A snort came from the corner, but I couldn’t see who’d made the sound.
Lukas raised his beer can. “Here’s to Tobi!”
Others joined in the cheer and the whole room raised their various drinks. Behind the cheers I heard the snort again. And I wasn’t the only one.
“Is there something you wanted to say, Ethel?” Dot asked from beside her.
The room fell quiet as all eyes turned to the two women.
Ethel’s eyes darted around then landed on me and narrowed. “I don’t understand this congratulating the journalist. All she did was her job. The person you should be thanking is the one who started all this—the one who smashed the gnomes.”
“Thank the gnome-smasher?” asked Davo, clearly confused.
“Yes!” Ethel cried. “Tobi just told the story. The person who smashed the gnomes created it!”
“That’s just stupid,” said Laurie.
“Why? It was a simple chain of events, which led to something good for just about everyone here. And it started with one person smashing three stupid little plaster gnomes.”
“Know something about it, Ethel?” I asked.
“Yes, Ethel,” said Valentina, “you seem to have given this a lot of thought.”
Ethel’s eyes darted round the room again and the crowd stilled, as if everyone had come to the same conclusion.
“You’re the gnome-smasher!” Davo called out.
“Sure enough,” Valentina said. “I should have put it together sooner. You know I don’t like to say anything bad about my neighbors—”
“Of course you don’t, dear,” Dot said.
“–but I have heard semi-regular smashes coming from next door,” Valentina continued. “I always put it down to Gerald knocking something over, but now …”
Ethel opened her mouth to speak, but Dot spoke over the top of her. “And, Ethel dear, you must admit you have a little problem with frustration. Really, when have any of us heard you say something nice about someone? Oh, yes,” she waved her hand, “you’re polite, but you’re always annoyed at one of us.”
“Frustration is held-back anger,” Grace contributed helpfully.
“Yeah,” Laurie chimed in, “and she hates us guys. Never tried to hide it.”
Ethel muttered something, which may have been about long-haired hoods, but I could’ve been wrong because at that moment the room erupted in a cacophony of voices. Everyone seemed to have an opinion or anecdote to add. With sixteen adults—not counting me—two kids and a heavily panting dog all contributing to the noise level, it became louder and louder.
Oh, this was getting ridiculous. I should do something. Except I wasn’t really sure what, I just knew the noise was giving me a headache.
I stepped into the center of the room and held up a hand. “A-hem.” Some of the noise dulled. “A-hem,” I repeated. The room quietened.
I’d suspected from early on that one of the residents had been the culprit, and though it was sad to say, I’d be glad if it did turn out to be Ethel. Not that I had anything against her personally, but it meant that it cleared all the other residents. Actually, I’d have preferred to pin it on Martin Sinclair, but if Ethel was actually guilty, I was fine with that.
Grace stepped into the middle of the room, beside me. “If I may?” she said. She nodded once and winked, like we had some kind of secret sisterly language of signals—which, come to think of it, would be nice. I returned the nod and stepped back into the crowd.
“Ethel,” Grace said, looking like a school principal talking to a naughty student. “Do you have something to tell the group?”
Ethel rolled her eyes. “Okay, I smashed the damned gnomes. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
A collective gasp traveled around the group, more, I assumed, from Ethel’s complete lack of remorse in her announcement than surprise—I think even Deefer had guessed by now.
“What?” Ethel threw up her hands. “Listen to you people complaining about a few smashed gnomes! Look at the good it’s done you all. You should be thanking me, not condemning me.”
“And,” Davo said, “that’s why I didn’t see her the night the other one was smashed. I got to the window quick enough to see someone run down the street, but not duck back next door!” He rocked back on his heels, pleased with his deduction.
People started calling out again, but Grace held up her index finger and they instantly fell silent. She clasped her hands behind her back, leaning over a little and resembling a school principal even more. Or maybe an old time movie detective. Whatever it was, she was clearly in her element.
“So, Ethel, you’re proud of what you’ve achieved?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? None of these people could work their way out of a paper bag before I did this for them.”
