The Late Bloomers' Club

by Louise Miller

  “Could we borrow your car to go pick up the Vanagon?” Max said. “It would just be a couple of nights.”

  “Why so long?” I wasn’t prepared to give up any of the days I had left with them.

  “Max was asked to do some work on a short,” Kit said.

  “They just wanted me to shoot some landscape stuff.”

  “Max has perfected the art of the long shot. You know, like all of those cool landscapes in the beginning of Down by Law.”

  “Jarmusch is the master of doing much with little,” Max said with a sigh. “If our movie could be a tenth as cool as Down by Law—”

  “It will be as cool as Down by Law. Cooler.” Kit slung her arm across my shoulders and gave me a sideways hug before she moved over to Max, leaning her body across his back like a sloth moving from tree to tree.

  “When do you want to leave?”

  Kit bent her head so she and Max could look at each other.

  “What do you think?” Max asked.

  “We’re not doing anything now.” Kit turned to me. “Now?”

  The chime over the door rang and Elliot Danforth walked in, dressed in his work outfit—pressed khakis, crisp dress shirt, tasseled loafers. He looked handsome.

  “Hello, everyone,” Elliot said warmly. “Okay if I join you?”

  Charlie patted the stool next to him. “Have a seat. I’d offer to make you supper, but I have to leave in a minute to go to my other job. You could come with me. You like karaoke?”

  The Burlington guy had put Charlie in a good mood. It was fun to see him flirt.

  “And you’ll be back when?” I asked Kit.

  She slid down off of Max’s shoulders. “By Friday afternoon at the latest.”

  I reached for my purse behind the counter and fished for my car keys. “It’s all gassed up. I just had the oil changed. The hatchback sticks a little, so be sure to slam it shut, and make sure it’s locked—”

  “Okay, Mom,” Kit mumbled.

  “Thanks, Nora. We really appreciate it.” Max leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “We’ll get her back to you in one piece.”

  Kit grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, blowing kisses to everyone at the counter.

  “Farewell, my lovelies. Eat some kettle corn for me tomorrow night!”

  “What about all this stuff?’ I called as they were halfway out the door. Their laptop, camera, and the rest of the abandoned movie equipment still cluttered one of the booths. “Why do you have all of this with you anyway?”

  Kit spun around. “We were shooting exterior shots all day. One of our crew guys was late to his night job, so we had him drop us off here. Would you take it home for us?”

  “Without a car?” I said, grabbing the giant light on the tripod. “Help me get this stuff into my office before you go.”

  I leaned the light into a corner of the tiny office. The umbrella diffuser flopped over like an overripe sunflower. Kit trailed behind me with the movie camera in her arms. She plopped it on my desk, on top of a pile of overdue invoices. Max came in with the laptop. “What about this?”

  I waved a hand. “Anywhere you can find space.”

  Kit and Max slipped out of the office. My attention was focused on an invoice stamped thirty days overdue. I needed to get some money over to Tom Carrigan soon or we were going to be a diner without eggs.

  Someone knocked lightly on the doorframe. Elliot stood in the door, holding a tangle of black cords.

  “Hi,” he said, stepping into the room. “Where do you want these?”

  I looked around. There wasn’t an empty inch of space. The dark room was already small on its own, but with Elliot inside, it felt smaller, intimate. His cologne wafted over to me. I pictured being in other small, dark rooms with him and felt my face flush at the thought. “Just toss them on the ground there. Anywhere is fine.”

  Elliot carefully placed the coil of wires down, then put his hands in his pockets. He looked around the cramped room. I followed his gaze, trying to see the office for the first time. There were no windows. Tacked up on the walls were yellowing family snapshots my mom and dad had stuck up over the years—Polaroids of Kit and me at Lake Willoughby, a picture of Mom and Dad in front of the diner on opening day, looking impossibly young. Mom was wearing a short Marimekko print dress, Dad a pair of faded jeans and the type of white uniform shirt that snapped up the front, the kind usually worn by the dishwashers. That was back when he worked the line. There was a photo of me holding baby Kit in my lap, and one of Mom holding baby me. The first dollar we made was framed on the wall, along with our licenses from the state. A promotional calendar from a meat salesman was tacked up, too, with reminders to call the Dumpster service and the air vent cleaning person.

  “So this is the Miss Guthrie central?

  “This is it. Sorry it’s such a mess. I don’t usually have guests.”

  “I like it. It’s a nice surprise.”

  I laughed. “How so? Have the other diner offices you’ve visited been super organized?”

  Elliot rocked back and forth on his heels. “No. But you’re usually so—in control of things. It’s nice to see that you make a mess here and there.”

  “You have no idea,” I said. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?” I tried to make this sound breezy, like I hadn’t spent all of my free time thinking about him unzipping Sonya’s light blue dress and watching it float to the floor.

  “Busy. I’ve been to every town in the Northeast Kingdom. They had me down in the Barton area, scoping out options.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Not so far,” he said, but he didn’t sound upset about it. “Still hoping someone might change their mind.”

  I laughed. “You are persistent.”

  “I tend to go after what I think is the right match.”

