Maple Sugar Crush

by Beth Labonte

  I crossed the street to buy a few coffees at The Shaky Maple, before continuing on my way to the senior center. The senior center had a large enough space to hold a community dinner, and they also had a kitchen, which was a plus. I opened the door to find a Zumba class in full swing at the back of the room. They’d recently remodeled that area into a brightly painted fitness studio. Closer to the door were several tables filled with people playing cards and board games, or doing puzzles. On the other side of the room was a brand-new shuffleboard table, and a wall-mounted television that was muted and set to Fox News.

  The place was hopping. I used to volunteer here all the time, before I’d bought Pumpkin Everything. I still left Tom in charge of the store a few times a week so I could stop by. Sometimes I taught a Zumba class, or helped to serve lunch. Sometimes I just sat and chatted with the seniors, letting them reminisce about the good old days. And sometimes, just for fun, I took them for rides down the Kancamagus in my red Tesla Model S. Arnie and Walter were huge fans of Ludicrous Mode, even though I’d promised Officer Heffley, quite a while back, that I wouldn’t be using it anymore. Oopsy.

  I scanned the room until I found Deb, the director, working on a bulletin board on the back wall.

  “Hi, Deb,” I said, walking over and holding out one of the coffees I’d bought. “Still doing PSLs?”

  “Josie! You know I’m always doing PSLs, but you really shouldn’t have.” She thanked me as she took the coffee out of my hand, her eyes darting around the room as if making sure everything was in tip-top shape. In addition to volunteering, I made an annual donation.

  “Everybody seems to be having a good time,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile. I wished she’d relax. I wasn’t the type to randomly stop in to check up on how my money was being used. I mean, I didn’t even complain when they ignored my idea about the goat yoga.

  “They really are,” said Deb, her face filling with relief. “The shuffleboard table has been a huge hit. What brings you by, dear? I didn’t have you on the schedule for today.”

  “I was just wondering if I could borrow the senior center on Thanksgiving? I know you’re not open that day, and I need a big space for a community dinner I’m hosting.”

  “You’re such a doll,” said Deb, her face crumpling as she clasped one hand to her chest. “That’s a wonderful idea, Josie. Really, just the best idea. The thing is, I wish you’d asked me a week ago.”

  “Oh,” I said, my heart sinking. “Sorry. I only came up with the idea yesterday. Did somebody beat me to it?” The idea that somebody else might be planning the same sort of event, after reading that article in the newspaper, hadn’t even occurred to me.

  “Not exactly,” she said. “Margie Wharton’s reserved it for her family. All five of her kids, plus her thirteen grandchildren are coming for Thanksgiving, which is too many people to fit in Walter’s house. You know they’ve been shacking up for years?”

  “I’ve heard,” I said. At least Tom would get a kick out of this.

  “You know what?” said Deb, taking a sip of her latte and looking me over. “Let me give Margie a call. I’ll tell her that the space is no longer available. That’s the Josie Morgan fitness studio over there. What has Margie ever done for us? Between you and me, I don’t even think her pies are homemade.” She whipped out her cell phone and started punching in numbers.

  “No!” I said, grabbing her arm. “Please don’t cancel on Margie. I can find another place.”

  I could see it now, Margie blabbing to everyone in town about how I’d stolen the senior center out from under her because I was so rich. People would roll their eyes. Talk about how I thought I was better than them. Word would get back to Moose, who would just nod smugly, convinced he’d been right about me all along.

  Deb stared at me for a moment before reluctantly putting her phone back into her pocket. “Are you sure?”

  “Totally.”

  “I really am sorry,” she said. “Is there anything else we can do for you? Would you like to stay for lunch? It’s turkey fricassee day! Or maybe some Zumba while you’re here? Ladies! Would you like Josie to join you?”

  The entire class turned around and enthusiastically waved me over.

  “Sure,” I said. “Why not?” I was a sucker for those Latin beats. The turkey fricassee was pretty good, too.

