by Emma Belmont
It was just before she exited that one final question occurred to her. “Back at the credit union,” she said, turning around, “you asked if Edwin had gone whale watching recently. Why?”
Dr. Rossi’s brow furrowed. “Whale watching?” Maris nodded in the affirmative, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly can’t remember asking that.”
“You did, though,” Maris told him.
The doctor shrugged. “I guess I was just making conversation.”
At that moment, Nurse Maxwell appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, Doctor. Your next appointment is here.”
“Thank you, Jill,” Rossi said before turning to Maris. “Sorry to cut this short, Ms. Seaver, but duty calls.”
“Of course, Doctor,” Maris said. “I’ll see myself out. Thanks again.”
Just as Maris had been about to cross the Towne Plaza, her phone rang. She dug it out of her purse and frowned at the name that appeared on the screen: Geneva Tharald.
Though Maris had given her notice to Luguan Imperial Resorts weeks ago, apparently no didn’t mean no. Ironically, when she’d been working for them, she and her boss had gotten on well—if only via telephone. Now Genie always seemed on edge.
Maris put on her game face and smiled. Rule number one in the hospitality trade was to be hospitable. Rule number two was never to burn a bridge. “Hi Genie, where in the world are you?”
This had been their standard greeting for years, except that Genie had generally been at the corporations headquarters in Miami and Maris had moved from city to city.
“Glitchy Heathrow,” Genie answered, her voice tired. “It’s a bit of an unplanned layover due to ‘technical circumstances beyond their control’. How are you, Maris? Still in Pixie Point Bay?”
“I’m very well, thanks. And yes, still at the B&B.”
There was a bit of a pause before Genie said, “I was supposed to be in your neck of the woods tomorrow, the Napa property, but it looks like that’s not going to happen.”
Maris perked up. Although they’d only met in person a handful of times, they’d always enjoyed each other’s company. “Are you thinking of stopping by?”
“Actually,” Genie said, “I was wondering if you’d be tempted to meet me there. In fact, if you’d like to go early, the company can make it well worth your while.”
Ah, Maris thought. A different spin on the job offer.
“I see,” Maris said, letting her smile fade. “And if I were to actually go there, you probably wouldn’t need to.”
Although there was silence for a few moments, Genie finally said, “Probably.”
Maris smirked. “Thanks for your honesty, Genie. I’m afraid the answer is still no.”
“The higher-ups will give me a lot of leeway on this, Maris. It’d just be the Napa property. Knowing you, you’d have it sorted in a couple of weeks. What do you say?”
“I say,” Maris said, smiling once more, “that I hope those IT guys in London get cracking so you can get to Napa.”
Genie laughed a little. “All right. You can’t blame a gal for trying.” Maris heard a gate announcement in the background. “Great,” Genie said. “This flight has been cancelled. I guess I better find another.”
“Good luck,” Maris said sincerely, “and happy landings.”
“Thanks, Maris. You too.”
9
Maris stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the Main Street Market. Its two-story brick facade and stylish black awning hadn’t changed for decades—which she counted as a good thing. Everything about the place said small-town general store, which is exactly what it was.
Maris entered through the antique wood door with its oval of finely etched glass, and stepped into her childhood. To the right was the expansive wood counter with ceiling-high shelves behind it. To the left were the completely packed aisles. But as she walked past the different rows of canned goods, home and bathroom supplies, and frozen dinners, she realized that she wasn’t nearly familiar enough with the layout of the store to be able to navigate without help.
“Maris Seaver,” said a familiar voice from behind her, “is that you?”
She turned to find the owner of the market, Howard Scry, at the end of the aisle and she couldn’t help but smile. It was like looking at an encyclopedia page. The man’s resemblance to Einstein was nothing short of remarkable. It helped that his crazy mop of hair was almost completely white, but Maris had always thought it was the matching bushy mustache that was the clincher.
“Yep,” she answered. “Just me, Mr. Scry.”
He rolled his large dark eyes in an exaggerated way. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Howard? You’re not that gangly, freckled teenager anymore.”
“You can say that again,” she said, laughing a little. “Old habits die hard…Howard.”
“Indeed they do,” he said. He beckoned her toward the front of the store. “Come on.”
She followed him to the long wood counter. Next to the giant metal cash register was a row of large glass jars, each of which held sticks of candy in every color of the rainbow, and then some. A little thrill welled up in her. It was like being that teenager all over again.
“Root beer,” he said as he took a tissue from the box on the counter and lifted the lid on the container that held the sticks of brown spiraled with beige.
Maris had to grin. He never forgot.
“A barber pole for the little lady,” he said, handing it to her.
“Howard,” she said, accepting it along with the tissue, “you are as sweet as your candy.”
A little color rose to his cheeks, and Maris popped the end of the stick into her mouth. She could do with a little pick-me-up. Dieting could wait until tomorrow.
“How’s business?” she asked, around the candy.
“The usual,” he replied, replacing the glass lid. “Although everyone’s abuzz about the unpleasantness yesterday.”
