Take the Trophy and Run

by Gail Sattler

  Tomorrow would be another day.

  She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stan tilted his head back and let the hot water sluice through his hair, finally getting rid of the last of the temporary color after the third application of shampoo.

  He didn’t know why he thought playing dress-up and going out on a fake date would be a good idea.

  All it did was show him how much he was missing.

  Just like in a proverbial B-grade chick flick, love, in all its stages, surrounded him.

  At work, whenever Jordan thought about the baby, his eyes lost focus and he made a goofy smile, then snuck away to phone his wife, Trish, and check on her.

  Then there was Hayden, his best friend, who after a short and painful marriage, desperately searched for the right love.

  Tonight they’d seen Ralph and Debbie from church with stars in their eyes, nearly swooning over each other, just about to become engaged.

  Then Blake and his wife, whose name he still couldn’t remember, from the garden club, who’d left the kids at home with a sitter and went to a nice-but-not-too-expensive place, just the two of them, for a night out.

  And Amber’s aunt and uncle. After more than forty years of marriage, they snuck out together to have some forbidden fruit, or rather, forbidden steak.

  At first it had been fun acting the play couple. Until there was only one piece of lobster on the plate between them, and they’d both reached for it at the same time. They’d stopped and looked up at each other, and Amber had puckered up and blown him a kiss. By then, all of her lipstick was gone and he’d frozen up, and all he could think about was leaning over the table and kissing her for real. While he sat there staring at her like an idiot, she stabbed and popped the last piece of lobster into her mouth, then made a big drama about how much she enjoyed it as she chewed. He’d sat there in a trance, watching, considering ordering another lobster tail just to have it happen again, and then kiss her for real.

  If there was ever a pivotal moment in his life, he’d had it tonight. Not like back in high school when Amber had whacked him up the back of the head with her math textbook and told him to stop fooling around so much and concentrate on his studies or he’d never graduate. Not when they’d both decided at the same time to go to college together. Not at graduation, not when he’d decided to hire staff after struggling with his business for a few years and prayed he could bring in enough income to cover their paychecks.

  That lifetime pivotal moment came when Amber gave him a fleeting peck on the cheek and slammed the door in his face.

  He’d had his chance to kiss her for real after their first real date, and he’d been too slow on the draw.

  At that moment it had occurred to him that he was in love with Amber. Whom he’d been buddies with his whole life. Together since they were in diapers. There had never been a time in his life when they hadn’t known each other, bonded to each other, even if they were too young to know what bonding meant.

  Just like Hayden searching for a soul mate, it hit Stan that, unlike Hayden, he already had one and hadn’t realized it.

  Amber.

  He didn’t know why it had taken so long to see it. He loved her. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t loved her.

  But she wasn’t in love with him. As friends, they were inseparable. He saw Amber more than he saw his best friend, Hayden.

  He knew she liked him, but after tonight it was clear that she didn’t want to kiss him.

  Now he wanted to kiss her more than ever.

  He wiped the fog off the mirror, looked at his reflection, stroked the stubble on his jaw, and ran a couple of fingers on the skin under his nose.

  Amber had liked his look. He wasn’t about to go to the salon and spend big money to put fancy colors in his hair that would just grow out anyway, but he could grow a mustache without an expensive stylist. He had a feeling that was what she liked more than the blond streaks anyway.

  He’d heard that a mustache made a guy’s nose look bigger, and that was something he really couldn’t afford; but for Amber, he’d take the risk.

  Stan swiped the towel over his hair, which was finally the right color, and squeezed some toothpaste onto his brush as he got ready for bed. Tomorrow was Monday, his most hectic day with all the weekend breakdowns and people who were desperate for their cars. But more than that, it was time to make a plan and put it into action.

  Amber’s heart made a little flip-flop as she approached her store. From down the street, as she’d walked closer she’d seen what appeared to be some kind of plant in a pot in front of the door. As she got closer, she spotted a new envelope wedged in the door.

  Because it was easier, she searched the plant first, to see if the two were related. She didn’t find a note or anything tucked into the leaves. All it had was the usual plastic tag with care and watering instructions. The tag promised this plant was easy to care for, and that it flowered for most of the summer when kept in a sunny location. In a black felt pen, looking suspiciously like Stan’s sloppy handwriting, a note added, “Put beside your front door.”

  With the tag in her hand, she stared at the envelope wedged between the door and frame, afraid to open it; at the same time, afraid not to.

  The last note had hinted about Christmas, but Bloomfield was too small to support a business that catered to Christmas all year long. Those kinds of places only existed in the large cities. The only thought that she and Stan had shared was that with Gnorman’s white beard, he was a shoo-in for Santa. Which was no help in finding him, only that they had figured out what his next costume would probably be.

  With trembling fingers, Amber tore the envelope open.

  Who is a cheery and jolly fellow

  With a heart of gold and a belly like a marshmallow?

  With hair and beard changing to white

  He’ll do what he can to put up a good f ight.

