“You doing okay, Trina?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I sense sarcasm.”
“Gee, and I was going for a direct hit.”
Her bite didn’t seem to have any lasting effect on him, but then again, that matched all she had heard about her cousin on her father’s side. Mark was patient, good-natured, understanding, a smart guy with lots to look forward to, and add to that his ambition. He was working two jobs to achieve his goals. He was handsome, with an easy, winning smile, and, as far as she could tell from the few times she had seen him since her arrival, a perpetual dark scruff laced his cheeks. And now with his pretty, perky wife and a baby on the way, Mark Ravens was one of the family overachievers. Neither Trina nor Richie fit that mold.
“You know, you’re doing a good thing here,” he said.
“What, caring for someone who doesn’t want to be looked after?”
“It’s hard for Uncle Richie; he’s been on his own for so long.”
“His fault, not mine.”
“Trina, it’s not about fault.”
“Well, who told him to climb up on the roof and try and clear the gutters? At his age?”
“Like I said, he’s independent. Like father, like . . .”
She held the knife in front of him. “Don’t go there.”
“Still, it’s nice you’re here.”
“It’s just what a thirty-year-old single woman wants, to suddenly be the de facto manager of a roadside motel in a town that doesn’t seem to need one. I mean, Mark, we’ve got two guests right now and no reservations for the next two weeks. Even the days here are solemn.”
“He makes a killing in the summer season, lots of weekend antiquers. It will also pick up right before Christmas.”
“Oh God, can I endure Christmas here too?”
“Uncle Richie’s going to be out of commission for a couple of months, so yeah, I guess you’re going to settle in. I mean, first the cast has to come off, then weeks of physical therapy appointments. But don’t worry, Trina, Christmas in Linden Corners can be real special. Sara and I were married last year on Christmas Eve in the village gazebo, with practically the entire town as our witnesses. You just have to get involved; otherwise, Linden Corners can seem like a lonely place.”
“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind, from behind the front desk.”
“Sara and I will relieve you sometimes, help you get out and about,” he said. “You know I’m pretty busy between my two jobs, but Sara is around. She’s cut back on her hours at the Five-O, since the baby’s due date is a month away.”
“A Christmas wedding and a year later, a Christmas baby. You sure didn’t waste time.”
“If you want to keep life interesting, Trina, you have to have things to look forward to.”
“Okay, Mr. Optimism, let’s get this pie served so you and your bride can escape.”
“It’s hardly an escape . . .”
In a rare display of affection, she touched his arm and let her hand linger. “Look, Mark, I know you and Sara had other plans with your friends. I appreciate your being here.”
“Family first,” he said. “Uncle Richie’s not a bad guy, just quirky.”
“More like stubborn.”
“See, you two are finding more common ground with each passing day.”
“You want a pie in your face?”
With his easy laugh filling the kitchen, Mark grabbed hold of two plates and returned to the living room. Trina hesitated a moment, steeling herself for the final leg of what had been an awkward holiday. When she arrived with the last two plates, she saw that her father had already plowed down half of his slice, not bothering to wait for everyone else. Silence had also fallen over them, the three of them seemingly engaged in the game. She went and sat by herself at the collapsible card table that had served as their Thanksgiving dinner table. A candle had burned down to a nub before being doused. Trina Winter, surrounded by blood relations, by family—more concept to her than reality—realized she was the only one here whose last name was not Ravens. Even Sara had that over her.
Again, she wondered just what had possessed her to accept this assignment.
What had Mark said? Life was about having something to look forward to.
She couldn’t recall the last time that had happened to her, and she knew prior to her arrival here that she’d been going through the motions. Work, home, sleep, rinse, and repeat, and be careful along the way that you don’t yawn yourself to death.
Richie’s phone call to her had happened at just the right time.
Funny, she’d needed an escape from her life, and now that she was here, she was still on the topic of running.
