Her Hometown Heart.

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Taking another swallow of his cola, Tom wondered where his sisters were. Somewhere safe, he prayed. He hadn’t heard from them since they’d left home almost ten years ago. He hoped they were happily married and raising packs of kids. Maybe they’d escaped from their childhoods, their pasts. He wished them nothing but happiness.

  He wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm. He’d like to wipe away his discouragement as easily. At least his kid brother, Matt, had a good chance at life. Matt was the first of the Andersons to attend college. He’d gotten a grant and a scholarship, so he was set financially. He’d succeed.

  His younger brother, Phillip, on the other hand, had followed in their old man’s footsteps, drinking and carousing, and landed himself in jail.

  Tom visited him every couple of weeks. The good news was Phil came to understand his need for Christ, not beer or illegal drugs. Hal had once said that sometimes God had to throw a man into prison in order to save his soul. In Phil’s case, he’d been right.

  Tom rose from the cement stoop, drank the last of his cola and pitched the can into the blue plastic recycling bin. He decided he’d best pull out the financial stuff, so it would be ready for Amie when she returned from the bank. A good portion of the records were on his computer, although he could readily print off anything she asked to see.

  Tom started up the steep steps. Discouragement descended on him like a heavy fog and suddenly he wished that he’d been the one to run off at sixteen or seventeen years old, instead of his two sisters.

  3

  In the solitude of one of the bank’s offices, Amie read and reread her uncle’s letter, marveling at its contents.

  He remembered.

  Amie’s eyes filled with emotion. She’d long ago forgotten her dream. But Uncle Hall hadn’t.

  My hotel.

  She swallowed renewed sadness at her uncle’s passing, and while she stared at his letter, fond memories came rushing back…

  Amie had always wanted to build and operate her own hotel. As a little girl, she’d fantasized about holding tea parties in the beautifully decorated lobby—just as she’d seen and done when her mother took her to lunch for her sixth birthday one year at the Palmer House in Chicago. The grand hotel with its quaint charm had greatly impressed Amie. Queen of the Hotel, that’s the title she’d coveted as a girl.

  But then she’d grown up and realized the ridiculousness of it all. She attended college in order to learn to do something practical with her life. Hadn’t her father drummed that into her brain enough times? And, of course, he was right. She had a marvelous career. Dreams of tea parties and hotels got stacked away with story books and baby dolls.

  Shaking off the past, Amie focused on her uncle’s letter. Use my land, he’d written. Raze the old gas station, laundromat, and my apartment, and build yourself one dilly of a hotel.

  Her lips twitched with a smile. Oh, right. As if this town was ready for a Palmer House. Amie rolled her eyes heavenward. A truck-stop, maybe. But a hotel? No way. And surely there were cheap chain hotels or something around here.

  She studied the letter once more, paying particular attention to the paragraph about Tom Anderson. Her uncle had penned: Tom is my son in the faith. I had the pleasure of leading him to Christ when he was a teenager. He is a good Christian man and that is why I left him over half of my investments.

  A good Christian man…

  Amie traced a deep scratch in on the wooden table with her index finger. Jasper had been a “good Christian man” too, and yet he’d taken from her something she could never get back. Ever.

  And yet, Amie had no problem believing her uncle as a man of God. Her mother often spoke of how “religious” her brother was, but always added that she’d never heard a bad word out of his mouth. Amie recalled the numerous times her mother phoned Uncle Hal when she’d needed encouragement. Dad frequently said his brother-in-law was a good judge of character. If Hal Holm stated that Tom Anderson was “a good Christian man” then it was true.

  Her shoulders sagged as the tension left them. Tom was as different from Jasper as night was from day. She should at least give the guy a chance.

  A guarded chance, though it may be.

  Amie’s gaze fell back on the letter, not forgetting that Tom Anderson had inherited half of Uncle Hal’s estate.

  So how much, exactly, did he inherit?

  “Miss Potter?”

  Amie started when the polite bank employee opened the door and poked her head inside the private room.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Just fine, thanks. I’ll be finished up here shortly.”

