“Are you listening to me, boy?” Sergeant McKenzie asked as he reached for his citation pad.
“Yes, sir,” he said, although his mind had wandered, causing him to chew on his lip just to stay focused. When he let up on it, he found himself spewing a speedball of words. “To be honest, sir, I’m guilty. As much as my Uncle Delbert said it’s his fault, you are exactly right: I am behind the wheel.”
Sergeant McKenzie’s jaw dropped. Not many people— young or old—owned up to their antics behind the wheel. He cleared his throat, looked at the citation pad and cleared his throat again. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna let you off this time, this . . . one . . . time. But consider yourself forewarned: I’ll be watching you extra careful, young man. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Josh said, reaching his hand out the window to shake Mac’s. “And thank you, sir. I promise you I will not disappoint you.”
“It’s not about disappointing me, son, it’s about staying safe. Do you have any idea how many one-car accidents— rollovers—we have on these gravel roads due to reckless driving? Even the most experienced gravel riders occasionally get themselves in trouble. Just ask your friend Dorothy Wetstra about that some time!” Delbert swallowed down a smile. He’d known about Dorothy’s well-deserved reputation for wild driving since he was a boy. She’d been towed out of a ditch on more than one occasion. He, for one, was not unhappy when The Tank went to scrap metal heaven.
Sergeant McKenzie disappeared back into his squad car and drove on down the road. Josh looked at his uncle with pleading eyes. Okay, so he didn’t get a ticket. Maybe Uncle Delbert had prayed them out of it. Now the only question that remained was, will he be able to save me from the wrath of my mom—by keeping quiet?
Nellie Ruth was doubly excited when she opened the door. She was grinning and clapping and gave Edward Showalter such a short peck on the lips that he almost missed it, but she didn’t want him to miss what was waiting behind her. Morning and Midnight had followed her to the door and seated themselves right on her heels. She stepped aside and said, “Look who’s come to greet you!”
“Well I’ll be darned if they haven’t grown another inch!” Edward Showalter said as he squatted down to pet the kittens. Midnight, the black female with startling green eyes, bolted away and disappeared down the hallway, but Morning, a somewhat larger and completely white male, arched his back as he slipped toward Edward Showalter’s outreached hand. “For someone who never had a pet before, I’d say you’re a natural mother, Nellie Ruth.”
Nellie Ruth’s eyes welled with tears. He couldn’t have said anything more reassuring. Less than ten weeks ago Edward Showalter had presented the kitties to her as a surprise gift, along with everything they’d need to get along for the first month. Although they’d gotten off to a rocky start by getting into all kinds of trouble and disrupting Nellie Ruth’s perpetual order, Nellie Ruth had finally relaxed a little after figuring out how to avoid most of the mishaps. She couldn’t imagine her life without them. “They are the best kitties,” she all but purred. “And don’t take Midnight’s disappearing act personally. She often does that with me, too, which is why I was so pleased she came to greet you at the door. For two kitties from the same litter, they sure do have different personalities.”
“Just like humans, I reckon. And come to think about it, Midnight’s the perfect name for a cat who disappears.”
Nellie Ruth squatted down next to her beau. They took turns stroking Morning’s back as he wove a figure-eight around their ankles. “You must be bone tired,” she said, turning sympathetic eyes his way.
He reached for her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I’m feeling better now that I finally have a chance to spend a little more time with you. What a surprise to get off early—or, well, on time—for a change! And something smells awful good. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble, though, since I did call at the last minute with that dinner invite.”
“I was going to cook for myself anyway, which is never much fun, and it just seemed like we’d have more quiet time to visit if we didn’t have to drive somewhere. I put three frozen chicken breasts in the microwave to thaw instead of one, breaded them with a simple mixture of cracker crumbs and parmesan cheese and I’m sautéing them in butter. I’m browning some mushrooms and onions on the side, though, so I bet the onions are what you’re smelling.”