  Chapter 5

  An hour later, I was back out on the street, and back to the drawing board regarding where I was going to hold my dinner. My other idea was Grayson’s Turkey Farm. I was planning to order the turkeys from them anyway, and I knew they had a function room where they held banquets and small weddings. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. I should probably stock up on canned corn and stuff, too, before everything was sold out. I dropped Pixie off at Pumpkin Everything, where she could curl up in front of the fire, then I walked across the street to Moose’s Mini Mart. I dialed the number for the turkey farm.

  “Grayson’s Turkey Farm, Roy speaking.”

  “Hey, Roy,” I said. I waved to a stone-faced Moose, sitting behind the counter, and headed toward canned goods. “I’d like to place an order for some turkeys?”

  “You’ve come to the right place. What can we get for you?”

  “I’m going to need a lot of them,” I said, surveying the shelves. I probably should have gone to a full-sized grocery store, but like I said, I wanted to buy everything locally. Besides, Moose had recently expanded the mini mart into the empty space next door (the White Mountain Reiki Center had not long for this world, although I thought my session was amazing).

  “A lot as in…how many?”

  “Well, that’s the thing.” I switched the phone to my left ear, and grabbed every can of cranberry sauce Moose had in stock. “I don’t know exactly how many people will be coming yet. I’m thinking around…fifty?” That was actually more than I hoped would turn up, but you never knew

  “Fifty,” repeated Roy. “Is this a corporate event?”

  “Nope.” Boy, my basket was heavy. Moose gave me an odd look as I staggered back to the front of the store and dumped all the cans into a shopping cart. “I’m cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for anybody in town that needs a place to go. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s incredibly kind of you.”

  “I mean, what do you think about how many turkeys I’ll need?”

  “Oh, right. Well, we typically advise one pound per person, so for fifty people that would be about five turkeys.”

  “Five? That’s it?” That couldn’t be right. I crinkled my nose and swept Moose’s entire inventory of canned corn into my cart. “Can we make it fifteen, just to be safe?”

  “You want fifteen turkeys?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Do you have enough ovens to cook fifteen turkeys?”

  “Okay, fine. Make it five.”

  I pushed my cart to the end of the canned goods aisle, nearly colliding with a figure in black, darting across in front of me. Riley. As usual, he was looking down at his phone instead of up at where he was going. He put one hand on the front of my cart, glancing up with an annoyed expression on his face. When he realized it was me, his expression softened slightly, and he gave me a small smile before continuing on his way.

  I stopped my cart in front of the frozen foods while Roy took down my name and address for delivery of the turkeys.

  “Josie!” he said. “I didn’t realize I was speaking to you. How are you doing? Can I interest you in buying pies again this year?”

  “I’m great,” I said. “And yes, of course. May as well make it thirty pies this time.” That way, anyone who came to dinner could also take home some pie.

  Roy whistled. “That’s why we love you, Josie.”

  Surprise, surprise. I’d ordered five turkeys and thirty pies, and Roy suddenly loved me. He wouldn’t be the first.

  “One more thing,” I said, before he hung up. “Is your function room available by any chance on Thanksgiving?”

  There was a p
ause while Roy tapped at his computer keyboard. “No, I’m sorry. Margie Wharton’s already booked us.”

  “Margie Wharton? But she’s already booked the senior center for her Thanksgiving dinner. What does she need your place for?”

  “After-party.”

  I let out a loud groan. Riley, who’d joined me in the frozen food section, glanced over.

  “I could cancel on her,” said Roy. “I mean, you’re one of our best customers. Let me send her an email.” The keyboard tapping started up again.

  “No!” I cried. “Please don’t. I’ll find another place. Thanks anyway, Roy.”

  I hung up the phone and turned my cart toward the front of the store. Riley was staring straight ahead into the ice cream freezer, so I continued past him without saying a word.

