Prints Charming

by Rebeca Seitz

  “Jane Sandburg.”

  “Jane, it’s Leota. With Sandpiper? Remember me?”

  Jane grinned and pictured the petite lady with fake black hair piled into a beehive the size of Texas. The first time she’d met Leota, she’d known 1960 had put its hooks in and never let go.

  “Hi, Leota. Of course I remember you. How are the kids doing?” Jane would never forget the day she’d spent working with the abandoned children Sandpiper took in. She’d cried for a week afterwards and begged Bill to come see them, maybe even provide a foster home or forever home to one or more. Bill had said they didn’t have time. Now she knew what he’d spent his time doing.

  “Oh, you know them. The older ones take the young ’uns under their wings and teach ’em the ropes. We’ve got a full house right now, but the house is fallin’ down around our ears.”

  “Oh, no. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s not?” Jane heard the exhaustion and resignation in Leota’s laugh. “The roof is so old it’s gonna cave in any day now.

  The wood paneling on the walls has been painted so many times I can just about peel it off. The ruts in the driveway are so deep the gravel’s more like dunes. The hot-water heater’s got a rust spot on it the size of my knee. I can keep going on, but you get the drift.”

  “Oh, Leota. What can I do?” Jane leaned against the door, pulling up a knee and resting her foot behind her, nibbling the skin at the edge of her fingernail. And to think she’d been reflecting on how bad she had it. At least the roof over her head was sound, even if it was small.

  “Now, those are words I like to hear. I think what we need is some community awareness. I can’t think the town would let our house fall down if they knew about who it houses.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll start crafting a press release tonight and get it out to the papers tomorrow. Can you do interviews? Maybe we should have an open house to let the public really see what repairs are needed.” Jane pushed off the door with her foot and went to the kitchen. She jerked open the junk drawer and rummaged around inside for a notepad to start making a list.

  “That’s a good idea! I hadn’t thought of that. Okay, let’s see . . .” Jane heard pots and pans clanging and knew Leota had walked into the massive kitchen at Sandpiper, where some of the kids came together at night to make dinner and where a calendar hung on the massive refrigerator. She remembered the family feeling in the air when they all bustled around the kitchen, tossing spices and towels to each other, laughing as they made helpings big enough to feed a small army. “Would a month from now be too soon?”

  “No, that’s fine. That gives me a week or so to get the press materials together and out to the media, then a couple weeks for follow-up, then a week for interviews.”

  “Oh, Jane, thank you.”

  Jane smiled at the relief in Leota’s voice. “Thank you for giving a home and love to those kids.”

  They talked over the details, and Jane hung up, having no idea how she would work this into an already full client load, but also knowing there was no way she’d say no to Leota. She thought again of the smiling faces of the kids.

  Wilson’s paws made a clicking sound on the linoleum as he joined her in the kitchen. She reached down and patted his smooth head. “It’s just you and me now, buddy. But maybe that can change one day.”

  Wilson raised his head and looked at her with wide-open eyes.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s go outside.”

  At the word outside Wilson leaped up, wagging his black tail as he ran toward the door. Jane sighed and went for the red leash hanging in the hall closet.

  Shuffling on her slippers, she snapped the leash on Wilson’s collar and walked outside to the dog area. She let Wilson sniff all the trees while she tried to decide what to wear to church.

  Staying in her jammies and snuggling back into the warm bed sounded so much better than putting on makeup and fixing her hair. Hose and heels held no appeal at any time of the day, least of all at six-thirty in the morning.

  “Come on, Wilson.” Tugging him brought no amount of movement from the dog. Instead, he pulled hard the other direction. Maybe she could tell Lydia she’d been hauled away by her dog and couldn’t get back to the apartment in time to change. “Come on.” She pulled harder. That story would be a true story if she didn’t get a move on.

  Wilson turned to look at her, then pulled against the leash again. “I’m not kidding. We’re going inside.” She turned and tugged him toward the apartment, but again he jerked the other way. She opened her mouth to scold him—and then she saw it.

  A cat.

  Horrified understanding flowed through her, “Oh no . . .”

  But it was too late. With a mighty surge, Wilson jerked the leash out of Jane’s hands and was off, running across the dog area, hot on the heels of the scrambling feline.

  “Wilson!” Jane ran after him, praying no one else was up at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday to see her pajama-clad self running across the lawn. The dog kept running as Jane struggled not to slip on the dew-soaked grass in her house slippers. “Get back here.”

  The cat had run up a tree, and Wilson was at its base, barking his head off. “Hush. You’ll wake up the whole apartment complex.” Huffing and puffing, she caught up to the dog and snagged the edge of the leash. Her arms strained against Wilson’s big basset hound muscles as she began pulling him backwards. And to think she had fought Bill for custody of this canine.