  “OK.” The portly woman with curls in her light-brown hair turned to leave. “If there’s anything else you need, just give me a holler.”

  “Thank you.”

  The door closed, and Amie folded the letter. Gathering the contents of the safe deposit box, she realized she possessed the other portion of her uncle’s investments—whatever they were worth.

  She stuffed the papers, along with Uncle Hal’s letter into her shoulder bag, sticking her tiny purse in there too. Leaving the bank, she didn’t think she was any closer to knowing what to do with her inheritance than when she’d first entered the building nearly forty-five minutes ago.

  Amie threw a quick glance up the street. It was obviously the main drag and traffic was picking up. To her left loomed a stately clinic, built on a hill, next to the river. The pharmacy was across the street. The next block boasted a sign that read, Market Square Mini-Mall and it certainly looked like the miniest mall she’d ever seen.

  Except mouth-watering smells of something fried and fattening emanated from the place, teasing her taste buds. Furthering the temptation were the delicious-looking ice cream cones that four kids held as they tumbled out of the mall’s main entrance.

  Resisting the urge to treat herself, Amie gazed farther up Cedar Street. An old-fashioned telephone booth on the corner, the likes of which she hadn’t seen in at least a decade. Farther yet, was a rundown grocery store that once bore the shining red and white symbol of an owl.

  But what Amie didn’t see anywhere was a hotel.

  She tamped down the ludicrous idea. This town wouldn’t know what to do with a hotel. It appeared poverty-stricken and...dying.

  An elderly man on the sidewalk stopped and stared openly. “Say,” he called after she’d passed him. “Aren’t you Hal Holm’s niece?”

  She stopped and spun around on one heel, facing the stocky man in a snug-fitting, light blue polo shirt. “Yes, sir. I’m Amie Potter.”

  He grinned broadly, and etchings of age crinkled his tanned face. “Well, sure, I recognize you. I remember when you were this high.” He indicated to his right hip.

  Amie forced a polite smile. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember you.”

  “Bob Huffman.”

  The name meant nothing to Amie. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Huffman.”

  He kept grinning. “You visiting?”

  “Sort of. My uncle left me his filling station and I’m trying to get that part of his estate settled.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll leave you to your business, then.” He gave a wave and strode to his pickup truck.

  Amie continued her short jaunt to her vehicle. Disengaging the alarm system, she opened the door and was met by a blast of suffocating heat. She instantly regretted not opening a window. By the time the air conditioning completely cooled the car, she’d be back at Hal’s station.

  Amie drove through town, halting at the junction of Highway 45.

  There were two ways to get into town.

  The sun bore down on her car as she waited for a break in the late Friday afternoon traffic. Travelers filled the lanes, some pulling RVs. Amie counted four vehicles pulling boats and then a couple cars towing jet skis whizzed by.

  Tourists.

  Lots of them.

  No, no, no! She would not build a hotel in this town.

  Amie smacked the steering wheel with her
palms. If she were smart, she’d sell Uncle Hal’s property, cash in on those investments, and take a cruise this winter. Chicago winters were brutal.

  A car’s horn honked from behind her. The traffic finally rendered her access onto the highway. She waved in apology and stepped on the accelerator. Driving back to the filing station, she crossed the river again.

  Amie pulled into the lot. A car that wasn’t there earlier was now parked at the pumps. Its hood was up, and Tom stood beside a gray-haired man. Both of them stared at the auto’s motor with grave expressions.

  Amie climbed from her sports car.

  “Can you fix it?” the stranger asked.

  She walked up to where he and Tom stood. Perspiration tickled the back of her neck.

  “Nope. Sorry, Russ.” Tom raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “Cars these days have computers and I don’t have the equipment to work on them. You gotta take it back to the dealer in Wittenberg.”

  “But they’ll charge me a fortune!”

  He shrugged. “Well, I can’t help you.”

  The older man muttered while Tom dropped the hood.

  “Why don’t you get yourself some of today’s modern tools, Tom, so you can fix my car?”

