Tomorrow's Sun Read Online Free Page A

put the box back, leaving out one jar. She’d wash it off and set it on the kitchen counter—a tribute to a woman who’d made daily chores a labor of love.
     
    Grimacing, she reached into the shadows and pulled out a tall metal container. A hairy-bodied spider ran across her hand and she jumped. She wasn’t afraid of spiders. She just didn’t want to keep company with them. The tin was surprisingly heavy. When she moved it closer to the window, she saw color. About four inches square and eight high, the tin was covered in a blue and green plaid. She pulled off the lid. An enormous clear glass marble with tiny bubbles suspended in its core sat near the top. She set it carefully in a divot in the ledge and pulled out a cast-iron Indian on horseback and a miniature carved wooden frog.
Who made you? Who did you belong to?
     
    Coins, tokens, a whistle, and a wooden matchbox. A boy’s box of treasures? The picture that came to mind was a 1940s version of the little guy who’d asked for “peanuhbutter” cookies. Striped T-shirt, blue shorts, and brown tie shoes, a homemade slingshot sticking out of his back pocket.
     
    A cricket chirped from somewhere near her feet, and she suddenly sensed she was surrounded by crawling creatures. As she put the marble and the frog back in the can, she scanned the cellar. The floor appeared dry. After a bug bomb, a good sweeping, and a few braces on the shelves, it would once again be usable.
     
    She lifted her foot to the bottom step then turned back to the desolate shelves.
     
    Would she still be here when the apples ripened?
     

     
    “I get your vision, but it seems kind of a shame to change things that drastically. I’ll be honest with you, ma’am, you’ll lose some potential buyers and”—Matt Rayburg laughed at whatever humorous thing he was about to say—“don’t be surprised if the neighbors have a thing or two to say about it.” His mouth twisted to one side and he nodded as if responding to a voice only he could hear.
     
    They already have
. “But you’d do it?”
     
    “I’d do it. Might try to persuade you a bit before I take a hammer to that wall, but I’d do it. I’ll write you up an estimate and get it to you Monday.”
     
    “Thank you.” She shook the man’s hand and opened the front door for him as the third contractor walked up the front walk.
     
    Mr. Rayburg eyed the taller man, muttered hello, and got in his truck.
     
    “Mr. Hansel?” Emily’s neck arched to make eye contact.
     
    He wore a dress shirt, cuffs rolled to just below his elbows, and khakis with knife-sharp creases. He held out a soft hand. “You must be Emily. You’re much younger than you sounded on the phone.”
     
    More than just his hands were smooth. The compliment generated an instant distrust. When they reached the last bedroom on the second floor, he bent forward just a degree, a subtle bow. “Refreshing. It’s encouraging to meet a forward thinker. French doors in place of these would be lovely, and I can envision a few skylights here in the master suite.”
     
    Emily stared at a robin’s nest in a branch just beyond the window. Had her imaginary friend in the striped T-shirt held his giant, clear marble up to this same window to catch the sunlight? “I do need to keep the cost down.”
     
    “Of course. Our specialty. And just for you, I’ll throw in some extras. We’re based out of Milwaukee and just beginning to branch out.”
     
    Fatigue descended on Emily in a sudden rush. Leaning on her cane, she suppressed a yawn. “When could you start and how soon could you have it done?”
     
    The man cupped his elbow in one hand, and tapped his cheek. “Twelve weeks from the day we start, which could be within the week. And that’s a generous estimate. Chances are, we could have things wrapped up in ten. Does that suit your timeline?”
     
    “Th-that would suit me just fine.”
     
    “Very well. I could fax an estimate yet today.”
     
    “If you could