Trouble's Brewing

by Linda Evans Shepherd; Eva Marie Everson

  Chris Lowe, in his graciousness, had offered me a job on the spot.

  I’d hoped to talk about alimony—fellow Potlucker Lisa Leann Lambert had insisted upon it—but I suppose a job, in the end, is better. It has certainly made me stronger. Being married to Jack nearly drained me dry of all the strength I’d ever possessed.

  Jack Dippel is a runaround.

  Of course, I’ve always known it. Well, not always. But since we’d been married about a year or so … and he began to shower me with expensive gifts, like his father had given his mother every time he’d had an affair. Like Father Dippel, Jack had managed to keep his extracurricular activities and interests away from Summit View. Until Charlene Hopefield, that is.

  Charlene is both the high school Spanish teacher and a floozy. She’s also minus one boyfriend. Since my unexpected departure from the home we’d shared for all these years, Jack has dropped Charlene like yesterday’s garbage and has practically kissed the ground I walk on ever since.

  Not that he’s getting anywhere with me. I’m going to stand firm no matter what. Either Jack Dippel is getting help for his apparent addictions or I’m getting myself a divorce and moving on with my life.

  I arrived at work fifteen minutes early, as is my habit, entering through the door leading out to the alley. I hung my coat on a chrome coat tree in the employee break room of Chris’s law office, which is upstairs from the Alpine Card Shop, and began making coffee. While it brewed, I ran downstairs to the sidewalk running along the front of the building in order to retrieve the Denver newspaper Chris had delivered to the office.

  Back inside, I moved past tables of gift items and the displayed stacks of Hallmark cards divided by category. Because the card shop doesn’t open until 10:00, and Chris’s office officially comes alive at 9:00, I was alone in the building. Not a single light on. It was, somehow, comforting. There is a peace in the early morning blues and grays that I enjoy spending in solitude.

  Sadly, that time had to come to an end. As I made my way up the staircase leading to the office, I flipped on the light, then did the same as I entered the main room of our offices and welcomed a new workday.

  The aroma of coffee greeted me. I laid the newspaper on my desk, walked into the break room, and poured two cups of coffee, preparing the first as Chris preferred his and the second as I preferred mine. I then took both cups to my desk, where I deposited mine, and picked up the paper and stepped into the large office at the end of the hall.

  There, I turned on Chris’s computer, laid his paper out neatly in the center of his desk, and placed the steaming cup of coffee next to it.

  By the time I reached my office, I heard Chris coming in the back door.

  “Morning, Goldie,” he greeted me, sight unseen.

  “Good morning. Your coffee and paper are on your desk.”

  Chris walked into the front office, his overcoat slung over his arm and a briefcase dangling from one hand. “Here, let me take your coat,” I said, bustling toward him.

  Chris smiled at me, handing his coat over. “Ready for your first day at the desk without Jenna?”

  I took the coat and squared my shoulders. “I’m ready.” My brow shot up. “Did Carrie and Jenna get off okay?”

  Chris moved toward his office. “Bright and early this morning,” he answered without looking back. “Give me about a half hour, and then we’ll go over my schedule for the day.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, reverting to my Southern upbringing of referring to those in superior positions as “sir” and “ma’am.”

  I grew up in one of the most rural sections of Dixie: Alma, Georgia. I’d still be living there today had it not been for our high school’s senior trip to Washington, D.C., where I met Jack Dippel. Met him, fell madly in love with him, and then married him a few years later after a long-distance relationship that sappy love novels are made of.

  I shuddered, then took Chris’s coat into the break room to hang on the coatrack. Moments later, I was back at my desk, switching on my computer and giving the phone set a “cautionary eye,” wondering who the first caller would be.

  “Good morning,” I whispered to it. “Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?”

  Okay, Lord. We can do this. Yes, sir, we can.

  “Good morning, Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?” I answered my first call of the day at a little after 9:30. The emphasis was placed on none of the words but rather on keeping my tone professional and kind.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  It was Olivia.

