The Late Bloomers' Club

by Louise Miller

  “You’ll miss peak color,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  Max wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed hard. “We’ll be back soon, I promise. We’ll come for Christmas.”

  “All right,” I said, slapping my hands against my thighs. I stood and picked up the cake. “Mind if I take this with me?”

  “Your first solo cake? Take it! I want you to eat the whole thing with your hands! Spread it all over your face like it’s your first birthday.”

  “I can’t guarantee there will be any smearing, but I promise I’ll eat at least one piece.”

  “You better,” Max said, and put his headphones back on before disappearing into the next room.

  * * *

  When I poked my head in the sunroom, I found Kit standing by the door, her small video camera attached to a skinny tripod, filming a man in a wheelchair who was speaking to the crowded room.

  “I had no idea she was Elizabeth Taylor, I swear,” the man said, and the audience members gasped in unison. “It wasn’t until my sister bought one of those movie magazines with her allowance. There was a whole article about Ms. Taylor and her tour of Vermont. I couldn’t believe my eyes. She looked real different without all that makeup. Prettier, if you ask me.”

  Kit pressed a button on the camera and rested the tripod on her shoulder. “Good thing Richard Burton didn’t catch wind of your shenanigans. Fabulous story, Mr. Shelburn. Let’s give Harry a round of applause.”

  Harry bowed. One of the nurse’s aides combed his hair into place with her fingers when he was vertical again.

  “Shouldn’t you be at Peggy’s, working on Side Work?” I shifted the cake box from one arm to the other.

  “Max has it under control,” Kit said, fussing with the tripod legs until they reached the length she was looking for. “All right, who’s next? Janice, would you share that story about the time you hiked the Long Trail? You were the first woman to hike it solo, right?”

  “The first one on record. I’m sure there were others before me,” Janice said, reaching for the microphone.

  I pressed on. “Don’t you think Max might have some questions—for the director? Since you are on such a tight deadline?”

  Kit turned to me. “Did he say something to you?”

  “Max? No, of course not,” I lied. I had been telling Kit little untruths my whole life—it was part of the job of being the oldest. I liked to think of it more as editing, but sometimes lying was necessary for the greater good. It’s what big sisters did to protect their younger siblings. This time, of course, I was actually protecting Max. I didn’t want to give her any ammunition against him if she was looking for some. When Kit came back to Guthrie next, whenever that would be, I hoped that Max would still be with her.

  Kit adjusted the camera one more time. “He’s been acting weird all week. Like a squirrel.”

  I laughed, picturing Max with a mouthful of sunflower seeds. “What do you mean?”

  “He keeps, like, darting toward me, like he has something urgent to say, then when I get two feet from him he skitters away. It’s stressing me out.”

  Janice tapped on the mic. “Is this thing on?”

  Kit pressed record. “Go for it, Janice. Start with when you made the decision to do the hike. What did your family think?”

  I brought the cake over to the receptionist’s desk. “Is there someplace where I could leave this for the staff?”

  The receptionist led me to a small break room the nurses and aides used when she noticed the cake box.

  “Oh, I hope that’s what I think it is,” she said when I opened the lid. She rustled through the cupboards, and set out paper plates and plastic forks.

  I stopped fussing with the box and turned to face her. “What do you think it is?” I said carefully.

  “Each week Peggy used to bring a burnt sugar cake for Elsie. It made her eyes light up every time.” She elbowed me in the side. “Made ours light up, too. I hope yours is as good as Peggy’s!”

  Friday—LC—bsc/mi.

  “I hope so, too,” I said, sliding the cake out of the box. Of course the cake was for Elsie. Peggy loved this woman enough to pay for her care—of course she would show her love in the way she knew best, with cake. “Can I bring her a slice?”

  The receptionist poked her head out of the break room and looked down the hall. “The nutritionist frowns on treats, but most of us here think these folks deserve whatever happiness they can get. If anyone asks any questions, would you mind leaving my name out of it?” She smiled, cut herself a thick wedge, and covered it with a paper napkin. “It smells delicious.”

  I cut a dainty piece of the cake, gathered a fork and several napkins, and made my way down to Elsie’s room. She was sitting up in bed, a yellow sweater draped over her shoulders. Her gaze fell on the cake.

  “Is she here?” Elsie asked, her voice excited. She looked about the room.

  “No, it’s just me. I brought you a slice of cake.”

  “I know who made that cake, Missy, thank you very much.” I hadn’t seen Elsie this animated before. Most days she looked so frail. Today she looked formidable.

  I pulled a chair up to her bed and gave her the plate. She clutched the fork with a shaky hand. I reached over to help, but with her other hand she waved me away.

  Elsie managed to get a bite of cake into her mouth. Frosting coated her lips. “It’s my favorite. Peggy always remembers. She brings so much sweetness to my life.” Her face softened then, as if she were deep in memory.

  After offering Elsie a napkin, I eased the fork out of her hand, took up a small bit of cake, and held it to her lips. She relented and opened her mouth.

  “She’s got herself locked up in that kitchen of hers, hasn’t she? She can never turn anyone down when they need a cake. I swear, she’s busier now than she was back when she was working full time at the bank.”

