Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything!

by Charlene Baumbich

  “I can only imagine. I never had a dog—or any pet, for that matter.”

  “Don’t like animals?” he asked, a tone of surprise in his voice. “Allergic to them?”

  “Oh, I ADORE animals. And as far as I know, I don’t have any allergies. But I’ve just never had the . . . opportunity to own one.”

  “Not even when you were a kid?”

  Nellie Ruth’s childhood had been difficult. There was no point going into it over a question about a pet—or perhaps any time. “No, not even then.”

  “What keeps you from getting one now?”

  “When I moved into my upstairs apartment decades ago, there was a ‘no pets’ clause in my lease.”

  “Excuse me if I’m wrong, but isn’t there always a cat or two sitting in Bernice’s windows?” Bernice Norris was Nellie Ruth’s landlord. Nellie Ruth lived on the second floor of Bernice’s stately old home.

  “Oh, but those are hers, and she’s the landlord!”

  “Have you ever asked her if she’d mind if you got yourself a cat? Maybe she just bought or borrowed a copy of one of those standard rental agreements that already had that pet clause in it, but maybe she never really cared one way or the other.”

  “May I take your order?” the waitress asked. They hadn’t even noticed her approaching.

  “Well,” Nellie Ruth said, looking to ES, who usually asked her what she wanted before the waitress or waiter came, and placed the order for her. This had been a hard thing to get used to since she was sixty-something years old and had been ordering on her own her entire life.

  “Go ahead,” Edward Showalter said. “Tell the lady what you want. You’ve got a voice of your own, and a mighty pretty one at that,” he said, which made her blush. The waitress smiled, nodded her head and stared at Nellie Ruth.

  “I think I’ll have chicken chow mein,” Nellie Ruth said. “That isn’t spicy, is it? I see you have some red peppers by some of the dishes, but I don’t see one next to the chicken chow mein, so I’m assuming it’s not hot.”

  “No. Not hot. Crunchy noodle come with.” Nellie Ruth closed her menu and set it on the edge of the table. “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the number fourteen,” he said, his menu already closed.

  “Oh, were we supposed to order by the number?” Nellie Ruth asked, reaching for her menu again. Both Edward Showalter and the waitress assured Nellie Ruth that any way she ordered was fine.

  “Back to the pets. If you did have a pet, Nellie Ruth, would you rather have a cat or a dog . . . or maybe fish, since I see you keep looking at that aquarium?” he asked, nodding his head toward the corner.

  “Kitten,” she said without hesitating. “I just adore kittens. Bernice has four cats, and my favorites are her two gray ones. I know it’s because she let me take care of them right after she got them. She went on a seven-day cruise with her sister and asked me to keep an eye on them for her. Those sweet little fluff balls fit in the palms of my hands when they were young,” she said quietly, holding her cupped hands out in front of her as if the kittens were still nestled there. “I was so sad when Bernice got home. Well, I mean I was glad to see Bernice, of course, but I missed not spending that special time with those munchkins. While she was gone, I’d go down to their laundry-room inn,” she said, giggling, her eyes bright with memory, “and visit them several times a day. Even though I still sometimes get to baby-sit with them, I’ll just never forget how much I adored them at that kitten stage. So vulnerable,” she said, her voice fading, as though the thought had touched something deep within her.

  “And fish? Would you like an aquarium, too?”

  “You can’t have an aquarium with cats, can you? Weren’t the cats always dipping their paws into the fishbowls in those old cartoons? Remember those cartoons they used to show before the movies, back when we were kids? I miss those.”

  “I surely do remember the cartoons. Mr. Magoo was my favorite. Laugh? I thought I’d bust a gut at that portly little guy. But back to pets. You know, they got so many fancy fan-dangled aquariums now that I think most of them even have lids on them. Lids and lights. I think a cat would have to be a safecracker to get into ’em these days! So,” he said after a short pause, “a kitty or two and a fish or five. If you had your way, is that how it would be then?”

  “No sense getting myself excited about something I can’t have,” she said, studying her cup of tea. “I have a full life the way it is, though. Nothing to complain about, really. For the most part I’ve learned to be content with what I have. And what about you?”