“That was good of you to let his son know. Bryan said the doctor had called you.”
Howard shrugged a little. “I never knew his father very well, so I can’t say I’m too shaken up one way or the other. But his son has been fantastic here. A real hard worker.” He paused and his considerable forehead furrowed. “Say, would you mind helping me out for a minute? I’d like your opinion on something, if you’re not in too much of a hurry.”
“I’m not,” Maris said. “I just came for dish soap.”
Howard jerked his thumb at the cash register. “It’s about Bertha.” Maris gazed at the enormous antique cash register. With metal gleaming, and glass shining, it seemed in perfect condition. Howard put his hands on his hips, appraising it for a moment. Then he turned back to her and said, “I’m thinking of upgrading her. Something a bit more modern. What do you think?”
“Bertha?” asked Maris. “What for?”
“Bryan says she’s getting a little outdated,” said the market owner. “He says a new one would be faster, more secure. And did you know that people can use their phones to pay these days? We live in strange times, I’ll tell you.” He shook his head. “Still, I’m not sold on it yet. I’m used to Bertha. I don’t know if I’m ready to make that kind of a switch.”
“Well, I can’t really say what’s secure and what isn’t, but I do know one thing.” She waggled the barber pole at him. “You’ve got some of the most loyal shoppers in Pixie Point Bay. No matter what you decide, I’m sure they’ll stick with you.”
Howard grinned, perking up his bushy mustache. “Thank you.” He glanced at the cash register again. “Well, it’s something to think about at any rate. That Bryan is a smart kid. I bet it’s all the seafood he eats. They say it raises your IQ, did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” Maris said, enjoying her candy. “Speaking of Bryan, have you talked to him today. How’s he doing?”
“Well actually, he’s here at work,” Howard said. Seeing her reaction, he hastily added, “I didn’t tell him he had to come in, mind you
. I just couldn’t force him to stay at home. He wanted something to keep him busy, so I figured there was no harm in letting him come in for a few hours today. People handle stress differently.”
“Of course, of course,” Maris agreed. “Some people eat, and others can’t.” She glanced around. “Where is he? We met briefly and I’d like to say hi.”
“Should be in the seafood section in the back,” replied Howard. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.” He paused for a moment. “You said dish soap, right? Let me see if I can find some for you.”
He went to the door in back of the counter and disappeared behind it. In short order, Maris could hear the sound of bumping, then Howard’s indistinct voice, then the sound of something scraping, and a crash. She smiled as she turned away. Some things were never going to change.
She found Bryan in the enormous seafood section putting fresh halibut fillets into the refrigerated case.
“Hey, Bryan,” she said, wrapping up the rest of the candy stick in the tissue and tucking it in her purse.
He turned to look at her. “Oh, hey,” he said, setting the bin of fish aside. “You’re…Maris, right?”
“That’s right,” she replied. “Maris Seaver. Good memory.”
There were bags under his eyes and he gave her a weak smile. “Thanks.”
“Listen, Bryan,” Maris said, “I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about your father. I have some idea of what you must be going through.”
Bryan let out a long sigh, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it. I’m sorry, too, that you were there when it happened.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Bryan shook his head. “I always told him he ate too fast, you know. I said if he didn’t slow down something like this might happen.” He sighed again. “I guess some people just don’t listen.”
He reached into the bin of fish and retrieved the last couple packages of halibut. Maris watched as he loaded them into the refrigerated case. Although the young man looked tired, he didn’t seem particularly distraught. But looks could be deceiving. It could very well be that his father’s death had not even sunk in yet.
People dealt with trauma in different ways. Some cried, tore their hair out, or slept for days, while others sometimes just shut down, all emotion seemingly gone as a defense mechanism. She wondered if Bryan was one of those latter types. Or maybe he just wanted to stay busy, which would be her choice too.
“How long have you been in Pixie Point Bay?” she asked.
“Not long,” Bryan replied, finishing with the fish and moving to the end cap of the nearest aisle. “I was off at school for the past four years. I needed to get away, you know?” He opened a cardboard box of pickles. “I’ve only been back for a few months.”
“Like me,” Maris said, smiling. “What did you study in school?”
“History,” Bryan said. “The job prospects aren’t great for someone with that kind of degree. I’m looking, though.” He picked up a big jar of pickles. “Maybe something at one of the nearby schools will open up. It’s not like there’s a museum around here for me to try.”
Maris glanced around them. “At least you’ve got the supermarket until something else comes through.” There was a pause. “Do you like working here?”
Bryan shrugged. “A bit. It’s a job. I’ll take what I can get. It could be worse, I guess.” He glanced toward the front of the store, where they could still hear the faint sounds of Howard rooting through the storeroom. “Howard’s nice,” he added. “A little weird, but nice.”
Maris had to grin. “Most definitely nice.” She paused for a moment. “When the funeral arrangements are set, I’ll find out the details from Howard. You don’t need to let me know personally.”
Bryan blinked, his eyes wide, and for a moment Maris wondered if she’d said the wrong thing.