She took a bite of the pie, felt an involuntary smile cross her face. The smooth, savory pumpkin filling was the best thing she’d tasted all day, and for once, Trina’s sour expression wavered. Mark’s comment continued to taunt her. For one’s life to be fulfilling, one needed something to look forward to. In this foreign place called Linden Corners, where not even the local tavern was open on the holiday, perhaps she’d start with thinking about a second slice of this amazing pie.
It was progress.
But once the pie was gone, what then?
“Thank you. I hope you enjoyed your stay with us.”
“Everything was clean,” the man said gruffly as he handed back the key to his room.
Trina, standing behind the desk, had to wonder if that was a compliment or an expression of surprise. She wasn’t sure how to react, whether to say anything in response, but then the man took the choice away from her. He abruptly turned around and left the office, receipt in his hand, and a few moments later he had zoomed away in his car.
“That was rude,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else.
“Don’t give it a second thought, Trina,” she heard behind her. She turned and saw Richie emerging from the kitchen, crutches supporting his thin frame; the cast appeared to weigh more than the rest of him. Still, it was nice to see him up and about; that was progress, wasn’t it? He’d just finished his morning coffee, something Trina had learned he couldn’t live without. For that he’d race across the parking lot in two casts.
“But what did that mean—everything was clean?”
“The motel business is transient. One customer checks out, another checks in.”
“Not according to the reservation book,” she said, staring down at an empty page.
“Place like the Solemn Nights, we specialize in drive-bys. Weary drivers needing a quick refresh, they see a word like solemn, it suggests rest, the blinking neon sign calling to them. They turn in and so does someone else, and next thing I know, most of the rooms are booked. You just have to be patient in this line of work. You’ll get the hang on it.”
“I hope not,” she said far too quickly, wishing she could take it back.
“Why not take a break? Carmen is here cleaning the rooms. If I need anything she’s easy to reach.”
“Richie . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”
“I understand, Trina. You’ve barely been away from the property since you got here,” he said. “Go on out and see the village, spread your wings. It’s beautiful outside this late in November, and it’s still warm. Odd for us; usually we’ve got a foot of snow at this point.”
“You trying to get rid of me? We were going to go shopping later.”
“I have no doubt you’ll be back in plenty of time to take me. We’re low on coffee.”
“You’re sure you can wait?”
“Go have a cup at the Five-O; Sara will take care of you.”
Trina agreed, if for no other reason than to give Richie a break from her. She retreated to her room, where she fixed up her hair and dabbed on a bit of lipstick and a light jacket, deciding at the last moment to toss a scarf around her neck. You never know, the weather could turn cold without warning. With a glance in the mirror, she pronounced herself good enough for public viewing, and then set out on f
oot, leaving behind her car. Downtown Linden Corners was only a half mile away, and the walk, like it had the other night she’d ventured down to George’s Tavern, would do her good. She walked against oncoming traffic, if it could even be called that, with barely a dozen cars passing her in either direction. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, with December just a week away, and indeed she was surprised by the fact that she’d worked up a sweat during her walk.
Her mother, Pamela, had warned her about going to Linden Corners, telling her that once she arrived she might not thaw out until April at best, and then wished her well. Pamela was now retired and living in Florida with her third husband and had long ago shipped the man who played the role of Trina’s father from her life. But while Pamela might easily dispense with the men in her life, Trina, despite not growing up with Richie as her father and as such barely knowing him, knew that blood was thicker than divorce. When he’d called and asked her if she could help him after his accident, she knew that doing so went against every fiber of his being. Richie Ravens had never before asked his daughter for anything.
And so here she was, in Linden Corners.
In fact, at this very moment she’d entered the downtown area, much more visible in the bright sunshine than it had been three nights ago when she had snuck out for a quick reprieve at the bar. She saw it down the road but knew such a place could hardly be her destination now. It might be five o’clock somewhere else in the world, but here in Linden Corners it was barely eleven in the morning. So instead she made her way toward the ironically named Five O’Clock Diner, but not before coming upon an old Victorian-style house, a sign on the front lawn announcing this was a place of business: A DOLL’S ATTIC, it read. A curious name, Trina thought, contemplating going inside for a look-see but opting for that anticipated cup of coffee at the diner. Also, it would be nice to have a conversation with someone she knew other than her father.