  “Elsie, how long have you and Peggy known each other?”

  Elsie gave me a warm smile. “Oh, we’ve known each other for lifetimes.” Elsie chewed thoughtfully. “She was the first person to make me feel welcome. I came here for solitude, you know. It was my choice. But I never realized how truly difficult it is to be alone.” Tears formed in Elsie’s eyes. “The loneliness. I didn’t think I could make it. It was unbearable. But then I met her.”

  I took her papery hand in mine and squeezed. “Can I bring you some water, Elsie?” I asked. Elsie shook her head. I reached over and wiped a little bit of frosting from the corner of her lip. Elsie leaned back, her hand pushing the cake plate away.

  When I turned to put the cake plate on the table, I saw that Kit had slipped into the room.

  “Peggy is your friend?” she asked quietly.

  Elsie closed her eyes. Her soft gray hair had come loose from its clip and lay splayed across the pillow.

  “Oh, she inspires me. I hadn’t made anything in decades, but for her I want to create a whole new world just to see her delight in it.”

  “She’s your muse,” Kit said.

  “She is my everything.”

  * * *

  Guthrie Front Porch Forum

  Nor’easter Watch

  User: ToG

  We just received a report from the National Weather Service. There is a possible nor’easter forming over Georgia. If the current models are correct, it could hit the Guthrie area at the end of this week. I know we are in need of rain, but if we get a good hit, the ground will have a hard time absorbing the water. That could mean flooding. Hopefully the almanac is right about the fall foliage and the National Weather Service is wrong about this storm. We’ll keep you updated.

  Hayrides Are Back

  User: LivvyR-MC

  The hayrides are back! Starting the weekend of September 30, bring your family on a hayride through the sugar bush between the McCracken farm and the Su
gar Maple Inn. Hop on at either location. Pumpkin cookies and sweet rolls along with hot cider, tea, and coffee will be served at the inn. Pick your own pumpkin at the McCracken farm. Saturdays and Sundays, 10–3, until the leaves have passed. A special Haunted Hayride will be held on Halloween night—details soon!

  Fall Color Maps

  User: LeafPeeper

  The Old Farmer’s Almanac has not let us down—it’s looking to be a fantastic year for color! We are already seeing some color in the higher elevations, close to the border. It’s going to be an early one, folks, I can feel it in my bones. I’ve set up an interactive color map on my website so tourists can find the most up-to-date foliage. Link down below. Advertisement opportunities are still available. E-mail or call for prices. I’m also running the state foliage hotline this year, so while you are driving those back roads, remember to fill me in on what you are seeing. Thank you for your support—your personal foliage reports help support the entire community by drawing in those tourist dollars. Here’s to a successful leaf-peeping season!

  —Annie W. www.peepvermont.com, e-mail annie@peepvermont.com

  Haunted House Volunteers Needed

  User: GuthrieHouse

  The Haunted House at the historic Dewey House is looking for volunteers to do hair and makeup the week leading up to Halloween. We especially need someone who can do sugar-free fake blood, as several of this year’s zombies are diabetic.

  Town Meeting This Week

  User: ToG

  There will be a town meeting held on Wednesday, September 13, at 6 p.m., at the town hall.

  Refreshments provided by Girl Scout Troop 235. Please bring small bills.

  To be discussed:

  Article 1: Pigs—Ben Smith has filed a formal complaint against the Sweet Pea Farm, stating that the farm has moved its manure pile too close to the Smith property.

  Article 2: Say No to HG petition—the Keep Guthrie Small coalition will present their petition and signature collection to the town.

  Article 3: Zoning—HG Corporation has asked about the possibility of rezoning the land owned by Nora Huckleberry LaPlante and Katherine Huckleberry, formally the property of Peggy Johnson. A vote will be taken.

  Looks like it’s going to be another doozy of a meeting. Bring a folding chair or two if you could.

  Freckles Update

  User: GuthriePD/DW

  Freckles has been spotted several times in the trap I set up, happily eating the meat donated by the Haskell farm—thanks again, Haskell family. I’m going to engage the trigger to work now. Next time Freckles enters the cage and steps on the pressure plate, it will cause the door to close, trapping him in. Hopefully Freckles will take the bait (ha ha) before the hayrides begin.

  User: LivvyR-MC

  Sorry about the hayrides—really hope we don’t scare Freckles away with the horses!

  User: GuthriePD/DW

  No worries, Livvy. We all look forward to the McCracken hayrides!

  User: GotMilk

  My wife went into labor after one of those hayrides :) She was three weeks overdue.

  I caught a glimpse of Freckles this morning—looked like he had a bit of a limp. Can anyone confirm?

  User: GuthriePD/DW

  Yes, Tom, I saw him limping, too. Hopefully we will have him back safely soon and can get him to the vet. I’m guessing the limp won’t be the only issue. He has a ton of burrs stuck in the curly hair of his flanks. He’s going to need a lot of love.

  User: GotMilk

  Speaking of which, whose home is he going to go to when we do catch him?

  User: MissGuthrieDiner

  I’ll take him.