“I…I actually hadn’t thought about that,” he said, casting his eyes down to the floor. “I guess I do need to make arrangements, don’t I?” He took a shaky breath. “I don’t even know how, to be honest. I’m just moving into a new apartment. Where am I even supposed to start?”
“Well, you’re the next of kin, right?” Maris asked. When Bryan nodded, she said, “I’m sure the Sheriff will be in touch with you soon. He can–”
“There you are,” came a voice from behind them, causing them both to jump. Maris turned to see Dr. Rossi hurrying down the aisle toward them, still dressed in his white coat. “Maris, Bryan,” he said, coming to a stop. “I’m glad I caught you both.”
Maris cocked her head back. “You were looking for us?”
“Well, Bryan, specifically,” he said. “But if you’re here, Maris, all the better.” He turned to the young man. “I was just wrapping up my last patient when I remembered something. I can’t overstate how important this is. It has to do with your father.”
A sudden crashing sound made Maris jump back. “What was…”
Shattered chunks of glass, whole pickles, and their brine covered the ground around Bryan’s work boots. A little had splashed on Maris’s skirt, but the young man’s apron had been doused. Dr. Rossi had been in the line of fire as well, and a green stain was already forming at the hem of his white coat.
Bryan looked from him to Maris and back again, eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. “I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!” he said again. “I don’t know what happened. Jeez, look at this…”
He nearly dove at the littered floor, getting down on hands and knees as he tried to stem the tide of the green liquid. As he cupped his hands, he made giant sweeping motions, trying to keep it from flowing under the shelves.
“Bryan,” Maris said, reaching out a hand, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, you don’t have to…”
But he wasn’t listening, already scooping up pickles and pieces of the jar and dropping them into his apron, looking frantically around for something—maybe a bucket or towels.
“What’s wrong with me?” he asked, shaking his head as he reached for a particularly jagged piece of broken glass.
A moment later he yanked his hand back, the broken pieces and gathered pickles falling back to the floor. He cradled his hand, examining it, and Maris could already see blood dripping onto the floor to join the pickle juice.
“Jeez,” he muttered, hissing as vinegar worked its way into the cut.
“Let me see that,” the doctor said, taking Bryan’s hand gently and holding it up to the light. He frowned, and looked ready to say something when Howard came around the corner and into the aisle, a plastic bin of dish soap in his hand.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Scry,” Bryan nearly shouted. “I dropped a pickle jar. I cut myself. I– Ouch,” he exclaimed as the doctor moved his hand slightly.
“It’s all right, Bryan,” Howard said, his tone soothing. “Just take it easy. A jar of pickles isn’t the end of the world. I’ll get this cleaned up.” He handed the dish soap to Maris.
“This is going to need cleaning and stitches,” the doctor said. “We can do that at the clinic.”
“You go with the good doctor,” Howard told the young man, who had lost a bit of color. “He’ll take care of you.”
“Okay,” Bryan muttered.
Howard gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Good boy.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the doctor was saying as he led him away.
10
Dish soap in hand, Maris returned to her car. But rather than go home with it, she stowed it in the back seat and took out the canvas bag. In it was her crochet project, two balls of yarn, and her various crochet hooks.
As she strolled to the crochet club, she glanced over at the medical clinic. Even if Bryan had wanted to be busy today, he probably shouldn’t have gone to work. Although she’d likely have done the same, the poor boy had obviously no
t been in shape for it. She made a mental note to check on him occasionally over the next few days.
As she ascended the steps to the By Hook or Crook Crochet Club, she saw movement through the sheer curtains behind the front door’s windows. Her finger was poised above the doorbell when the front door flew open, revealing the home’s owner and the president of the club.
“How nice to see you again, Maris,” Millicent said, her eyes smiling. She stood aside and held the door open. “Why don’t you come in?”
“Thank you very much,” Maris replied, “and thank you for your invitation.”
“Glad you’ve finally decided to join us,” Millicent said as she closed the door behind them and beckoned for Maris to follow her down the hall.
The front room was impeccably decorated, with embroidered armchairs set up in a circle in front of the fireplace, where a cheery fire burned. In each of these sat a woman of a similar age to Millicent, working on crochet projects in every color possible. At the sound of footsteps in the doorway, they raised their heads, giving the newcomer welcoming smiles.
“Ladies,” Millicent said, putting an arm around Maris’s shoulders, “we have a new club member. Please say hello to Maris Seaver. She runs the bed and breakfast at the lighthouse.” The circle of women murmured hellos, smiling, as Millicent introduced them. “Maris, I’d like you to meet Zarina,” she said, indicating a stout woman with a bandana tied around her head. “This is Helen,” Millicent continued, pointing to a bespectacled woman, who gave Maris an eager smile. “Eunice,” she said as she pointed to a bottle redhead with more wrinkles than Maris thought possible. “And this is Vera.” She gestured towards a portly woman with short gray hair.
“Let me get you a chair,” Eunice said, standing up and grabbing another armchair from the corner of the room. As she dragged it over, the other ladies scooted their chairs to make room. Maris took the chair from her and carried it the rest of the distance.