  “I’ve been keeping my eyes open here lately for a ‘free puppies’ sign along the roadside. I had to put Wiley, my last dog, down about a year and a half ago. Cried like a baby, I did. I’ve cried every time I’ve lost a dog and Wiley was among my best. Poor guy got cancer. The vet at Hethrow gave him some pills that looked like they might be helping for a spell, but . . .” His voice trailed off. “I thought I could do without a dog, but turns out I can’t.”

  The waitress carefully settled a cup of egg drop soup in front of each of them. “Egg rolls be right out.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry but I didn’t order soup,” Nellie Ruth said, apologizing for someone else’s oversight.

  “Soup and egg rolls come with meal.”

  Chow mein, soup, egg rolls and ES with dinner. Did it get any better than this? Nellie Ruth wondered.

  As if he had read her mind, Edward Showalter said, “Not only that, but when we’re done with our meals they’ll bring us each an almond cookie and a fortune cookie.”

  “Oh!” Nellie Ruth exclaimed and clapped her hands. “A fortune cookie! I can’t remember when I last had one of those! I wonder what’s in store for us?” She could have fainted with embarrassment. She’d meant to say, I wonder what’s in store for each of us, but the way it came out. . . .

  Edward Showalter raised his eyebrows, then his entire face smiled. He was beginning to suspect he might just know the answer to that question.

  “I don’t know, Jessica. I’m thinking I’m going to make a fresh fruit salad, see what I can find at Your Store—although I have a feeling I might need to run to Hethrow for the star fruit.”

  “Star fruit? Is that a type of fruit? It sounds like something out of the ocean. Oh, wait! That’s a starfish. But you know, I’m not even sure a starfish is actually a fish. Oh, well. What does a star fruit taste like?”

  Katie switched the cell phone to her other ear and scooted down in the metal folding chair—her back was killing her. Bodies weren’t made for metal folding chairs without padding. Plus she needed to work out. She felt stiff, tight. She’d just finished her first marathon meeting with the architect and hadn’t realized how tense she’d been.

  “You’ve never seen a star fruit? They’re about as big as a kiwi and taste a little tarter, but when they’re sliced, the slices look like stars. They make a pretty topper on a fruit salad. You’d love them.” Jessica twirled the hair at the nape of her neck with her fingers; it had slipped out of the scrunchy that held her ponytail. She didn’t have the nerve to admit she’d never had a kiwi either. “I’ll put a little bowl of yogurt on the side, bring a spoon so people can drizzle some on top, if they like. Maybe get some chopped walnuts. . . . I figure there’ll be enough calories at the dessert table to keep everyone up like kids on Christmas Eve. I, for one, am always glad to see some fresh fruit mixed in with all the rich stuff. Then again, if May Belle brings her double chocolate brownies, they are hard to resist!”

  “Oh, I wish brownies sounded good, or anything for that matter,” Jessica lamented, her morning sickness still haunting her. “About the only thing that sounds good to me right this minute is one of those hard, round peppermint candies. My grandmother taught me they can settle your tummy as well as most of those expensive products. I keep forgetting to have Paul pick me up a bag.”

  “How about I spare you any cooking, then, make a double batch of fruit: one for each of us to take?”

 
Jessica didn’t answer right away. “You know, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take you up on that kind offer. Paul says I just have to get better about accepting help when it comes my way, now that we’re going to have two munchkins running around. But I’ll pay you for my share, so keep track.”

  “Done deal. Two batches of fruit it is—and you are not paying me a cent. But speaking of money, how much do I owe you for the gift basket?” Katie had asked Jessica, who was talented at such things, to put together a special welcome basket on her behalf for the architect’s room. At the time Katie also thought maybe the mini mall could use a gift basket store and she’d jotted a few notes. May Belle’s double chocolate brownies would undoubtedly be a top choice for including in the gift package. She could already picture the individualized baskets brimming with unique items and goodies, May Belle’s brownies right on top.