  “Olivia? What’s wrong?”

  I could hear Olivia’s sweet smile through the phone line. “Nothing. I just knew you were nervous about answering the phone, so I thought I’d call as soon as I had a minute and let you practice. How’s it going?”

  I smiled. “It’s going. So far, everything that Jenna taught me is making me more competent by the minute. She’s a smart girl. I wish I’d gone to college like she’s doing. Maybe I wouldn’t be in my fifties working for the first time in goodness knows how long, sweating over a silly telephone.”

  “You’ll do just fine. You always do. I won’t keep you. Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

  “Thank you, my sweet thing. I’ll see you after 5:00.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  I returned the handset to the phone and turned back to a stack of invoices to be mailed. I stamped the signature space of each one with Chris Lowe, Attorney at Law, then folded them and placed them in their corresponding envelopes. With each stamp-fold-stuff I felt more and more like a new woman. A liberated woman. A businesswoman. A woman in charge of her own destiny!

  The phone rang, and I jumped. “Good morning—”

  Before I could recite my greeting, Jack’s voice interrupted. “Goldie.”

  I hunched over my desk. “Jack,” I hissed. “I’ve asked you not to call me at work.”

  “Goldie, listen to me. Let’s have lunch together today. Okay, baby? Just one hour of your time, that’s all I’m asking for.”

  I pursed my lips. “I’ve already made lunch plans for today, thank you.”

  “With whom?” he stormed.

  “Jack,” I said, hunching even closer to the top of the desk. “I refuse to be intimidated.”

  “Now you listen to me, woman. This has gone on long enough. I’ve done what’s right. I’ve ended the … uh … relationship with Charlene.”

  “Good-bye, Jack. I’m working and cannot be disturbed.”

  I returned the handset, my hand quivering, and nearly knocked the entire phone unit off the side of the desk. “Get a grip,” I said to myself, teeth clenched. I pulled my right hand into my left and clasped it. It didn’t help the pounding in my heart, though. I took in a deep breath, then let it out ever so slowly. I did it again and again until I felt myself returning to normal.

  “Goldie?”

  I jumped a near mile. “Chris!”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Yes.” My bottom lip quivered, giving me away. “That was Jack on the phone. He wanted to have lunch.”

  Chris nodded, staring hard at me, waiting I suppose for me either to have a good old-fashioned hissy fit or to say something brave and strong. I did neither.

  He discreetly cleared his throat. “I’m expecting an old friend of mine from law school today. Van Lauer. We’re going to have an early lunch and then head over to Loveland Pass to try to get some early skiing in this afternoon.” Chris pointed toward his office with his thumb. “He just called my private line. Said he’s going to be in town for a few weeks for a much-needed vacation and a little private work.” Chris seemed genuinely excited. “It’ll be good to have my old friend in town. Could you do me a favor and cancel the two or three appointments I have this afternoon?”

  “Certainly.”

  Chris smiled at me. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? After Van gets here, I mean.”

  “I’m having lunch wit
h Lizzie,” I said, as though that complicated matters.

  Chris placed his hands on his hips. “Lizzie? She’s not working at the high school today?”

  “She had a dentist appointment so she took the day off. We thought we’d have lunch. Get caught up.”

  “Ah,” he said, then turned to go back to his office. My eyes scanned the room, darting about like a ping-pong ball. Why had I felt the need to tell Chris that I had a lunch date with Lizzie? Or that she had a dental appointment?

  “Get a grip,” I said again as I returned to my work.

  At exactly 11:00 the front door swung open. I looked up from the keyboard of my computer, where I’d been typing the letters Chris had dictated into a tape recorder the afternoon before, and pulled the earphone from my ears. “Good morn—”

  I stopped short. My eyes scaled upward, taking in what had to be all six feet, six inches of one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  And that includes Jack Dippel, darn his hide.

