CHAPTER ELEVEN
SARA WATCHED THE DOOR AT THE CLAM BOX THE next morning, knowing Emily would not stop in. But still, she watched for her.
I was hard on her, Sara thought. The meeting was her idea. She was trying, at least. But then she sat up there all night, like a stone lion, and didn’t say a word in Luke’s favor. Still afraid to stick her neck out. Meanwhile, Charlie turned it into a pep rally.
“Order up!” Charlie slapped the bell near the service counter. “Sara, come and get your order,” he called.
“I hear you—” she called back, half-ignoring him.
A customer was telling her what he wanted for breakfast, and Sara suddenly realized she hadn’t been listening.
“Sorry, how do you want the eggs?”
“I didn’t ask for eggs. I want hotcakes, bacon on the side,” he said, sounding annoyed.
“I got it.” Sara whisked away his menu. “Be right back with your coffee,” she promised.
She went to the counter to pick up her order and found Charlie arguing with Lucy. “It’s not what a man expects from his wife, Lucy. You embarrassed me in public while I’m in the middle of this election. How could you go against me like that?”
“I didn’t go against you. How many times do I have to say it? I was just asking a question.”
Sara was about to escape with her order when she noticed it was missing a side of hash browns. She didn’t need another annoyed customer this morning. The tips were bad enough around here. She felt self-conscious listening to Charlie and Lucy argue, but she needed her hash browns and didn’t quite dare to interrupt.
“Your innocent question made me look like a fool,” he went on.
As if he needed any help doing that, Sara thought.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but it’s got to stop,” he warned Lucy. “Do you hear me?”
Sara thought Lucy was going to burst into tears for a moment. Then her face got a tight, determined look.
“I can get up and speak in a meeting if I want to. The world doesn’t revolve around you—”
“You’re wrong and you know it. You just won’t admit it, as usual,” he grumbled. “Here’s your order,” he said, grudgingly setting a plate of pancakes on the order bar. He suddenly caught sight of Sara. “What do you want?”
“I need some potatoes on this,” she said, shoving the plate toward him. He scowled and dumped a scoop on the dish.
She pulled the plate back. “She has a right to ask a question, Charlie,” she said impulsively. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Lucy, who hadn’t walked away yet with the pancakes. Lucy slowly turned, watching Sara and Charlie.
Charlie stood with his hands on his hips. “Who asked you? As a matter of fact, I think you’re the one who’s been filling my wife’s head with all these wild ideas. All this lunacy started when you came to work here.”
“That’s ridiculous. Lucy wanted to go back to finish school for a long time. She didn’t need me to talk her into it.”
“Ridiculous? I don’t think so. You’re the troublemaking type, just like your misfit friend, McAllister. He is your friend, isn’t he?” he challenged her. “I saw the two of you leaving the meeting last night. You were the only one in there who would talk to him.”
“A lot of people there agreed with him, Charlie,” Sara shot back. She was too angry now to be cautious. “They might have said so, too, if you weren’t hogging the mike all night.”
Charlie’s face got beet red. “You’re fired! Do you hear me?” he shouted at her. “As of—right now!”
Sara stared at him a minute and was surprised to realize she felt only relief. “Fine with me,” she said, reaching for her apron strings.
“Hold on—” Lucy moved forward and took hold of Sara’s arm. Sara turned to face her, and she felt a stab of guilt. Lucy looked so woeful, as if she were stranded in some hostile place and Sara’s was the last familiar face.
“You can’t let her go like that,” Lucy said, still holding on to Sara’s arm.
“Oh, yes, I can,” Charlie insisted.
“Okay, then, who’s going to take care of the customers at night? Billy’s got his hands full cooking, and you want me home stuffing envelopes, making phone calls, driving all over town to drop off this and pick up that. You say I don’t help with your campaign, but the bottom line is, I can’t be in two places at once. I can’t take care of all your campaign stuff every night and watch the kids and work here, too, while you’re out making a speech or having a meeting or—”
“All right, all right.” Charlie put his hands over his ears. “You made your point, Lucy. She can stay. But no more back talk,” he said sternly, looking at Sara. “I’m still the boss here.”
