Though if he’d had someone else in the wings, apparently that new relationship hadn’t worked out either, because he sure seemed to be alone now.
Frank appeared at the arched opening to the parlor with a thick manila folder in the crook of his arm, a faint red flush at his neck in stark contrast to his snowy hair. “So you want to know when you can boot me out, eh?”
Beth looked up at him, relieved to see a brief flicker of humor on his lean, sad face. “No booting. We’re only trying to see where everyone stands, and what we can do to help.”
“Well, I’m the oldest fogey here, at sixty.” He took a chair across from them and folded his hands on top of the folder he’d settled in his lap. “I don’t know what any of us would’ve done without Vivian’s boardinghouse. When this place closes…” His voice trailed off as he stared at his hands.
“That’s a long ways off,” she said gently. “I understand you were a teacher. Did you enjoy it?”
“It was my life. I never married, you know, so teaching meant everything to me. Seeing my students succeed gave me great satisfaction.”
“What happened?”
“Falling enrollment. Consolidation of two school systems. I should have been secure after so many years, but the school closings meant that many of us were simply let go. I lost my home when I couldn’t keep up with my mortgage payments.” He offered a wry smile. “If one happened to buy during the real estate boom up here, it was very bad news when the market plummeted.”
“Have you looked for other teaching opportunities?”
He leaned forward to hand her the folder. “Take a look.”
She thumbed through the stack of papers, all copies of job applications he’d filled out. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve applied for every teaching position I qualify for, bar none, in a four county area. For two years I’ve come up completely dry. But that’s not a surprise. I was fifty-eight when I lost my job and a teacher with my years of experience is more expensive to hire than one just out of school, you know. So—” he gave a little shrug “—here I am.”
“What about other types of careers?”
“With only small tourist towns around here, there’s mostly just seasonal work in the summer, and even that has taken a hit lately, with the economy and all. I do have a part-time job at the library, but that’s just a bit over minimum wage.” A rosy flush colored his gaunt cheeks, revealing just how much the admission cost his pride. “I want to work, but I’m a useless old man before my time, I guess.”
Beth considered her words carefully. “Have you considered places farther away? Larger cities?”
“As a last resort. I’ve been here almost since I was a boy, so to leave lifelong friends, family and a place I love, well…” He splayed his fingers on his thighs. “But if I have to, yes.”
Dev had been silent during the other interviews, but now he cleared his throat and surprised Beth by leaning forward, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair and his fingers laced. “Have you thought about a different career entirely? With your teaching experience you might be excellent in business. Sales, marketing…”
“I have, actually. I’m going to take some accounting classes starting spring term at the community college.” Frank smiled. “I never thought I had much of a head for business and numbers, but I’m going to give it a try. Maybe someone, somewhere, will give a hardworking man another chance. If I could work until I turned eighty, I’d be the happiest man alive.”
At the end of the afternoon, Beth walked with Dev to the street, feeling the weight of lost dreams and flagging hopes weighing down her shoulders like a heavy, sodden cloak.
She stopped at the sidewalk. “I guess I don’t know what to say,” she murmured. “It’s all just so sad.”
Dev jingled the keys in his jacket pocket. “There are people in worse shape, though. No place to live, worse health.”
“True. I just…” She searched for the right word. “I just want to fix everything right now, because everyone looked so worried. All of them have been honestly trying to turn their lives around. So how can we assume that we can make a difference?”
“We can’t be miracle workers. This place is an opportunity for them, and the responsibility is theirs, too.” He lifted a shoulder. “Six months is a long time.”
“And what’s the deal with Elana? Everyone was so guarded when we asked about her. It was like…like they were protecting her.”
Dev frowned. “If she’s in trouble, we need to know. It could put this program and everyone in it at risk if we’re harboring someone running from the law.” But that someone had a young child with her, and the thought of a homeless child tugged at Beth’s heart. “Your mother vetted these people. I don’t think she would have taken in a fugitive.”
“We can hope.” Dev lifted a hand in farewell as he continued walking toward his Jeep. “See you around.”
She would never pursue a romantic relationship with him again. Or anyone else, for the foreseeable future, because she now had so little to offer. Yet Dev’s casual dismissal still felt like a direct hit in the vicinity of her heart. “Where are you staying—in case I need to contact you?”
“The Starlight Motel.”
“Why not the guest cottage behind your parents’ house?”
He sighed and turned back to look at her. “Because I expected to be on my way in a few days. This place doesn’t hold a lot of good memories for me, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“But—”
“But now…I guess I’ll have to consider it.”
She took a step back and craned her neck for a glimpse of the matching redbrick cottage behind his family home. She’d once thought it as charming as a dollhouse, with its crisp white shutters and gingerbread trim, but now one of the shutters hung askew and the little house had an air of sad neglect. “If it’s going to take a lot of work in there, I—”
“If it needs work, I’ll take care of it. You’re busy enough as it is.” Sparing her a brief smile, he pivoted and headed toward the Jeep, his long stride and military bearing masking the shoulder injury that surely had to be bothering him after so many hours of inactivity this afternoon.
