Blue Ridge Reunion

by Mia Ross

  “Now, Helen,” Fred chided her. “You don’t know that for a fact.”

  “I sure do. I saw them myself, racing out of town in his sports car like their tails were on fire.”

  Shaking his head, Fred asked Chelsea, “Speaking of cars, how’s that little monster of yours running these days?”

  “Never better. You haven’t lost your touch.”

  “Well, now, that’s good to know.”

  Then, completely out of the blue, Ginny Thorndike asked, “Chelsea, how are things going with you and Paul?”

  The question hit her like a bolt of lightning, and she knew she had about two seconds to come up with a response before these well-meaning biddies assumed they’d hit a nerve. And began spreading the word that Chelsea had gotten tongue-tied over a simple question about Paul Barrett.

  “It’s going well,” she replied as casually as she could manage. “Now that Jason and some of the other mill employees will be helping out, things should really start moving along.”

  Ginny traded a look with Lila, who gave her a slight shrug. Never one to be easily put off, Ginny tried again. “I meant, how is it working with Paul? If memory serves, you two never got along.”

  That was putting it mildly, but Chelsea had anticipated the follow-up, so this time she was prepared. “True, but that was way back in high school. We’re grown-up now, and we’ve got a job to do, so we’re making it work.”

  “Are you going to the reunion?” Helen asked as they approached the church. “Brenda told me it’s later this month.”

  Brenda Morgan had been in their small graduating class, but Chelsea was so far out of touch with things, the reunion was news to her. Now that she thought about it, though, it had been ten years, so it was time for some kind of get-together. “I guess I can, since I’m here. Who should I call for details?”

  “Brenda’s in charge of it,” Helen said proudly. “She and her husband will be at church with the kids, so you can ask her then.”

  Chelsea recalled her old classmate, a perky redhead with dark, sparkling eyes and a figure to die for. Every guy in school had chased after her, and every once in a while she’d let one of them catch her. Chelsea had a tough time picturing her as a responsible adult, and she wondered how much the wife and mother resembled the teenager Brenda had once been.

  When they connected in the vestibule, Helen reintroduced them, and it was obvious Brenda hadn’t changed a bit. Bubbly as ever, she was surrounded by four children who appeared to range in age from eight to a few months. Squealing with delight, she shifted the infant to one hip in a practiced motion and reached out to embrace Chelsea.

  “It’s so awesome to see you!” Leaning closer, she murmured, “I hear you’ve got your hands full with Paul Barrett these days. If you need any help, let me know.”

  She added a wink, and her husband laughed. “I think you’ve got enough to do without adding him to the list. Steve Lattimore,” he added, offering his hand to Chelsea.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she replied, glancing around the circle of children. “All of you.”

  Brenda rattled off their names, but with the buzz of conversation in the background, Chelsea didn’t quite catch them. If she was pressed later on, she’d have to fess up, she supposed, but for now, she settled for “They’re great, Brenda. You must be very proud.”

  “Most days,” she said with a giggle. “Others, not so much. You know what I mean.”

  Not really, Chelsea thought, but she decided not to go there. “I should probably go find a seat.”

  She turned and ran smack into the broadest, hardest chest she’d ever encountered. Tilting her head back, she met up with Paul’s twinkling brown eyes. “I’ve got one saved for you up front, if you want it.”

  “Hello, Paul,” Brenda cooed, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. Apparently Steve was well acquainted with his wife’s flirtatious nature, because he greeted Paul with a grin and a handshake.

  “I’ve got a great idea!” Brenda went on. “Since you’re both in town, you can lead the first dance at the reunion. You know, our top two graduates together again, that kind of thing.”

  The look on Paul’s face was a humorous blend of shock and horror, and Chelsea couldn’t resist teasing him. “What’s the matter, Paul? Is the thought of dancing with me really that bad?”

  Meeting her gaze head-on, he gave her one of those slow, maddening grins. “As long as you let me lead, it should go fine.”

