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Handmade Mayhem

By Gina Holder

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Monday 8:45 am

Dangling over a dumpster was not how Addie had pictured starting her week. Almost… just a little farther… ack!
The wooden ceiling fan blade remained just out of reach.
Ignoring the sting in her pelvis, Addie tottered over the rim, wiggled a little farther forward, and stretched her arm as far as she could. The stack of crates beneath her feet shifted as she raised on her toes like a ballerina. Her fingertips just brushed the damaged wood. This is getting ridiculous. She made the mistake of sucking in a breath and filled her nostrils with the putrid stench of rotting rubbish. Blech!
Three identical blades already lay on the ground where she’d thrown them a few minutes ago. Early this morning, she had awakened with a craving for a blueberry scone from Regis’s bakery and had spotted the discarded ceiling fan parts through the window of the upstairs seating.
With a little help from her tools and a fresh coat of paint, the fan blades would make the cutest wings for a dragonfly yard ornament. The summer tourists and leaf peepers thought them wicked cool. I’ve got to get the last one. A three-winged insect would look unnatural.
Repositioning again, she kicked her legs out behind her, leaving the stability of the crates. She stretched like a cat waking from a nap until her fingers crooked over the rounded edge of the blade. Yes! Success.
Na-ah! Not again.
Plastic trash bags rose to meet her. She let out a yelp as she faceplanted into the squishy abyss. Splat!
Well, that was just great. Unknown substances oozed into her bib overalls. Addie clutched her prize and struggled to stand. Her sneakers sank into a rank quicksand. The dumpster rim towered a foot higher than her head. She gave the blade a toss, and it rattled when it landed on the ground.
“Watch out for flying boards,” a masculine voice joked.
Someone’s out there and he’s not a local. His accent’s too Boston. She grimaced. Did he see me fall? Oh, this is so embarrassing. Here goes nothing.
With a sigh and a shrug, Addie jumped, grabbed the edge, then hauled herself up to have a look. The stranger was as clean as she was grimy. He wore a crisp white shirt, a navy blazer, and slacks. His black hair was parted and slicked back. Dark eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched. Broad shoulders and a solid chest spasmed. Obviously, he found her predicament amusing.
Whomever he was, he was cute. Very cute. And here she was, standing knee deep in… She gulped. I don’t want to think about what I’m standing in. Something oozed into her sneakers, soaking her socks.
“Do you need any help?” He stepped forward. His torso swelled and his nose wrinkled. He cringed, then coughed. “Wow. That’s some powerful stuff.”
She cracked a smile. “I can do it. Just watch out for flying lettuce.”
Toes against the side, she climbed out. As she rolled over the top, the metal pressed into her breastbone. Groping for the crates she’d used to climb up, her shoes kicked the plastic containers. They toppled over, leaving her hanging like a chimpanzee, her toes just inches from the blacktop. She dropped to the ground and slipped. Flailing like a pinwheel, she lost her balance and landed squarely on her posterior. Couldn’t I have escaped the dumpster without looking like a total goofball?
Addie stood and wiped her palms on her blue jean overalls. Bits of vegetation and scraps of paper littered the concrete. Her cheeks warmed like a lobster in boiling water. “Well, that was humiliating. I wish I could say this hasn’t happened before, but my daddy taught me not to lie.”
Laughter burst from the stranger until he bent forward, hands on his knees. Struggling to catch his breath, he brushed a tear from his eye. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not that funny, but I couldn’t help myself.” He held out his hand. “I’m Noah Daniels. And you are?”
“Addie Masters.” She shook his outstretched hand. His fingers were toasty, and his smile made her toes curl. “May I help you with something? It’s what I do.”
His gaze flickered to their entangled fingers. Flecks of grime tainted hers. She gasped and released his hand. “Sorry,” she muttered and hid her hands behind her back.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” Noah’s attention shifted to the fan blades. “Whaddaya going to do with those?”
Addie started to gather the blades from the concrete wharf that jettied into Rockport Harbor. Rusted metal plates and rebar held together the crumbling stone. Weathered pilings rose from the rippling water. The smell of seafood from the restaurant a few feet away combined with the salty sea air. Sunlight above glinted off the dark blue below. “There’s not much money in junk removal, so I repurpose as much as possible and sell my creations to the tourists.” Why am I telling him this? I’m boring him to death.
“Junk removal?”
Did I not mention that? “I own White Elephant Junk Removal.” She straightened and pivoted. Noah held out the last blade. “Oh, thank you.” She flushed again and accepted it from him.
“No problem. Glad I could help.” He flashed a toothy smile, then leaned forward. “It’s what I do. And there’s no need to be embarrassed.”
Addie’s free hand slapped to her heated cheek. Curse my red hair and pale skin. “Where—where are you from?” she stuttered.
“Boston. South End.”
“Is that near Fenway Park?” Addie’s memory smelled the greasy snacks and heard the roar of the crowd. “My dad took me there when I was a kid.” One of the best adventures they’d ever had.
“About fifteen minutes away. I have a friend who caught a home run ball in his front yard.”