With a sigh, Beth glanced at her watch as she turned for her own car. As a brush-off it had been tactfully delivered. Twice, in fact. And in truth, she’d buried her pride to offer help, but greater proximity was not for the best.
Still, a small part of her felt a twinge of disappointment. It was only human nature to want to be helpful, even to a stranger. Especially if that person was injured or hurting in some way. And though he didn’t mention it, that shoulder had to give him consider pain. But…so be it.
The bookstore was open from one to five on Sundays during tourist season, though it would close in an hour and Janet could handle that. Maura was probably pacing Beth’s upstairs apartment, eager to go out together so they could visit some of her old haunts with whatever daylight was left…and keeping her busy would be infinitely better than staying at home, where she might start back on the topic of Devlin Sloane once again.
As Beth climbed behind the wheel of her car, she closed her eyes for a moment. God, these next months aren’t going to be easy. Please help Dev and me get along, so we can do our best to help those people. And if You can, please soften my mother’s heart.
Chapter Five
I handled that meeting so well, Dev growled to himself as he drove through town the next morning. He’d thrown common courtesy out the window, with someone who’d only wanted to help.
Your ex-wife, a small inner voice reminded him. The one you treated so badly, only a year ago.
He cruised slowly past the bookstore. Debated about stopping to apologize…then remembered that Beth’s mother was probably inside, her claws bared.
Why the woman seemed to bear such a serious grudge after all this time wasn’t hard to fathom, but she certainly didn’t try to hide her feelings. Where was her Christian sense of forgiveness? His parents had certa
inly held that concept dear, at least on the surface.
Then again, maybe it was just as well that Beth had her guardian mama around.
He sure didn’t have any plans to stay in Aspen Creek. Even if he did, he had no business thinking about her, and surely he was the last man on earth she’d ever want to spend a minute on, anyhow.
He’d seen the stark pain and shock in her eyes when he walked out on their marriage. Her frustration when he’d refused to even listen to her attempts at salvaging their relationship…though he suspected her efforts were because of her deeply held beliefs about the sanctity of her marriage vows, rather than any deep feelings for a man as damaged as him.
War had changed him in more ways than she could ever know, with her genteel life of books and friends and pleasant customers.
And whether she believed it or not, he’d done her a favor by leaving her behind.
Dev pitched another shovelful of debris into a refuse barrel. Renewed pain lanced through his shoulder, forcing him to lean on the shovel and take long, slow breaths.
The town he’d been born in now felt as foreign as some distant planet, where the inhabitants expected security and happiness, where their day-to-day lives centered on inconsequential issues and they fully expected to be alive and whole twenty-four hours from now. That false sense of safety was as incomprehensible to him as the culture of iPods and BlackBerrys and home video games that had swept this quiet part of the world during his absence.
But he would succeed in meeting the stipulations of the will. Murdock would be out of luck.
And then…well, Beth would own her building and be safe from greedy developers like Stan, and the rest of the buildings could be sold to people who would preserve the historical flavor of the area. End of story.
Yesterday, Dev had headed straight to the Walker Building after the meeting with Beth, just to lose himself in the mindless, backbreaking process of clearing out the interior, and today he’d come back for the same reason. It wouldn’t hurt to start cleaning it out at any rate, so he could leave town faster when his six-month sentence was up.
An excellent plan…except this morning, it had taken two ibuprofen and a couple strong cups of coffee to get himself moving. Still, hard physical labor was better than dwelling on the past…and every street corner, every gracious old mansion and quaint storefront of Aspen Creek seemed to trigger memories he’d tried to forget.
That first date at the ice-cream parlor with Beth, the spring of his senior year in high school, when he’d just turned eighteen and she’d been a shy, sweet junior—prettiest girl in the entire school.
The old mom-and-pop-run theater, now boarded up, where he’d first held her hand and eventually found the courage to ease his arm around her slender shoulders.
The endless walks they’d taken along the quiet streets of this small, historic town, with canopies of elm and oak overhead and the fragrance of flower beds drifting from manicured yards…streets that now reminded him of the hopes and dreams he and Beth had once shared. Dreams of a perfect life, perfect home, and two or three perfect children.
Naive dreams of happiness not yet touched by war and death, and the harsh reality of life.
So much was the same here—yet there’d been changes, too. Back then, many of the stores were failing, victims of a struggling agricultural economy and the exodus of people toward better jobs in the Twin Cities to the west, and Madison to the southeast.
Now, Main Street boasted art galleries, upscale gift shops, and high-end specialty stores through the center of town, while many of the fine old homes at either end of Main now housed bed-and-breakfasts, antique stores and restaurants. Parallel to Main, Hawthorne ran for several blocks along sparkling Aspen Creek, and in between the blooming array of touristy cafés, coffeehouses and artisans’ shops at the northern end, one could catch glimpses of the towering, rocky cliffs on the opposite bank of the creek.