  “Hey,” said a voice, after I was halfway down the cereal aisle. “Wait up.”

  I glanced down to where Riley had grabbed the handle of my shopping cart, his hand right up against my own, and felt a stirring of butterflies.

  “Oh, hey,” I said, removing my hands from the cart and shoving them into my pockets. I took a step back. He really was quite tall, when he was standing so close. And the mini mart, despite its recent expansion, still lived up to its name when it came to aisle width. I’d backed all the way up against the Cheerios, and we were still only a few feet apart. The collar of his white shirt was undone, his tie loosened. I swallowed. “I didn’t know if there was a Squirtle or something in that freezer, so, you know…I didn’t want to interrupt. Word to the wise, though, Moose will kill you if you keep those freezer doors open too long.”

  Riley held up a box of orange Creamsicles. “Believe it or not, I was just getting dessert for the office. Maggie was craving these things. I think they’re from her childhood or something.”

  “The Maple Sugar Crush of her generation.” I nodded. “Have you had one today?”

  “Nah. Too many of those things will kill you. Or maybe that was part of your plan last summer.” His teasing smile, and his second mention of this past summer, made my knees go weak. I reached one hand back, steadying myself against the Rice Krispies and Coco Puffs.

  “I should let you get those back to the office before they melt,” I said, grabbing my cart and continuing on my way. “See you later, Riley.”

  “Hang on,” he said, stopping me again. This time he put his hand completely over mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body that, with any luck, fried those annoying butterflies to a crisp. “I couldn’t help overhearing your phone call. You’re still looking for a place to hold that dinner?”

  I nodded. “Apparently Margie Wharton’s got this whole town in her pocket.”

  “What about the church?” asked Riley. “Isn’t that where those types of things are usually held?”

  “Usually,” I said. “But I wouldn’t even know who to ask over there. Do you?”

  “I work at the funeral home,” he said. “I have connections.”

  “Like with—?” My eyes widened as I pointed upward.

  “Hopefully,” said Riley. “But I don’t think we need to go straight to the top in this case.”

  We continued walking together to the front of the store, where Riley paid Moose for the popsicles, and then pulled out his phone.

  “Let me call Susan Blake. When she’s not driving the senior shuttle, she’s in charge of church social events.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, furrowing my brow, still confused as to why Riley was suddenly being so friendly, while also trying my hardest to think of him as a brother or a cousin or a high school gym teacher. Anything to keep my hormones under control. Having a crush, when I wasn’t interested in dating—or having a fling with somebody I’d have to see on a daily basis after it ended—was completely pointless. I milled around by the newspaper racks while Riley made his phone call. A few minutes later, he was back.

  “The church basement is all yours,” he said. “Susan said you can use the kitchen, too, so you’ll be able to cook at least one of your many turkeys there.”

  “Thank you!” I said. “That’s a really big help. One less thing to worry about. You know, you’re still welcome to come. I know you said you didn’t want to, but nobody should be alo—”

  “Nah,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m good. I’ll see you later.” He gave me a crooked smile and a quick wave as he took off out of the store.

  “What are you even doing here?” asked Moose. “Shouldn’t you be shopping at ritzy places? Like, Nieman Marcus?”

  I peeled my eyes away from Riley’s retreating backside, to look at Moose. He was squinting at me and sipping from the big, black tumbler that he always carried around.

  “You want me to shop for cranberry sauce at Nieman Marcus?” I pushed my cart over to the register.

  Moose just shrugged and began ringing up my things. I sort of hated how much I wanted Moose to like me. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of me, as I hadn’t done a single thing to offend him personally. He certainly never turned down one of my free coffees. When Amy had come back to Autumnboro last fall, everybody was mad at her over the books she’d written, and she ended up having to give an apology speech to the entire town. Was that what I needed to do? Apologize for winning the lottery? That didn’t seem fair. Sure, I’d bought the ticket. But I’d never meant to win. I don’t think anybody ever means to win.

