“What?”
“I don’t think I should say what I was thinking. You’re the one with the good business head.”
“Jessica, I thought we’d moved past the phase in our friendship where, aside from decorating matters where we both know you excel, you assume your opinion isn’t as valid as mine. What? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that if somebody sued Paul and me over a fall, we’d probably lose our motel. I’m thinking you’re about to open an entire mini mall with stairs and railings and . . . and . . . I’d hate it if somebody sued you because they tripped.”
Katie’s sigh was so loud it sounded like a wind tunnel. “I hate it when you’re so nice.”
“Oh, Katie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” Katie cut her right off.
“Jessica! Stop apologizing for being nice! I don’t really hate it. That was just a phrase. I was more chastising myself for defaulting to the sue mode. I’m still wearing my City Slicker, big business hat, I guess.” And my own urge to strike out against a senseless group of backwards people who don’t recognize a helping hand when they see it! “Things are just different in a town this size.” Now there’s an understatement. “But just the same, please tell me you’ll consider all your options if money gets too short because of this. Promise?”
“Promise. But in the meantime, we’ll need to tighten our belts here again for a spell. I hate to take money out of Josh’s pocket, but I wouldn’t feel right having him come when we’re down a paycheck ourselves and business is so slow right now anyway.”
“I don’t see how you can afford not to have him come. He could at least take out the garbage and carry your groceries, watch Sarah Sue when you have errands to run or need to take Paul to the doctor, get you caught up on some of the maintenance issues, like cleaning the motel laundry room. Remember when you were talking about that the other day? You have everything to take care of right now and I can already hear a tired tone in your voice.” Takes one to know one, she thought, the old childhood taunt popping into her head. “And remember, we traded Josh’s help for your decorating expertise on all the aesthetics for the mall. Don’t think for a moment you got the good end of this deal, because when we get the mall to the decorating point, I’ll keep you more than busy.” I need all the help I can get to make this mall irresistible. “You’ll wonder why you ever made such a rotten deal. Do you have any idea how much work it’s going to take to achieve the wow factor I’m after when people walk in and see that atrium?”
“I don’t need to see the atrium to feel my own personal wow factor right now, Katie. I’m still not sure I’m up to that task and. . . .”
“Not another word. I’m telling you that you have the talent. I’m promising you right here and now that I won’t wear you out, or I know I’ll have Paul to answer to. But we made a trading deal and I plan to hold you to it, friend of mine.”
“Banners! ” Jessica suddenly yelled into the phone, causing Sarah Sue to snap her head back from Jessica’s breast and pucker up. Jessica smiled at her baby girl, who unpuckered, smiled back and latched back on. Jessica was afraid her happy yelp might have awakened Paul, but she didn’t hear him rustle.
“Excuse me? Did you say banners?”
“Colorful banners hanging from the atrium railings! Oh, Katie! That would be perfect! They would have movement and eye appeal. We could change them with the seasons! Put wreaths on the exterior doors with ribbons to match the colors of the banners!
“You know, Katie, Dorothy once told me when we use our God-given gifts that it’s like pumping fuel into our souls. She was so right! THANK YOU for helping me to continue to do that! It’s so energizing!”
Katie wished she could mine Jessica’s sudden gust of enthusiasm. She wanted to ask her more about the banners. She wanted to tell her about Sam’s bid for mayor and the apparent list of people who wanted her to fail.
She wanted to ask Jessica what she thought her gifts were, if any—aside from causing commotion in town.
But instead, Edward Showalter walked up, obviously needing her attention. It was time to hang up.
Thursdays were one of Maggie’s busiest day at La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa, and busy made Maggie happy. She was booked hair-root-to-hair-tips solid for the day, and she always made sure her wardrobe and accessories had enough pizzazz to keep her energized.