“What brings you to Rockport?” Tourist season didn’t start for another two months—the New England snow had barely melted. They were still smack dab in the throes of mud season. Not the prettiest time to visit.
Addie carried the blades to her truck and tossed them into the bed. She caught sight of her reflection and flinched. Stains darkened her overalls. Her long curls stuck out like quills on a porcupine. So much for first impressions.
Noah leaned against the tailgate. “I’m here on business. This old town has plenty of charm.” A seagull soared overhead, squawking.
“Have you visited before?”
“I’m late for my meeting. Sorry, I can’t stay and chat. See you around.” Noah pushed away from the truck, then walked to the corner and turned up street.
The abrupt shift sent alarms pealing. That was wicked weird. Visions of the ideal man shattered. Maybe he’s not so perfect. Not that she would worry about it. The odds they would run into each other again were zero to none. Too bad. He was easy on the eyes… She started the engine. …but definitely hiding something.
Addie shifted into reverse and released the brake. Her truck rolled backward. Movement in the side view mirror grabbed her attention, and she slammed on the brakes.
Ulysses Kaine looked horrified, then angry. He raised his fist, lifting his cane in the air. “Watch where you’re going!”
Oops! That could have been bad. Heart pounding and cheeks flaming, Addie rolled down the window. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kaine. I didn’t see you.”
Mr. Kaine shook his head, muttered, and continued down the wharf without so much as another glance in her direction. He opened the door to the hobby store and disappeared inside.
Poor man. The retired train engineer preferred seclusion over socialization. His grumpy disposition kept people at bay, and he seemed to like it that way.
After checking her mirrors so that she didn’t back into anyone else, Addie reversed onto Oyster Wharf, turned left onto Bearskin Neck, then right onto Doyle’s Cove, took another left onto Middle Road around the block, and rejoined Bearskin Neck—an oddly named street with shops, restaurants, and art galleries—each with old-fashioned signboards and either brightly colored vinyl or iconic cedar shake siding.
The smell of fresh coffee whispered through the open window as she passed the Bean & Leaf café. Oliver Fairfax and Gus Bigsley strolled along the edge of the road. Both men held disposable coffee cups.
She rolled to a stop and lowered the passenger window. “Mr. Fairfax,” she called to get his attention.
Mr. Oliver Fairfax, wearing a business suit and ascot, paused mid-stride, searching for the source of his name. When he spotted her, he ambled to where she idled. “Miss Masters, what can I do for you?”
Addie briefly explained why she’d stopped him. Then said, “We should be there about noon. Will someone be available to sign the work order when we’re finished?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, Miss Masters. Have a good day.” Mr. Fairfax nodded curtly, then both men continued down the road.
Addie released the brake, passing the two men as she crossed through Dock Square—a triangle where Bearskin Neck, Main Street, and Mount Pleasant Street converge with a bus stop in the middle—onto Main Street.
Her cell rang. She tapped speakerphone. “What’s doin’, Malachi?”
Malachi Burke had been Dad’s longtime friend. Dad had met Malachi in Boston, and after leading the former street fighter to Christ, he offered him a job with his company. Malachi had been with them ever since.
“Lydia is here to make her monthly purchases.”
The elderly woman never missed an appointment. “I’m on my way. Thanks.”
“No problem. See you soon.”
Addie took a sharp left at School Street, then another left at Route 127A and followed it to the south side of Cape Ann. Residential homes and bare trees lined the road. Glimpses of the Atlantic Ocean shimmered on the horizon. The breeze whistled through the open window.
Between Pebble Beach and Long Beach, she took a right onto Poplar Lane, where the blacktop changed to gravel. A two-story farmhouse, surrounded by green fields, stood at the end of the road. A large red barn served as Addie’s warehouse, and the workshop and office shack held more memories than she could recall.
Lydia Wilson’s compact car was parked beside a rusty air compressor. She and Malachi drank lemonade on the porch. Crocuses peeked from the dirt in the flower beds. The song of a white-breasted Nuthatch carried from the budding Poplar tree.
Malachi raised his hand in greeting. Three massive dogs and a potbelly pig raced around the corner of the house, not bothering to contain their excitement.
Addie parked, and the overeager animals surrounded her the moment she exited the truck. “Hey, you guys. I wasn’t gone that long.”
The little pig snorted as loud as the dogs barked, then rolled onto his back for her to rub his belly. Addie obliged, chuckling at his wagging curly tail. She stopped scratching, and Winston rolled to his feet.
The animals followed her to the house. Malachi stood when Addie started up the steps. “Morning, Malachi,” she greeted her coworker, then faced the elderly woman. “Good morning, Ms. Wilson. Sorry to keep you waiting. I got distracted. What can I get for you today?”
“That’s alright. Malachi and I had a nice visit.” The chair stopped rocking, and Ms. Wilson roused to her feet. She reached into her purse, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Addie. “I brought my list. Do you think you’ll have what I need?”
Addie scanned the handwritten page. “Well,” she lifted her head and smiled. “Let’s go to the warehouse and find out.” She looked at her hands. “Just let me shower first.”

