Tracy Del Campo
1958
After adjusting the antenna on the television set, Maeve slipped off her pumps and nylons and settled on the couch to watch the latest Perry Mason episode. A metal folding tray held a plate of tuna casserole and green beans, leftovers from the previous evening’s meal. Just as the show’s theme music began, a knock came at the door. The peephole revealed the distorted image of her elderly neighbor standing in the hall.
With a turn of the knob, she opened the door. “Mrs. Abernathy. Is everything all right?”
“I’m feeling a bit unwell at the moment.” She sagged against the wall, placing an aged hand to her forehead. “Be a dear and fetch Mr. Geyer, the fireman. He’s the new tenant in 2C.”
“Of course.” Maeve slid her feet into her shoes. “But let’s get you comfortable first.” She assisted Mrs. Abernathy across the hall to her apartment, easing her onto a plastic-covered chintz sofa. After positioning a needlepoint pillow under the woman’s head, Maeve covered her with an afghan. “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Abernathy.”
Maeve hurried down the stairs, her heels clacking on the wooden treads. Rounding the corner, she stifled a gasp at the sight of Mr. Geyer at his door. Key in the lock. One foot over the threshold. He paused when he noticed her, his lips parting in a grin.
She returned the gesture and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome in an impeccably creased uniform that showcased his well-proportioned frame. Attached to one shirt pocket was a hook-and-ladder badge, and to the other, a name tag that read Dean Geyer. The man’s chiseled, clean-shaven face bore a faint scar on his left cheek. His hair was short, with a side part. There was a certain something about a man in uniform.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Geyer.” She gathered her breath. “I’m Maeve Sullivan, Mrs. Abernathy’s neighbor. She isn’t feeling well and asked me to send for you.”
“Of course.” He motioned toward the stairs.
Upon entering the apartment, the aroma of percolating coffee and the rattling of dishes greeted them. Mrs. Abernathy appeared with cups and saucers in hand, a floral apron tied around her waist.
Maeve raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with Mr. Geyer.
“It was merely indigestion,” the woman explained. “I suspect the liverwurst sandwich I had for lunch is the culprit.”
Mr. Geyer pulled out a chair. “Nevertheless, I’d like to conduct a brief assessment, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well, if you insist.” She placed the items on the table and took a seat.
“Your color looks good, and your temperature seems normal. Are you experiencing any dizziness?” He checked her pulse.
“No.”
“Any pain or tenderness?”
“Apart from my rheumatism, I’m as fit as a fiddle.” She rose from the chair. “Why don’t you two sit down and get acquainted while I fetch the coffee? Help yourself to some crumb cake.” She tottered into the kitchen.
The room went quiet. An unseen clock’s tick was the only sound as they sat at the table.
Mrs. Abernathy returned with an aluminum coffee pot, steam curling from its spout.
“I understand you’re a bachelor, Mr. Geyer,” she said, filling his cup.
“I am, as a matter of fact.”
“Fancy that. Miss Sullivan is also single.”
Maeve’s hold on her cup tightened.
“She’s a teacher at the local high school.”
“What subject do you teach, Miss Sullivan?”
“Calculus and statistics.”
Raising his cup, he offered a smile. “You have my utmost respect.”
“She’s a bright young woman, and rather beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Geyer?”
Maeve stiffened and tugged at her sweater. “Really, Mrs. Abernathy—”
“I would,” he replied, their eyes connecting.
A flush warmed Maeve’s cheeks.
“She’s quite a catch, as are you, Mr. Geyer. I’ve always admired firefighters. Protecting others at great personal risk requires bravery and selflessness.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“Don’t be so modest. You’re a bona fide hero, and a handsome one at that.” Mrs. Abernathy turned to Maeve. “Coffee, dear?”
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Abernathy tsked. “I’m concerned about you, Maeve. Your life has become a solitary and predictable affair. Every weekend spent in your apartment grading papers and watching television.”
“You make me sound dull, Mrs. Abernathy.” Maeve stirred her coffee. “I’m simply attending to my professional duties.”
“There’s more to life, my dear.” Mrs. Abernathy returned to the kitchen.
“That was some ruse,” Maeve whispered. “Her theatrics were quite convincing. I apologize, Mr. Geyer.”
“No need to apologize,” he smiled. “I’m enjoying the company.”
Sipping her drink, Maeve sensed his gaze.
“Miss Sullivan…” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers on the tabletop. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
Her breathing faltered. “I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Geyer, but you’re under no obligation to appease Mrs. Abernathy.”
“My invitation was completely voluntary.” His eyes found hers. “But I would hate to disappoint Mrs. Abernathy after all her effort. I hope you’ll accept. I’ll be eating leftovers and watching Perry Mason, otherwise.”
“How dull,” Maeve teased, repositioning her bracelet. “We wouldn’t want that.”
When Mrs. Abernathy entered the room, Mr. Geyer stood. “Thank you for the coffee.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But, I must be going.”
“So soon?” Disappointment colored Mrs. Abernathy’s tone.
“I have a date this evening and need to brush the dust off my suit.” He turned to Maeve. “I’ll see you at seven, Miss Sullivan.” With a nod, he closed the door.
Mrs. Abernathy beamed. “I had a hunch about you two.” She wrapped her arm around Maeve, ushering her into the hall. “You’ve no time to waste, dear,” she said, eyeing her wristwatch. “Seven will be here before you know it.”
Maeve stood with her hand resting on her doorknob.
“In case you’re wondering, your green chiffon dress is my favorite. It flatters your silhouette.” Mrs. Abernathy turned, then swiveled back. “And be sure to wear your pearls and gloves.”
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