Aunt Harry busied herself slicing the mystery bread. “How are you and Jasper getting along?”
Russ grimaced. “I think the dog’s possessed.”
Aunt Harry laid a slice of bread on Russ’s plate. Then another. A few minutes later, she laid another beside it. Russ glanced down at the three half-eaten slices of nut bread on his plate.
“You’ll be in Morning Sun for Christmas, won’t you?”
Russ glanced at Beth. “Probably. Dave and Carol plan to be back after the holidays. I’ll stick around until the first of the year.”
“Wonderful. I love Christmas. All the lights and decorations, everyone is so nice to one another. Except the people at the Senior Citizens’ Center.”
Beth turned the page of the home section. “You’re going to have to get over that, Aunt Harry. Can’t you play bingo at the Masonic Hall?”
“No, I don’t like to play with those people.” Harriet laid a fourth slice of bread on Russ’s plate. “Beth, remind me to take a loaf of bread to old Mr. Perkins.” Harriet glanced at Russ. “Lawrence is a shut-in you know.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Heck, he didn’t know anyone in town anymore. He hadn’t seen a familiar face at the Super Mart.
“Well, thanks for the cider and bread.” Lots and lots of bread. Russ drained his cup, then pushed back from the table. “Jasper will think I’ve left the country.”
“You take a loaf of bread home. I know you’re not eating like you should. David and Carol don’t eat anything but turnips, do they?”
Ooops. Major digression.
“Vegetables. They’re vegetarians.”
“Oh, my. Well, then, that settles it. You take all the bread,” Aunt Harry insisted, hurriedly wrapping loaves in aluminum foil.
“Ms. Morris, I can’t—”
“Jasper will enjoy the windfall,” Beth whispered, ushering him out of the kitchen. “You’ll hurt her feelings if you don’t accept it.”
“Here’s your bread,” Aunt Harry said, following him to the door once he had his parka back on. “I’ll have more once I get my new stove.”
Russ watched her stack aluminum-wrapped squares into his outstretched arms. “You’re getting a new stove?”
Beth caught his eyes, shaking her head.
“No…what makes you say that, dear? My old one is in perfectly good condition—oh, this larger package? I put some meat loaf in there for you.”
Russ shivered. Dave had warned him about Harriet’s meat loaves.
Beth gently pulled him aside. “Whatever you do, don’t eat the meat loaf. It has raisins in it.”
“In meat loaf?”
“She gets confused, but she loves to bake. I don’t stop her.”
“Did you say something, dear? It’s meat loaf, not cake for the fair.”
“No, Aunt Harry. I didn’t say anything about cake. Or the fair.”
“But I heard you. Oh, never mind. I’ll get David some of my nut bread.”
Russ stared at the rows stacked up in his arms. Raisin meat loaf. He shuddered. “I appreciate your generosity—”
Beth trailed behind as he stepped onto the front porch. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and perched on the railing, watching him rearrange his bundles. “The weatherman says we’re in for an early snow.”
“That’s what he says.”
Tilting her head, she gazed at the darkening sky that hinted at precipitation. “Guess you must find small-town life real boring.”
“Boring?” He thought about it. Boring? Isolating maybe. He’d been gone from Morning Sun so long, he felt like an outsider. But boring? No way. The change of pace was nice…real nice.
“It’s different,” he acknowledged. “But actually, I like not having to fight traffic, and I haven’t heard an emergency siren since I’ve been here. What about you?” The unrest he’d heard in her voice in the kitchen earlier surprised him.
“I’m very tired of it.” She took a deep breath, emitting a puff of frosty vapor. “Truthfully, I dream of exploring new places, overseas travel, running barefoot through white sand, wading through turquoise-blue water.”
“Destination, Florida.”
“Excuse me?”
“White sands, turquoisse-blue water—Destination, Florida. Beautiful, and a heck of a lot closer than France.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the same.”