  “So, Moose…do you have any job openings?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Me,” I said, batting my eyelashes.

  Moose shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the cans he was ringing up. “What’d you do, forget that you’re a millionaire?”

  “No.”

  “Did you forget that you already work all day at that store you bought?”

  “Nope! I know both of those things. But, see, my store closes at five o’clock and yours is open til ten. I could work here a few nights a week and give you some time off. You wouldn’t even have to pay me!”

  “You’re nuts,” he said matter-of-factly, which was his usual answer.

  Okay, fine. At the present moment, Moose still hated me enough to turn down free labor. But someday he’d have to soften up and give me a chance. I always thought it would be fun working at a grocery store—using the price gun, beeping things across the scanner, figuring out the best way to fit everything into bags. That was the main reason I asked for a job. The second reason was because between the time my store closed, and the time that I went to sleep, there were a lot of lonely hours to fill. Winning over Moose was the third reason, but that wasn’t going to happen today. There was one more thing I could do, though.

  “I’ll take two cartons of Marlboros, also,” I said. “Please.”

  Moose raised his eyebrows. “You’re a smoker now?”

  “Maybe.”

  “They’re bad for your health.”

  “What do you care?” I held out my hands. He handed me the cartons, containing twenty packs of cigarettes that would go straight into the trash can outside. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were the most expensive thing in his store.

  “That’ll be $326.52,” said Moose, his eyes lighting up as he read me the total, as I knew they would.

  “Have a great day!” I said, pushing my cart toward the exit. When I glanced back, he was smiling.

  Chapter 6

  “It’s nothing personal,” I said, flopping back against the couch pillows. I had Sharyn’s Closet muted on the television, watching as Amy’s mother buzzed back and forth between clothing racks. I was on the phone, trying to tactfully explain to my own mother, for the millionth time, why I wasn’t coming home this year for Thanksgiving. “I just feel like hosting this community dinner is something I need to do. These people really need me.”

  “But what will everyone think?” asked Mom, also for the millionth time. By everyone, she meant her friends and neighbors on the Cape.

  “I don’t know, maybe that you
raised me to be a kind and empathetic human being?” I said. “It’s not like I’m not coming because I’m stuck in jail or something.”

  I pictured her standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the ocean and fretting over this bit of news that was probably the worst thing to happen to her in quite some time. She’d been living a charmed life since I’d won the lottery. Not getting her way for once might actually be good for her.

  “Maybe,” said Mom, skeptically. “But it’s not just that, Josie. I’ve already made some…arrangements. Arrangements that will be very difficult for me to break.”

  “You’ve invited men to the house again for dessert, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, honey, I was able to get Rita Winchester’s son! I had to pull a lot of strings because he’s usually booked solid this time of year.”

  “Booked solid? Do you even hear yourself?”

  “If I cancel, Laura Kilroy will swoop right in!” said Mom. “Her daughter, Sophie, is finally home from Europe and she’s been dying for the two of them to meet. The next time you come home, it’ll be too late.”

  “Then I hope they’re very happy together,” I said, looking at the television as I marked down the item number on a swishy Lori Goldstein cardigan. I loved those layers. “Look, Mom, I’ve already told you why I don’t date. Nothing’s changed.”

  I had the urge to tell her the truth—that this sort of thing was part of the real reason I’d decided not to come home, and that the community dinner idea had only come later—but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I’d already told her that my not coming home was nothing personal, and this would only hurt her feelings. It wouldn’t change anything, either. I’d been telling her for years to stop trying to fix me up with men, and she’d never listened. Like Amy, she had this twisted notion that I could be happy in all aspects of my life. I was happy in most of them, so why wasn’t that enough? I had a beautiful house and a cool car; I helped my friends; I gave to charity. But when it came to emotions, and trust, and love, my money was a bull in a china shop. Even after the major humiliation that was Dean, nobody seemed to get that but me.