by Cindy Myers
That was Sharon—while he was much more like Joe. He used to think she was just naïve, while he was being realistic. Now he wished he shared more of her optimism about life. He wanted to set aside some of his cynicism, to focus on all the good things that had come his way. “What did you think?” he asked.
“I missed going to school and having kids my own age to hang out with,” she said. “I didn’t like it when my dad would get mad and go on about the government and stuff like that. It didn’t make sense to me.”
“Sometimes people get angry about things they can’t control.” Jake had been like that—a man with rages he couldn’t talk about. Jameso had learned to stay away until the storms passed, but a wife and kids didn’t have that option.
“Now that we’re here, I miss him sometimes,” she said. “And I really miss Adan.”
Here was the opening he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t Adan come with you?”
“He wanted to stay with Dad. He’s almost fifteen and bigger than Mom. She couldn’t make him come.” She hunched her shoulders, as if warding off a blow. The air practically hummed with tension.
“Is there something else?” he asked gently. “Something you aren’t telling me?”
She shrugged, shoulders still hunched, eyes downcast. “I think as long as Adan stayed behind, Dad didn’t care what Mom and I did.”
He pulled her close in a rough hug. “Some guys are just jerks.”
She buried her face in his chest. “You’re not a jerk.”
“I try not to be, but sometimes even I am.” He thought of his argument with Maggie, and how Olivia had accused him of wanting to take the easy way out. Maybe she was right.
He patted Alina’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go see if your mom wants to go have dinner with us.”
“Really? With you and Maggie?”
“Maggie has to cover a town council meeting for the paper, so you’re stuck with me. Is that all right?”
“That would be great. Mom will be so happy.”
One more way he’d been a jerk—avoiding his sister when she asked so little of him. “It’s time we spent more time together,” he said. “After all, we’re family.” For too long, he’d treated the idea of family like a dirty word. Time to rethink that and try again.
“Tell me again why we’re meeting at the library?” Junior Dominick asked as he settled his bulky frame into a chair at the table in the center of the book-lined space.
“Because our charter requires we meet in a public place and the Last Dollar was booked by a car club out of Denver who are passing through on their way to Telluride,” Lucille said. She picked up the gavel. “I now call this meeting of the Eureka Town Council to order.”
“You should have just moved the meeting to the Dirty Sally,” Bob said.
“You’d have certainly been at home there,” Cassie Wynock said from one of the side chairs she’d arranged for spectators. So far, these consisted of Cassie, Josh Miller, and Maggie Stevens, who was here to report on the proceedings for the Eureka Miner. “The library is a much more suitable space in which to conduct official business.”
Lucille banged the gavel again. “Why don’t we get down to that business. Katya, do you have the minutes?”
Katya Paxton, wife of the town lawyer, Reggie Paxton, handed out the single sheet of typed minutes. Bob fitted a pair of wire-rimmed glasses over his ears and scowled at the page. “You ought to just make a generic form you fill in each month,” he said. “The town is broke, some piece of machinery needs repairing, Cassie complained about something, then we adjourned for pie and coffee.”
“You left out Bob Prescott was drunk—as usual,” Cassie said.
Lucille banged the gavel again, though her temptation was to start banging heads. First Bob. Then maybe Cassie. “May I have a motion to approve the minutes?”
Paul Percival made the motion and Junior seconded. “Now, to tonight’s agenda.” Lucille consulted the paper in front of her. “The first item.”
“I’m the first item and I have my petitions right here.” Cassie jumped up and deposited a sheaf of paper in the center of the table. The council members stared at the pile, none of them daring to meet Cassie’s eyes.
“How many signatures do you have there, Cassie?” Reggie asked.
“Three hundred and seventy-eight,” she announced.
She must have gotten everyone who came into the library—and all their relatives, maybe even their pets, to sign. “Do we even have that many people in the town?” Katya asked.
“I included people from the county also. After all, they use the park, too.”
“Someone will have to count and verify the signatures,” Lucille said. Most likely meaning she’d have to do it—everyone else would find an excuse why they couldn’t possibly do so. “Then we’ll get back to you.”
“Oh, please. Do you think I was born yesterday?” Cassie asked.
Bob hooted with laughter, but a quelling look from Cassie silenced him. “You all think you can keep putting me off and I’ll forget about this,” she said. “But I won’t forget. The town park needs a name, and my grandmother’s is the perfect name for it.”
“Other people might think their grandmother—or their grandfather or uncle or mom or dad—need the park named after them,” Lucille said.
“My grandmother was president of the Women’s Society the year they dedicated the park to the town,” Cassie said.
“She makes a good point,” Junior said. “I always thought calling the place Town Park made us look uncreative.”
“Cassie’s grandmother obviously thought the name was fine,” Katya said. “Since that’s what the Women’s Society called it.”
Cassie flushed but wouldn’t be cowed. “Grandmother Ernestine was far too modest to name the park for herself, but she would be pleased. It’s only fitting.”
“I promise, Cassie, we’ll get back to you once we’ve reviewed the petitions,” Lucille said. She banged the gavel. “If that’s all the old business, we’ll move on to new business. . . .”