More interruptions erupted from the crowd, but Grace’s index finger brought instant calm. “And I bet you feel pretty damn proud of outsmarting everyone here, too?”
“Well, it wasn’t like anyone came close to working it out.” Her chest puffed out a good inch. “I created a worldwide phenomenon and not one of you guessed it was me.”
“Yes,” Grace said. “Very clever. So, this smashing thing you do—is it often?”
“What?” Ethel said.
Grace rounded on her. “Here’s how I see it—correct me if I’m wrong. Your neighbors say you have some frustration—I wonder if any would even go as far as bitterness?” Grace twirled around on the toe of her high heel, assessing the crowd. Several nodded. Ethel rolled her eyes again.
“So, we have a bitter woman who takes to smashing things?” Grace placed a finger against her cheek, as if pondering the issue. I held back a laugh—she’d always had a flair for the dramatic. “Usually only in the house, though. And you must normally cover it up for no one else to have noticed. Gerald, does this sound right?”
Sitting in his lounge chair, Gerald chuckled. “Yes.”
“Right.” Grace stood straighter. “Now here’s where I’m going to hypothesize. I think you’re a smashaholic.”
“A what?” Ethel’s voice was equal parts surprise and outrage.
“A smashaholic,” Grace replied calmly. “When you can’t cope, you smash things to feel better.”
Most of the crowd had folded arms and were nodding along, as if it made complete sense. Which it kinda did in a strange way. I looked over at Simon, who was watching me but was clearly amused by the whole exchange.
“You normally indulge inside the house,” Grace continued, “but one time you let loose and smashed three gnomes. Then another one.”
“This is absurd.” Ethel tapped her foot on the carpet.
“Now, you’ve been a secret smashaholic up until tonight, but now you’re out of the closet, the good news is you’re free to get professional help. Isn’t that great?” Grace, with her one psych class expertise, beamed at her conclusion.
“I don’t need professional help! I deserve to be thanked!” She whirled to point at Lukas. “You! Your silly gnome song is on the charts thanks to me.” Then she whipped around to point at Valentina. “And you! You’re getting the money from the advertising deals along with everyone else.” She turned again to point to the window overlooking Grace’s soon-to-be house. “Beverley got her husband back!” She turned to point at Simon. “You! You—”
“Thank you.” Gerald’s words were calm and quietly spoken but they carried across the room.
As one, the crowd turned to face him.
“Gerald?” I said.
He looked up at me, unshed tears in his eyes. “I’m glad she did it. I’m just sad it didn’t work for everyone.” He looked from Simon back to me. “I wanted you to stay long enough to fall in love with my granddaughter.” He paused and we all waited. “I failed my daughter, Isabel, in every other way, I couldn’t fail her only child. I needed to find her a new mother.” He looked to Simon. “And find you someone to love.”
The last piece clicked into place. My throat closed off with emoti
on, but I moved to his side and crouched down to the level of the chair—careful that the front of my silver coat didn’t flare open. “You gnome-napped AG, didn’t you, Gerald?”
Simon crouched down on the other side of Gerald’s chair and reached over the armrest for Gerald’s hand.
Head bowed, Gerald nodded. “I asked Ethel to get him for me. Told her I wouldn’t tell anyone about her smashing the others if she did this and kept it a secret.” He sighed. “But it wasn’t enough.”
Simon gulped a sharp intake of air. “You were capable of organizing that? Though I shouldn’t be surprised after how you are here tonight.”
“I’m feeling better all the time. I still have my moments, but,” Gerald shrugged, “I feel like I’ve woken up.”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘woken up’?”
“Perhaps I can help?” Grace moved closer. “I’ve only studied some psychology and spoken to Gerald a little, but I’m wondering … what if he was so deep in grief at losing both his wife and daughter, that it mixed with early signs of dementia and looked worse than it was?”
Simon frowned, processing her words. “So, he’s coming out of the grief. And now we just see the symptoms of early Alzheimer’s or something?”