  A couple of awkward seconds passed, and they continued staring at each other, each waiting for the other to give in. Finally, Chelsea ended their standoff with a laugh. “Fine. You can lead, but I get to pick the song.”

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it, and Brenda let out a melodramatic sigh. “Whew! For a minute there, I was afraid we’d have to step in between you.”

  “Are you two always like that?” Steve asked.

  “Like what?” Chelsea and Paul responded in unison, and they all laughed.

  “‘The more things change, the more they stay the same,’” Brenda quoted, gathering her brood together. “I’ll get the reunion info to you later, Chelsea. If you have time, we’d love to get you on the committee. There’s a million things to do, and we could really use someone who’s organized and efficient. If you’re interested, our next meeting is at seven tonight at Arabesque.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It used to be Morgan’s Dance Studio,” she explained. “My cousin Amy just moved here, and she’s taken over the business from Aunt Helen. Wait till you see what she’s done with the place.”

  Chelsea found their choice of venue odd, to say the least. “Why do you meet there?”

  “It’s big, quiet and there are no kids,” Brenda replied, ticking its attributes off on her fingers. “We get a lot done, then we get a chance to chat before heading home to put our rug rats to bed. I’m actually going to miss it when the reunion’s over,” she added with a wistful sigh.

  She made it sound like fun, but Chelsea was still wary. “Who’s working on it with you?”

  She rattled off the Friday-night roster of the old cheerleading squad. In high school, they’d had nothing whatsoever to do with her, Chelsea recalled with more than a little attitude. They must be desperate for more members to share the load. Then again, reconnecting with Paul had gone well, erasing years of bad teenage memories for her. While she was normally cautious when it came to people, her success with him made her more willing to take another leap. If she gave these women a chance, it just might lead to the same positive result. At the very worst, they’d remain the nodding acquaintances they’d always been. No harm done. “I’d be happy to help. Do you need my number?”

  “Aunt Lila has it. I’ll just get it from her.”

  As the Lattimores headed inside, Chelsea shook her head at Paul. “I forgot how tightly connected this place is.”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda nice,” he said, lightly touching her back to guide her toward the open sanctuary doors. “Folks look out for each other.”

  “It is nice,” she agreed as they walked up the far aisle. When they reached the end of the pew, she turned to look back at him. “I forgot to tell you I had a great time at the picnic Friday night. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “You’re welcome.” His expression held a genuine warmth she hadn’t seen before. Just as quickly as it sprang up, though, it morphed into a smirk. “It was fun having you there, even if you don’t know squat about baseball.”

  Fortunately for him, the organist began playing the opening chords of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee,” so she didn’t have time to work up a crushing reply. But she’d get him later, she vowed as she opened her hymnal, and it would be a doozy.

  While they sang, she let her gaze wander a bit, admiring the humble church with an adult’s perspective. Constructed in 1866 of lumber from the mill, the church had solid oak beams supporting the roof that had darkened with age and decades of oil-lamp smoke. Tall windows ran along each of the si
de walls, letting in sunbeams that spotlighted different people in the congregation as fluffy clouds moved through the sky outside. Behind the altar hung an oil painting of Jesus addressing a gathering of worshippers, his arms outstretched in a loving gesture that included them all.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed a flurry of movement down the row, and she glanced over to find Diane Barrett waving to get her attention. Holding her thumb and pinkie like a phone, she mouthed, “Call me.”

  Chelsea had no clue what that might be about, but she nodded anyway. If she was able to help out with something, she’d do what she could. In Roanoke, she didn’t have much personal time, and she guarded it like the treasure it was. Being here let her slow her customary pace, giving her a chance to sit back and enjoy things rather than planning what came next. It was a pleasant change. She felt Paul shift beside her to whisper, “What’s up with you and Mom?”

  Keeping her attention on the pastor’s opening prayer, she shushed him.