“Yup. I reckon it’s the onions, although heated parmesan might be it. Couldn’t say. All I know is I’m good and hungry and happy for the company, and not in that order.” He winked at her, which openly delighted her heart. “You could open me a can of cat food and brown it and serve it, Nellie Ruth, and I’d probably shovel it right down since you made it.”
She crinkled her nose. “Obviously you haven’t smelled cat food for awhile!” She stood and told ES to make himself comfortable while she finished up dinner. He followed her right into the kitchen. Their time was so limited he didn’t dare miss a minute of it. Cats were nice, but it was Nellie Ruth he came to see. He watched—and admired—her every move while she stirred the onions and mushrooms, turned the chicken, made some instant rice and set the table. He stared so intently she became self-conscious and began to feel everything she did was clunky.
“Is my shameless admiration making you nervous?” he asked, after noticing she rearranged the forks a few times until they were perfectly parallel with the knives on the other side of their plates. She was a perfectionist alright, he thought.
“No. Well, yes. Well, not really. It’s lovely to be admired,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “It’s just that after you live alone most of your life, you’re not used to thinking about how you do things until somebody’s watching you do them.”
“I hear ya. When Katie Durbin stares at me, I can barely hammer a nail straight without bending it. Might have single-pounded a hundred other nails straight to the board before it, but when the boss lady’s looking over my shoulder, it seems I either whack my own thumb or bend the nail.”
“Are you still up on that scaffolding?”
“Not for now. In fact, we’re probably done with that until we have to paint. We’re already putting drywall in some of the stores!”
“Have you heard her mention a grand-opening date yet?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Even when our work is done, there’ll still be lots of movin’ in for folks to do. I’m guessing I’ll be pretty busy during that time, too, helping proprietors get their electrical and phone lines and computer wiring where and how they want it. We’re installing more than plenty of jacks and everything, but I’m sure we’ll have to move a few things around to accommodate their setups. One good thing about that building is the shipping dock the Taningers had put in for their furniture business. Between that and the elevators, the actual moving in of stuff should go okay. But to be honest, I think that candy man on the lower level is going to take some doing. He wants to cook fudge in one of those big copper pots and we’re already considering special venting. You ever see them pour that hot fudge out onto those marble slabs?”
“FUDGE! Yummy. And the answer to your question is Yes, I did see one of those big pots on my one and only vacation to the Wisconsin Dells. My one and only vacation away from home, period.”
“No. Please tell me you are not saying you’ve only had one vacation in your entire life!”
“I am telling you that. But don’t feel bad. I’ve enjoyed my time off right here in Partonville. It’s nice just to have the freedom to sleep in, stay up late and watch television if I want, get some deep house cleaning done . . . practice my music and do some crafting. . . .”
“Who’d you go to the Dells with, if I might ask a personal question?”
“My parents. When I was about eight, I’d say. I still remember those Duck Boats! And a rock that looked like a piano or something, and the fudge. Mmmmm.” She filled their plates and set them on the table. “Would you give the blessing
, please?”
“I’d be delighted,” he said, first spreading his napkin on his lap, lowering his head toward his plate and inhaling the fineness of Nellie Ruth’s labors. After he finished the blessing, he asked her how long they stayed at the Dells and if she remembered if she got her a pair of beaded moccasins for a souvenir. She told him no, no moccasins, but she remembered a tiny coin purse with beads on it. She said they were there just one night, then her face clouded over and she stopped talking. It wasn’t the first time he noticed that when she talked about her family she often stopped midstream. There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he wasn’t going to press. When the time was right, she’d open up. He hoped.
Nellie Ruth’s father had violated her in unspeakable ways and memories of her family’s night in a motel room momentarily shut her down. Thanks to the grace of God, Edward Showalter was the first man in her life to show her what being treated like a lady felt like. She hoped this bout of flashback would not upset her for the evening. Lord, do not let this get a hold of me! After dinner, Nellie Ruth washed the dishes and ES dried. Silently working side by side was comforting to her as she reminded herself that ES had nothing to do with the likes of her dad.