“I’ve been muddled a lot.” Gerald shrugged. “It comes and goes. Sometimes I feel fine and other…”
I remembered his spark of lucidity when I’d first met him. “So, you’ve been coming out of it for a little while—”
“Yes.” He took a slow breath. “But even when I’m not muddled, I think I’ve been too darn depressed to raise the energy for much.” He nodded sagely. “Maybe you’ve hit on something with your idea, Grace.”
Simon rubbed his chin, wonder still in his eyes. “Maybe, but Monday morning, I’m getting you an appointment for a proper diagnosis.”
Then I remembered the rest of what he said. “Gerald, what did you mean, it wasn’t enough?”
He smiled sadly. “Even after I sank to making the deal with Ethel, you’re still moving across the country and leaving us.”
He liked me that much? It was the biggest compliment of my life—a sweet old man had committed a crime to make me stick around for his granddaughter. He thought I’d be good for her.
“Yes, Tobi,” Valentina’s voice filled the silence. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m not sure I approve of you moving to New York.”
Still crouching, I turned to look at her.
“Neither do I,” said Dot.
Slowly, I stood, straightening out my twinkle-twinkle-little-damn-star coat. “What do you mean?”
Valentina came a step closer and took my hand. “We think you should stay right here.” She reached for Simon’s hand and brought him to standing as well. “Simon Hanson, I think it’s high time you married this girl and kept her in the state and on Los Alamos Court.”
“Yeah!” yelled Pedro, Laurie, and Lukas together.
Dot left Kevin’s side to take Simon’s hand from Valentina. “Simon, you know I’ve always let you make your own decisions, but I agree. You should marry Tobi. You love her and she loves you. That’s all there is to it.”
Frank Porter started clapping and the rest of the group joined in.
“Go for it, Tobi!” Grace yelled, laughing.
“This whole street is insane,” Ethel muttered as she shouldered her way to the door.
“What’s that you say, dear?” Valentina asked Ethel.
Ethel reached the entranceway and turned back. “I resign. I’ve had enough of this job and this street.”
Ethel left. More cheers erupted. Rafaella and Liz raced to the door after her.
“We’ll follow her,” Rafaella called over her shoulder. “Make sure she doesn’t smash anything as she packs. But I agree with Valentina and Dot, Tobi, You should stay.”
“Absolutely,” Liz called over her shoulder as they raced after Ethel.
Grace laughed harder.
“Right then,” Valentina said. “Now that’s settled—”
“Deefer’s had a puppy,” Anna squealed from further down the hallway. “She’s licking it!”
The crowd cheered again.
“Here’s to Deefer!” Lukas yelled.
“Hear, hear,” the crowd responded.
As most of the noise died down, Valentina stepped into the middle of the room. “As I was saying, now the question of Simon and Tobi marrying has been settled, Dot will be looking for somewhere to stay. You’re more than welcome to my guestroom for as long as you’d like.”
Dot smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, but I was thinking I might move in with Gerald, if he’ll have me. He has a spare room now and,” she turned to Gerald, “I’ll have some free time to look after you if you need.”
Gerald nodded, fresh tears in his eyes. “I’d like that very much.”
“Lovely,” Dot said. “And that way Anna will have both her grandparents at one address. Works out nicely all around.”
“So,” Grace said, winking at me, “what about the wedding? I was thinking of the street—perhaps we could get permission to close it off for the day? Frank could help with the red tape.”
“Yeah!” called the boys and they all gulped more beer.
I looked over at Simon. His eyes were locked firmly on me, but he seemed to be enjoying the floorshow. Dammit, he wasn’t going to be any help.
I cleared my throat. “Do I get a say in this?”
Valentina’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, yes, dear. Of course. What did you want to say?”
“Deefer’s had another puppy!” Anna squealed and we heard the children clapping their hands. “That’s two!”
The boys cheered again, this time joined by Kevin, Grace’s real estate agent, and Frank Porter’s companion, who now all had beers of their own.