  I searched his face, looking for a double meaning, but he just looked like his pleasant self.

  “Are you coming tomorrow night?”

  For a moment I wasn’t sure what he meant. “I’m sorry?”

  “To the town meeting? If you need a ride, I could pick you up.”

  “I live right in town,” I said, and immediately regretted it. It would have been nice to ride in his little car. I pictured us going for a drive down one of the back roads afterward. I could show him the road to the fairgrounds that was awash in golden beech leaves, so bright they looked like flakes of the sun.

  “That’s right,” he said. “But you’ll be there?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Elliot smiled and rocked back and forth one more time. “I’ll see you there, then.”

  “Okay.” I picked up one of the invoices then, not sure what to do with my face, which I was sure showed every ounce of my excitement that he was here, in my office, asking if he would see me tomorrow night.

  “Okay,” he said, and lingered in the doorway just a second longer before he turned to leave. Kit appeared a couple of minutes later with the last of the cables. She pushed the pile of kitchenware catalogs aside and sat down on the edge of my desk. “So big-box guy was back here for a while. I didn’t want to interrupt. What were you guys talking about?”

  I waved my hand. “Nothing, really. He was just being helpful.”

  “That was nice of him.” Kit looked at me for a long moment. “You know, in order to be helpful, you have to be around.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And according to Fern, he has been around—to be helpful—an awful lot, don’t you think?”

  “He doesn’t have that much to do. He lives at the inn.”

  “Nora, my dear, sweet sister. I’d bet my share of the Johnson land that that man is interested in you.”

  “Kit—”

  Kit held up her hand. “Hush. I’ve been wanting to say this to you for a while now.
As much as I love Sean, I think it’s time for you to get out there. Date a little. Move on.”

  “I know all of that,” I said, pretending to be engrossed in Diner Uniforms and More.

  “It’s not like Sean took a lot of time before he—”

  “I know.” I said this more sharply than I meant to. I tossed the catalog into the trash. “It’s not about Sean. I just—I’m not like you.”

  Kit leaned back and shook her hair, as if she were Rita Hayworth. “We can’t all be like me. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t get busy with the developer.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I feel like I don’t know how to—look, everything I know about dating and men I learned with Sean. When I was fourteen. I haven’t—I don’t know what I’m doing. And I feel like an idiot around him, and I—”

  “Him, Sean?”

  “Him, big-box guy. Elliot.”

  “So you do like him!” Kit clapped her hands together. “I knew it. This is awesome.”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I don’t know! He’s handsome—”

  Kit nodded. “I can see it.”

  “—and nice, and thoughtful, and quiet, which is a great difference from Sean. And he seems to care about things.”

  “Things like . . . ?”

  “I don’t know. Birds.”

  Kit arched her eyebrows. “And?”

  “Trees. Fruit? His family.”

  “Those are good things to care about.” Kit leaned down so she could meet my eyes. “Now, I need to ask you something important. Have you shown him any encouragement?”

  I leaned my head against the desk. “Maybe?”

  “That means no.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Nor, you can be a little . . . taciturn.”

  “I’m not taciturn.”

  “Have you ever noticed that all the guys that come in here are a little nervous around you?”

  “Nonsense,” I said, but an image of one of the delivery guys sputtering an apology for being a half hour late the other day sprang to mind.

  “I bet there are at least three or four regulars who would love to ask you out—”

  “No way.”

  Kit counted on her fingers. “Mohawk potter guy, hot microbrew guy, ridiculous cowboy hat, world’s palest mushroom forager—”

  “I don’t think world’s palest mushroom forager has the strength to stay up past eight.”

  “Not my point. My point is that you never act like you are open to anything. Men need a little encouragement. Everyone does. I practically had to jump out of a cake to get Max to ask me out. No one likes rejection. How is Elliot supposed to know that you like him if you don’t give him a hint?”

  “I’m just not . . . a fancy art curator with a floating dress.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m terrible at flirting. I don’t have an arsenal of fascinating stories to tell. I don’t know how to be anyone but who I am, do you know what I mean?”

  Kit shook her head. “Why would you have to be anyone else? You’re Nora Huckleberry, diner goddess. Finder of lost dogs and caretaker of mysterious old women. Fixer of everything. Eccentric photographer of discarded food. You are basically the kindest person I know, and you’ve got that nineties grunge look going on. Everyone adores you. Why wouldn’t Elliot?”

  “I’m your sister. You have to adore me.”

  “Being your sister doesn’t mean I have to adore you. But it does mean I need to tell you what I’m sure Charlie and Fern have been dying to say to you for a while. It’s time, honey. Take a chance. Have a little fun. Enjoy something—or someone. Try doing something for the hell of it and see what happens.”

  “That’s what Max said.”

  Kit smiled. “Well, Max is super wise. You know what else Max would say?”

  “What?”

  Kit stood and made herself as tall as possible. “There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.”

  “Does he ever drive you crazy with all the inspiration?”

  Kit sighed. “All the time. Sometimes I just want to shake him until he says something sarcastic. I think that’s why he loves me—I provide the snark.” I was sure Kit brought a lot more than snark to Max’s life. “But the even more annoying thing is that he’s almost always right. It’s been my experience that happiness does come from going toward all the things you love.”