With St. Patrick’s Day only two-and-a-half weeks away, she was already into her green theme, which immediately and annually followed her red Valentine’s theme. Maggie adored holidays, which gave her reason to celebrate, not that she needed a reason. She sported a sweeping up-do held in place by two green chopsticks complete with dangling plastic shamrocks, leprechaun drop earrings, a green-and-white silk Irish scarf tied around her neck (souvenir given to her by a client who visited the Emerald Isle), a white blouse onto which was pinned a small gold replica of an Irish harp (another client gift), green stretch pants, green knee-high hose, and comfy green gym shoes with white laces. Her green pumps would have looked nicer with this ensemble but they were too tight this morning to make it through a busy Thursday. “I should have skipped the potato chips last night,” she’d told Ben on his way out the door. “My feet feel like water balloons.”
Before she even put the coffee on at 8 A.M., she popped her Chieftains CD into the expensive boom box one of her daughters gave her two Christmases ago and twirled herself around a few times during the first track. Coffee percolating, hot pot, tea bags and an array of chocolate mints set out, she had just enough time to phone Dorothy before her first client arrived. She grabbed her cordless phone, settled into the styling chair, looked in the mirror and shook her head while she listened to the rings. The shamrocks and leprechauns, who appeared to be dancing as they bobbed this way and that, displayed marvelous action, which fueled her to face the long day. She smiled at herself, lifted first her right eyebrow and lowered it, then her left. Maggie was one of the few people with ambidextrous eyebrows, which delighted her. Just another of her special talents.
“Hello,” Dorothy said, her voice sounding craggy as though she hadn’t yet spoken this morning. And she had a vague lisp.
“Dorothy! Maggie here! I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Goodness me, no—although I did sleep in some this morning since Jacob and I didn’t get to Wal-Mart until late and then we talked until, oh, I’d say midnight or after. Sheba and I are just lying here relaxing, thinking about how we ought to get up. I don’t even have my partial plate in yet! Maybe the sounds of my tongue flapping through the gap between a couple back teeth is why you thought you woke me up.” The image tickled Dorothy so much she broke out in a laugh, causing Sheba to scoot up and lick her cheek. “Jacob slipped out of here without making a sound,” she said after her laughter died down. “When we turned in last night, he told me not to get up, but that surely wasn’t my plan. I couldn’t believe it when I woke up and saw the time. I hate I didn’t get to kiss him good-bye before he left for the airport. But just think, Maggie, when he comes back in a week, he’ll be here for good!”
“Think you should try a new hairdo this afternoon just to celebrate?” Maggie asked, using her fingers as a squeegee to swipe lipstick from the corners of her mouth. She looked at the little bit of lipstick color on her fingers, then looked at her lips. Funny, she thought, how much the color of her lips changed the shade of the lipstick. She should have gone a tone darker wearing this shade of green in her scarf.
“If you can find a new way to coif my pink scalp, I’ll tip you extra.” Both of them chuckled, knowing full well Dorothy’s ultrathin hair left them no choice but her old-lady “round do.” At least that’s how Dorothy referred to it. “What can I do for you so early this morning, Maggie?”
“I don’t know if you heard or not, but last night Paul Joy had a little accident.”
Dorothy tossed the covers back, sat up, swung her le
gs around to the floor and stood, which she realized made her a little lightheaded, so she sat back down on the edge of her bed. “Accident? What kind of accident? He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“He fell down in front of the Press. He was running— literally—to get Jessica’s last-minute mall entry in the box and he forgot about that broken cement there, you know where it is, and did he ever crash to the sidewalk, and right at my feet! Turns out he broke his leg and has a mild concussion. Harold took him to the hospital since Paul wouldn’t let us call an ambulance.”
“Is he still in the hospital?”
“No. Doctor Nielson set his leg and made him stay for awhile, just to make sure he was going to be okay from that head bang. Ben and I took him home. Harold went to the Lamp Post to notify Jessica and stay with her until he arrived.”
“Oh, I bet that poor child was a wreck.”
“That is an understatement.”
“How bad was the break?”