“Ah, but it is. All those foreign places are highly overrated.” If his arms weren’t full of bread and meat loaf, he’d be tempted to step over, tip her chin up and kiss her. She looked like an orphaned waif with too much responsibility. “Trust me. Foreign soil may sound adventurous and look good in brochures, but take it from someone who’s seen it all, it’s always better to come home.”
Huddling deeper into the lining of her jacket, she sighed. “You almost sound as if you don’t like your life-style.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve loved it. But I’m ready for a change. I’ve worked my tail off for this new job. The perks are great. I’m just saying the grass isn’t greener on the other side. Morning Sun has its charms, too,”
“Morning Sun has stayed the same for a hundred years.”
“That’s not so bad, is it?”
She shrugged. “Depends on where your life’s going. Unfortunately, mine is going nowhere.” Sliding off the railing, she eyed the box of decorations. “Absolutely, nowhere.”
MONDAY DAWNED bitterly cold. The weatherman had been right when he’d predicted an early winter. Periodic bursts of snow left a smattering of white on bushes and bare tree branches. Anticipating slick roads, Beth got up a half an hour early and dressed in a navy wool suit and cream turtleneck. Checking her image in the cheval mirror, she wondered why she didn’t just wear jeans. She spent most of every day digging through monstrous books of regulations and statistics. What difference did it make if she wore suits or sweats?
Grabbing a cup of coffee and a slice of what appeared to be cranberry nut bread, she let herself out the back door. Harry was sleeping in today.
The three parking meters in front of the office were already occupied. Les Williams’s Buick was in her usual spot. She’d have to use public parking today, four blocks away. Usually she didn’t mind the walk, but today was just too cold to enjoy being outside.
She parked the car, pulled on her gloves, and hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She could walk the four blocks with her eyes closed. There was the bank, the drugstore—where they made the best fountain sodas she’d ever tasted—an attorney’s office, a doctor’s office, then the alley that was used to make deliveries to the back of the drugstore and the doctor’s office. Nothing ever changed in Morning Sun; not even the alleys.
The third block was her favorite. A dress shop, a men’s clothing store, then The Readers’ Nook bookshop. She loved that store, the wide windows on either side of the solid oak door. A classy little bell rang whenever the door opened. She liked the authoritative, “I’m here to buy,” sound of the bell. The bell—and the wooden floor that squeaked comfortably whenever you walked across it—gave her a sense of security, suggesting the bigger world found inside the pages of the thousand books that inhabited the store.
Inside, the store smelled of paper and the coffee that Anne Blake kept on a burner in the back room. During Christmas season, hot cider replaced the coffee for customers browsing the shelves.
Beth had spent lifetimes in that store; lived through her namesake in Little Women, dreamed of riding a horse like Black Beauty, first discovered romance on those shelves, intrigue, adventure. She’d spent Saturday afternoons at the bookstore, sitting on the pine floor, lost in a new world every week. Anne had never begrudged her her childish curiosity, even though she rarely had money for so much as a used paperback. Even now, the bookstore was a special place. Books were as close as she would ever come to the foreign countries Russ took so for granted.
“Good morning, Beth,” Anne greeted as she turned the Open sign on the front door. “Cold,
this morning.” The large, raw-boned woman shivered in her lightweight sweater.
“Morning, Anne. Aunt Harry says we’re in for a big storm.”
“Harriet would know. Hear she got tossed out of the bingo game at the Senior Citizens’ Center.”
“Yes, and she’s none too happy about that.”
“They’ll miss her. She’s more entertaining than the game.” Anne touched her chignon as if to reassure herself it was in place. “I know I’ll miss her. Tell her to stop in and share a cup of tea.”
Anne and her husband had been married thirtyeight years before his death. Now, Aunt Harry carried nut bread to the store twice a week, and the two women played solitaire during slow times. Anne was sharp as a tack, and she seemed to genuinely enjoy Harriet’s visits.
“I appreciate your being so good to Aunt Harry, Anne. There are so few who take the time to understand her.”
Anne laughed. “She’s one of kind, God love her. Helped me through many a lonely day. Have time for a cup of coffee? Got the new Grisham and Clancy novels today.”