  “Dog, you are in so much trouble. You better be really happy that cat knew how to climb so fast, because if you had touched one inch of that little kitty’s fur, so help me, I—”

  Jane looked up at the sound of male laughter, and her heart hit her toes. Oh, no. There stood Mr. Tall from the parking lot of The Savvy Scrapper, his arms folded across a fabulous chest as he laughed at her. Her luck with men was getting better and better.

  “Endangering cats now, are we?” He stood where he was, making no move whatsoever to help her, looking regal in his starched white shirt and way too put together for the early hour.

  He probably thought her dog would bite him or something, chauvinistic idiot. For a split second, she wished Wilson was a biting kind of dog.

  “Excuse me?” She pushed her hair off her face and tried not to think about the image she was portraying.

  “Well, you endanger innocent men with your car and now innocent cats with your dog. This is not the Southern hospitality I’ve heard so much about, I’ll have to admit.” He smiled and gestured toward Wilson.

  “Perhaps those innocent men should watch where they’re walking and, if they happen to see a cat in danger, alert the dog owner nearby. What are you doing out here anyway?”

  “I was letting my cat have some outside time.”

  Jane’s heart plummeted past her feet and into the dirt below.

  Was there any way in the cosmos that his cat could be any cat other than the one her dog had just treed? Of course not. Her universe didn’t work that way.

  “Who lets their cat out at six-thirty on a Sunday morning?

  And shouldn’t she be on a leash?” she asked, desperate to have his cat be any cat—any cat at all—other than the fluffy white one now meowing its head off, still hidden in the high branches of a very big elm.

  “People who are trying to make it to early service at church.” He walked toward the tree, giving her and Wilson a wide berth. “Which, I’ll bet, is the same reason people let their dogs out at six-thirty on a Sunday morning. I’m leaving the leash question alone since the day isn’t old enough yet for crazy questions. Have a good one, and thanks for a memorable welcome to the neighborhood.” He waved over his shoulder before stopping at the base of the elm and calling to the cat.

  Jane tugged Wilson toward the apartment, shaking her head the whole way. Of all the people in the entire town, she had to open her car door on one who lived in her building, had an ego the size of Texas, was dismissive, and owned a cat. A cat! The only thing that would have made the situation toler
able was if she had a camera to document the whole thing. At least then she would have a funny, if humiliating, story to scrapbook.

  She walked through the door and unhooked Wilson’s leash. The day was off to a poor start. Thank goodness she and Lydia were headed to Mac’s after church to scrapbook. At least that was something to look forward to.

  chapter 4

  A couple of hours later, Jane uncrossed and crossed her legs for the umpteenth time. She racked her brain, but couldn’t come up with a single instance of Lydia’s having said they were going to Sunday school after the service. On her feet were beautiful Ferragamo black heels with patent-leather piping along the edges that led to a tiny bow running across her toes. They were some of her favorite Sunday-sermon shoes that now, having passed their comfortable time span, were beginning to rub blisters.

  Lydia looked at her in understanding and slipped her own heels off. Jane smiled and did the same, tucking her feet behind the rungs of the folding chair. Both women turned toward the teacher at the front of the room, who was wrapping up announcements.

  “Mari and John, any update on the adoption process?”

  A short woman with sleek, dark brown hair that curled just under her chin looked up and smiled.

  “Everything’s moving along,” she said. “They asked us to make a scrapbook that shows our family and home life. I’m going to start working on that this week. Since I have no idea what I’m doing, I’d appreciate your prayers.”

  “You’ve got it, Mari,” the teacher said. “Any other updates or requests from the group?” He looked around and bounced on the balls of his feet for a minute, but no requests were forthcoming. “All right, then, let’s pray.”

  Jane bowed her head with everyone else and tried to keep her mind on the words rather than her blisters. “. . . We ask all this in your Son’s name. Amen,” she finally heard. Lydia leaned over.

  “Would you mind if I invited Mari to come with us this afternoon? She and her husband are adopting a little girl from Chile since they have secondary infertility,” she whispered.

  “What’s secondary infertility?” Jane whispered back.

  “It’s when you have no problem having a first baby but for whatever reason you can’t get pregnant again. They tried for a year and a half or so and then decided to adopt.”

  “That sounds strange. No, I don’t mind at all if you invite her.”

  Jane grinned and began rummaging through her purse for some gum as the teacher talked about forgiveness. She most definitely did not need a lesson on forgiveness. After all, forgiving her cheating husband had required barely a thought. This lesson was one she had down cold. She could have stayed in her warm bed after all.

  As soon as the lesson was over, Lydia shot up out of her chair and strode across the room toward the woman who had talked about making a scrapbook for a child in Chile. Jane grabbed her things and joined her.

  “Hi, Mari,” Lydia said as they approached.