Sara swallowed hard but didn’t say anything in reply. She was more than half-sorry that Charlie reversed himself, but glancing at Lucy, she felt she couldn’t walk out on her friend.
“You’re going to stay?” Lucy asked, “Right?”
“I’ll stay,” Sara told her quietly. “For a while, at least.”
She turned and carried the plate of eggs and potatoes away, feeling a curious sense of triumph. Nothing’s really changed, she thought. But it sure felt good to stand up to that blowhard.
LUKE WORKED HARD BESIDE SAM AND DIGGER FOR THE REST OF THE DAY, pushing himself to keep up with them and to keep his worries at bay. Finally, as the sun went down, Sam and Digger packed up and headed back to town.
Luke walked slowly back to his cottage, his limp more pronounced. His bad leg ached. His whole body ached, actually. He thought he was in shape, but he hadn’t done any hard physical work like this for years now. It’s going to take me a while to get up to speed with Sam and even Digger, he realized. But he was satisfied with the progress they had made in only four days.
That at least was something, he thought. And he would have a visit from Sara tonight. Last night she said she would stop by with some dinner from the diner for them. That was something else good to look forward to.
By the time Sara knocked, he had showered and changed his clothes. He was happy to see her. It was the first time he had really smiled all day, he realized. He had an impulse to kiss her hello, or even hug her, but he held back.
“Hey, how are you? What did you bring me to eat?” he asked, taking the white take-out bags from her hands.
“Now, there’s a typical guy greeting,” she said, slipping off her jacket.
He laughed and put the bags on the countertop. “You’re right. I’m sorry. How was work today? Sell a lot of clam rolls?”
“Charlie fired me. But Lucy made him take it back.”
Sara met his startled gaze. “I’m not even sure if I’m happy about that part yet.”
“He fired you? Because of me?”
“Your name did come up. But that was after I called him on hogging the mike last night at the meeting. And he thinks I’m a bad influence on Lucy.”
“He’s a jerk. You ought to go in there tomorrow and quit.”
“I would, but I feel bad for Lucy.”
“You’re loyal, Sara, I’ll say that for you.” He pulled some plates out of the cabinet and set them on the table, along with some silverware. “So, according to the Clam Box grapevine, did last night’s meeting help us or hurt us?”
Sara shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. Charlie and his friends aren’t exactly neutral. But I saw people really listening when you spoke. I think you showed a lot of commitment. And courage,” she added.
The word courage caught his attention. Did she really think that? He turned and grabbed the take-out containers. For some reason, he didn’t want her to see how much her praise affected him.
“Here, let’s eat. I’m starved,” he said as he put the cartons of food on the table.
“Listen, I’ve got an idea,” Sara said. “Why don’t you write a letter to the Messenger? You could rebut Charlie’s claims and say everything you wanted to say last night. I’ll help you,” she offered.
Luke sat back. “I’m not sure you know what you’re offering. It would be more like you doing all the work. Believe me, I’m no writer.”
“That’s okay. Just tell me what you want to say, and I’ll put it all together.”
He thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s do it. I can’t see that I have anything left to lose.”
“No,” Sara agreed with a grin. “You don’t.”
EMILY PUSHED HERSELF UP THE BIG HILL BEFORE THE TURN TO EMERSON Street. Today the weather was warmer—a brief flash of Indian summer in the midst of winter’s approach—and she was jogging in running shorts and a sweatshirt. She felt the burn in her legs and lungs but kept going, focusing on the rhythm of her breath.
Saturday, finally. It had been a long week, but somehow, she had made it through. Now afternoon sunlight illuminated the red and gold leaves on the trees that lined the road. She loved the autumn—except this year. The election and the problems with Jessica’s wedding were taking the joy out of it for her.