“I’d love to, but I’m running late. I’ll try to drop by Saturday.”
“I’ll stick your name on the Grisham novel.”
“Thanks.”
“You know, you should buy this store,” Anne mused. “You enjoy being here so much—have since you were a little girl.”
Beth would give her eyeteeth to buy The Reader’s Nook, but there wasn’t a prayer of her ever doing that. She had a good job and a reasonable savings account, but not good enough to buy a business. It took nearly everything she made to meet household expenses. Aunt Harry drew a small social security check each month, but the $565 didn’t go far.
“I would love to own the store, Anne, but I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Oh, I’m sure we could work something out. Why don’t you give it some thought? I want to retire, spend time with my sister in Florida, but I don’t want the sell the shop to just anybody.” She sighed, her eyes roaming the floor-to-ceiling shelves. “I’ve spent most of my life within these old walls. I won’t sell it to anyone who isn’t going to love it as much as I do.”
Buy The Reader’s Nook? My, wouldn’t that be something! She’d tear out those old bookshelves and put in new ones. She’d update the window displays, make them seasonal—even let Aunt Harry help decorate. Then she’d move three of the larger shelf units to the back room for storage, make space for a reading area near the front of the store, and put in a small coffee bar with a latte machine. Then with a few comfortable chairs and more attractive displays, The Reader’s Nook would be as inviting as the new Barnes and Noble just down the highway. She’d lace the dusty smell of old books with the scent of roses—or perhaps mulberry. Maybe children would have their own corner, with books and toys where they could entertain themselves while their mothers browsed.
“Well, if I ever win the lottery I’ll give it some serious thought.” Beth waved. “Gotta run.”
Beth spent half the day in meetings discussing the environmental impact of local farmers who were using sludge on their fields as fertilizer. By the time five o’clock rolled around, she had a ripping headache, and her feet were aching.
Trudging through the snow, she passed The Reader’s Nook and noticed Anne had closed early, as had various other businesses. When she reached her car it was cold as a meat locker, and the heater was taking forever to warm up. Twenty minutes later, she was finally headed toward the mall where a Moonlight Madness Sale was scheduled to start at seven. She had her eye on a new mattress. The one she was sleeping on was a chiropractor’s dream. She couldn’t afford to buy a bookstore, but she could afford a decent night’s sleep.
Weekend shoppers crowded the stores, and parking places were at a premium. After circling around she found a spot on the third row from the back, and parked the Grand Am. By the time she was inside the mall, her feet were numb with cold.
She quickly pushed through wall-to-wall shoppers to the bedroom section of a large furniture store. It was satisfying to remind herself that Roeberry had lost a customer due to his sexist attitude about the table.
“May I show you something?” The salesman smiled, handing her his card.
“I’m looking for a mattress like I saw on your ad on TV the other night.”
“Like little Miss Goldilocks?”
Geez! She was in no mood for a salesman who felt obliged to be cute. “The one I saw had cloth covering on one side, silk on the other. I believe Sleep Easy is the manufacturer’s brand.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’re ‘mad’ here tonight so you’re free to take advantage of me.”
He seemed pleased at his wit, and didn’t notice she was not entertained. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, I just want a decent mattress.” Beth tested one of the displays with her finger. It was as hard as a board.
Moving on, she made her way slowly down the aisle, trying first one mattress then another, poking here, lying on that one, lifting the end of another to examine the reverse side. After thirty minutes, the salesman had gone off to assist a less picky customer.
It was a good twenty minutes later that she found it. Cloth for warmth on one side, silk for coolness on the other. “Goldilocks indeed,” she muttered, turning first one way, then the other on the mattress. She could go to sleep right here.
She stood in line exactly twenty-six minutes at the cashier’s desk to pay and arrange for delivery. By the time she finished, her feet felt twice their size, her headache was worse, and she was starving.
Food court, her mind buzzed. Baked Potato. Gyro. Chick-fil-A The food court was at the opposite end of the mall. On her way there, she stopped at a bath shop for lotion, and ended up sorting through a rack of half-priced sale blouses at a ladies’ wear store.