  “Let’s call the fruit salad and the gift basket a wash,” Jessica said, “unless you think you’re getting the raw end of the deal. Last time I was in Now and Again Resale they had a three-for-one basket sale to clear out some of their overload and I just couldn’t resist: I came home with nine baskets ! I’ve got baskets tucked just everywhere in our teensy place! One of them was the perfect masculine size—it didn’t have any round, more feminine corners; it was more boxlike—and it didn’t cost me a penny. And my friend just left me some new Avon samples of men’s products I tucked in the basket—the first time she’s thought to add men’s samples to her mix and I told her how timely that was—and most of the other items I picked up at Wal-Mart, like a small bag of mixed nuts and a sleeve of Oreo cookies, couple bottles of water, a bag of chips, an apple, a banana, yesterday’s Partonville Press. . . . Oh, and I put in our Centennial Plus Thirty booklet! I thought he might like to read about our town, get more of an idea of our history to help him understand what you’re up to with the mall renovations. I printed ‘Office Copy’ on it so he’d know to leave it, but it got me to thinking that I should ask Harold if there are any copies left. Maybe he could sell them to me at a discount so I could leave one in each room.” She stopped talking a minute, didn’t hear anything, realized she’d been prattling on. “I’m sorry, Katie. I know you have lots to do and I’m just rambling.”

  “Jessica, you’re brilliant. Hold on, I’m writing this down. The Centennial Plus Thirty booklet is just the type of thing I’ve been trying to come up with for the mini mall: how do we help promote each other? Everybody did such a good job on that booklet, too. There are some wonderful stories in there! Funny, warm, sad, triumphant.” She quickly recalled being named an heir of the late Pastor Delbert Carol Sr., her paternity claimed and affirmed in print. No details, just her name. It had been perfect. “Let’s talk to Harold together about an extra print run if he doesn’t have an ample supply, maybe a special edition just for tourists, one with space for more advertisements in it—which could pay for itself! I’ll put that in my ‘Plan ahead’ file. You know what else struck me while you were talking about the basket? Wouldn’t it be great to have a mug? A ‘Welcome to Partonville’ mug. We can sell the booklets and the mugs and any other Partonville items we can think of in the mall—all around town, really.”

  “No!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I didn’t mean no to your idea. But you know what would have more buying appeal—well, I know I’d buy one, if the price was right: a ‘Welcome to Pardon-Me-Ville’ mug! That would be funny on a mug!”

  “Jessica! It’s brilliant! You are a marketing genius! Look, I know you have your hands full now, but let your mind start percolating a name for the new mini mall, okay? I’m going to run a townwide contest to name the mall, but I already have a feeling you’re going to win.”

  “Mall names. Hm.”

  “Table that for now. Let me tell you my most exciting news. Carl Jimson, the architect, thinks my atrium idea will work. He said he couldn’t be sure until he checked a couple structural points, but he sounded very optimistic.” Katie shared a few more ins and outs of their labors and speculations, said he was going to draft a few rough sketches this evening for her review tomorrow. Jimson had told Katie it would be good if she could call in the contractor for their meeting tomorrow, too, to have him take a look at their ideas, get some of his input. She told Jessica that before she’d thought it completely through, Edward Showalter’s name had rolled off her tongue as though she already had him under contract. “I sure hope he’s available and can handle it or I’m going to look pretty stupid. I’m going to phone him as soon as we hang up.”

  “Oh! This is all so exciting, Katie! I’m sending good thoughts your way about Edward Showalter. Oh, and I see a big black car pulling in right now. Must be your Mr. Architect! Gotta go! And don’t worry about a thing here; I’ll take extra special good care of him for you.”

  When the waitress delivered the dessert plate containing two almond cookies and two fortune cookies, Edward Showalter let Nellie Ruth select first. She set an almond cookie on a napkin in front of her, but she was most excited about the fortune cookies. “Eenie, Meenie, Minie, Mo.” She allowed the game to select the cookie on the left. Edward Showalter thought he would just melt watching her sweet, childlike enthusiasm. She ripped open the wrapper, cracked apart the cookie, read the paper fortune and simply could not believe her eyes. Your love life is on track. She folded it in half and said, “Interesting.” She was too embarrassed to read it aloud, but Edward Showalter insisted.

  “Smart cookie, if you ask me!” Without thinking he reached out and the palm of his hand briefly alighted on the top of Nellie Ruth’s, which was resting on the table. It was their first intentional, intimate contact; he had not even dared to hold her hand as of yet. Such a warm and powerful jolt ran up his arm that he immediately pulled his hand away and busied himself opening his fortune cookie. He hoped Nellie Ruth hadn’t thought him too forward. He ripped the cellophane, broke the cookie in half, popped the halves in his mouth, gave it a few crunches and swallowed. “‘Your financial situation is about to improve,’” he read aloud.

