"Hey man, how's it goin'?" Ron said. It was my usual late afternoon phone call from him to set up the next days work.
"It's goin' good, buddy," I said. "Just finished up that kitchen faucet job for the Hendricks."
"Good," he said. "Hey, I got a call requesting you tomorrow. A Mrs. Millbanks? She said you'd know who she was."
"Wow. I had a teacher in high school with that name," I said. "I guess maybe it's her, huh?"
"Oh maybe. That's cool," he said. "So anyway, she's got a bunch of little stuff for ya tomorrow. She wasn't too specific, so I'll just put you down for that. Nine o'clock at 2480 River Drive. I think it's right out by you somewhere. If you get done early give me a call."
I pulled out my old high school yearbook to refresh my memory, and Mrs. Millbanks looked just the way she was stuck in my head — big glasses overwhelming her small face, pulled back hair, and conservative clothes. She was younger than I remembered, thirty maybe, which would put her in her early to mid forties now.
It turned out she lived about a mile upriver from me, on the other side, in a house I'd been by many times on the water. I pulled in her driveway and she greeted me at the door.
"Steven Mills! It's so very nice to see you again!" she said with a big smile.
I'd forgotten what a small woman she was. Her appearance had made a great leap forward, with attractive, small black framed glasses, and short hair that was nicely styled.
"My, you've gotten even taller!" she said. "You were always so tall and . . . muscular, but my, you've really . . . well, you don't want your old teacher going on about that, do you?
My how you've grown
!" she said with a laugh, mocking herself.
"You look terrific Mrs. Millbanks," I said with a smile. "Is life being good to you?"
"Please call me Margie, Steve, or Marjorie if you want to be formal," she said. "I always think it's funny that most of my students never knew my first name. Seems odd doesn't it?"
"Marjorie Millbanks? Now that's a beautiful name for a beautiful woman," I said. "Somebody should write a story about you."
"Oh Steve!" she laughed, and her eyes twinkled. "You have grown into a gentleman haven't you. It's probably good for business isn't it, flattering your old lady clients."
"Well I only do it when it's true. And nobody with a smile like that is old." I said.
"My goodness," she said, looking a little flustered. "We'd better get you to work before . . . let me show you what I have for you."
There was lots of 'small stuff' jobs to do — loose drawer pulls, sticky drawers, a window that wouldn't open, a mirror to hang.
"So how'd you find out about me?" I asked when she brought me a lemonade.
"I ran into your old friend Mark at the bookstore the other day," she said. "My, he's a handsome one now too isn't he? I can say things like that now that you're so far out of school."
"I hope he didn't tell you too much about me," I said.
"Too much?" she asked. "You haven't been in trouble, have you Steve?"
"No, nothing like that," I said.
"Good. So, have you settled down and got married yet?" she asked.
"Nope, still having too much fun. What's the old saying? Sowing my oats? What's that supposed to mean anyway?" I asked, falling back into our teacher/student relationship.
"It has to do with spreading your seed around," she said, looking a little embarrassed as she said it.
"Ah, thanks Mrs. Millbanks. You always were a good teacher. Margie I mean."
"Did you think so back in school?" she asked. "I always wonder what my students think of me."
"Yeah, you were good," I said. "I always liked you."
"Not as much as Bonnie I imagine," she said. "Ms. Burns?"
"Oh, Ms. Burns . . ." I said with a faraway look in my eye.
"Oh, Ms. Burns," she said with a smirk. "I know you boys all had a thing for her. She had to leave the school you know. She was caught having an 'inappropriate relationship' with one of the boys."
"Really!" I said, wishing it was me, and Margie smirked again. "How do you do it, all you teachers?" I said. "I mean there's so many attractive kids, especially these days."
"Oh there were 'way back in the olden days' when you were there too you know. You were one of them," she said with yet another smirk, which I was beginning to like. "I don't know how we did it. I guess . . . and I can only speak for myself . . . I married a man that kept me satisfied." She blushed heavily. "You know, you're the first student I've ever had this conversation with."
"I'm a long way from a student Margie," I said. "So what happened with Ms. Burns?"
"She was single. I think it's harder for them," she said. "She and I spoke about it after. We're friends you know. He was a very attractive boy and . . . it's really unfortunate how those things end up. Often there really is love and 'mutual consent,' but society doesn't see it that way. His parents certainly didn't."
I was surprised by Margie's sensitivity. Back in school she always came across as pretty conservative. I noticed she had a wedding ring on, but hadn't spoken of her husband in the present.
"So that man who satisfied you 'way back in the olden days,' are you guys still together?" I asked.
"Yes," she said quietly, "yes we are. My secret weapon doesn't have many bullets these days though." She blushed heavily again. "Listen to me, getting way to personal with you." She looked me in the eyes. "You should have gone into social work or something. You're very easy to talk to."
"I am sorta in that business," I said. "I like to make people happy."
"Do you fix broken women often?" she asked with a mix of curiosity and sadness.
I smiled. The things she had said made me wonder if she had been, or was, involved with a student, now that her husband had run out of bullets.
"I'm happy to talk about anything you want you know," I said. "Teaching and learning and counseling works both ways now that were both adults."
"I'd forgotten how sweet you are Steve," she said. "Maybe I'll take you up on that some day."
I went back to work and finished up Margie's projects, and a few more she found.
"You know, we're neighbors," I said as I finished up. "I live right across the river about a mile downstream."
"Really?" she said. "Down near the bridge?"
"Just before that. There's a big wooden boat parked at my dock," I said.
"No!" she said with big surprised eyes. "That beautiful wooden cruiser? That's your place?"
"Yup, I've been there about a year," I said.
"I Paddle my kayak by there all the time!" she said. "I'm not surprised we didn't recognize each other . . . you're so . . .and I've changed a bit too."
"The years have been good to you Margie," I said. "I'm glad the big glasses are gone."
Margie laughed. "They were pretty bad, weren't they. I can't believe you're my neighbor . . . Steve Mills, right across the river," she said with a far off look in her eye. "Wait'll I tell Bonnie."
———————
That weekend I was reading a boat magazine and sipping a beer on my dock when a kayak came by, hugging the shore.