Read Stones for Free Online Page B

furniture, I mean.” I shut up before I made another stupid remark.
    One corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. She touched a water jug and porcelain basin sitting on a pine dry sink, then traced the grain in the wood with her finger. “Nice work.”
    “Thanks. Um, can I help you with anything?”
    “I hope so. You know, the OTG is putting on a musical at the beginning of the summer.”
    “Yeah, I heard something about it.”
    The Orillia Theatre Group put on plays and musicals regularly. Mostly musicals. I hate musicals, but I tried to look interested.
    “We’re doing
The Sound of Music.”
    Great, I thought. The musical I hated most. A cute governess who knows everything, nauseatingly cute kids, cute songs, a few Nazis who were so stupid you’d wonder why anybody was afraid of them. And nuns.
    “I’ll have to try and take it in,” I said. If she was in it, I’d see it.
    “Good. Well, the reason I’m here, I’m the stage manager, and the official props-gofer. I was hoping your store — you — might lend us a few pieces of furniture for the set.”
    If she’d asked for the deed to the store and everything in it I’d have handed them over, no questions asked. Briefly, I wondered if Dad would mind if I agreed to lend the OTG whatthey wanted. Freddy Graham at the bookstore occasionally borrowed stuff from us for his window displays. Then I had a thought.
    “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll lend you anything you want.”
    “Thank you. You’re very —”
    “On two conditions,” I cut in, bolder now. What do I have to lose? I thought.
    Raphaella smirked. “And they are?”
    “One, you’ll give us credit in the program. ‘Antiques courtesy of,’ something like that.”
    “Sure. We would have done that anyway.” She waited. “And the second?”
    “You’ll have that cup of coffee with me.”
    That brought a deep laugh. She put a hand on her hip, arched her eyebrows. “I told you. I don’t drink coffee.”
    Her words lacked the dismissive tone I had heard in my one disastrous phone call to her.
    “Whatever you want, then. Herbal tea, hot chocolate, juice, milk, mineral water, ice cream, root beer, melted snow or —”
    She laughed again. “Okay. Juice. Apple, if you have it.”
    “And,” I said, “you have to promise not to call me Gannet any more.”
    “That’s three conditions.”
    “I drive a hard bargain.”
    “Agreed. Garnet.”
    “Good. Wait here. Take off your coat and relax. I’ll be right back.”
    A few minutes later I returned with two bottles of apple juice.
    “Let’s drink them back in the workshop,” I suggested.
    When she turned to walk where I pointed, I flipped the sign in the window around to read “Closed.”
4
    Raphaella took off her coat and draped it over the back of a rock maple dining-room chair. On her black T-shirt was printed “I Hate Banks.”
    “Who’s Banks?” I asked.
    “Not Banks, banks.”
    “Oh, I see, banks.”
    “Right, banks.”
    I took up my work again, just to keep my hands busy and give me something to do. I knew I’d fidget if I didn’t.
    “That’s a beautiful crib,” she said. “It’s a cliché, I know, but they don’t make them like that anymore.”
    “They can’t. They’re illegal, considered an unsafe design. But I know what you mean.”
    I removed the slat from the vise and ran a bit of sandpaper over it. I had already drilled and countersunk two holes in each end, so I fitted it into place and screwed it down tight. Raphaella watched every move, making me slightly self-conscious, as if she was memorizing each step.
    When I put down the screwdriver and took a mouthful of juice, she said, “Are you sure you’re the same guy who was praising logic and reason in the debate?”
    “Why do you ask?”
    “You love wood.”
    She was inviting me to share something I seldom talked about, except to my parents. Before I knew it, I was babbling away as if I’d known her for years. I told her about the pleasure and