She opened the front door, the fresh-brewed smell of coffee drawing her inside, like she was under some kind of spell. Taking a round, cushioned seat at the counter, she gazed around and saw that the place was half-filled. Several of the booths against the wall were occupied with young families or with older men who were leisurely sipping away at coffee while enjoying the day off from whatever business they had. Two other men, who seemed not to be together, based on their lack of communication, sat farther down the counter. She also saw two women at a back table engaged in conversation, so much so that they looked lost in their own world. Just then, the door that led to the kitchen swung out, a woman Trina guessed as being between fifty and sixty emerging.
“Morning, hon,” she said to Trina. “Coffee?”
“If it tastes as good as it smells, please,” she said, realizing her remark sounded a bit like that customer at the motel this morning. “I mean, yes, and keep it coming.”
The woman grabbed a ceramic mug, placed it in front of Trina, then poured.
“You new in town?”
“Oh, uh, sort of. I’m, really, I’m just passing through.”
“Hmph, seems I’ve heard that before. Guy who said that ended up living here.”
Trina didn’t know how to respond, so she took a sip of coffee. Warmth spread to her insides as caffeine rushed through her bloodstream. She felt instantly awake, alive. “Wow, I don’t know how you do it, but that’s maybe the best cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted. Sara was right.”
“Sara? You’re just passing through but yet you know one of my girls?”
“Oh, she’s my . . . I suppose you’d say she’s my cousin-in-law. I’m Trina.”
“Oh sure, Richie’s girl. Name’s Martha Martinson, honey, and this is my establishment. Your father and I help each other out a lot. I serve visitors a meal, he gives them a pillow to place their heads, and we both benefit. Sorry to hear about his accident, but that’s real nice of you to come and help him out. Truth be told, I never knew Richie had a kid and I’ve known him a lot of years . . . Oh, I suppose that wasn’t so good of me to say.”
“It’s fine, Martha. I’m well aware of the strained relationship my father and I have.”
“Yup, guess you would be. So can I get you anything else?”
“Right now, this is perfect. Is Sara around?”
“She was here earlier but I sent her home, despite her protests. She’s plumb tired and that baby’s ready to burst. Well, nice to meet you, Trina, but I gotta get my butt back to the kitchen. I’m short staffed and the lunch rush is coming. Gotta get my chili ready.”
“Need help?”
“Excuse me, hon?”
Trina found herself surprised by her own offer. Maybe it was the coffee fueling her, but she felt right now like she could walk several miles and not suffer any ill effects. “Richie’s not expecting me back until three at best, and I’ve got nothing else to do. So I could do refills, take some orders. You don’t have to pay me.”
“Ever waitress before?”
“College. The local pub. Frat guys pinching my butt.”
“Well, don’t imagine that happening here, though you may want to avoid Chet’s table.”
She pointed to the booth where the two older men were chatting. One of the men lifted his empty coffee cup, beckoned to Martha for a refill. “I think I can handle him,” Trina said, and that was that. Martha brought her around the counter, handed her an apron and a pad, and set her off with a fresh pot of coffee, telling her any tips she made were hers to keep. So she poured refills for the man named Chet and his friend, and then she emptied a table of dirty dishes while Martha handled the young family’s bill, served a couple of omelets to a couple who’d just arrived and who couldn’t wait till lunch. As Trina zoomed about the busy diner, she felt her adrenaline pulsing through her body and a constant smile present on her lips, and she realized she was having the most fun she’d had in . . . well, a while.
“Hi, ladies. Can I get you refills?” Trina asked as she approached the two women at the back table.
“You’re a godsend,” one of them said. “Poor Martha’s been run ragged all morning.”