  Unfortunately, that only made him chuckle. “Did you just shush me?”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Now be quiet and behave yourself.”

  With another chuckle, he said, “Yes, ma’am,” then sat back in his seat.

  Since they had only one book between them, her respite didn’t last long. When they stood for the next song, he moved closer so they could both see. Close enough for her to register the warmth of his skin through his button-down shirt, the reassuring feel of him standing beside her.

  That was how he’d be with the woman who finally tamed that wild heart of his, Chelsea knew. Strong and solid, allowing her to be who she was but standing nearby in case she needed him. Because that was the kind of man he’d grown into, and when he finally found someone to settle down with, she’d be the center of his world.

  Her thoughts had drifted so far afield she was startled to realize the music had stopped. Rattled by her complete lack of concentration, she put an end to her romantic nonsense and focused on the pastor’s sermon on the importance of family.

  “Here, we join our own families—” he swept a hand through the air to encompass everyone “—with the larger one God has made for us. In this community, we find the love and understanding we need to make the good times better and the tough times a little easier. Some of us may wander away,” he added with a fatherly smile, “but we can always come back, confident that our Heavenly Father and His faithful will be here waiting for us.”

  People throughout the congregation were nodding, and to her surprise, Chelsea found herself doing the same. Because that was how she felt, she realized with sudden clarity, how she’d felt since that first day when she and Paul had lunch at The Whistlestop. She’d been gone a long time, but the residents of Barrett’s Mill had not only acknowledged her return, they’d embraced it.

  This morning, she’d come to a place she’d avoided for years simply because she’d rather sleep than pray. Folks had been there to greet her, easing the awkwardness she’d feared, and God Himself had rewarded her effort with open arms, welcoming her back to His house as if she’d never left.

  Sitting in this country chapel filled with sunlight and joy, she felt more at ease than she had in a very long time. That wasn’t a coincidence, she knew, and she looked up to heaven with a grateful smile.

  It was good to be home.

  * * *

  Chelsea pulled up in front of the dance studio a few minutes before seven. She still had reservations about joining a group she’d been excluded from as a teenager, and she figured arriving first would give her time to settle her nerves before the others got here. It was a balmy night, so she had the top down on her car and some mellow country ballads on her playlist. Resting her head against the seat, she stared up at the first few winking stars, enjoying the quiet. It was a Sunday kind of peace, and it struck her that the calm she’d experienced in church this morning had followed her through the rest of her day. Sending a smile heavenward, she sighed. “Thank You.”

  A puff of breeze warmed her cheek, and even her pragmatic mind couldn’t deny it felt as though someone had brushed a gentle touch over her skin. The door of the building opened, and she swiveled her head to find a slender woman in capris and a fluttery-sleeve top approaching her convertible. Chelsea wasn’t that tall herself, but the new dance teacher was tiny by comparison.

  “Are you okay?” she asked with obvious concern.

  “Just fine,” Chelsea assured her, offering a hand. “Chelsea Barnes. I’m helping out the reunion committee, but I’m a little early, so I thought it’d be less annoying for you if I waited out here.”

  Her grip was surprisingly firm for someone so petite. “Amy Morgan, and you’re welcome to wait inside. Brenda dropped off some snacks earlier, and I’m just doing the books, so you won’t bother me.”

  “Okay.” Leaving the car, she tried to come up with something to start a conversation. “You’re Brenda’s cousin, right?”

  Amy nodded. “I was born here, but Mom and I moved away when I was six. Aunt Helen’s been having trouble keeping up with the kids and was thinking of closing the studio, so I came to keep things running for her.”

  “That was nice of you.” As Amy reached for the old-fashioned door, Chelsea stopped in her tracks. The inset was beveled, with a ballerina in a graceful pose etched into the glass. Above it in an elegant arch was the word Arabesque, done in a flowing script that looked perfect over the dancer. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Isn’t it, though? My friend Jenna Reed is an artist, and when I told her what I wanted, she came up with this.”

