“I have no doubt about it, especially since you used his full name. Mom always stopped me dead in my tracks when she pulled that one out of her bag of tricks.”
Great. I remind him of his mother. “What are you doing on the square at this hour?” she asked, sneaking a peek at her watch. “I thought maybe you’d left town by now. Are you just getting back from a road trip with your mom? I understand you invited her.”
“Actually,” he said, “Mom’s been pretty busy with funeral stuff and I’ve been working in Rick Lawson’s office all week, trying to help poor Helen and his family by making some sense out of his mounds.”
“You’ve been working right over there? Up there in Rick’s office?” she asked, nodding her head in that direction. She wondered if he’d been spying on her from the front window.
“Yes,” he said, seating himself in the metal folding chair across from her without first asking if she minded. “That would be the place. Ever been up there?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But I have to admit, it was surprising how well Rick handled my aunt’s estate and how he seemed to know what was in every stack. He might have been a slob, but it’s clear everyone in town is really going to miss him.”
“Slob? That’s kind of harsh.”
Oh, so now you’re Mister Nice Guy? “It was a bad choice of words. Disheveled might be a better word, or maybe just eccentric. You know what I mean.”
“If you say so,” he said flatly, again baffling her as to whether he was being rude or if this was just his wry sense of humor. Then he gave her a wide smile, letting her know he was just teasing her. “Amazingly, Helen has assured me that her boss never had any trouble finding a thing in that mess. And Mom does nothing but brag on the man. She’s told me lots of stories about the great things he’s done for people. Kind of a quiet, behind-the-scenes guy, I guess. Didn’t like to draw attention to himself. I don’t remember too much about him, although I’ve met him several times over the years. Mom says there was nothing boastful or showy about him, just a guy who always got the job done and did it from the heart.” A silent moment passed. “You know,” he said, his voice lowered and laced with sincerity, “when all is said and done, that’s a pretty good testimony to a man’s life, isn’t it.” He noticed the look on her face and added, “Or a woman’s life.”
Katie studied his face a moment, then nodded. “How long you in town for again?”
“As far as I know, I’ll be on a plane Monday—although there is an outside chance I can extend my stay a little longer. I talked to my law partner today and she said there’s been another postponement on the biggest trial I’ve got on the docket. I do have to get back pretty soon, though, wrap a few things up. I’m hoping to come back here for at least a couple days over Christmas. But you know, I feel bad for Helen. She’s pretty stressed out and she’s sure got her hands full. Going to have them full for some time, I’m guessing.”
“I don’t think I knew you had a law partner.”
“Brenda Stewart. We went into practice together about twelve years ago now. She’s as tough as they come and incredibly smart.”
Maybe she’s why he never married. “Do the Lawsons have anyone stepping in for Rick yet?”
“Don’t know. It would sure make it easier if they did, though. It’s quite a burden and worry for them, especially with Roscoe being from out of town. I’m sure they’ve got extended family coming in this weekend and their phone’s probably been ringing off the hook, so I doubt hiring someone to handle the probate has been at the top of their list. After all, they’re burying a son and a brother. I can’t even imagine . . .” He shook his head and looked down at the floor.
“How’d you get involved up there?” she asked, pointing her cell phone toward the window. “Did you just volunteer?”
He laughed. “Volunteer? Volunteer to work until after seven P.M. every night on my vacation? Do you think I’m that swell of a guy?”
“To be honest, I don’t know you well enough to know what type of a guy you are—really. I do know that if you’re anything like your mother, you volunteered.”
“Let’s say Mom sort of volunteered me. Plus Roscoe sounded desperate on the phone and I had a little time. . . .”
“How’s the labor going?”
“Once I cracked the code, things got a lot easier.”
“The code?”
“Rick’s filing system.”
“You’re not telling me that all those piles actually represented a system, are you?”
“Indeed. Quite a fascinating system, too. Say,” he said, looking at his watch again, “have you had dinner yet?” Never mind he’d already eaten; he could go for a light sandwich or bowl of soup. “We could grab a bite and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Shocker! “No, I haven’t. Josh volunteered to make me a salad, but he’s just trying to bribe me.”