  “Guess I’m not interested in fixing cars anymore.”

  Russ sputtered off a lengthy complaint before spotting Amie. His eyebrows arched, and his expression bordered on shock and curiosity.

  Tom inclined his dark brown head in her direction. “This is Hal’s niece, Amie Potter.”

  Russ broke into a wide smile. “Well, how-de-do. Welcome to Tigerton.”

  “Thanks.” Amie gave him a polite smile.

  “You know, Tom,” Russ said conspiratorially, yet loud enough so Amie heard, “it’s Cash Night in town. If you’re inside a local business when your name is drawn, you can win money.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Tom sounded disinterested.

  “Well, I was thinking...the bowling alley’s got great burgers. You ought to take this little lady there to eat tonight. Maybe knock over a few pins while you’re at it.” He elbowed Tom and winked. “Women love a good bowler.”

  Since when? Amie giggled in spite of herself.

  Tom, on the other hand, looked anything but amused, although he didn’t seem particularly annoyed either. Maybe just embarrassed.

  Her uncle’s words came back to her. Tom is my son in the faith...a good Christian man...I left him over half of my investments...

  Amie wondered if he’d like to invest in a hotel.

  Except she wasn’t building one. The very idea was absurd.

  “I think you insulted her, Russ.”

  Tom’s voice pried Amie from her self-debate.

  “She’s from Chicago. She doesn’t want to go eat at some two-bit bowling alley, especially with a guy like me.”

  Tom’s sad eyes melted Amie’s heart.

  “I’m not insulted.” She stepped toward Tom. “On the contrary. I’m starved. I’d love a hamburger from the bowling alley. No, make that a cheeseburger. Do they have double cheeseburgers? Oh, and I’ve got to have a chocolate shake with my double cheeseburger.”

  “Oh, yeah? You can really eat all that food?” Half of Tom’s mouth curved upward, challenging her.

  “I can eat every bite.” Amie suddenly longed to see him smile. She cocked a brow. “But the important question is, are you buying?”

  That did it. Tom chuckled, his gaze falling to the cracked pavement beneath his dirty work boots. Sliding a glance to Russ, he waved an abrupt good-bye. “See you later.”

  “Get rid of the ol’ man. That’s the idea?” The grin on Russ’s face belied the challenge he’d thrown out. He gave a parting nod to Amie. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Same here.”

  Russ climbed into his car, fired up the motor, and drove away.

  Amie turned to Tom. “Did I embarrass you? Sorry if I did.”

  “No, you didn’t embarrass me.” His expression returned to dismal. “But I think you’d best be aware of the way talk spreads around a small town such as this one. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past Russ to spread the word that you and I are...dating or something after what just happened.”

  Amie replied with a careless shrug. “Who cares what people say?”

  “Well, unfortunately, what people say about you in this town is who you are.” Tom headed toward the tiny office attached to the garage.

  Amie followed him inside. “So, does that mean I have to go find a cheeseburger by myself?”

  Tom didn’t respond to her baiting but found his way to the other side of the counter which was stacked with papers, along with a grimy adding machine and a telephone that was probably installed in the1950s.

  Amie met his gaze, although he stared at her so hard she was tempted to look away. But she didn’t.

  “Listen, Amie,” he said at last, “I don’t think it’s a good idea if you go anywhere with me, OK?”

  “Why?” And then it hit her. She snapped her fingers. “Oh, right, you’ve got a girlfriend or maybe a fiancée, huh?” She had no intention of creating drama for Tom. “I understand. I wouldn’t come between two people for a million bucks, even if we are just talking about two friends eating burgers at the same table.”

  “But that’s my point. In this town two people can’t eat at the same table without folks speculating about something more going on between them.”

  “I get it, and as I said, I have no intentions of making trouble for you and your sig ot.”

  Lines creased Tom’s forehead. “What’s a ‘sig ot’?”

  “Significant other.”

  He hurled a glance upward. “So, big city folks have their own language, eh?”

