She was not rising to the bait.
Joe heard the soft click of her low-heeled, butter soft, red leather shoes as she ambled along to the elevator and the thumping sound of her cane hitting the newly-refinished marble floors.
“Mrs. Mac—” Joe quickly corrected his mistake before she could chastise him for his familiarity. She hated the nickname the seven-year-old Garcia twins had given her when they’d moved on her floor this month. “Mrs. McFarland, do I have your permission to send Josephine up when she arrives, or would you rather come down to meet her?”
Joe saw her lean on her cane ever so slightly. He knew she was exhausted but she was a stubborn woman fighting the effects of time on her fragile bones.
“I’m surprised young Josephine’s flight made it in,” said Mr. Arthur. “Joe, isn’t that why you’re stuck decorating? Didn’t that decorator lady coming in from Boston get grounded? No flights in and out?”
“That’s right,” Joe responded. “That nor’easter developed quicker than anyone expected.”
“My darling Josephine is sensible and plans ahead of time. Her taxi will be here within the hour. Please send her up.”
“Will do,” Joe answered.
“Enjoy your visit, Mrs. McFarland,” said Mr. Arthur, stressing her name.
If this last year working here had thought him anything, Joe knew this was Mr. Arthur’s way of jostling Mrs. McFarland’s composure. She hated the way he said her last name more than she hated the way he addressed her by her first.
“What a silly thing to say. I certainly don’t need you to tell me to enjoy the time with my niece.” She tsk-tsked and pressed the elevator doors shut.
That lady sure keeps the building interesting.
“That old bird keeps The Pearl alive,” Mr. Arthur said, mirroring Joe’s thoughts. “I’ll let you get back to your decorating business. Irritating Beatrice takes energy. I’m not as young as I used to be, Joe.”
“You’re as young as you feel, sir.” Joe waved goodbye as Mr. Arthur labored up each step until he reached his apartment. Thankfully, his was only one flight up.
He should be taking the elevator, but he’s as pigheaded as Mrs. McFarland. They hated people pointing out their age limitations.
“I have more time sensitive things to worry about right now.” Joe reviewed the notes the decorator had emailed him. He looked around the empty lobby and scratched his head. How hard can this be?
He whistled his favorite Christmas tune and went back to work.
“Deck the halls with boughs of holly,” he sung, “fa la la la la, la la la la…’Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la.”
He placed mini hand-designed ornaments on the branches of the smallest of the three trees adorning the entryway. He pulled out his phone and compared his work so far with the decorator’s vision in the pictures. Yikes.
“God, do you have a decorating angel you can send down here to help?” He joked.
“I’ve come down from New England, and I have planned my family’s Christmas decor themes since I was five. I don’t want to say I’m your answered prayer but…”
Joe was mesmerized by the stranger’s rich melodic laughter.
She shivered and shook the snow off her hat and coat. The icy blast lingered in the lobby, but he felt nothing but warmth.
“Can this angel warm up before you put her to work?” she asked.
Joe snapped out of his trance and remembered his role. He straightened to his full stature and addressed the visiting angel. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Welcome to The Grande Pearl. May I help you?”
She laughed and the sound embraced Joe in a hug. “I turn thirty and inherit five gray hairs, and now all of a sudden I’m ma’am.”
“My apologies, ma’—” Joe’s face colored crimson. “I mean, miss. Are you here to visit a resident? Here, let me take that for you.” Joe walked over and waited for her to give him permission to take her suitcase. “Please have a seat. Warm up and I’ll call your party to come down and get you.”
She sat in a nearby chair, and Joe watched her gloved finger trace the ornate design on its arm.
“Whom shall I ring for you?”
“I see this building has not fallen to reprobates, despite my grandaunt’s insistence.”
“Josephine!” Joe cried. “I’m sorry, I mean, Miss Josephine.”
“Josie is fine. Only Auntie Bee calls me Josephine.”
“Auntie Bee?” He looked confused. “Oh, you mean Mrs. McFarland.”
She laughed. “So prim and proper.”
“Your aunt asked me to send you right up.”
“I’ll head there soon enough.” Josie whipped her gloves off and rubbed her hands together to ward off the chill. “What bet did you lose that you’re playing decorator?”
He chuckled, despite his intent to remain serious and professional. “The one where God dumped five to ten feet of snow across the eastern seaboard and now the airlines are shut down at least through the weekend.”
“So that’s why Mrs. Sheffield is not here barking orders.”
“She retired last year. Her granddaughter took over the interior design company, and she and her crew were supposed to be on their way here.” Joe handed Josie a handkerchief to mop up the snow dripping from her hat. “Right now, they’re probably curled up in a corner at Logan airport. We didn’t want to disappoint the kids, so I’m the hands on the ground executing her vision.”
Josie perused the lobby. Joe could see she was trying hard not to laugh. Her wide smile showed off two front teeth slightly longer than the others, which gave the illusion of a vague ‘V-shape’. “No offense, Joe, but you’re doing a terrible job.”
Joe’s laugh mingled with hers. “It’s either me or disappoint everyone when we host the families this weekend.”
“The Grande Pearl’s annual holiday shindig. Those are some of my favorite memories of visiting Aunt Bee and Uncle Percy.”
Josie pulled her hat off and freed a head of short, dark, bouncy curls with tints of auburn shining in the light.
She’s beautiful. The compliment popped into Joe’s head and he quickly shook it away.
“Oh oh. I see you staring. If the mop on my head is that much of a mess, I better fix it before I go upstairs.” Josie smiled. “I left my smelling salts on the plane. I don’t need Aunt Bee fainting with shock.”
Josie moved with the same graceful movement of her grandaunt.
“Is the restroom still around the corner?” she asked. “I haven’t been here since the renovation. I’ve lost all sense of direction.”
Josie turned in the direction of Joe’s nod.
He took the time alone to control his beating heart, but it kicked up again when she came back, coat in hand, stripped of the layers of outdoor garments.
“I can hang these up for you. Let them dry a few minutes.”
“Very noble of you, kind sir.” She curtsied and sat back down.
* * *
Copyright © 2020 M. Michelle Derosier
* * *
Click here to keep reading.
About the Author
M. Michelle Derosier loves Jesus and is fueled by black coffee, espresso, and freshly baked goods. Sadly, she’s not skilled at making any of the three.
* * *
She writes culturally diverse stories from picture books to novels and shares an assortment of Haitian-American tales that are overlooked in the mainstream.
* * *
Connect with her at writerderosier.com or any of the social media platforms below.
ale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Accepting Elijah's Heart Page 21