Marian Edelman Borden

The door opened several inches in response to my knocks. There had been no answer when I pushed the doorbell, even though I could hear it echo throughout the house.

"Hello? Plumber's here," I called, stepping tentatively into the foyer.

Suddenly I heard the clatter of footsteps racing down the steps and without warning a 70-pound ball of energy flung herself at me, her fingers digging into my arms.

"This way, please, please, you've got to find it," the little girl in a yellow slip dress begged as she dragged me back up the stairs, down the hall, and stopped at the doorway of the bathroom. It was pretty clear why they called a plumber, judging by the water pooling on the blue and white tiled floor.

"Daddy, the plumber's here."

"Thank goodness," came a voice from under the bathroom vanity. All I could see were two long legs wearing wet, gray dress slacks sticking out from the cabinet and a soggy cell phone near his knee. "I can't hold on much longer."

I worked my way under the sink, holding a flashlight in front of me in order to see what kind of mess this guy had gotten himself into.

"Where's the plumber?"

"I'm the plumber, Joanna Murphy," I said firmly.

"You're a woman," he said in surprise, both of his hands gripping an apparently broken shut-off valve.

"Want me to leave?" I laughed, playing the light over the rusted drainpipe with the loosened trap. I trained the light a little higher and found the crack in the corroded water pipe, a crack he'd apparently made when he'd knocked a pipe wrench against it in his efforts to remove the drain trap. Then when he'd belatedly tried to shut off the water to the pipe, the valve had disintegrated in his hands.

"No," he hurriedly assured me. "I mean - the woman on the phone said Joe Murphy would . . . I was just expecting . . ."

I was used to that. I'd taken over my Dad's plumbing supply business, Murphy's Pipe Dreams, four years earlier when he retired. Some of my father's long-time customers had a little trouble adjusting to a female plumber, even though they knew I'd been trained by the best. But this was a new customer who'd called in a panic about 20 minutes earlier.

"It's a matter of life or death," Maggie insisted, as she handed me a paper with the address. Maggie had been running the office for 25 years and nobody ever argued with her. I'd just picked up my tool box and headed out.

"Do you know where the outside shutoff is?"

"No. Sarah and I just moved in last week. I have . . . Okay, honestly? It wouldn't have mattered how long I've lived here. I'm not one of those guys who was born knowing how to do this kind of stuff. I can double your investment portfolio and advise you on the latest tax changes, but I'm no good at changing fuses or washers or whatever . . . My late wife always just called a handyman when something went wrong."

I liked a guy who was comfortable with himself. Very few of the guys I know would admit that to a close friend, much less a complete stranger. "Can you hold the valve a little while longer while I get a new one from my tool box?"

He nodded. "I'm not going anywhere."

I backed out of the cabinet and grabbed some stuff from my toolbox.

"My name is Alex Whitman, by the way," he called after me. "And I'm really happy to meet you."

"A pleasure to meet you too." I grinned. "Okay, when I tell you, I want you to let go of the pipe and scoot out of the cabinet. Water is going to spray, but I'll take care of it."

"We won't lose anything that's gone down the drain will we?" Alex asked anxiously.

"No. But what exactly are we looking for?"

"My lucky penny," wailed Sarah in the doorway. "I can't sing without it." Big tears coursed down the pale cheeks.

"No, no. I'll find it," I assured her and turned back to her Dad. "Okay, move."

Alex scrambled out from under the cabinet and the waterworks began instantly. I ducked under and after several minutes emerged, soaked, but with the water turned off.

"New valve's on. Hope you knew when you bought the house that you're going to need a lot of plumbing work - soon." I smiled hoping to soften the blow a little if the guy hadn't thought to have the plumbing inspected before signing on the dotted line.

"The realtor mentioned it. Said that was why I was getting a bargain," Alex wryly answered, tossing me a clean bath towel. "I'm not so sure about the bargain part, but the neighborhood is good. I just haven't had time to find someone, what with opening an office and getting Sarah settled in a new school."

Standing up, I mopped at the water that had ruined any chance I had of getting my curly hair under control in the near future. I noticed his hair looked great, even wet. Dark blonde hair, just like the little girl's, square jaw and vivid green eyes. An image of him dressed in knight's armor flashed through my mind. Perfect.

An impatient tug on my elbow reminded me I wasn't in Camelot; I was a plumber standing in ankle-deep water in a bathroom in Tulsa and that I was the one expected to do the rescuing or rather – complete the quest.

"What's this lucky penny look like?" I asked, smiling down at the child, a feminine version of her father. I was hoping the penny didn't have any identifying features so that I might be able to substitute one from my pocket in case the drain trap was empty.

Understanding what I was thinking, Alex spoke up before his daughter could. "It's an 1867 Indian head penny. It was her mother's – family heirloom."

I sighed. Not likely that I could come up with a spare one of those. "I'll need to take off the trap. And if it's not there . . ." I didn't want to tell her that if it wasn't in the trap it was gone for good. "When's your performance?"

Sarah grabbed her father's wrist and turned it so she could see his watch. "Fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?" she asked hopefully. "I've got a solo. Everyone is going to be watching me. I really need my lucky penny."

"Tell you what," I said, bending down and pulling a pipe wrench out of my tool box. "Let me check the trap, if it's not there I'll loan you my secret good luck charm – a rabbit's foot. My great grandmother gave it to me when I was six years old. It's never failed me."

Sarah's expression was doubtful. "Does it help you sing?"

Twin pairs of green eyes stared at me, waiting for my answer.

"I can't sing a note without it," I assured her as I crawled back under the sink. As I removed the rusted trap, I thought it best not to mention that I couldn't sing with it either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hello, we're here! I was the best singer in the whole school." The high clear voice echoed through the plumbing shop.

Maggie looked up from her calculator, smiling as she watched me smooth down my hair and check to see if my nails were grease-free. She'd heard all about the Whitmans and Sarah's singing debut. "You're busy. Do you want me to take care of this customer?"

"No way!" I grinned at her before hurrying out to the front of the store.

I stuck my hand in the front pocket of my jeans and fingered the Indian head penny I'd discovered when I mopped up the water on the blue tiled floor. Apparently the penny had never fallen into the drain, just bounced off the counter and rolled up against the tub.

Alex and Sarah beamed at me. Sarah was holding out my rabbit's foot. Alex was holding out a peach-colored rose. "We thought you might have dinner with us tonight."

As I happily nodded my agreement to their plans, I realized the penny in my pocket really was a good luck charm.

The end.