Though Reverend Ben had gotten Sam and Jessica talking again, Emily was still worried about them. Jessica still had not set a wedding date. At least I’m getting her out today to look at gowns, she thought.
Wandering around shopping malls and trying on bridesmaids’ dresses was the last thing Emily felt like doing—she actually dreaded it—but she knew she had to keep Jessica focused on the wedding. Besides, the evening promised to be even tougher. Her campaign committee was meeting at Betty Bowman’s.
As she reached the top of the hill and turned on to Emerson, Emily slowed her pace. A moving van was parked in front of Dan’s new house. He was moving in today. She’d forgotten all about that. She jogged up to the house and stopped, looking around for him. One of the movers stepped out of the truck, carrying a pile of boxes. “Coming through here,” he grunted.
“Oh, sorry. Is Dan around?”
Dan emerged from the garage. “Looking for me?”
“I forgot you were moving in today,” she replied as he walked toward her. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, I think.” His hands were dusty, and she spotted another streak on his cheek and had the impulse to brush it off, but didn’t quite dare.
“No wonder I put off moving for so long,” Dan said. “It’s such a pain. I didn’t think I had so much stuff. I’d say about half of it could have been thrown out and the other half given to charity.”
“It always seems to be more than you thought,” she agreed.
He looked different to her, wearing jeans and a worn blue flannel shirt with a green T-shirt underneath. His hair was messed up, too, and somehow the casual, unkempt look made him seem all the more appealing.
“So, what do you think?” he said, framing the small bungalow with his hands. “I know it’s not much, but looks like I’m stuck with it.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” she said, gazing at the squat little cottage. “The color isn’t right, though. I think you should paint it off-white and put up some shutters, dark green maybe.”
“I can see that,” Dan replied, squinting at the house. “But I’ll have to leave the home improvements for my son, Wyatt. I doubt I’ll be living here long enough for any major changes.”
Oh, right. Dan was sailing off to tropical climes, and Wyatt would be living here.
“When is Wyatt coming?”
“Looks like early November now. It would be great if he could help me with the campaign coverage. I could use a hand right now, with all the controversy about McAllister’s center.”
Emily couldn’t help laughing. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you the guy who was complaining to me about a dull race?”
“Well, you’ve livened it up enough now. Stop any time you like,” he suggested with a smile.
“If only,” she said. “Thanks, by the way, for printing Luke’s letter this morning. I’m sure my phone will be ringing off the hook on Monday.”
“Poor Emily. Sorry about that. But I couldn’t resist.” He crossed his arms over his chest and took a long, appraising look at her. So long, in fact, it made her feel self-conscious.
“It was a good letter, don’t you think?”
“Very well written,” she admitted. “I think it should help his case. He was shouted down so badly at the meeting.”
“Yes, he was,” Dan agreed. He paused, looking thoughtful. Did he think she could have done more to help Luke that night?
“Actually, Luke told me Sara Franklin helped him with the letter,” Dan said. “His ideas, her writing.”
Of course, Emily realized. It sounded a lot like Sara when she thought about it. “She polished up that piece I gave you on the substation, too. I think she’s good, don’t you?”
“Yes, very good. I could give her some work at the paper if she wants it.”
“I’ll let her know. I think she’ll be happy to hear it.”
Sara would be pleased, Emily thought. And at least I can tell her about that.
“Would you like to come in?” Dan asked suddenly. “I have a pizza sitting around in that mess somewhere. Probably dropped a box of books on it. And I can offer you a glass of water, but we’ll have to search around for the glasses,” he added with a grin.
“I’d love to,” she said truthfully, “but I’ve got to get going. I’m supposed to meet my sister in a little while. Some other time, though, okay?” she added.
He met her gaze. “Absolutely. You’ll be tired of seeing me in no time.”
Guess again, she silently corrected him. She tried to ignore the warm light in his eyes and smile, but couldn’t quite.