  Amie gave a smile and strode to the smeared, plate-glass window. Unexpected disappointment crept over her like a dark shadow. It got tiring, eating by herself except for the “power lunches” with clients.

  It seemed as though everyone had someone special with whom they shared their lives—everyone except for her. Friends from college were married and raising kids. Dottie was engaged. Stephen had a steady girlfriend who was following him to Northwestern University. Amie shook off her melancholy. It was no use agonizing over things beyond her control. She’d just continue to learn to be content as a single woman.

  “By the way, I’m not dating and there’s no fiancée.”

  She pivoted.

  Tom pulled out hard-bound ledgers from underneath the counter.

  Maybe there was hope for a new friendship after all. “Well, then, would it be all right if you and I ordered a pizza and ate it around back where no one will see?”

  That slow half grin reappeared, brightening Tom’s countenance ever so slightly. “Amie, I don’t care if people see me taking you out to eat. I don’t even care if they think we’re on a date. I’m just trying to protect your reputation in this town. I owe Hal that much.” He raised a tan, muscular shoulder. “But I suppose since you are his niece, and everyone knows Hal and I were friends...”

  “What do you mean, ‘protect my reputation’? Are you implying that being seen with you will ruin it? My uncle spoke highly of you.”

  “Yeah, well, folks in this town’ll tell you that I’m the guy least-likely to succeed. Always was. Always will be. You don’t need to get pegged with the likes of me.”

  Amie opened her mouth, fully intending to refute the remarks, but seconds later she recalled something Mr. Henderson said the day he’d read Hal’s will. It had to do with Tom’s father being an alcoholic and Tom having to raise his siblings, so he dropped out of high school. The guy had lived a hard life. Then he’d lost his best friend—Uncle Hal.

  Reaching out, Amie touched his tanned forearm. “If my uncle said you’re a good Christian man and one I can trust, then I believe him over anything other people might say.”

  Tom eyed her and the way his eyebrows puckered above his nose indicated skepticism.

  Amie gave him her sweetest smile. “Will you go get cleaned up so you
can take me somewhere for a double cheeseburger and chocolate shake?” For dramatic effect, she set her wrist on her forehead. “I’m about to faint from hunger, sir.”

  Tom snorted. “What movies have you been watching?”

  Amie lifted her chin. “For your information, I enjoy those British series on Public Television.

  “Figures.” Tom pulled his arm away and kneaded the back of his neck. “Well, I guess you’ve been warned, fair maiden.”

  Amie giggled. So, there was a sense of humor beneath that somber exterior of his. “Does that mean you’ll take me out?”

  “Yes, I’ll take you out.” A tentative glint appeared in his gaze, but vanished when he walked around the counter, heading for the door.

  “I haven’t had a date in three years, and I can tell you right now, Tom Anderson, that you are two hundred times better than the last guy who took me out!”

  He tipped his head to one side. “You can tell that already, huh?”

  “There’s not a doubt in my mind.”

  Tom smiled from the doorway. “In that case, I’ll even pay for your double cheeseburger and chocolate shake.”

  “Oooh…now I’m really impressed.” She laughed at his cynical expression.

  “Give me a few minutes to get changed.”

  “Sure.”

  Tom strode purposely toward his apartment.

  At the doorway, Amie folded her arms and watched him go. His broad shoulders were even more impressive from the back. His legs were long and despite his faded, oil-stained, baggy jeans, she enjoyed the view.

  Maybe, if she was blessed, he’d even take a shower.

  4

  While Tom cleaned up for dinner, Amie paged through her uncle’s ledgers. Everything seemed to be in order. Not much in the way of profits to report, but according to last year’s accounting, the filling station didn’t appear to be losing money either.

  Amie closed the hardbound book and began investigating her newly acquired property. The office and attached garage weren’t nearly as well maintained as Tom’s apartment. Empty oil cans and various auto parts were strewn about the concrete floor of the garage. Clutters of paper and unopened mail occupied every available counter in the office. Amie wondered how a man worked in such a mess.