Midnight decided to show her face in the kitchen for a little while, which further comforted Nellie Ruth, even though the kitty didn’t move in too close. When the dishes were done, Nellie Ruth and ES sat next to each other on the couch and held hands while they watched a little mindless TV. Thank you, Lord. This is good and right. It wasn’t long before Edward Showalter started yawning. “I’m sorry, Nellie Ruth,” he said between yawns. “Please don’t take this as any indication of my lack of joy in your company. We’ve just been putting in a lot of hours, and after such a fine meal,” he said, patting his belly, “I feel like a lazy lugnut.”
“Actually, I need to get busy with those mini-mall entries anyway. I picked them up today but haven’t even had a chance to open the envelope. We’re having our meeting this Saturday morning to select the winner!”
“Let’s see, the day after tomorrow is Saturday, isn’t it? When you work six days a week, it’s easy to get your days mixed up. Can I help you with those entries?”
“NO! Aside from the judging committee, it’s top secret, remember?”
“Can you just tell me if my entry is in the running?”
“You entered?”
“You betcha! Who wouldn’t want to win a hundred-buck shopping spree, especially when they have the most beautiful woman in Partonville to share it with!”
Share. He said he’d share it with her. That was so romantic and generous that she leaned in and gave him a proper kiss, which he followed right up with another— and then another yawn. “Well now you know I’m tired,” he said, shaking his head, causing them both to giggle like little kids.
“About your entry, I won’t even know if you’re in the top five. We’re judging this round without names.”
“Fair and square, huh?”
“Fair and square. And now, you have to go home and go to bed and I have to get busy. But wait! I can’t believe we haven’t even talked about the upcoming election! All of Your Store was buzzing as soon as word spread. From what I heard, more people than you might expect are upset about the mall. Is that why Katie let everybody off early today?”
“Maybe we haven’t talked about it because we’re already tired of the politics! That’s definitely another reason I can barely stay awake, I’ll tell you. She had me lock the door to anything but construction deliveries after Sharon Teller showed up bright and early this morning. I had to turn a bunch of people away, and they were none too happy about it.”
Morning appeared cautiously and crawled up on Nellie Ruth’s lap, and they listened to his purr. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal now, ES?”
“Fire!”
“Do you like working for Katie? I mean, is she good to you, what with making you work so many hours?”
“She’s always paid me handsomely for my labors, even back when I worked on her Aunt Tess’s house before Dorothy moved in.”
Nellie Ruth stroked Morning a few more times. “But aside from the money, is she good to you? Does she treat you well?”
“Why do you even ask? You know Katie Durbin. You’re both Hookers!”
“Which reminds me again that it’s my turn to host bunco this month and I can’t wait for the ladies to see my new Splendid Rose paint and meet the twins,” as she’d taken to calling her meowing babies.
Edward Showalter stood, stretched, kissed Nellie Ruth one more time and asked for his coat. “You’ve got entries to read and Kornflake’s waiting for his dinner.”
“Tell him his cousins said hello, okay?”
“I’ll do that.”
While Nellie Ruth waved at him from her upstairs window as he pulled out in his camouflage van (or cammy-van, as ES liked to call it), it hit her that he’d never answered her question. Was Katie good to him? She certainly hoped so.
13
C arl Jimson had always been a night owl, so the fact that he was up alone at 11:30 P.M. wasn’t unusual. Like clockwork, right after the ten o’clock news his wife kissed him goodnight and told him she loved him. As always, he switched the television in their spacious family room to the History Channel, picked up a biography from the top of his stack of books near his favorite lounge chair and propped up his feet on the matching ottoman. What was unusual, however, was that at 11:15 he’d closed the book and turned off the television. He sat in the dark staring into space, only the glow of their built-in, fifty-gallon aquarium lighting the room. Aside from the gentle bubbling of the aquarium’s filtering system, the house was silent. But his mind wasn’t.