“Bribe you? That’s due cause for legal action and I happen to know a good attorney who’s in town for a few days.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Yes, bribe me with a bag of salad and some cubed cheese. It’s my own fault, though. A few days ago I made the mistake of mentioning we should get a second car.”
“Now I see. A little anxious, is he?”
“A lot bugging me is more the truth.”
“Can’t blame him. I remember when I got my first car. Interesting story. So would you like to go grab a bite with me and hear that saga, too? Josh could join us if he likes.”
“He’s already eaten.”
“Mom’s already eaten, too. She’s over at the Justice household, no doubt pounding down custard pie as we speak. I’m supposed to drop by for a piece, too, but to be honest, I need some protein.”
“Where would you suggest? Harry’s is already closed, thank goodness.”
He chuckled. Personally, Jacob found Harry’s Grill a comfortable place laced with fond memories, which always made him feel nostalgic for good old Pardon-Me-Ville. During his youth, he and his buddies used to go to Harry’s on their way home from school—when Partonville had its own schools—for French fries and cherry cokes. Now, kids didn’t get off the buses from Hethrow until late in the afternoon. He’d hardly seen any youth on the square since he’d arrived. Sad. “To be honest,” he said after his mini reverie, “aside from dinner at The Driscoll the other night, Mom’s kitchen—and, of course, May Belle’s—I’m pretty out of touch with food offerings around here. Can you recommend a place?”
Katie yawned, looked at her watch again. “You know, I’m not sure if it’s open for dinner but there’s a new little restaurant in Yorkville that’s supposed to . . . OH! I’ve got a phone call to make!” Since Edward Showalter had helped Johnny Mathis transform the old feed shed into a restaurant, thoughts of The Piece sent a hot zing through her. She had to call Edward Showalter right now! “Would you mind waiting while I make my call? It’s pretty urgent.”
“No, go ahead. Or . . . I’ve noticed you’ve been yawning,” he said, standing, “and I’m pretty bushed myself. Maybe we should just skip it.”
“Hold on a minute,” she said, lifting her index finger. It occurred to her he might think she was just blowing him off. “Let me make this call, then we’ll evaluate the time, our energy and our choices.” She was already pushing the buttons on her phone to bring up her contacts.
Turns out Edward Showalter had just walked in the door to his ringing phone. Yes, he was available in the morning, and yes, he was “indeed honored and mightily blessed” she’d invited him to sit in on the meeting. She should not worry about a thing; he’d see her at nine sharp.
“Whew!” Katie said when she hung up, feeling suddenly wide awake from the close encounter with humiliation over almost forgetting to phone him. She looked at her watch again. “Okay, how about this. How about we head to Hethrow to the Olive Garden? I love their soup and salad, and at this late hour, that’s about all I want to eat before I get in bed. Since it’s the direction of the farm, I can drop off my car, ride wit
h you and you can drop me off on your way back to your mom’s.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan.”
Dorothy and Sheba walked home from May Belle’s, two slices of custard pie in tow. They were on real plates (May Belle didn’t stock paper plates; too expensive), each wrapped in plastic wrap placed side-by-side in a big brown grocery bag from Your Store. One piece was for her and the other for Jacob who she hoped wasn’t wearing himself out working until midnight since he’d never shown up at May Belle’s and it was now past nine-thirty.
Strolling along, she couldn’t seem to help but obsess about the Christmas party again, now that May Belle was pressing the issue. Dorothy prayerfully examined herself about her lack of follow-through when it came to the matter of the Christmas party. Had it just been about asking someone a favor, that would be one thing. If she could simply move the party to her new house, that would be another. If she asked to host the party herself at Katie’s. . . . She’d envisioned that possibility many times, and did so again now, but her vision always ended the same way: at the end of the gala it would simply feel too sad not to be able to venture up the familiar old creaking stairs to her cozy bedroom, sit in her prayer chair by the window and have her evening moment with the Big Guy while she looked out over the barnyard and toward the creek line of trees (rather than into the neighborhood street), whisper good night to Weeping Willy, Woodsy and Willoway, the trees down by the creek she’d named as a child, then fall quickly asleep to the aromas of the land and the sounds of a chirping cricket wafting through her good old country window.