In the block owned by the Sloane estate, only Beth’s bookshop was open for business, but that would be changing once he got the other buildings sold.
Though by that time, he would be back to active duty and long gone, if sheer perseverance counted for anything.
The physical therapists at Walter Reed had recommended a series of strengthening exercises to work on every day to maintain mobility in his shoulder joint and build his strength. Each day he tripled the recommended number of reps, then added more of his own.
With that, and working on the building, he was going to be ready to rock by the day his medical leave ended. A day that couldn’t come too soon.
“Yoo-hoo,” a voice warbled from the open front door. “Can I come in?”
He turned toward the entryway to find a tall, slender woman with silver hair cut in a short, almost masculine style standing in the doorway. “Can I help you?”
She stepped inside. “Do you remember me?”
It was a question the locals liked to ask, though it had been so long since he’d lived here and so much had happened during the intervening years, that he struggled with names and faces. A decade of physical changes made it all the harder.
He knew this woman, though. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to place her wry, friendly smile and that light silver hair.
“Olivia Lawson. I believe,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “that I was your third-grade Sunday school teacher.”
Fourth, he remembered, as his mind locked onto the precise memory, though he didn’t correct her. Her hair had been a glossy brown back then, and she’d had the ability to quell the rowdiest behavior—often his—with a single, piercing glance. She’d also been a great storyteller, able to hold her classes rapt with the way she could make a Bible lesson come alive using her dramatic voice.
Another dim memory surfaced. “Weren’t you an English teacher, too?”
She smiled. “Community college—and still teaching. I was also an acquaintance of your mother’s, through church.”
Less pleasant memories, there.
She cocked her head, studying him. “I hear you’ve led quite a life of adventure.”
He stiffened, waiting for the hint of censure that he’d always heard as a teenager from those in his mother’s social circle, where the adults engaged in subtle games of one-upmanship when it came to their children’s career choices. Greetings directed at him invariably drifted into questions about his plans to follow in his father’s footsteps…or would it be law instead of medicine?
Exactly the expectations his family had held for him, until he’d rebelled at the recruiter’s office. His parents had never failed to let him know of their disappointment in him after that, whether through subtle comments or long-suffering sighs.
He spared Olivia a brief nod, then scooped up another shovelful of debris.
“We’re all proud of you, you know—and your service to our country. Our pastor names each of our local men and women in the military during our Sunday prayers.”
At the unexpected note of approval in her voice he paused and looked back at her. If any of the hometown folks had ever noticed his absence, much less been proud of him, his family hadn’t chosen to relay the information. “Thanks.”
She surveyed the area, then tapped a finger against her lips. “You should get some help, or this cleanup will take forever.”
“I’ve got the time.”
“The youth group at the Aspen Creek Community Church could do it in a snap,” she said decisively. “They’re always looking for fundraiser projects. Buy them pizza, make a donation to their program, and you’ll have this cleaned up in no time. Though given who your mom was and what she did for them, they’d probably come for free.”
What she did for the youth group? At church? Olivia had to be confusing Vivian Sloane with someone else.
She laughed aloud. “From your expression, I get the feeling you didn’t know your mom very well in her later years.”
“I haven’t been around here much since I enlisted. We…didn’t always see eye to eye.�
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“Something she always regretted, no matter what you might think.” Olivia drew closer and rested a slender hand on his shoulder. “I believe she once said that you two were too much alike.”
He stifled a snort at that. Country club events and golf tournaments had certainly been his focus all right, to the exclusion of everything else…like a bothersome child.
“I think she mentioned ‘stubborn’ and ‘independent’ once or twice, but my memory could be wrong.” Olivia winked. “I guess I’d better be going. Maybe I’ll see you in church Sunday?”
He shrugged. Not likely.
She waggled the tips of her fingers in farewell as she left, leaving him to count the number of times he’d been asked about church in the past twenty-four hours.
Barring a few of the newer people in town, everyone he’d encountered seemed to recognize his name whenever he stopped at a store or gas station. They offered condolences about his parents and dredged up pleasantries about how much they were missed in these parts. And then they assumed Dev would be slipping into the traditional Sloane pew, right up front.
But he’d seen too much, learned too much over the years to ever be able to resume that falsely pious family role again.
Maybe God watched over the good folks of Aspen Creek, but He sure hadn’t followed Dev to the Middle East or into the halls of Walter Reed. And if He hadn’t stepped in when Dev had needed Him most, He certainly wouldn’t care about what happened now.
The cell phone on his belt clip vibrated. He lifted it and glanced at the caller ID, trying to ignore the instant rush of awareness that he’d tried to forget. He almost said a silent prayer for strength, before he caught himself.
It was Beth.
At the sharp rap on the door of Beth’s office at the back the bookstore, Elana grabbed for her son and retreated to the corner of the room, dragging him with her. Their dark eyes widened with fear, even though Beth had told them Dev was on his way.
Winter Reunion (Aspen Creek Crossroads Book 1) Page 5