Thirty minutes later, she reached the food court. Juggling her packages, she decided to start with the potato bar when she spotted Russ sitting at a nearby table.
She closed her eyes wearily. Not tonight. She was too tired to pretend to be a carefree old acquaintance who hadn’t been nuts about him in school. She turned to leave when her bad luck kicked in. Russ spotted her.
“Hey, Beth!”
She turned, feigning surprise. “Well, hello, Russ.” Five minutes, max, and she was out of here. Being left behind by Russ Foster once was enough for a lifetime. She was becoming entirely too comfortable around him, and he bad only been in town a short time. And in a short time, he’d be right back out again. Out of her town. Out of her life.
He smiled, motioning for her to join him. “Taking advantage of the sales?”
“Yeah, bought a new mattress.” She smiled. “The kind that’s warm on one side, cool on the other.” He doesn’t care, Beth! Here today. Gone tomorrow. She glanced around the crowded court.
“Busy tonight. Everyone’s avoiding the cold by coming to the sales.”
“Yeah, real crowded.”
She smiled. “Well…I was just on my way out….”
He glanced at his watch, frowning. “You just got here. It’s still early—can you stay for a cup of coffee?”
What could she say? No? She couldn’t be impolite.
“Oh…well.” Why fight it? Tonight was just one little concession. She owed herself that. She was hungry, her feet felt like two fat sausages, and she’d like nothing better than to have a cup of coffee with him. One cup of coffee. Then, she could be on her way. Setting the packages beside the table, she slid into a chair and kicked off her shoes. She closed her eyes, imagining steam rising from her feet, savoring the utter bliss. “Can I have a potato with my coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll have one with you. What’s your pleasure?”
In years past, her fantasy would involve this man, champagne, caviar, candlelight and string instruments. Tonight, she gratefully settled for a number twelve: bacon, sour cream, butter, extra chives, fluorescent lighting and Muzak blaring over mall speakers.
She watched her fantasy of the past twe
lve years walk to the potato bar, looking better than any man who wasn’t intently interested in her had a right to look. His jeans were worn soft and fit like a second skin. The blue chambray shirt matched the shade of his eyes. The man was just plain good-looking, and she wasn’t the only woman in the food court who was noticing. Female heads were turning as he made his way to the potato bar.
Rubbing the tops of her feet with her toes, she wasn’t surprised to see a couple of young women drop plans for a salad and head for the potato bar. It wasn’t just Russ’s dark good looks that made him so attractive. There was something else, something less discernible about him. He exuded confidence; a calm certainty that he’d never questioned himself or his ability.
“Two number twelves with extra chives,” he said with easy familiarity. He set the tray containing the potatoes on the table. “You did say coffee? I’ll be right back. Here’s another package of sour cream.”
“Yes, fine. Thank you.” The luxury of having someone wait on her was nice. Who was she kidding? The luxury of a man’s company across the dinner table was what was nice.
Beth waited until he returned with the drinks before picking up her fork. “What brings you to the mall tonight?” She opened a pack of salt and sprinkled it over the potato.
“I was bored. Jasper is seriously lacking in social skills. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, either. Gripes a lot.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his absurdity. Who needed candlelight and champagne? “I gather you and Jasper still don’t get along?”
“No, he hates me. And he can’t cook. Like your aunt, he can’t make a decent meat loaf to save his worthless hide.”
She grinned. “I warned you not to eat the meat loaf.”
“I know, but I’ll try anything once. I ended up feeding it to Jasper. I took the trash out, and when I came back, the dog was sprawled out cold on the floor. I thought he was dead.”
She burst out laughing, and he held up a warning finger.
“I’m serious. I was about to call you and say, ‘Hey, you’ve killed the dog. Get over here and help me haul him to the vet.’”
Other than the playful twinkle in his eye, he sounded perfectly serious. She took a bite of potato, meeting his gaze. “But he wasn’t.”
Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers & Christmas, Texas Style Page 5