  I swallowed. “Excuse me. Good morning.” I pressed my fingertips lightly against the hollow of my throat. “I must have swallowed wrong.”

  Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous was peeling away his overcoat as he spoke. “You must be Goldie. You’d have to be with such pretty red hair,” he said, his crystal blue eyes twinkling against deeply tanned skin.

  “I am. And you are Mr. Lauer?”

  He extended his hand to me, and I took it. It was warm and soft, and, God as my witness, I noticed immediately that his nails were buffed to a shine.

  “Van,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “Please call me Van.”

  I met Lizzie at Higher Grounds Café a few minutes after noon. The restaurant was nearly filled already, what with the downtown working crowd finding their way there for lunch.

  Naturally, Clay Whitefield was sitting in his usual spot, front and center where he had a clear view of the people coming and going, both on the sidewalk in front of the café and on the street just beyond. He spoke his hellos before we had a chance to greet him.

  “Mrs. Dippel, Mrs. Prattle.”

  “Clay,” we both said in unison. I noticed he had a small notebook spread out next to his plate of tuna salad sandwich, chips, and pickle. On it, what appeared to be a list of items, crossed out.

  Clay can be a strange one at times. He’s a nice enough boy, but … strange.

  “Don’t mind my asking, Clay, but do you ever leave this place? I mean, other than to go home or to make a quick trip to the newspaper office?” I asked.

  Clay chuckled good-naturedly. “I can’t think of a better place to get the news for the newspaper, can you? There’s not a thing that goes on in this town that doesn’t somehow get talked about in here.”

  “Here and the Sew and Stitch,” I said, speaking of Dora Watkins’s craft shop. If you ever need craft supplies or just a good dose of gossip, the Sew and Stitch is the place to go.

  “I have to admit you’ve got a point,” Clay answered. “But for the life of me I’d have to say I’d stand out like a sore thumb in a ladies craft shop.”

  Lizzie and I laughed, Lizzie patted Clay on the shoulder, and then we sat at a table in the center of the room, a few feet behind Clay, with me sitting with a clear view of his back. Within minutes, one of Sally’s new servers—Eleana, according to her name tag—was standing over us, asking what we’d like to drink. We both said, “Water with lemon.”

  As soon as Eleana, a pretty young woman with thick auburn hair that curled unabashedly in a ponytail, walked away, we opened the menus she’d left for us, though I daresay we both knew the menu at Higher Grounds as well as we knew the ingredients in our own pantries. “Know what you want?” I asked Lizzie.

  “I’ll probably get the same thing I always get,” Lizzie answered, then looked up at me. “Do you think we’re becoming creatures of habit, Goldie?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not me, anyway. Goodness, my actions in the past month have proven that.”

  Lizzie frowned. “Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m doing well. I really am … and I’m not just saying that.” I glanced down at the menu. “So what do you say? Let’s shake things up a bit and order something we don’t usually order.”

  “Let’s do it,” Lizzie agreed.

  And we did. We ordered chicken potpie and then got really crazy and said, “And apple pie for dessert. With ice cream.”

  While we waited, I grabbed the opportunity to ask her about the latest in her life. “So, what’s new with you?”

  Lizzie sighed. “Apparently, you haven’t heard.”

  I leaned forward, and in doing so, immediately noted that Clay appeared to lean backward a bit. Almost like he was stretching … but not really. I cocked a brow and put my finger up to my pursed lips. “Shhh,” I mimed.

  Lizzie gave me a confused look.

  “Clay,” I mouthed, then crooked my finger in a “come closer to me” gesture, which she did.

  Elbows on the table and shoulders hunched, she lowered her voice as she leaned closer to me. “Tim came home.”

  I drew back a few inches, then leaned back in. “What do you mean, ‘came home’?”

  “He and Samantha have separated.”

  My shoulders drooped. “Oh, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie took a sip of her water. “I know,” she said, then reached for the lemon wedge and squeezed it into the icy water. “I could just cry.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I have cried. I’ve cried buckets.”