  “Are you happy?” I asked her.

  Kit thought for a long moment. “I really am,” she said. “Now it’s your turn. What’s the thing you want to go toward?”

  I thought of the picture I had taken a few days before of the lone piece of bread pudding in that large aluminum pan. “I have this idea for a series of paintings,” I admitted. “Of last pieces of things.”

  “You are a total weirdo. I love it. Do you want me to pick up paints and a couple of canvases when we go get the car?”

  “If you have time.” Paint, canvases, brushes, and turpentine. Some sketch pads and charcoal, too. “I’ll text you a list of what I need.” I covered my face with my hands. “You really think Elliot might be interested?”

  Kit got up and put her arm around my shoulder. “Nora. Why wouldn’t he be? You are a beautiful, strong, creative woman. No one makes me laugh harder than you. And no one is more compassionate. And I don’t see big-box guy pushing to get out of Guthrie, even after you foolishly turned down his bazillion-dollar, once-in-a-lifetime offer to buy the Johnson land. If anything he’s been dragging his heels. I’m betting that’s because of you.”

  I wriggled out of Kit’s embrace but turned and gave her a quick hug. “You really think I’m beautiful?” I asked, piling my hair on top of my head and pouting my lips, giving her my best Project Runway model.

  “Don’t push your luck. Now, while I’m gone I want you to buy something other than overalls to wear to the town meeting.”

  * * *

  I rode my bicycle out to Peggy’s after work the next day, enjoying the slow ride up Pudding Hill. It smelled like fall—dried leaves, browning pine needles warming in the sun, freshly mown hay. I spent the afternoon swathed in bright orange, stapling NO TRESPASSING signs to trees along Peggy’s property line. Bow-and-arrow season was about to begin. The mornings at the diner had already picked up with men coming into town early to stock up on firewood and food for their lodges, eager to try a new rifle, taking their teenage kids on their first hunt. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few hunters took it upon themselves to take a chance on Peggy’s land, knowing it was unattended, and I was worried someone would mistake the fringe of Freckles’s tail for that of a white-tailed deer. I couldn’t cover all the land by foot, but I wanted to clearly mark the areas around the orchard and garden, to discourage anyone from getting too close.

  * * *

  Fern came over to my apartment at five with a six-pack of IPA, which we drank while I showed her outfits I was thinking of wearing and Fern said no way to each of them. She ended up digging through the clothes my sister had left in piles behind the couch, and convinced me to put on a pair of Kit’s jeans, which fit like leggings. I paired them with a fuzzy, dark red mohair sweater that my mom had knitted for herself. Fern thought it was too boxy, but I pointed out that the weather forecast had said a storm was headed our way, and reminded her of how chilly the town hall would be—the town never turned the heat on until after Halloween, actual weather be damned. Sexy would have to wait until June.

  * * *

  Fern and I arrived at the town hall early, while the high school kids were still setting up the gray folding chairs. We headed straight for the kettle corn line. Fern elbowed me in the side when I asked the scout for a single bag.

  “Buy Elliot a bag and bring it over to him.”

  “He’s here already?” I asked, ducking my head down.

  “Up fr
ont, talking to Mrs. Fairbanks. It’s perfect. You’ll bring him the world’s best snack and save him from having to talk about the Seed Savers’ Club at the same time.”

  “What if he doesn’t like popcorn?”

  Fern gave me a squinty-eyed look. “Not the point, Nora.”

  “Fine.” I handed the scout an extra dollar, and stuffed a third into the coffee can that had been decorated with construction paper. Scholarship fund was written in glitter paint around it.

  Fern nudged me toward the stage, then took a seat in the back row. I walked down the aisle, feeling as if all eyes were on me.

  My next-door neighbor Pat stepped into the aisle. “Hello there, Nora.”

  “Hey, Pat. Is your refrigerator still making that weird sound?”

  “No, no. Your fix did the job.”

  Elliot was nodding in response to whatever Mrs. Fairbanks was saying, hand to chin, looking thoughtful. I felt my pulse quicken.

  “I have something for you,” Pat said, handing me an envelope.

  “You didn’t have to do that, Pat,” I said absently. Elliot was smiling at Mrs. Fairbanks, but his expression looked strained. “You know I’m happy to help anytime I can.”

  Pat closed his hands around mine so that the envelope was secure in my hand. “I wanted you to have it. I have more. I think you might be interested.”

  Elliot looked over at me from across the hall. When our eyes met, he smiled wide and waved.

  I folded the envelope and stuffed it into my purse. “You are the sweetest, Pat. Thanks.” I gave his arm a squeeze before making my way to the front of the hall.

  By the time I joined Elliot and Mrs. Fairbanks my cheeks were burning. I immediately regretted having worn red.

  “Hello, Nora,” Elliot said softly.

  “Nora, we heard your sister has been doing some volunteer work over at the Pudding Hill House. Nice to see Katherine has the Huckleberry generosity you and your parents have always shown.”

  “She has been,” I said. “She and her boyfriend, Max. Have you met him?”