Rules for Life Read Online Free PDF Page B

charmed.
    She gestured at the backpack. “Are those your tools?”
    He nodded.
    â€œGot a soldering iron in there?” She lowered her voice to a whisper again and laid her hand on his arm.
    Rafe grinned. “Uh-huh.”
    â€œWhat else?” she asked, looking up at him, her head cocked to one side.
    For a second I got a flash of how beautiful she must have been when she was young. And then I realized she was flirting with Rafe. He seemed to like it.
    I followed them into the apartment. They were talking about elements and voltage meters and Phillips head screwdrivers. I was pretty much being ignored.
    I kicked off my shoes and wandered around. Like Mrs. Mac, the place was small and warm. There was a tiny blue flowered sofa, heaped with bright pillows, and a matching chair at one end of the room. A round wooden table and four chairs sat next to the window.
    The kitchen was just a small stretch of counter with an equally small sink and a few cupboards. The fridge was the kind you’d find in a motel room.
    There were pictures everywhere—on a small, square table between the sofa and the chair, along one wide window ledge— of her children and grandchildren I guessed: a chubby baby with mushed peas spiking his hair like gel, a little girl with her arms flung around Mrs. Mac’s neck, their faces pressed together. And me. There among all the other pictures on that little table was one of me, in a small pewter frame. It had to have been taken at the center. I turned around. “Mrs. McKenzie, where did you—”
    â€œThat’s it,” Rafe proclaimed. He propped an elbow on the countertop and grinned at Mrs. Mac.
    â€œSplendid,” she said, clapping her hands together.
    â€œThat was fast. What is it?” I asked, forgetting about the photograph.
    â€œJust needs a new element,” Rafe said. He looked at his watch. “You know, Eastman Supply doesn’t close until nine o’clock. I could just zip over there and they might have one. It’ll only take me ten minutes.”
    He was already pulling on his jacket. “Be right back,” he added as the door closed behind him.
    â€œI like him,” Mrs. Mac said, turning to me.
    â€œI know,” I said. “You were flirting.”
    â€œI was not,” she said, but she couldn’t keep from smiling. She moved toward the sofa. “Come sit down.”
    I sat next to her. She reached over and gave my cheek a little pat. “Thank you so much for helping me, Isabelle. I didn’t know how I was going to manage breakfast.”
    â€œThey could go to the dining room,” I said.
    â€œI suppose this all seems kind of silly to you,” she said. “A bunch of crotchety old people who have to have their breakfast just so.”
    â€œYou could never be crotchety,” I said. “And I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve been eating the same breakfast since I was four. Shredded wheat and banana.”
    â€œWe’re all creatures of habit in one way or another, my dear.”
    â€œIsn’t it a lot of work for you?” I asked, curling one leg and a sock foot underneath me.
    â€œI’m just baking a few muffins and scrambling an egg or two,” she said. “It gives me a purpose. Keeps me from staying in bed half the day. And then I listen to everyone go on about their aches and pains and I see that I’m in pretty good shape for my age.”
    â€œI hope I’m just like you when I’m your age.”
    She leaned over and hugged me. All of a sudden there was a big lump in my throat that I had to swallow twice to get down.
    â€œSo where did you get the picture of me?” I asked.
    She reached over and picked up the frame. “Edgar Jamer took that. He used to be a photographer for the newspaper.” She hesitated. “You don’t mind me having it, do you?”
    I shook my head. “I’m … honored.” I could feel the lump again.