  “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “You’d hear about it at the next meeting, anyway,” she said. “I’ve already called Vonnie.”

  “Vonnie?”

  Lizzie pinked. “I would have called you too, but you have enough on your plate without worrying about me.”

  I have to admit I felt a bit jealous. After all, didn’t Vonnie have a plateful too? “I always have room on my plate for you, Lizzie. My goodness. If it weren’t for the advice Samuel gave me after my separation from Jack … well, I don’t know what I would have done. He’s been an absolute gem, your husband, helping me with the little things like opening my own account …”

  “Samuel is a good man.”

  “Did you call anyone else? I mean, of the girls?”

  “No. I’m not really ready to talk about it yet, though Tim’s sure to be seen around town soon enough. He’s quit his job and now says he’ll be getting a job soon.”

  “A job? He’s come home for good?” I looked over Lizzie’s shoulder. Clay leaned forward again, I suppose having given up on eavesdropping into our conversation. I gave Lizzie a look that told her our conversation was, once again, safe. I watched her relax into her chair.

  “I’m afraid so. I talked with Samantha night before last … the same day as Tim came home. From what Tim says, well, he can’t make enough money to satisfy her. But Samantha … Samantha paints an entirely different picture.”

  I looked out the row of windows to my right, beyond the street and buildings on the other side to the mountains that rose behind our little place in the world. They rolled gracefully and were already snowcapped. It wouldn’t be too long, I thought, before the out-of-state skiers dropped in like flies on honey. Thanksgiving was a week away … then it would be Christmas and then the new year. “Hmmm.”

  Lizzie looked over her shoulder. “What are you looking at?” she asked, turning back to me.

  “Nothing. Just the mountains. Just thinking about the seasons in our lives and that life can change so quickly.”

  “That it can.”

  Eleana arrived with two plates of piping hot chicken potpie. “Here you go,” she said, setting them on the table. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lizzie answered for us. As soon as Eleana walked away, we bowed our heads for prayer, which Lizzie led. Then we picked up our forks and dug in. “So, do you have an hour before you have to get back to the office?” Lizzie asked.

  “Actually, no. I have the res
t of the afternoon.” Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Chris had an old friend—a law school classmate, actually—who came into town. They’re having lunch and going over to Loveland Pass.”

  Lizzie stopped and stared at me for a moment.

  “What?” I asked. “Do I have food on my face?” I brushed at my cheeks.

  “Nooo.”

  “Then what?”

  “What was that look you just had, Goldie Dippel?”

  “What look?”

  “You blushed. When you spoke of Chris and his friend.”

  I speared at my pie; the steam rose from it, hitting me square in the face. “I did not.” I looked back up at her. “Why would I blush?”

  “You tell me.”

  I leaned over a bit. “I did not blush.”

  Lizzie took a sip of her water, swallowed, and then smiled a wicked smile. “Cute, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

  “Goldie—”

  I waved her away with my fork, which I had perched in midair. “Oh, don’t worry so, Lizzie. I’m separated from Jack, but I’m still married to him.” Then I smiled, in part so she really wouldn’t worry. “But I’m not blind. So, yes. He was very cute. Very, very cute. Now, finish your lunch and tell me what you’re planning to serve for Thanksgiving next week.”

  The last thing I really wanted to think about was Thanksgiving. I was sure that Jack hadn’t yet figured out that the big day was just a little over a week away, in spite of the fact that it meant getting to eat my sweet potato soufflé and having a few days off from school. Every year the “Big Game” between Summit View and Rocky Point takes place on the Friday night after Thanksgiving. It is one of the biggest events of the school year, followed by a homecoming dance, and is something Jack and I attend together every year. We’ve never missed, not once, even the year he was carrying on something fierce with a woman in a nearby town who demanded his attention like none other ever had. During those months I saw Jack very little on weekend nights … but that one Friday night he was mine.