“I’m happy to help her out, and Sara.”
The other woman looked up at her. “How do you know Sara?”
“She’s my cousin . . . er, cousin-in-law. Mark Ravens and I are first cousins.”
“Well, Mark and Sara are good friends of ours. I’m Nora; this is Cynthia.”
“Hi, nice to meet you. Trina.”
“You just moved to town?”
“Yes, about a week ago.”
“Just you?”
Trina wasn’t sure what they meant by that. “Excuse me?”
“Husband, boyfriend . . . kids?”
If this was a multiple-choice quiz, she’d go with answer D. “None of the above.”
“Well, Trina,” Cynthia said, “you may think we’re crazy, but you seem like the kind of woman who rises to a challenge—I mean, you came in for a cup of coffee and next thing you know you’re serving it to all of us customers. Seeing what happened here just now, we couldn’t help but be reminded about a friend of ours having had a similar thing happen to him—walked into a business as a customer, emerged an employee not an hour later. You broke his record.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Trina said.
“Would you like to meet him?” Nora asked.
“Meet him? Are you asking me if I want to go out on a date?”
Both women exchanged conspiratorial looks with each other before gazing back up at a visibly surprised Trina. The one named Cynthia then said, “As a matter of fact, yes.”
CHAPTER 4
BRIAN
It was nearly the end of a warm November, a Sunday morning that found Brian Duncan mixing a bowl of pancake batter—his and Janey’s usual weekend breakfast treat—the sizzle of bacon coming off the pan filling the kitchen with mouth-watering, run-down-the-stairs smells. Usually Janey was at his side by now, wanting to flip the shriveling slices of bacon before they got too crisp, but she was nowhere
to be seen. He hadn’t even heard her stirring upstairs. He’d better make sure she was awake before he set the batter on the grill; cold pancakes did not reheat well. So he put down the whisk and turned off the burner where the bacon crackled and made his way to the bottom of the staircase.
“Janey, breakfast is nearly ready. Sweetie, are you awake?”
“Be down soon,” he heard, though the sound was slightly muffled. He heard the creak of her bedroom door, then, more clearly, “Don’t overcook the bacon.”
He smiled, not just at the sound of her voice but at the fact that he knew her so well.
“Already turned off. I’m about to put the pancakes on the griddle.”
Her happy acknowledgment was cut short by the ringing of the telephone. Nine o’clock in the morning; who would be calling this early, and why? He hoped nothing was wrong. Back to the kitchen, he grabbed the receiver on the third ring, said hello.
“Brian, it’s your mother.”
This was the second time she’d phoned in the last four days, might be a record since he’d come to call Linden Corners home. The ever-proper Didi Duncan hadn’t exactly approved—nor made her disapproval a secret—of her son’s new pastoral lifestyle, throwing away a promising career in New York to care for some woman’s child she claimed Brian hardly knew, all in some rinky-dink town that even time forgot existed. Not that Didi knew anything about Linden Corners. Neither of his parents had yet to visit, not in two-plus years of invitations. Yet her announcement on Thanksgiving evening had unexpectedly set the clock ticking to reverse that truth. The idea of their visit instilled more than a hint of fear in Brian, though he hoped on this morning it wasn’t evident in his voice.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Brian, dear, I know we kind of surprised you the other day, with our announcement.”
“It’s okay, Mom. The holidays can be emotional. It’s okay if you’re reconsidering.”
There was hesitation on the other end and Brian had to guess he’d hit the nail on the head with his assertion. The very idea of Kevin and Didi Duncan, perpetual world travelers during the holidays, forgoing their usual cruise with their friends the Hendersons for a country Christmas had been a crazy one from the start. Though a small part of him was disappointed, he felt relief settle his nerves. Phone up to his ear, he turned toward the batter to resume stirring, and that’s when he saw a still-bathrobe-clad Janey turn the corner and pad her way into the kitchen. He smiled over at her as his mother said something, and as a result he thought he misheard his mother’s reply.
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