I frowned. “As it happens—”
Simon stepped beside me and put a finger to my lips. “Actually, I think it’s my turn to speak.” He took a deep breath and reached for my hands. “Tobi, will you marry me?”
My throat constricted, my eyes burned and I burst out crying, blubbering like a fool.
Simon stepped in front of me, filling my vision. “I promise to love you in good times and bad,” he wiped the tears from my face with the pads of his thumbs, “and to keep you in constant supply of antihistamines and cotton candy.”
My sobs hiccupped to an end and I looked up at him. Then I looked around at my community, these people who had come to mean so much. They were all leaning forward, waiting for my reply.
I grasped Simon’s face in my hands and took a shuddering breath.
“Yes.”
Then, to the background of clapping and cheering, he kissed me. Chastely—in deference to our audience, I assumed. But I was having none of that—I’d put up with far too much tonight to settle for less than I wanted, so I pulled him closer, signaling my intent. I felt him grin against my mouth and then he sighed and slipped his tongue between my lips. In front of this motley crowd, I felt the Hollywood-style lust clear down to my toes … and I didn’t care.
I stood in a disco-ball reject of a coat and odd shoes, losing command of myself to my very own external locus of control, in front of a crowd of fourteen adults, two kids, a dog and two newborn puppies. And I didn’t care. All I cared about was Simon.
I kissed him some more.
“Deefer’s had another puppy! That’s three!” Anna’s voice broke through the haze and the crowd’s attention turned from us to the dog.
Another—more slurred—cheer broke out from the consortium of boys and their new friends. Rafaella and Liz came back through the door.
“Ethel’s taken a cab to her son’s house,” Rafaella announced. “I got her house key back. She said she’ll call to arrange to get the rest of her stuff. What did I miss?”
Grace filled Rafaella and Liz in while the crowd chatted loudly about how they’d always suspected Ethel was the gnome-smasher, though I also heard ideas for
my wedding thrown around. Taking advantage of the most privacy I thought I’d get, I pulled the bundle tied in a ribbon from my coat pocket and showed Simon the pencils he’d given me with the words on the side—relax, smile, dream, have fun, laugh, and be.
He ran a finger over one and looked up at me, his gaze questioning.
“I want all these things,” I said. “I’m ready for them—with you.”
Cosmo’s high voice pierced the room. “Another puppy! A spotty one. I’m gonna name him Spot.”
Simon drew me against him again and kissed me, slowly.
Just at the point where I forgot where I was, someone clapped me on the back. I jumped as if a grenade had detonated. Still in the circle of Simon’s arms, I swiveled around to see who the culprit was.
Kevin’s beaming face appeared. “I’m real happy for you.”
Simon’s arms tightened around my waist and I felt his body press into mine from behind. I smiled. “Thanks.” I started to turn back to Simon.
Kevin grabbed my arm. “Oh, and Fletcher?”
“Yes?”
“Does your mother-in-law like men with nipple piercings?”
I groaned and turned back to Simon.
Acknowledgments
Firstly, thanks to Haylee Nash for loving a quirky little story enough to offer to buy the manuscript, then Tara Goedjen and Kylie Mason for their editing expertise in making it shine. But before it even made its way to Momentum, these people either critiqued, helped or cheered for The Gnomes: Sharon Archer, Amanda Ashby, Cathy Bay, Lisa Chaplin, Barbara DeLeo, Robyn Grady, Tracey O’Hara, Mel Teshco, and Mia Zachery. Also, thanks to Fiona Greene for her technical expertise, and Sandra Antonelli for her Santa Fe knowledge, though any mistakes are mine. And thank you to John, as always.
About Rachel Bailey
Rachel Bailey developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle-Duck) and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to gain degrees in psychology and social work but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living. Her books have hit the USA Today bestseller list, are published in over twenty-six countries and have been translated into sixteen languages. She lives on a piece of paradise on Australia’s east coast with her hero and their dog pack, and loves to hear from readers. She can be contacted via www.rachelbailey.com.
Cover Story Page 24