“Bad enough, but Paul said he hoped he wouldn’t be off work more than the six weeks he’d have the cast on. Actually, he said he hoped he could go back before the cast came off, but I don’t hold much hope for that since he works down in the mine, unless they give him an office job for a spell. Have you ever heard tell of them doing that?”
“He broke his leg once before, but that was so long ago I can’t remember. Those poor kids. They’ve had more than their fair share lately. Have you called anyone from the Care Committee yet?”
“I figure I’d just turn it over to you, Ms. United Methodist Church Activator. You’re the one who gets things done. I would have called you last night if I’d known you were up late kibitzing, but there wasn’t really anything that could be done right then anyway.”
“I better get my teeth in place and make some calls, get some food sent over there. I imagine Jessica’s got enough on her mind without thinking about dinner. I’ll take a walk over there later, too, see if I can help them with anything.” Dorothy heard a familiar tinkling sound in the background. After Christmas, Maggie, who loved shopping and hit every closeout rack, table and display in the county, had purchased herself a half-price door chime that rang when someone came in. “Sounds like Wilma Anderson just arrived anyway.” All clients were familiar with the La Feminique Hair Salon & Day Spa Thursday lineup.
“You win the million-dollar prize! Tell Jessica hello for me when you see her, and tell Paul that old Mrs. Malone is working a nine-hour day today.”
“Old Mrs. Malone? Since when did our one-and-only Maggie Malone become old?”
“He’ll know what you mean!”
Dorothy finished her morning bathroom duties, dressed, ushered Sheba on a quick walk around the block and pulled out her Care Committee roster complete with “Dishes to Be Taken” chart. (Before the Care Committee made use of a chart, one poor family found itself with enough sloppy joes to last a month!) Of course she’d start by calling May Belle, who could come up with good easy menus at the drop of a hat.
“Howdy Doody, dearie!” Dorothy said when May Belle answered her phone.
“Now don’t you sound perky for so early in the morning.”
“You wouldn’t have said that if you’d heard me awhile ago. Have you ever heard me talk without all my teeth?”
“How would I know?”
“I reckon I sound like a lizard.”
“I can’t say as I know what a lizard sounds like, Dorothy.”
“Neither do I. But I can imagine, can’t you?” May Belle chuckled. She adored Dorothy’s humor. “But my teeth aren’t why I called. I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but if not, Paul Joy fell in front of the Press last night. He suffered a mild concussion, from what Maggie tells me, and a broken leg. We need to crank up the Care Committee.”
At the sound of the words Care Committee, May Belle turned the dial on her oven to 400. She would adjust the temperature after she figured out what to make. Since baking was her joy and her ministry, her oven was seldom a cold one. “Is Paul okay?”
“Maggie said he would be. He fell right. . . . You know, let me give you the details later, since the little I know is secondhand. I’m going to stop by Jessica’s and I’ll give you a call after I get it from the horse’s mouth, see Paul for myself. In the meantime, let’s get them fed for the next couple weeks.”
8
Eleven-thirty and the lunchtime crowd at Harry’s Grill had grown by leaps and bounds since word spread about Sam’s run for mayor. Everybody was talking at once and a few were even yelling.
Cora Davis sat on the edge of her usual seat at the table in the front window, from which she could overhear anything in the tiny restaurant, seating capacity twenty-five. She’d been lit up like a Christmas tree since the morning lineup tumbled inside. In order to maintain her high-alert listening mode, she didn’t dare speak since she wanted to make sure she captured every hot word in order to relay them to those poor souls who couldn’t be there this morning—especially Maggie Malone, whom she would see later today during her hair appointment. Now that the posters were up, the contested mayoral race bomb had dropped on Gladys and word was spreading, the election race—and all that implied—was on.
