Saving The Book Tart – Guest Post by Kathy Bryson + Excerpt from Restless Spirits + Contest!

John laughed. “I’ve had days like that.”

I studied him more closely. John had recovered from his earlier fall, but he looked pale and thin. Tiny frown lines were etched between his eyebrows, and there was a drag along the lower line of his jaw that worried me.

“You skipped lunch again, didn’t you?” I blurted out. “You can’t do that and ride that bike. You know that!”

John grimaced and peered at me through one eye, the other squinting. “I had meetings.”

I was torn between laughing at his Popeye look and cringing at how much I sounded like my mother. “You couldn’t eat a granola bar or something in them?”

John shook his head. “I did, I did. I used my lunch hour to call the bank . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked away, anywhere but at me.

“Uh-uh.” I reached out and grabbed his chin. “What about the bank? Out with it. Don’t leave your employees hanging.”

“Muh empoyee’s pin shin’ ma shin,” John mumbled while his eyes laughed at me.

I let go with a little slap. So much for a professional relationship.

“I’m just trying to refinance,” John explained. “I should be eligible for the federal refinance program. I’ve got mortgage brokers ringing my phone off the hook. I just can’t get hold of anyone at my bank.”

“My bank?” I asked before I realized that it really wasn’t my bank anymore. Didn’t matter. “That’s silly. I’ll speak with Maggie O’Donnell and . . .”

“I didn’t use your bank. I used a national chain at the county seat.” John looked embarrassed at my shocked expression. “Well, I’d just moved here and I didn’t know anyone, but the property was too good a deal to pass up, and . . .” His voice trailed off as he lifted his hands in confusion.

I laughed. “See, this is why you should have gone local instead of with that national behemoth. You’d have gotten real service.”

John made a show of rubbing his cheek. “Kind of like the personalized service I’m getting now?”

I laughed, but a worrying thought came crowding in on the heels of his joke. “John, you’re not having, well, financial troubles, are you?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just trying to get us some wiggle room. Expenses are adding up fast.”

I winced. “I am sorry about that. I’m really trying to keep a lid on costs.”

“It’s okay.” John grinned and leaned into me. “It’s embarrassing, really. I’m a mathematician. I thought I’d covered this.” Then he straightened up and stood transfixed, looking over my shoulder.

I turned to see what he watched and became aware of a low thumping sound growing louder and faster. A ball rolled into view at the top of the stairs, seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then gaining momentum, hurtled down the stairs. Then suddenly behind it came balls of all shapes and sizes, all thundering down the steps in a rolling, bounding, bouncing wave of athletic enthusiasm.

John and I both stood silent for a moment, staring down the stairwell after the swell of spheres surged past. Then John swung around to me, eyes wide. “What was that?”

I shrugged. “I think that was the box Mom found in the barn. It was full of old athletic gear. I thought I put them back.”

John looked warily from me down the stair and back again.

“Hey, you were the one who told her she could decorate,” I added, but gently. I didn’t know quite how to react. I didn’t actually believe in ghosts or whatever. I would have said a haunted house wasn’t possible, but an avalanche of athletic spheres had just thundered past. However, since it seemed to have missed the wet paint, I would not panic and assume anything bad was happening in the house.

John nodded and smiled. “You’re right. I’ll go pick them up. It’s the least I can do.”

“That’s the ticket,” I called after him. “Pitch in and get the job done. You can do it.”
© Kathy Bryson