Oh, for goodness sakes! Crickets don’t even chirp in the winter! Lord, snap me out of my mire of self-pity. I’m allowing my own emotions to interfere with a whole town’s tradition!
“Dorothy Jean Wetstra,” she said aloud, causing Sheba to stop her trotting for a moment and look at her, “it’s time you buck up and stop imagining a mountain of mayhem, woman! This town deserves its annual Christmas party. Get over yourself and see what you can do!”
14
The Del Vechias pulled into the Lamp Post drive with only forty minutes to spare before the wake was to begin. Just enough time to freshen up, catch their breath and head to the funeral home. Even though their burden was heavy, they couldn’t have been more delighted with their room. Some time ago they’d read in the Press about the Joys buying the old place and all the improvements they’d made. Things looked just the way they’d imagined them after reading the descriptions so aptly reported by Sharon Teller. Jessica Joy, although looking somewhat peaked and tired, was much more beautiful than they’d remembered her appearing in the newspaper picture. Sarah Sue, who was in a little bouncy seat in the lobby when they checked in and whom they’d read about in the birth announcements, looked like a beautiful miniature version of her mom. Paul Joy escorted them to their room after Jessica handed them the key; it was clear they were a couple working hard not only for the money, but to make everyone feel at home while away from home. If everyone in Partonville was as dear as this sweet family, no wonder Rick wouldn’t leave.
Whether she knew the occupants or not, Jessica had handwritten notes of condolences for everyone in for Mr. Lawson’s funeral (six rooms out of twelve) and left them on the beds along with Wednesday’s Partonville Press since it contained everything she thought visitors would need to know about all of the arrangements, including directions to the locations, which Sharon had thought to provide in a sidebar. (“You had a raise lately?” editor Harold Crab had asked her when he read her submission. “No, sir.” “Well, you deserve one.” “I accept,” she’d jokingly replied. The very next week she’d received twenty more bucks in her envelope.) Sharon had also included the hours to Harry’s Grill with an asterisk that explained “*Opens 6 A.M.; Closes 6 P.M. sharp, which means SHARP!”
When Katie read the sidebar, she laughed out loud remembering the way Lester had stuck by his guns the night she and Josh first arrived in town to deal with her aunt’s estate. They were travel-weary, starving and he was the only dining establishment in town, other than the snack bar at Wal-Mart which Jessica had so warmly told her about and which Katie refused to even consider. It hadn’t mattered how loudly she’d knocked on the locked door to Harry’s Grill; all Lester finally did was come to the door and point to the sign. All anyone in the restaurant did was to stare. 6:01. CLOSED, Lester’s sign said. And that was that. It had been a terrible beginning to what turned out to be a life-altering change. She’d had no idea at the time that she would end up not only living in Partonville, but fighting for its very survival.
Some days that incident seemed like a million years ago to Katie and on other days it only felt about ten minutes ago. The truth was, it had been about seven months, although she hadn’t officially moved to Partonville until close to when school began, she and Josh first having rented two rooms at the Lamp Post for quite some time, which is how she and Jessica had come to be friends. They were an unlikely pairing: a rich, divorced, well-educated, hard-hitting businesswoman in her forties with a teen son and a somewhat shy, married, high school graduate in her twenties struggling with a new business and a new baby. What they’d learned from each other, however, was that you cannot judge by circumstances, social standing or appearances. Everyone has vulnerabilities, needs and gifts; all moms are often utterly lost when it comes to knowing what to do in a given situation—no matter what the age of their child. The friendship had become a tight, rich, fun, honest godsend for both of them. It was an odd-couple friendship the Del Vechias would take note of during their stay, citing it as an example of how people who might not otherwise ever make a connection have a chance to get to know one another in small-town living.
