Page 4 of Summer Love

When she reached the fence, she pressed a many-ringed hand over the wide shelf of her breasts. “Not as young as I used to be,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Finkleman.”

“Hi.”

“You’re the young man who’s going to live upstairs.” Mrs. Finkleman, a born flirt, patted her curls. “Zoe didn’t tell me you were so handsome. Single, are you?”

“Yeah,” Coop said cautiously. “Miss Fleming was supposed to meet me. She doesn’t seem to be home.”

“Well, that’s Zoe, flying here, flying there.” Mrs. Finkleman beamed and leaned comfortably on the fence, as if she were settling in for a nice cozy gossip. “Got a dozen things on her plate at once, that girl does. Having to raise that sweet little boy all alone. Why, I don’t know what I’d have done without my Harry when our young ones were coming up.”

Coop was a reporter, after all. That, added to the fact that he was curious about his landlady, put him in interview mode. “The kid’s father doesn’t help out any?”

Mrs. Finkleman snorted. “Don’t see hide nor hair of him. From what I’m told, he lit out the minute he found out Zoe was expecting. Left her high and dry and her hardly more than a child herself. Far as I know, he’s never so much as seen the boy. The little sweetheart.”

Coop assumed she was referring to Keenan. “Nice kid. What’s he, five, six?”

“Just four. Bright as a button. They grow them smarter these days. Teach them faster, too. The little love’s in preschool now. He’ll be home any minute.”

“His mother went to pick him up, then?”

“Oh, no, not her week for car pool. Alice Miller—that’s the white house with blue trim, down the block—it’s her week. She has a boy and a girl. Little darlings. The youngest, Steffie, is Keenan’s age. Now her oldest, Brad, there’s a pistol for you.”

As she began to fill Coop in on the neighborhood rascal, he decided it was time to draw the interview to a close. “Maybe you could tell Miss Fleming I was by? I can leave a number where she can reach me when—”

“Oh, goodness.” Mrs. Finkleman waved a hand. “I do run on. Nearly forgot why I came out here in the first place. Zoe called and asked me to look out for you. Got held up at the flower shop. She works there three days a week. That’s Floral Bouquet, down in Ellicott City? Nice place, but expensive. Why, it’s a crime to charge so much for a daisy.”

“She got held up,” Coop prompted.

“Her relief had car trouble, so Zoe’s going to be a little late. Said you could go right on into the kitchen there, where she left the lease and the keys.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“No problem at all. This is a friendly neighborhood. Always somebody to lend a helping hand. I don’t think Zoe mentioned what you did for a living.”

“I’m a sportswriter for theDispatch.”

“You don’t say? Why, my Harry’s just wild for sports. Can’t budge him from in front of the TV when a game’s on.”

“That’s what makes this country great.”

Mrs. Finkleman laughed and gave Coop’s arm an affectionate bat that might have felled a lesser man. “You men are all the same. You can come over and talk sports with Harry anytime. Me, if it’s not baseball, it isn’t worth talking about.”

Coop, who’d been about to retreat, brightened. “You like baseball?”

“Son, I’m a Baltimore native.” As if that said it all. “Our boys are going to go all the way this year. Mark my word.”

“They could do it, if they heat those bats up. The pitching rotation’s gold this year, and the infield’s tight as a drum. What they need—”

Coop was interrupted by a cheerful toot. He glanced over to see Keenan burst out of a red sedan and rocket across the side yard.

“Hi, mister. Hi, Mrs. Finkleman. Carly Myers fell down, and there was blood.” The big brown eyes gleamed wickedly. “Lots and lots of it, and she screamed and cried.” He demonstrated, letting go with a piercing yell that had Coop’s ears ringing. “Then she got a Band-Aid with stars on it.” Keenan thought it would have been worth losing some blood for such a neat badge of honor. “Where’s Mama?”

“Little lamb.” Mrs. Finkleman leaned over the fence to pinch Keenan’s cheek. “She’s working a little late. She said you could come stay with me until she gets home.”

“Okay.” Keenan liked his visits next door, since they always included cookies and a rock on Mrs. Finkleman’s wonderfully soft lap. “I gotta put my lunch box away.”

“Such a good boy,” Mrs. Finkleman cooed. “You come on over when you’re done. Why don’t you show the nice man inside so he can wait for your mother?”

“Okay.”

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