Free A Gala Event by Sheila Connolly Page B

the sparse contents of her refrigerator. She needed just about everything, which was sad. How long would it take her to get used to the annual cycle of managing an orchard? Long stretches of frantic activity punctuated by erratic intervals of waiting for the next apples to ripen, all the while hoping for some rain but not too much rain, and please, gods, no hurricanes or tornadoes. And then the three dark winter months, when all she could do was worry about her trees and wonder how many she would have to replace. Could sheafford that new well pump this year? When should that be installed?
    Luckily Seth operated on much the same schedule: crazy busy in the spring, summer, and fall, when everybody took one look at their homes during the longer days and wanted to fix things right away. It was possible for him to handle some projects in winter, but people didn’t really want their houses torn up when they all were huddled inside trying to stay warm. So she and Seth should enjoy the downtime when they could, and do fun things. What was fun? She was having trouble remembering.
    Planning a wedding was not on that list. Even a no-frills wedding. Maybe she was too old for all the fuss and feathers, but she didn’t think she would have felt much different ten years earlier. A marriage ceremony was a milestone in contemporary culture, albeit possibly a waning tradition, but did it have to be so complicated? But maybe that was the point: it took a lot of work to make it happen, ergo it must mean something to people.
    Meg and Seth spent a pleasant couple of hours scouting out plumbing supplies in the area. At least the company was pleasant, but Meg was overwhelmed by the variety of choices. She had to admit that she hadn’t given much thought to the aesthetic qualities of bathrooms, certainly not her own, as long as everything worked. Seth did not press: this was an exploratory trip only, to give her something to think about.
    â€œHave you seen anything you liked?” he asked, after the fifth store—or was it the sixth?
    â€œUh, maybe?” Meg said. “Can I sleep on it? Maybe the right one will float to the top of the heap. Or not—porcelain doesn’t exactly float. Can we think about dinner now? I’m pretty sure I can decide between proteins at a supermarket at the moment.”
    They returned to Granford and stashed their groceries—and put the bottle of white wine in the refrigerator to chill. After that task was completed, Seth said, “I’m going to run out to the office and bring back some catalogs for you to look at. Just to remind you what you’ve seen, while it’s still fresh in your mind.”
    â€œFine,” Meg said weakly. She admired his enthusiasm, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to jump into the bathroom project right this minute. But still, she didn’t want to disappoint him, because he was so excited about giving her something that she needed and would like, that he could do himself. It was sweet, if a bit exhausting.
    He’d been gone no more than three minutes when someone knocked at the front door. She’d learned in the past that anyone who came to that door didn’t know her, and often brought trouble. With some trepidation she went to the front of the house and unlocked the door, and opened it to find herself staring at someone she was pretty sure was Aaron Eastman, although he looked significantly better than he had the last time she’d seen him. She felt a flurry of panic: she was facing an ex-convict and possible murderer. Why was he here? What did he want?
    He seemed to grasp her dilemma. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you. I only wanted to thank you. The police chief said you were the one who found me in that shed, and if you hadn’t, I might not have made it. Although that might have been a good thing. You know who I am?”
    She studied the man’s face: he looked drawn, and older than his