Usually at wakes, people come and go. This time, people gathered early and most stayed until the end. There was an unspoken need to draw close, affirm each other’s grief—affirm each other’s lives.
Sadie stood at the foot of her son’s casket and refused to sit down, her facial bruises now more green and yellow than a few days ago, her battered body aching, her mother’s heart pierced clear through. Roscoe held on to her elbow, his family lined up beside her, as the reception line kept moving along. Sadie kept looking over her shoulder at her son. So still. My baby looks so still. “He looks real good.” “I just can’t get over it.” “What will we do without our Rick?” “How long can you stay, Roscoe?” “Rick looks real nice.” “How you feeling, Sadie?” Such trite things people say and ask, Sadie thought when she realized that they were talking to her. But then, what else could they say, she wondered.
Oh, my baby boy is gone! How can I go on living without you?
Dorothy motioned for Roscoe to move down for a moment so she could squeeze in. She sidled up beside Sadie and took her hand. She stood there for a long while saying nothing, just gently holding Sadie’s hand, rubbing her arm, occasionally nodding as if to respond to people on Sadie’s behalf. When Sadie finally dared to look at Dorothy—and she feared doing so might cause her to crumble—she heard in her heart everything Dorothy had not uttered aloud. She knew Dorothy’s spirit was groaning along with hers. This was a mother who had lost a child. This was a mother who knew.
The next day at the funeral dinner in the Park District building, the Del Vechias stepped up to the microphone and shared some of their wildest stories about Rick. It warmed Sadie’s heart to know her responsible son had, at least at some point in his life, simply let loose and partied. In fact, learning those stories reminded her of several raucous stories she knew about her deceased husband, stories they’d never dared tell their sons. It was time, she decided. She could barely eat for all her table talk, sharing every last anecdote she could think of. Her only regret was that Rick wasn’t there to hear these things about his father, too.
“Dorothy’s right,” she said wistfully. “If it wasn’t for our stories, what would we really know about each other? What would we leave behind?” Encouraged by the Del Vechias’ sharing, no less than a dozen more folks eventually stepped u
p to the microphone to share something about Rick, and in doing so shared pieces of themselves. They talked about how he’d made them laugh, saved them from this, helped them do that, fought for them against one thing and another—even though they couldn’t always pay him his regular fee. May Belle could hardly be heard when she tried to talk about Rick’s generosity to her son, Earl, all of these years. “How many dollars . . .” she wondered aloud, her voice cracking and fading off.
Near the end of the dinner, Dorothy approached the microphone and asked if she could have everyone’s attention. “Folks, we are mourning the loss of one of our own. But thanks to the Del Vechias’ kick-off,” she said, motioning for them to stand up and be acknowledged, “we have also celebrated Rick’s life in grand style, if I do say so myself.” Acknowledgments and a few chuckles rippled through the crowd. “Thank you, Bob and Louise, for making the long journey back to Rick’s beloved Partonville.
“Folks, there is nothing like the death of someone we love to remind us that life is fragile—that we are alive—and that ready or not, the sun will continue to rise tomorrow, life will go on. So in keeping with the idea of a celebration of life, it seems a fitting time to make a joyful announcement! Katie Durbin here,” she motioned for Katie, who was seated beside her, to stand, “has asked me to do the honors. So here ye! Here ye! The annual Happy Hookers’ Christmas party will once again be held out at Crooked Creek Farm!” She stopped talking to allow for the applause. Silence. Seemed people needed a moment to digest the news that either the City Slicker was hosting their annual tradition or allowing Dorothy to; it hadn’t been made clear. This lack of information, some of them thought, would be a topic for conversation at the U on Monday. But in any case, they decided to go ahead and clap since obviously that’s what Dorothy was waiting for them to do. And after all, it was good to know that the party was on no matter who was hosting.
Dearest Dorothy, Merry Everything! Page 12