“We still have one more item of old business,” Katya said. “The improvements to the Lucky Lady Mine.”
“So we weren’t able to talk Pershing out of that scheme?” Paul asked.
“We authorized the basic safety upgrades,” Lucille said. “We couldn’t very well get away without those.”
“Pershing thinks we ought to spring for an upgrade on the ventilation system,” Bob said. “I told him I’d worked forty years in mines and if we had a ventilation system at all, it was a length of stovepipe and a blower, and that was good enough for me.”
“That explains a lot,” Cassie said. “Not enough oxygen to your brain.”
Lucille raised her voice to be heard over the chuckles at Bob’s expense. “I think the best approach is to keep stalling and pay as little as possible until we see some income from the mine,” Lucille said.
“I agree,” Paul said. “If Pershing wants a lot of fancy upgrades, he can pay for them himself.”
Lucille looked at Reg. “Do we need a formal vote on that?”
He shook his head. “No, since you didn’t take any specific action.”
“Fine.” She took a deep breath. Here was the moment she’d been waiting for all night. “Now, on to new business.”
“It just says movie.” Junior tapped his copy of the agenda. “What movie?”
“I’ve had a reply from the state movie commission.” Lucille had to hold back a grin as she made the announcement.
“Already?” Reggie said. “That was quick.”
“Apparently, they had a director contact them the same week they received our application. He thinks we’d be perfect for the movie he has planned.”
“Who’s the director?”
“What movie?”
“Who are the stars?”
“What’s it about?”
The questions came all at once, overlapping into gibberish. Lucille pounded the gavel, but no one paid atten
tion.
“Silence!”
The voice of the librarian in the hall where she reigned supreme was enough to cut them off in midsentence. Cassie fixed them with an icy stare. “Remember where you are,” she said.
“We’re in a town council meeting, not a ladies’ club tea,” Bob groused. “Lucille, what’s this about a movie?”
“The director’s name is Chris Amesbury, and I don’t know anything about the movie. But he wants to come to Eureka in two weeks to see the town and talk to us about his movie.”
“What’s in it for us?” Bob asked.
“If the movie is a hit, it could mean more tourist traffic.” Paul, who owned the local gas station, looked pleased.
“The last thing we need is more tourists,” Bob said. Bob complaining about tourists was nothing new, so no one paid any attention to him.
“A movie takes several weeks to months to film,” Lucille said. “During that time, we’d have a whole movie crew staying in town, eating and drinking and shopping here. It could be a big boost for our economy.”
“And they would probably hire locals to work as extras in the film,” Cassie said. She wore a dreamy expression, her eyes bright and feverish.
“Thinking of trying out, are you?” Bob asked.
“Everyone did say I gave a remarkable performance in the Founders’ Day Pageant,” she said.
“I never said it,” Bob grumbled.
“I think we should plan a real Eureka welcome for Mr. Amesbury,” Lucille said. “A dinner at the Last Dollar with the town council. A Jeep tour in the mountains. I’ll ask Jameso Clark about that. And I’m going to ask Barb Stanowski to put him up at her new B and B.”
“But she isn’t open for business yet,” Maggie said. “The house won’t be ready for guests for another three weeks, at least.”
“It’s almost complete,” Lucille said. “And all we need is one really nice room. Her place is by far the most upscale in town.”
“Put him up at the motel, send him to the Dirty Sally for a burger, and let him see what we’re really like,” Bob said.
“Maybe we should buy Bob a ticket out of town for the duration of Mr. Amesbury’s visit,” Paul said.
“I second the motion,” Junior said.
“We can’t do that,” Lucille said, though she secretly agreed it was a good idea. “Now, who will help me plan a warm reception for Mr. Amesbury?”
Most of the hands in the room went up. “Great. I’ll be in touch to make plans. Is there any more new business?” This was always a tense time in any meeting, as everyone held his or her breath, hoping someone didn’t pop up with a problem or complaint that needed to be addressed right away.
Tonight, they were lucky. “I make a motion we adjourn,” Katya said.
“I second,” said Paul.
“Motion carries.” As soon as Lucille lowered the gavel, chairs scraped back and people stood.
Maggie headed straight for Lucille. “Do you know anything else about Chris Amesbury?” she asked.
“His Wikipedia entry shows a few documentaries for the Discovery Channel and a low-budget horror picture,” Lucille said. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Maggie. “But for God’s sake, don’t put that in your article. Someone will start a rumor he’s coming here to make a zombie picture.”
“How do you know that he’s not?”
“We don’t. And frankly, I don’t really care what he wants to do—as long as it’s not porn, of course. But anything would help our economy.”
“Maybe Gerald will find gold in the Lucky Lady and you won’t have to worry,” Maggie said.
“That would be lovely, but in the meantime I’m going to do my best to impress this director. Will you help me persuade Barb to give him a room?”
“I’m sure she’ll help if she can.” Maggie stashed her tape recorder and notebook in her bag. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
“Lucille, I just had a wonderful idea.”
Lucille closed her eyes. “What is that, Cassie?”