  Amber stared at the words. She ignored the bad rhyme between fellow and marshmallow and concentrated on what was hopefully the important clue. Santa’s hair was already white, so she could only think that the changing hair color was a clue as to where she would find Gnorman—dressed like Santa. The first person with changing hair color she thought of was Stan, even though that change had been artificial, and temporary, and hopefully still anonymous. By today it would all be washed out and back to his normal dark brown.

  She smiled. Knowing Stan, he’d probably washed it all out last night. He didn’t know that she knew, but because of his job, he always showered in the evening when he got home from work, then didn’t shower in the morning in his mad rush to get out the door.

  Tucking the note under her arm, she turned the key and carried her new plant inside, quickly turning off the alarm.

  From across the room the red light on her phone flashed, telling her that she had a new message.

  As soon as she heard Sylvia’s recorded voice, she knew before listening what the news would be, and she was right. Gnorman was gone, and Sylvia didn’t see anyone take him. There was no note.

  The next new note, of course, was already in her possession. And if the pattern was going to be the same, someone would call her within an hour to say that they had found Gnorman in their backyard, not knowing how he got there, and that he was wearing a new costume. This time she suspected that person would find Santa Claus . . . along with a new note.

  The phone didn’t ring often, but every time it did Amber felt like her heart would leap out of her chest. Yet every time it rang, it was a real customer with a real question.

  By the end of the day, not only had no one phoned to say they’d found Gnorman in their yard, but also, Stan hadn’t phoned to say why he’d left her a plant.

  At closing time, before she prepared to lock the door,
Amber once again read the note. She didn’t know any women in the garden club who had a belly like a marshmallow. The only person she knew of was the pregnant wife of one of Stan’s mechanics. But that belly was nothing like a marshmallow.

  No men she could think of had an expanded waistline like a marshmallow either. Although she did know a lot of people with hearts of gold.

  Again she looked down at the plant.

  Stan certainly had a heart of gold. But he wasn’t old enough to have his hair starting to go gray like Santa.

  She’d recently gone through the membership list in her hunt for a backyard swing, but she’d stopped at the Es, at Sylvia’s name. So instead of leaving, she locked the door, turned on the light to say she had closed, booted her computer back up, and opened the garden club membership list.

  This time, she skipped by all the female names, and concentrated on the men, assuming that no women in the club could grow a beard. She’d gotten all the way to the Ws without success, when off in the distance, her cell phone rang out from her purse.

  By the time she made it across the room and found it in the bottom of the jumble, it had stopped ringing. She tried to get her fingers to stop shaking enough to hit the buttons to show the caller ID and find out who had called.

  As soon as she hit the button, she stiffened from head to toe. Andy Barnhardt. The fire chief. And also the past president of the garden club.

  She hoped and prayed he wasn’t calling because her townhouse was on fire.

  Instead of picturing the charred remains of her home, she pictured Andy. She figured he was close to fifty, and he did have a bit of gray at his temples, although he was always clean shaven. He certainly didn’t have a belly like a marshmallow. But then again, being the fire chief, he was active in charity events, especially at Christmas time. If memory served her correctly, last year he had dressed up as Santa and had done something for the children’s wing at the hospital. For that night Andy did indeed have a belly like a marshmallow, and he did have white hair and a beard.

  She’d found Gnorman.

  When Andy answered the phone, she smiled. She was right. Andy had been working a twelve-hour shift and just gotten home. When he opened his patio door, he’d seen the red of the Santa costume and called her.

  Naturally, after she disconnected, she aimed her finger to autodial Stan, then stopped.

  Every day she’d bugged Stan, obligating him to help her find Gnorman, and hopefully the trophy. The quest to recover her gnome from the Gnome Gnapper had turned into a wild goose chase.

  It was time to give Stan his life back. He had better things to do. He’d been such a sweetie last night at the restaurant, she couldn’t remember ever having more fun on a date, and with Stan of all people. She hadn’t pictured Stan as a romantic kind of guy, but he was. He’d been charming and delightful, and, even though she’d never thought about him in that way before, he was hot. She always thought of all the things they’d done together when they were growing up and never gave him credit for the man he’d become. Living in the present, he was charming and handsome, and instead of taking up all his free time, she owed it to him to turn him loose.

  Watching Ralph and Debbie at the restaurant, probably a day or two before Ralph proposed, was a reminder to her that even though they were older, both she and Stan were still painfully single.

  For herself, she couldn’t do anything about that until she settled her finances with her uncle. Her liabilities and heavy debt load were her problem, and she couldn’t start a relationship with a man when she could possibly be dragged into bankruptcy. Nor could she start a relationship in Bloomfield if she failed before she got her loan paid off and had to move to Chicago.

  But Stan could, and should, start a relationship. His business was successful and stable, and it was time to find that special someone before everyone was married except for him, and her. Which meant giving him the time he needed, without her pestering him every day.

  Amber texted Stan with a nice thank-you for the plant, shut down her computer, locked up her store, and went to Andy’s house alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amber’s stomach made a loud grumble as she pulled into Andy’s driveway. It had taken her twenty minutes to walk home, which wasn’t long, but added to the time she’d spent at the store trying to figure out where Gnorman had been moved to, and the ten-minute drive to Andy’s house, it was an hour past her supper time. She’d skipped lunch, and she never ate breakfast; however, with all she’d had to eat yesterday at the restaurant with Stan, it wasn’t like she was going to starve to death. She’d eaten enough calories in that one meal to sustain her for a week, and she didn’t feel one iota of guilt.