  “Molly Harkness said she did the sign for The Whistlestop,” Chelsea commented as they went inside. “I’ve been meaning to contact her about new signage for the mill, but I misplaced the contact information Molly gave me.” In truth, Paul was the one who’d lost it, but she didn’t think Amy would care about that.

  “I’ve got her info right here.” Pulling a slim phone from her front pocket, she said, “What’s your email?”

  Chelsea rattled it off, and in the span of a few seconds, they’d exchanged not only Jenna’s details, but their own. As Chelsea glanced around, she saw that the front area was mostly open, with plenty of space for floor seating in front of an elevated stage. Her one and only tap class had ended badly twenty years ago, and she hadn’t been back since. But Brenda had said Amy was making major changes to the old building, so she felt safe in saying, “This place looks great.”

  She got a shy smile for her trouble. “Thanks. Uncle Fred helps out when he can, but his own business comes first. The velvet curtains are out being repaired, but when they’re rehung they’ll really help bring things together.”

  “Definitely.” Hoping to draw Amy out a little by discussing her business, Chelsea asked, “So, how many students do you have?”

  “Fourteen right now, but I’m always looking for more if you know anyone.”

  Inspiration struck, and she suggested, “Have you tried the teen center at the church? They offer before-and after-school care for younger children, too. You might find some customers there.”

  Amy’s mouth had tightened at the word church, but she quickly masked her negative reaction. “I’d hate to bother the pastor. He must be very busy.”

  “He’s not in charge of it. Diane Barrett is. I can introduce you to her, if you like.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know,” she said as the front door swung open and a gaggle of former cheerleaders swarmed inside. After a quick wave at her cousin, Amy vanished into her office so quickly it was almost as if she’d never been there at all.

  Timid by nature, Chelsea understood her withdrawal from the sudden commotion all too well. Turning to face a herd of girls who’d baffled her throughout high school, she almost wished she could trail after Amy and skip the meeting. But she’d given Brenda her word, so she braced herself and went to greet the committee. After a lot of squealing and unexpected hugs, she felt much better about the whole thing. Something about bygones bei
ng bygones, she presumed. Well, if they could manage it, so could she.

  Once everyone had something to nibble on, they settled around a large round table and got started. Chelsea had brought her tablet, and Stacy Harrington leaned in with great interest. “Ooh, look at that! The picture’s so clear it’s like looking out a window.”

  Feeling generous, Chelsea took out her stylus and offered them both to her. Stacy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not much of a note taker, so go ahead.”

  After a few quick pointers, Stacy had the hang of it and rewarded Chelsea with a huge smile. “Oh, this is fun. I’ve been saving up for one, but my minivan needs a new transmission...”

  She trailed off with a sigh, and Chelsea almost felt guilty. She’d popped into the store at the mall one day and walked out with the latest, greatest gadget she could find. “You’re welcome to use it at our meetings if you want.”

  “That’d be fabulous! Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  While she explored the various apps, they chatted back and forth about nothing in particular. Then Stacy leaned in to speak more privately. “You know, when Brenda said you were joining us, I wasn’t sure about it. You’re nothing like I remember from high school. No offense,” she added hastily.

  Chelsea laughed quietly. “None taken. I guess we’ve all grown up since then.”

  “Most of us, anyway,” Stacy replied with a giggle. “Paul Barrett hasn’t changed one tiny bit, God bless him.”

  For some odd reason, her assessment made Chelsea want to defend him. Thinking again, she decided against it. If it got around that she was singing his praises, folks would jump to all kinds of conclusions that would only complicate both of their lives. So as difficult as it was to let the misimpression stand, she reluctantly did just that.

  The business portion of the meeting lasted about half an hour, giving way to the kind of hen session she’d always gone to great lengths to avoid. Tonight, though, she was more or less trapped, so she listened politely to the other women’s lively discussion of men, diapers and how to keep a Crock-Pot roast tender while it cooked all day long.