“We can ask the director to dedicate the park with its new name.”
“We haven’t determined that the park is going to have a new name,” Lucille said.
“Then you’d better get busy if we’re going to have everything ready by the time Mr. Amesbury arrives.”
“He’s coming here as a guest, not to work,” Lucille said.
“These famous people always like to be recognized,” she said. “He’ll be flattered.”
Flattered to be asked to cut the ribbon or raise a toast or whatever on the renaming of a small village park—named for a woman he never heard of. “I think we’ll allow Mr. Amesbury to relax and get a feel for the town,” Lucille said. “Maybe some other time we’ll give him the opportunity to participate more.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to remain mayor for so long,” Cassie huffed. “You’re so obstructionist.”
“Trust me, I’ve been called worse,” Lucille said to Cassie’s back as the librarian stalked away.
“If you make Eureka famous, you’ll be called a hero,” Maggie said.
“That would be a nice change.” She gathered up her papers. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before Cassie thinks of another great idea.”
Chapter 10
Sharon pressed the phone tightly to her ear and listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. It sounded so far away—the way she felt. After the sixth ring, the call disconnected. No explanation. No message. Nothing.
She clutched the phone to her chest and pictured her son, Adan—all long limbs, knobby knees, and elbows, like a colt that hasn’t yet grown accustomed to his size. He had inherited his father’s height and his mother’s slimness. He wore his hair long, falling into his eyes, which were the dark brown of polished chestnut. Girls watched him, and giggled behind their hands; he pretended not to notice, though the tips of his ears burned red.
Why wasn’t he answering the phone? She’d bought it for him before she left, so that they could keep in touch. Joe didn’t believe in cell phones; he was convinced the government used them to track people and to record their conversations. But Adan was enough of a teen that he was excited to have his own phone. She’d spoken with him a couple of times since they’d come to Eureka, but for the past two days he hadn’t answered.
She stood and went into the living room, where Alina was reading, one leg draped over the arm of the sofa. Petite like Sharon, she had Joe’s thick, dark hair and high cheekbones. Whatever else she thought of her marriage, Sharon had to admit she and Joe had made beautiful children. “Have you heard from your brother?” she asked.
“No.” She laid aside her book and looked up at her mother. “How would I have heard from him? I don’t have a phone.” The fact that Sharon had bought a phone for Adan and not for Alina was a sore spot.
“He might have called the house when I wasn’t here.”
“I haven’t heard from him. Why?”
“I’ve been trying to reach him and can’t.”
“Maybe Dad took his phone away.”
Sharon’s stomach clenched. It would be like Joe to do something like that, though he’d promised that, as Adan’s mother, she’d still be allowed to stay in touch with her son, and that Adan could visit whenever he liked. He’d never mentioned wanting to see Alina again, or have her visit, things Sharon had kept from her daughter.
The sound of tires on gravel distracted her from these thoughts. Alina jumped up. “Mail’s here,” she said, and raced out the door. Almost everything that arrived was for Jameso—and most of that was junk that went straight into the recycling bin—but Alina still delighted in racing to the mail box, as she had when she was a little girl. Maybe today would bring a free sample or an interesting magazine or an offer that would change her life.
Sharon stared at her phone. Should she try again? Maybe Adan had forgotten to charge his phone or had misplaced it in his room. He was bound to discover the
mistake sooner or later. But why couldn’t she even leave a message?
The door banged open and Alina bounced inside. “There’s a couple of things for you,” she announced, and held out two envelopes—one large and brown, the other small and white. A small thrill of anticipation raced through Sharon as she studied the white envelope. Neither of these looked like bills, so maybe that meant something good.
“Who’s it from?” Alina looked over Sharon’s shoulder.
“Barbara Stanowski.”
“That’s Maggie’s friend, right? The one with the bed-and-breakfast.”
Sharon nodded and slit open the envelope. A pink card shaped like a rattle slipped out. “It’s an invitation to a baby shower for Maggie,” she said.
“How cute. What are you going to get her?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t have the money to buy anything very impressive, and even though Maggie had been very nice to her, Sharon didn’t know her well. Buying a gift for her felt awkward. “Maybe we’ll find a cute baby outfit.” A new mom could never have too many bibs and diaper shirts.
“What’s in that other big envelope?” Alina asked.
Sharon’s previous elation vanished, incinerated by the return address stamp with the name of the law firm she’d hired to handle her divorce. Heart pounding, she slit open the flap and eased out a sheaf of papers. She flipped through to the bottom of the last page:
The bonds of matrimony now existing between the Plaintiff and the Defendant are dissolved on the grounds of irreconcilable differences, and the Plaintiff is awarded an absolute decree of divorce from the Defendant.
Alina had been reading, too. “So you and Dad aren’t married anymore,” she said. Sharon tried to gauge her daughter’s mood. Was Alina happy? Sad? She sounded more stunned. Exactly the way Sharon herself felt.
“When your father and I married, we meant our vows,” she said carefully. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to keep them. It’s not easy to split up a family, but I think, in this case, it’s for the best.”