  User: ElliotD

  I’ll take him.

  User: TheVictoriaHotel

  A friendly reminder that there is a strict No Pets policy for all residents of the Victoria Hotel.

  User: GuthriePD/DW

  Let’s worry about that when Freckles is safe and sound.—Erika

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charlie walked into the dining room after his shift smelling like musk and sandalwood. He was wearing a pair of dark-washed jeans and a close-fitting red plaid shirt that more than hinted that he liked to spend his free time over at the gym in St. J.

  Fern whistled a catcall. “Let me guess—you’re working at the Bear Cub tonight?” She squeezed his bicep. “Good lord, is that guy from Burlington coming?”

  Charlie laughed, running his fingers through his beard. “Maybe. It is karaoke night. He occasionally comes for that. He does a pretty good Rufus Wainwright. You should come.”

  “On a Tuesday night? What do I look like, a twenty-two-year-old?”

  Charlie snorted. “It being Tuesday never stopped you before.”

  “Do they have any of the old country songs, or is it all Taylor Swift?”

  “Hank Williams, Merle Haggard, and Johnny Cash, of course.”

  “Loretta Lynn?” Fern had been asked on more than a dozen dates after she sang her version of “Don’t Come Home a Drinkin’.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes at Fern. “Help me out here, Nora.”

  I plopped myself down next to Charlie on one of the counter stools, ready for my late lunch/early dinner of grilled cheese and French fries. The bread was a perfect buttery golden brown. I took a bite and sighed. Charlie was a cheese snob. He had banished American cheese from the diner several years before and had come up with a blend of artisanal cheeses that he refused to divulge. He had to make little packages of cheese for the night crew so they could fill the dinner orders.

  “You should totally go, Ferny,” I said. “I hear Charlie makes an excellent margarita.”

  “He uses my secret recipe,” Fern said.

  I had figured out a long time ago that Fern’s secret recipe was to double the tequila.

  The bell above the door chimed and Max and Kit came in carrying the movie camera, a laptop, and several stand lights. Heavy black cables roped up their arms. Kit slid the camera and laptop onto one of the Formica tables and dumped the rest of their equipment in an empty booth. “Hey, sis,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to me. “Did you tell them about Elsie?”

  I shot Kit a look. I didn’t think it was right to gossip about Elsie and Peggy. They had chosen to keep their private lives private.

  “Elsie Cole?” Fern asked. She had an excellent memory for names. “Whatever happened to her?”

  “Did you know her at all?” I asked, spooning sugar into my cup of tea.

  “Not really. She used to volunteer for story hour over at the library. Nice lady. Kept to herself.” Fern brought over a little pitcher of milk and placed it in front of me. “Is she still alive?”

  “She’s living in the Pudding Hill House,” Kit said. “We think she and Peggy were in love.”

  “Peggy the cake lady was a lesbian?” Fern asked. “It’s true she never did marry.”

  “We don’t know anything for sure,” I said weakly, but it was no use. When Kit was in the mood to tell a story, there was no stopping her.

  “She said Peggy was her muse,” Kit said, as if this explained everything.

  Max leaned down and kissed Kit. “You’re my muse.”

  Kit beamed up at him. “And you’re mine. Was Elsie an artist of some sort?” she asked Fern.

  Fern shrugged. “Not that I can remember. Did you know her, Charlie?”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows. “You do realize that not all gay people know each other. There isn’t some secret clubhouse.”

  Fern laughed. “Unless you’re talking about the Bear Cub. I meant from your childhood.”

  “I wasn’t much of a reader,” Charlie said, taking a large sip of his Diet Coke.

  “What’s the big deal, anyway?” asked Max. “Isn’t Vermont the most liberal state in the country? Didn’t you all have civil unions before anyone else?”


  “We did, but there was a lot of backlash,” I explained. “For a while there were giant black TAKE BACK VERMONT signs hanging on every other barn.”

  Charlie flinched. “My parents had one of those signs.”

  Kit got up and leaned against Charlie, hugging him from behind. “Damn, you smell good.” She snuggled closer.

  A gong rang out. Max pulled his phone out of his back pocket and glanced at it. “Hey, babe,” he said. “The Vanagon is ready to roll.”

  Kit reached for the phone. “That’s the best news! Now we know how we’re getting to New York.”

  “You guys are leaving?” Charlie turned on his stool and held out his arms.

  Kitty fell into Charlie’s embrace. “Yup. Time to get back to the city. We have an editor and sound guy waiting for us.”

  “We scored a pretty sweet house-sitting gig, too,” Max added. “Right across the street from our favorite latke place in the whole world.”

  “Latkes,” Kit sang, as if latkes were all you needed for happiness.

  “If you wanted latkes, all you had to do was ask,” Charlie said, sounding a little offended.

  “I’m sure yours are divine.” Kit scooted out of Charlie’s arms and leaned her head on my shoulder. “Nora, my sweetest, most favorite sister?” She reached for my grilled cheese.

  I slapped her hand away. “What do you need?” Kit never had told me she was leaving. Max must have let her know that I knew. It stung that she treated leaving like it was no big deal to her.