didn’t stop long enough to check the credenza. Never thought about it. There’s a letter from Saunders? That’s a first. I’ve been spared the pitch for money all these years because I’m not an alumni, per se. That’s a perk of not graduating.”
“Let’s not broach that subject,” Sandra said. “Not tonight. Aren’t you curious about the letter?”
“Not curious enough to trek into the house and get it.” He chuckled. “But you’re obviously about to pop a seam wanting to know what it says.”
“I am not,” she said indignantly, then laughed in the next instant. “Yes, I am. I’ll go get it. Okay?”
“Hey, you can even open it and see what the deal is.”
“Nope,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ve never opened your mail and never will. I will, however, personally deliver it to you.”
“Whatever,” he said, closing his eyes again.
Sandra returned minutes later and placed the letter on David’s chest. She waited. Seconds ticked by. She tapped her foot and pursed her lips. Then she picked up the letter and smacked him in the head with it. David laughed in delight and snatched the envelope from her hand.
“I wondered how long you’d last,” he said, tearing the end off the envelope.
He shook out a folded piece of stationery, then tilted it toward the candlelight so he could see to read the typing.
“I’ll be damned,” he said finally.
Sandra sat sideways on the cushion and leaned toward him.
“What? What?” she said.
“Do you remember Professor Harrison? Gilbert Harrison?”
“Harrison,” Sandra said slowly, searching her mind.