  Little did he know just how much.

  12

  As soon as May Belle arrived home from wheeling the pork chop dinner to Sadie’s, she’d phoned to invite Dorothy and Jacob over for a piece of custard pie. She’d baked two of them: one for the Lawsons and one to share with the Wetstras. It seemed the least she could do to repay Jacob for treating them to such a lavish dinner the other night, although a simple pie seemed a meager offering compared to the Extravagant Sweets Tray. Dorothy said Jacob wasn’t home from Rick’s office yet. He and Helen had ordered carry-out sandwiches from Harry’s so they could work straight through and hopefully call it a night around seven or so, but now he wasn’t so sure they’d be done by then either. “He didn’t want to leave until some kind of a letter was under control. He sounded bushed, but that son of mine has always been diligent when he sets his mind to something. Guess that’s what makes him such a good trial lawyer. But if you’ve got custard pie on the table, I’ll be right over! My sweet tooth has been talking to me all day. I’ll leave Jacob a note, tell him to come on by your place when he gets home, if it’s not too late.”

  Dorothy and May Belle sat at May Belle’s kitchen table sipping a cup of decaf coffee. Sheba was curled up on the throw rug in front of May Belle’s sink, the place she often settled in hopes May Belle would head toward the counter and toss her a crumb or two, which is usually how it went. “I think we have everything under control,” Dorothy said. “Well, under as much control as we can ever have, since I imagine Rick thought he had control of things up until the moment he hit that black ice.”

  “Yes,” May Belle said quietly, goosebumps racing up her arms.

  “Eugene has everything set up at the funeral home for the viewing tomorrow evening, the altar for the funeral at the church is taken care of and it sounds like the food is covered for the dinner. Oh, and Theresa said St. Auggie’s would also put out a few centerpieces on the tables, too. I’ll tell you, I
love this community partnership we’ve formed with St. Auggie’s, and that Theresa Brewton continues to marvel me! She’s always one step ahead of things, cheerful, enthusiastic and kind. A true leader.”

  “I quite agree with you about Theresa. And speaking of one-woman marvels, it sounds like Maggie’s got everything under control with the Lawson family, considering their circumstances,” May Belle said, shaking her head sadly. “Sadie told me Maggie would be coming to their house after dinner tonight. First she’s going to Casey’s to attend to Rick’s hair and to make sure his clothes are in order, then she’s coming by Sadie’s to do her hair and give Roscoe a trim. You know I saw Maggie in Your Store today and she didn’t say a word about volunteering to do all of that, and after a busy Thursday at the shop! Just like Maggie to keep on goin’ and goin’, doin’ and doin’.”

  “And just like you,” Dorothy said.

  “And just like you,” May Belle chimed, reaching into her apron pocket to see what was bulging there. She almost always wore an apron around the house, kept it tied tightly against her soft roundness. She often picked up one thing or another that needed to go here or there and tucked it in her pocket. This time it was a three-prong adapter she’d used for her heating pad.

  “Well, if I’m so wonderful, then where’s my pie?” Dorothy teased. “I expected to see it on the table by the time Sheba and I got here. I do believe she’s the only one who’s received her treat so far.”

  “The way you talk to me,” May Belle said, pretending to be shocked, “you’d think you’ve known me for eight decades or something!”—which, of course, she had. “I just thought if we waited a few minutes, Jacob might be along, but I guess not.” When May Belle stood to cut the pie, Dorothy noticed she’d done so gingerly. May Belle’s back was obviously better, but Dorothy could tell it was still bothering her some. May Belle placed two cloth, plaid, fall color placemats at their usual spots, as Dorothy had always had “her” chair at May Belle’s, then quickly retrieved another one for Earl who must have heard the word “pie” clear from the living room since in he came. May Belle’s kitchen was small and she kept her table pushed up against the wall. She and Dorothy always sat across from each other; Earl didn’t like sitting against the wall so even when Dorothy wasn’t there he sat in the chair toward the center of the room facing the window.