Moving On by Annette Bower Page A

still have a lot to look at. Don’t grin too fast,” George said. “I’ll hold the ladder and you go on down. I’ll follow. I’m a lot more experienced.”
    Anna eased her foot over the edge onto the rung and climbed down. “Did you hear that, Herman? The roof is in good shape.” She did a little slip, slide and kick step.
    “It’s my heart, Annie, not my ears.”
    When George pulled the ladder from the side of the house, Margaret called over, “I’m sure I’ve lost a couple of pounds just watching you two up there. You’re done, aren’t you?”
    “Here, yes, but we have a lot more house to look at. Come along, Anne.”
    Annie? Anne? What is it with my name and the way people remember it? “I’m coming,” she said aloud. “Thanks, Herman. Sorry Margaret, I didn’t know you were home.”
    “I was having a little cat nap.”
    Anna nodded. “I’d better get a move on. George means business.”
    She found him crawling on the grass checking out the foundation under the front room windows. “George, I’m here. See anything?” She got on her hands and knees and looked at the gray cement.
    “Nah, I thought maybe this may have been an old veranda closed in. They can cause a lot of trouble with the foundation but this looks solid. I’ll be able to see better from the inside.”
    “Okay.” She crossed her fingers for luck behind her back.
    On each wall of the house, he ran his fingers under windows and around door frames. He held a flashlight to cracks in the foundation. His method was similar to doctors she accompanied when they examined a patient, observing color and texture and finally, thumping on certain places and listening for faults.
    Toward the end of his examination, George inspected the windows that faced the lake.
    “I would like to spend most of my time in this room,” Anna explained. “I thought I could set up a bench and do my miniature construction. I would need it to be warm in the cold weather.”
    George slipped a measuring tape from his belt and calculated the length, width and depth. His pursed lips caused her to worry. “Do you have time for a coffee or cold coke?”
    “Why don’t you make us some coffee? It will take me a minute to gather my thoughts and then we’ll talk.” He pulled out a chair and took out a scratch pad and began to write as if time could steal his thoughts.
    This couldn’t be as bad as the day she tried everything to save Murray. Nothing could be that bad again. She would make rational decisions, but she was feeling so comfortable in this community. Anna scooped grounds into the filter, poured in water and turned on the coffeemaker. She sliced up cheese and added two kinds of crackers to a platter. She wouldn’t make decisions until she had all of the information.
    She glanced at George. Sometimes he had his head in his hands, sometimes he was pressing numbers on a calculator, and sometimes he smiled.
    Finally, the coffeemaker stopped dripping. Anna poured two mugs, placed sugar and cream on the tray, and carried everything to the kitchen table. “Doctor, what is your diagnosis? Is the patient going to live or die?” she asked.
    George reached for a mug and blew across the hot surface. “Depends how much money and time you can give to rehabilitation.”
    “I’ve got the time and I have access to some funds.”
    “Good news or bad news first?”
    “Bad news.” She gripped her coffee mug for warmth.
    “Rough calculation.” He stared at his paper. “Without my pricing book for reference.” He scratched another figure. “But knowing my supplies and suppliers, give or take a couple of hundred here or there.” He gulped a mouthful of coffee. “I’d say we can do what you need for under ten thousand dollars.”
    “Now the good news.”
    A slow smile crept across his lips. “This old cottage is in very good shape. The foundation and bones are good. The heating, electrical, and plumbing seem to be well maintained. What you need to do is add