“Ready with the couch,” a mover grunted, swinging one end of a long brown sofa past the two of them. “Where do you want it?”
“I’ll be right in.” Dan turned to Emily, looking torn.
“Sounds like you’re needed,” Emily said. “See you.”
“Yes. See you soon, Emily. Thanks for stopping by,” he called as he started off to follow the workmen.
She turned and walked the rest of the way home. Dan Forbes was a puzzle to her. Even when they didn’t agree, she felt so relaxed with him, so much herself. Which was not the case with most men she met. Was he interested in her? He seemed to be lately. Or was he just being friendly?
She was bad at reading those kinds of signals, always had been. Either she missed the message entirely or made too much of it in her mind.
But with Dan, there seemed to be more there. Not just flirtatious games. Something real—or with the potential to be real. So near and yet so far, she thought with a sigh.
Emily opened her front door and went inside, then tossed her keys on the hall table.
Get a grip. The man smiled at you. End of story. Besides, it can’t go anywhere if he’s sailing off into the sunset in a few weeks. The most you can hope for now is a few nice postcards with palm trees, she advised herself wistfully.
She yanked off her jogging shoes and started to get ready for her shopping date with Jessica.
“WHEN YOU ANNOUNCED BACK IN AUGUST, WE HAD BATES BEAT, FOUR TO one. Look at this poll.” Warren passed around a handout he had prepared. “If the election were held tomorrow, there’s no saying who would win.”
Sitting in a comfortable armchair in the middle of Betty’s living room, Emily stared down at the handout. One of Warren’s telephone polls, which probably amounted to Warren phoning six of his closest neighbors. Of course, Warren acted as if he were Gallup and CNN rolled into one, his information infallible. For once, though, Emily wasn’t skeptical of his results. She didn’t need a survey to tell her she was in trouble.
“Monday is October one,” he reminded her. “We can still win this, Emily. But we all have to really bear down now.”
“The problem is that that McAllister issue just won’t go away,” Harriet said. “Did you read that letter of his in the Messenger? As if that town meeting wasn’t enough.”
“I think we’ve all learned our lesson from that meeting,” Warren said, looking straight at Emily.
“The New Horizons Center is not what we’re going to talk about.”
“Oh, come on,” Emily said. “We’ve all known each other too long to be playing games. When I speak to the Rotary next week, should I just act as if the elephant is not in the room?”
“You don’t have to ignore it, Emily,” Warren said. “Just come out against it.”
Emily felt a jolt. Everyone in the room was quiet.
Betty breezed in from the kitchen, holding her silver coffeepot. “Anybody need more coffee?” she asked brightly.
Nobody said anything for what seemed to Emily a very long time.
“I can’t do that,” Emily said finally. “It’s not the way I really feel. I think the center is a good idea, and I think you already know that.”
Warren pulled off his reading glasses in disgust. “I give up! Can anybody talk some sense into her?”
Doris, Frank, and Harriet all avoided Emily’s gaze.
But Betty placed the coffeepot on a silver tray and sat down next to her. “I know how you feel, and I respect you for it. We all do, even if we don’t agree,” she added. “But the feelings in town are already so strong against this center, Emily, that I don’t think anything you do or say can change it.”
“And it’s only going to get worse,” Doris predicted in a grim tone. “I heard some kids from this program are coming from Boston next week to work on the construction.”
“They are?” Harriet looked shocked. “How did you hear that?”
“Molly Willoughby. Luke hired her to cook a big welcoming dinner when they arrive on Monday night. That’s her day to clean for me, so she told me when she called to cancel,” Doris noted.
“Charlie will jump all over this,” Frank said with a groan.
“The point is, it’s out of your hands,” Betty went on. “It’s gone too far. Can’t you see? . . . Is it really worth handing Charlie the election over a lost cause?”
Emily met her friend’s gaze. Betty had a clear way of looking at things, a simple way. Weighing the costs and benefits, pluses and minuses. Why throw good money after bad? Why lose an election by championing a lost cause?
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