***

“Ten, twenty, thirty”—Ms. Wilson counted aloud, laying the bills into Addie’s outstretched palm—“forty, fifty. I believe that’s all of it.”
Addie stuffed the money into her bib pocket. “Can I get you a receipt?”
“No, thank you. Now, you’ll make sure they get them, right?”
“No worries. I’ll take care of it.”
“Now, don’t forget. The fridge goes to Ms. Field in Gloucester, and the washing machine goes to Mrs. Peabody in Salem, and the bicycle goes to little Eddie Jackson in Ipswich.” Ms. Wilson ticked her fingers one by one. “That’s everyone. And keep your eyes peeled for the rest of the stuff on my list. I want to know the minute you find any of it.”
“Absolutely, Ms. Wilson. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”
The old lady tapped her arthritic finger against her wrinkled chin. “Yah no, I think that’s everything. Thank you for your help. Now, I must get home. My grandson came to visit me. He was born in Rockport, but he and his parents moved away when he was just a boy. I haven’t seen him since my daughter’s funeral.”
That’s so sad. Poor Ms. Wilson. How awful. “How long will he be in town?” Addie had seen the family photos on the walls in Ms. Wilson’s cottage, but the elderly woman rarely spoke of them. From what Addie could gather, the family had a falling out years ago.
Ms. Wilson stared at Addie with the weight of the world on her shoulders. A tear sprang to her eye.
“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”
Ms. Wilson wiped the tear from her cheek and shook her head. She waved her hand. “I’m fine. It’s just…” The rest of her sentence hung in the air. “Oh, never mind. It’s not your burden to bear.”
Addie touched the woman’s shoulder. “I want to help if I can.”
“I’m moving to Boston with him.”
Addie’s jaw dropped. “Move? As in leave Rockport?”
Ms. Wilson smiled, crow’s feet crinkling, and patted Addie’s cheek. “That’s usually how it works.”
How will I get along without you? You’re the only grandmother I’ve ever known.
“He’s the only family I have left. And his home is so beautiful. He showed me pictures on his phone. I hate to leave Cape Ann, but I’ve lost so many years with my boy. From now on, I don't want to miss a single moment.” Ms. Wilson gestured toward the warehouse. “Thank you for delivering those for me. I hope you have a blessed day.”
“You’re welcome. See you later?”
“If God wills.”
Addie waved as the old lady drove off. With a heavy heart, she turned, then jogged up the porch steps, her corkscrew curls bouncing like the shocks of an old jalopy. The three dogs and Winston followed. “Let’s see if my house guest is awake yet.”
Embellished with rustic Americana-style decorations that she’d designed herself from pallets, distressed wood, burlap, and gingham, Addie’s home warmed you from the inside out like melted butter on a hot boiled lobster. A braided rug decorated the floor in the entry. The aroma of musty mysteries and antique adventures wafted through the library’s double French doors on the right.
On the wall hung family photos from days gone by. Dad’s smile jabbed like an elbow to the ribcage. I still miss you, Daddy. Every single day. Over the fireplace in the parlor hung a painting Mom had painted of the iconic Motif #1 with sailboats reflecting in the glass-like water.
In the kitchen, Talia Sullivan poured a cup of coffee. She wore frown lines and muttered under her breath. Her short brunette hair brushed her neck. Her pink headband matched her sweater and pleated skirt.
Talia, Addie’s best friend, had been the owner of a successful restaurant in town until a Nor’easter destroyed it. Addie couldn’t imagine rebuilding her own business from scratch. The Atlantic Grill was as crushed as Talia’s dreams.
