— Thomas A. Edison
“You want to go to a garage sale? How quaint!”
Lily is humouring me, frustrating me as well, which she does most days but for entirely different reasons.
I try focusing on her eyes, but it’s almost as seductive as watching her sitting in a short skirt, lab coat unbuttoned, legs discreetly slanted to one side and a mischievous grin on her face.
It’s so confusing being near her—my temperature’s rising, and I’m at a loss to decide if it’s from her taunts or her teasing.
“Look, Lily—I’m being serious here and you’re blowing me off by being facetious.”
“Sorry, Aaron, but you’re so funny when you’re flustered.”
I arch an eyebrow, and she caves in. The smirk is gone and she’s all business.
“All right, I’m focused. Please explain why I should give this any credibility.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” I begin, “and I admit Maxwell Goodspeed is practically synonymous with the proverbial mad scientist—but so was Tesla and we know what a genius he was.”
“But to give up a precious Saturday sleep-in to rummage through a crackpot’s junk? Really, Aaron.”
She’s right—she always is. It’s a little much to expect a goddess to go poking about some cluttered carriage sheds Goodspeed used as a laboratory. Still, I was hoping she’d consider the expedition an adventure—and yes, I was hoping it might even turn into our first date. Well, I can see now that was presumptuous.
It’s at that moment when I think I’ve lost a golden opportunity to be with her—outside of work, that is—that she opens a small crack in her impregnable wall of resolve.
“Tell me, what makes you think anything substantial will come of this enterprise?”
“Well, I know that Goodspeed was respected by Edison and many of his contemporaries for his abilities in mechanical engineering. He wasn’t much of a visionary but he was as clever as the mythical Daedalus in constructing various devices.”
Lily seemed unimpressed. “And so why should I care about that?”
“Because you’re into collectibles—and I’m sure his sheds are a veritable old shop of curiosities you’ll probably find fascinating.”
“Humph—probably his lab is more a little shop of horrors—besides, Aaron—you make me sound like someone you’d see on a re-run of American Pickers.”
I watch her gracefully unfold her legs and push back a lock of blonde hair.
“I see you more as an antiquities dealer than a junkyard browser,” I say.
“Oh, you’re a sly devil,” she chuckles, “but you’re right—I am intrigued by curiosities—and I’ll come, as long as breakfast is included.”
“I was going to suggest we stop at Martha’s Country Inn along the way.”
“It just so happens I’ve been wanting to try that spot—but then you knew that, didn’t you?”
I shrug and smile my crooked boyish smile—the one some women find charming. But she’s not buying my act.
She puts up one hand and shape-shifts into a stern-faced crossing guard, “Stop! I’d advise you to quit while you’re ahead.”
As I said, some women find me charming, but obviously, not her.
It’s a cool October morning when we head out to Maxwell Goodspeed’s carriage sheds. The leaves are just beginning to turn and there’s a nip in the air.
Lily’s wearing jeans and a blue plaid lumberjack shirt and she has her long blonde tresses tied back into a ponytail. She looks like a pixie in her canvas sneakers.
“You look like Mr. Casual, yourself,” she smirks, “I don’t think I’ve seen you in jeans or sweater before. I couldn’t even imagine you without your lab coat.”
I wince at the many times I imagined Lily without hers.
We pull into the Inn’s parking lot and enter the restaurant. We’re lucky enough to find a window seat.
Her eyes are sparkling as if she is on an adventure. “Oh look, Aaron—those trees are turning a bright orange—how beautiful!”
Seeing her against the fall colours makes me realize I’ll never look at autumn the same way again.
It’s fascinating watching the different play of emotions across Lily’s face as if I were seeing nuances of clouds passing over the face of the sun.
One moment she’s smiling and then, she’s back in serious mode.
“You know Maxwell Goodspeed was experimenting in the 1890’s, Just think, Aaron—back then, people were building telescopes to look at animals on the Moon.”
“I know,” I laugh, “but with all the new technological inventions, people began to think anything was possible.Not only contacting the dead but inventing mind-reading machines.”
“Or, improbable,” she muses.
“Perhaps, but just think—they recorded sounds and images. It must have been eerie to see and hear dead people as if they were still living.”
She nods, “And then there were the everyday miracles of speaking on the telephone and seeing electric lights in the house!”
“It must have been an exciting time to live,” I say dreamily, staring off into the misty distances, looking at coloured leaves and seeing Lily’s face in them.
“You really love that era, don’t you, Aaron?”
“Hey, men in handlebar moustaches riding unicycles, and hot air balloons—what’s not to like?”
She stares at me curiously—only a moment—but there’s something inscrutable in that gaze
We finally arrive at some peeling paint on a roadside sign that announces, The Goodspeed Lab. Maxwell Goodspeed’s great granddaughter is waiting for us.
Apparently, she shares Lily’s jaundiced view of her great grandfather’s legacy and is prepared to sell everything, lock stock and barrel, just to finance the construction of some greenhouses on the site.
“I’m Doris,” she says, shaking each of our hands, “I hope you didn’t make the trip out here for nothing.”
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be fruitless—I’ve come prepared to haul away whatever I can.” I point to my SUV and the trailer hitched behind.
Doris shakes her head dourly and says to Lily, “Is he always so optimistic?
“Famous for it,” she laughs and then smiles at me in a way that makes me figure I was being a bit too optimistic about my chances with her—but then again, maybe my paranoia is simply working overtime.
“Is everything for sale?” I ask.
“Give me five hundred bucks and you can load the whole shooting match on a flatbed truck and wheel it away,” she says testily.
I watch Lily’s face fall—even she is taken back by the woman’s callous disregard for her heritage.
“Well, maybe we should just browse,” I suggest.
“Suit yourself,” the lady snorts, “ just holler when you’re ready.”
Lily flashes me a tender smile that says, sorry. I nod and begin searching through the sheds.
While Lily is marvelling over a vintage lamp and an antique mirror, I head straight to Goodspeed’s office and begin rummaging through his desk and files. I find two notebooks written in code—it’s enough to persuade me there’s something salvageable in the rest.
I holler out to Doris, “How long can I take to move this stuff?”
“The end of the week, I guess—after that, I’ll just have some junk dealer come in and clear out the rest.”
“Don’t do that,” I say quickly, “I’ll buy the lot and take a few things with me and arrange for movers to come and get the rest.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself—as long as it’s gone by next Saturday, I don’t care what happens to it after that.”
Lily shrugs but says nothing until we’re back in the SUV heading home.
“So what’s the plan, Aaron?”
“I want you to help me decode Maxwell Goodspeed’s notebooks—and I’ll have all his machines moved into storage until I decide what’s valuable and what isn’t. Are you willing to help?”
“Sure,” she smiles, “it was worth the trip out to see the fall colours and enjoy the breakfast.”
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Well, also for this vintage lamp and mirror.” She holds up both items. “They have an attractive patina,” she adds.
I ride home in glum silence feeling distinctly unattractive myself, and more set-aside than Goodspeed’s life’s work devalued in Doris’ eyes.
Thank you!
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