Nellie Ruth McGregor hung up the phone in Wilbur’s office. Wilbur owned Your Store and Nellie Ruth was the assistant manager. When Wilbur tracked her down in the frozen food section to tell her she had a phone call, it unnerved her. Although she was sorry to learn about Paul’s misfortune, she was relieved to find out ES (aside from Johnny Mathis—no, not that one—she was the only person to call him ES rather than Edward Showalter, which was how everyone referred to him) had not been injured on the job. She started fretting about that possibility when he told her late one evening—when he finally called her—that he’d been working on scaffolding around the atrium most of the day. Since she’d waited more than six decades to fall in love, she certainly wasn’t ready to have him fall three floors out of her life!
Dorothy’d phoned Nellie Ruth, a member of the Care Committee, to ask her if she could pick up a few jars of baby food for Jessica and drop them off on her way home. Nellie Ruth said she was taking a late lunch hour and that she had another errand to run anyway, which was to pick up the list of mini-mall finalists, then she’d get right on it.
Nellie Ruth was happy to have things to think about aside from how disappointed she felt that she almost never got to see Edward Showalter these days. He worked late almost every night and at least a half-day most Saturdays. Since Katie got him that cell phone, it seemed like she always had something to ask him after hours, the ringer interrupting the few conversations she and ES did manage. He hadn’t even had time to come over and see how much Morning and Midnight, the kitties he’d surprised her with, had grown the past couple of weeks. The little rascals were getting into everything, but they sure were entertaining. At least she had them for company, she thought, as she drove around the square hoping to catch a glimpse of ES through the Taninger window. But no such luck. She did, however, see one of Gladys’s “interesting” posters, is the way ES had put it, which she thought was very kind considering Gladys looked nothing short of stupefied.
The election race. That’s all anyone had been talking about in the grocery store. She’d even heard raised voices in the produce aisle already! She hated politics. “Prayer accomplishes more than all the politicians put together,” she told ES one night after they watched the early evening news together and listened to yet another riff between the Republicans and Democrats. Of course watching television together was a thing of the past, she thought, now that Katie Durbin had stolen her beau’s time.
Forgive me, Lord, for such a selfish thought! ES is so proud of his position and I’m proud of him too. It’s just that . . . I miss him. There’s a season for everything, and this is the season for getting the building done. I’m sure after it’s open and he starts his new permanent job, his hours will be steady and predictabl
e. Give me patience, Lord. Just give me a little patience. Amen.
When Nellie Ruth walked into the Partonville Press’s office, she found Sharon banging away on her keyboard like there was no tomorrow. “Hi, Nellie Ruth,” Sharon said, glancing Nellie Ruth’s way.
“I’m here to pick up my copy of the mini-mall finalists,” Nellie Ruth said, glad to find her enthusiasm had returned, reminded once again of why she was such a prayer warrior.
“If there is a mini mall to be named,” Sharon said, then made a few more keystrokes before she stood, stretched and handed Nellie Ruth her sealed envelope.
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t heard about Sam Vitner’s run for mayor?”
“I’d say you can’t work in a public place today and not hear about it.” She almost sounded disgusted, but then realized so and added a chipper “Right?”
“I’m transcribing my notes from an interview I did with Mr. Vitner earlier today and his platform is definitely against Mayor McKern, which means he’s against anything she’s for, which means he’s against what he perceives to be Katie Durbin’s attempt to . . . let me give you a direct quote which will appear in Sunday’s Press.” She sat back down at her computer and began scrolling through her notes. “. . . her attempt to steal our town right out from under our noses, all for her own financial personal gain. And Mayor McKern has played right into her web.”
Jacob’s first flight of the day was a small jet that took him out of Hethrow Regional Airport to Chicago. “Fast puddle jumpers,” he told his mom. “We spend more time waiting to board and sitting on the tarmac than flying.” Even though the flight wasn’t very long, he was glad to deplane so he could stretch his long, weary frame. Only one more of these miserable trips, he thought as he strode along at a fast clip, having booked a connecting flight with little time to spare.
Dearest Dorothy, If Not Now, When? Page 7