“Good morning.” Addie took a mug from the cabinet. “What’s doin’?”
“Morning.” Talia added cream and sugar to her cup.
Addie poured a cup of steaming coffee. “Everything okay? You seem a little grumpy this morning.” Mornings and Talia weren’t the best of friends. “More than usual.”
“I’m fine. Thanks again for letting me stay with you. It’s only until I get back on my feet.” Talia took a seat at the table. Her shoulders slumped, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Somehow.”
“No trouble. Happy to help.” Addie joined her, taking a sip of the rich, earthy liquid in her mug. I’m going to fix your problem, I promise. I just haven’t figured out how yet. “You’re welcome to come to work with me or you can stay here. Whichever you’d prefer.”
Talia took a long drink and propped her bare feet on the table. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll just sit here and enjoy my impromptu vacation.” She joked, but her tone lacked conviction and sincerity.
“Whatever you want.”
Addie finished her coffee, put her mug in the sink, and left the house. The storm door slammed behind her. Beneath her sneakers, the gravel crunched, then gave way to grass as she walked. The surrounding lawn contained organized piles of tires, pallets, lobster traps, buoys, rocks, and ceramic gardening pots. A driftwood shingle on the office building read White Elephant Junk Removal painted in block letters.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Sunlight streamed through the window. Malachi napped in the golden rays—his chair tilted backward on two legs. His leather ivy cap covered the upper half of his face. A snore emanated as his chest swelled, causing the buttons on his shirt to separate. Mahogany skin peeked between the folds of flannel.
Addie sat at her desk, logged into the computer, and checked her schedule for the week. They had the pickup at the Fairfax’s estate this morning, and Ethan Taylor from Helping Hands Ministry planned to stop by this afternoon. Then there were a couple of other prearranged pickups later in the week. Don’t forget to deliver Ms. Wilson’s purchases. She made a note to contact each recipient for scheduling.
A small indicator in the corner of the computer screen jumped.
Addie opened her email account and read the incoming message.

I KNOW YOU ARE AVOIDING ME.
PLEASE REPLY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

Forget about it. She swiped along the base edge of her monitor, darkening the screen. I have nothing to say to you.
“It’s more effective to click delete.” Malachi’s deep voice rumbled from the other side of the shed, startling her. The entire shack shook as his chair made contact with the floor.
Addie spun her chair to face him. “One day you’re going to do that and this whole thing is going to come down on top of us.”
Malachi stretched. “If it does, I’ll build you a new one.”
“After they dig us out from under the debris.”
With a tilted eyebrow, he stood and took two steps around his desk. “You can’t avoid her forever.”
I can and I will. She stuck her hands into her pockets. Silence settled over the room. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“So, we don’t, but keeping things inside hurts the heart. Someday, you’ll explode like a volcano.”
“There are dormant volcanoes.”
He frowned. “Even a dormant volcano may erupt, given the right circumstances.”
She pushed back from the desk, teeth clenched. “I have work to do. I’ll take Talia with me.”

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