Quietly, so as not to awaken his wife, he placed the book back on its stack, scooted the ottoman out of his way, stood, stretched and walked to the large glass sliding door, which he unlocked, opened and passed through onto the stone patio. He stood in the dark a few minutes allowing his eyes to adjust before flipping the override switch on the garden walkway lights, which the timer had automatically turned off at 11.
When he’d designed this home, he made sure it not only possessed every bell and whistle that tickled their fancy, but that it was equipped for all their aging needs. They found as they passed fifty-five that things like no stairs and brighter lighting became the priorities rather than the sweeping open staircases, lower-level recreation rooms and subtle ambient lighting in their two previous homes, each of which he’d designed for their growing family’s needs. But now the kids were gone, the reading glasses a bit thicker and their knees occasionally let them know they were no longer thirty. The night he and Glenda moved into this home, complete with grab bars in the tubs and showers and wider doorways should the need for a wheelchair ever arise, they’d opened a bottle of fine champagne and toasted to the last house they would likely ever own.
The sprawling ranch was situated on the private and premium two-acre location at the very rear of their gated community, their lush backyard rimming a county arboretum. The Jimsons’ groundskeeper kept everything immaculately trimmed and tidy. The only thing more beautiful than their estate, he’d once told Glenda, were the pastures on his childhood farm.
He decided to stroll the flagstone walkway through the gardens, the full moon casting a moody glow throughout. As he walked the lighted path, even though he was wearing an undershirt, turtleneck sweater and a fleece pullover, he wished he’d thought to grab a jacket, the night air undoubtedly colder here than it was in Partonville this time of year, which although not that far south had a surprisingly different climate.
Partonville. There it was, he mused, the reason for his broken evening ritual, his jitterbug brain. This was the first time since his afternoon conversation with Colton he’d had a chance to meditate on why he was feeling so . . . what? Unsettled? Used? And why did he care that much about Colton’s motives
or agenda anyway? Yes, he, the architect, had accepted a long-distance job. He did it well, he got paid handsomely and it was almost over, aside from a little consulting and personal encouragement he’d likely render by phone to that quirky Edward Showalter fellow. No need to return to the little circle-the-square town. And yet. . . .
Partonville was a small town not unlike the one he’d grown up in, not unlike many other small towns fighting to exist, some making it, some not. Nothing especially unique about it. And Colton had never been an intimate friend. Sure, they’d belonged to the same country club in Chicago when they were both upstarts trying to stake their claims in the business world. And yes, they’d sipped a few martinis in their day, shared a few leads, stayed in minimal contact. He’d always accepted Colton for what he was: a gifted, determined, shrewd and occasionally ruthless tycoon. But as far as he knew, Colton never swerved into the illegal; he was simply good at taking advantage of every opportunity. Carl admired the man’s tenacity and success at building Hethrow into a flourishing city. He found him fascinating, which is why they’d stayed in touch. So, why was he still so disturbed about their phone conversation?
He sat down on the cement bench near his favorite of their three ponds. He’d worked with a landscape architect to achieve just the right soothing ambiance in and around this particular pond, the closest to the house. He was glad they’d settled on the extra lighting, which made the pond appear like a reflecting pool, especially with the full moon illuminating the surface.
He recalled one night about a year after they’d moved into this home when he and his wife sat on this very bench. An overpowering sense of satisfaction swept over him and he’d never forget sharing it with Glenda. After sitting side-by-side in silence for a long spell, Carl said, “We have everything we could ever want, don’t we, honey.” It was an affirmation rather than a question, and they both agreed it was so. “In the day of prosperity, be happy,” she said, a contented wistfulness in her voice. “That’s what the Good Book tells us in Ecclesiastes. I just read that this morning.” When they’d retired that evening, they’d made wonderful and sweet love to celebrate all their happiness. So why this evening did he feel something was lacking when he knew very well it was not?
Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When? Page 11