  Just as she put the car into Park, her cell phone buzzed with a text message from Stan. Short and sweet and to the point, as always.

  where r u

  Amber sighed and hit Reply.

  Andy’s. Gnorman is here.

  She didn’t bother putting her phone away. For a man with big fingers, he texted fast.

  why didn’t u call me

  She sighed again, and in the middle of her sigh her breath caught as her stomach grumbled and a wave of pain shot through her. She wished she had an apple in her purse, but like her fridge, her purse was bare except for nonedible junk. She gritted her teeth as it passed, using the time to think of how to word her reply to Stan without hurting his feelings.

  cuz I can’t keep being a pest. c u tomrw

  Instead of texting for half an hour from Andy’s driveway, she turned the phone off and tucked it back into her purse. She would phone Stan when she got home, but this wasn’t the time, nor the place. What she found would not be a surprise. She already knew what it would be, but some evil little bug on her shoulder told her she had to see for herself.

  Amber stepped out of the car and onto Andy’s driveway, and looked up at his house. The sun, ready to set, cast a golden aura around his home.

  His perfectly manicured lawn, neatly trimmed around the edges, bordered his immaculately swept driveway. Instead of clumps of bushes like she’d seen at other garden club members’ homes, Andy’s flowers were set in neat rows with almost military precision. Like his lawn, all were in perfect condition with no hints of brown on any of the leaves or flowers.

  Likewise, his home showed the same care. The shutters appeared freshly painted and new, a stately contrast to the old brick that made up the building. While it wasn’t a huge house, it was certainly large for one person.

  Suddenly she wished she hadn’t tried to be noble and had asked Stan to join her. It hadn’t been difficult to ask any of the ladies to escort her to their backyards to see Gnorman’s new temporary home, but somehow having to ask Andy seemed . . . intimidating.

  Gathering her courage, she knocked on the door. As it opened, instead of the gentle creak of an old hinge, an ear-shattering yowl pierced the silence.

  Before her stood Andy, tall and still. On the floor beside him, Andy’s brightly-colored parrot stretched out his wings and screeched like a stuck pig.

  For a man old enough to be her father, Andy was quite a dashing and handsome fellow, even if a bit of a curmudgeon. She absolutely adored the little crow’s feet that appeared around his eyes in the rare times that he smiled. She didn’t adore the noisy parrot.

  He tapped his watch. “What took you so long?”

  When Amber opened her mouth to respond that she’d made it in good time considering she’d walked home instead of driven, the squawking parrot picked up his volume. Amber resisted the urge to cover her ears with her hands. “What’s with him? I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. You banged on my door, and I opened it.”

  “But that’s so annoying.”

  “I like it. Murray’s better than a watchdog or one of them high-tech alarm systems.”

  “A
re you saying he’s a watch parrot?”

  A harrumph escaped Andy’s lips. “I suppose you could say that. How’d ya like to come in?” As Andy stepped away to give her room to enter, the parrot, still screeching, hopped backward.

  Amber stepped in and shuffled away from the door quickly. “As long as you make sure he won’t bite me in the ankle.”

  “He won’t bite unless you try to take something away from him, and he’ll stop hollering as soon as I close the door.”

  Amber quickly slipped past both of them to give Andy room to close the door. The second it clicked closed, the bird did exactly as he’d promised.

  Her ears rang with the silence.

  “See?”

  She stared down at the parrot, who now looked almost friendly.

  Almost.

  “Do you think Murray might have noticed when Gnorman was placed in your backyard?”

  “Probably, but it’s not like he would fly outside and attack an intruder.” He raised both of his bushy eyebrows as he looked down at Amber. “Most people ignore him. After all, he’s not the least bit dangerous. He spends most of his days napping.” Andy’s face relaxed, and he bent down to touch the bird’s head with one finger. “Your gnome arrived when I was out on duty. Come this way, and I’ll show you where he is.”

  Amber tried not to be nosey, but she couldn’t help making mental notes of Andy’s house as he led her through to the back patio door. She tried not to cringe as the parrot half hopped and half flew behind them.

  Everything in Andy’s home was in balance as if he’d had a feng shui expert come in; although from her impression of him at the garden club meetings, he was probably a natural at it. All of his furniture was large and stately, in dark, masculine tones, and with no extras. There was nothing ornamental, only furniture that had a practical use, including a few sparse photographs depicting what appeared to be important events in his life.

  The only other male-dominated house she’d ever been in was Stan’s, and she couldn’t exactly call that totally male-dominated because she’d helped him pick the furniture and accent colors. He hadn’t let her do anything too girly, but it was far from blends of blacks, browns, and navy blue. Even though Stan’s house was never as clean as she would have liked, it was comfortable and well presented. While Andy’s home was comfortable, everything about it yelled that a man did the decorating, and that a man lived there alone.