  “Lydia, cómo estás? How are the twins?” Mari’s big brown eyes sparkled with life, and Jane felt a twinge of envy. Here was a woman who had happiness.

  “We’re all fine. Learning how to be a family, you know. I was wondering if I could talk to you a little about your scrapbook.”

  “Sure. I am so intimidated.” She leaned forward and placed a small hand on Lydia’s arm. “I went to the craft store yesterday and stood in the aisle for a good fifteen minutes, just staring at all the papers. Ay, caramba.” Mari threw up her hands in mock despair and laughed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you know, but a couple of friends and I scrapbook together all the time. We’re actually meeting this afternoon, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us.”

  Lydia smiled as John came over and put his arm around his wife’s waist. Jane’s heart twisted.

  “That sounds like fun.” Mari turned to her husband, a thin man whom Jane noticed had been drawing in a journal. “Honey, Lydia was just telling me about some friends of hers who scrapbook. They’re getting together this afternoon, and Lydia has invited me to join them. Maybe I can produce a scrapbook for the agency.”

  “Great. Anything that gets me out of learning how to work a tape runner is fine by me,” John said and laughed. “I’ll handle all the paperwork, but I leave the creative stuff completely in Mari’s hands.” He patted Mari’s back and headed over to the table where a cup of orange juice remained beside empty donut boxes.

  “Well, then it’s settled. You’ll join us?” Lydia asked.

  “Absolutely. Where and what time? Oh, and should I bring something? I bought a few things, but I have no idea how to put them together.” Mari rolled her eyes at her own ignorance, and Lydia and Jane smiled.

  “Just come over to my place around two. You remember how to get there?”

  “I think so. You hosted the Christmas party for the married group last year, right?”

  “That was us. I’ll just wait on you there, and we’ll go over to Mac’s together. Sound good?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “See you then.”

  Lydia and Jane turned to leave the room but were stopped by the Sunday school teacher.

  “Lydia, I wanted to come and welcome your friend,” he said.

  “Oh, sure. Jane, this is Lloyd Meshach,” Lydia said. “Lloyd, Jane Sandburg. She’s an old friend of mine who recently moved to our area of town. Lloyd moved to Nashville a few years ago.”

  Jane glanced over the rumpled shirt with its colorful designs and the well-worn Birkenstocks. Put this guy with Leota and she had a beautiful representation of two fabulous decades in recent American history. “Oh? What brought you to Music City?” Jane asked.

  “Divorce,” Lloyd said bluntly, and Jane stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

  “Yep, the D word nobody in church is supposed to say.”

  He leaned forward and winked conspiratorially. “It’s been seven years and seems like another lifetime ago. Not a lot of folks know it, but I came here to get away from the gossip and rumor mill after my marriage broke up. Adultery makes for a tempting conversational topic for many, especially when you’re living in a commune.”

  Jane shook her head in wonder. “A commune?”

  “Oh, yeah. You know, it was the seventies. Peace, love, and the American way, right?” Lloyd said.

  “Right.” And that was plenty far for a trip down Memory Lane. “Well, it was nice meeting you. We need to go. I’ve got a dog at home who’s probably trying to cross his legs by now.”

  Lloyd laughed, and Jane noticed a sparkle of mischief in his eye. Lloyd Meshach, she’d bet, kept folks on their toes.

  “By all means, hurry home. It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.”

  “Good seeing you, too, Lydia,” he said. “Everything going well with the twins? Are they sleeping through the night yet?”

  “Not currently,” Lydia said as she gathered up her purse and sermon notes from her chair. “Between them, they were awake most of last night, which is why Dale’s not here. He did night duty last night.”

  Lloyd smiled. “Tell him we missed him, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  Jane and Lydia made their way out of the classroom and into the busy hallway.

  “Thanks for asking me to come with you today, by the way. I really didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, and after the morning I had, I was pretty sure I needed to crawl back into it and hide, but this has been good.”

  “Oh, yeah. What happened this morning? You said Wilson got loose or something?”

  “Sorry again for being late,” Jane said, and Lydia waved her hand in forgiveness.

  “Like that’s something new.” She winked. “Did Wilson get loose?”

  “Yep, he treed a cat.”

  “No!”

  “Yep. He took off running, and the leash just popped out of my hand, and off he went. He had that cat up a tree before I could blink. A
nd, to top it all off, the cat’s owner was that guy I hit with my car door in the parking lot at the Savvy Scrapper.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Lydia stopped walking and stared at her in disbelief.

  “I wish. I was mortified for about two seconds, and then he opened his mouth. The guy’s ego is truly the size of Mount Everest.” Jane rolled her eyes as Lydia laughed and started walking again. “He accused me of endangering men and cats, or something like that,” Jane continued. “I mean, honestly, what right does he have to accuse me of endangering anything?” Her voice took on an indignant tone.

  “Well, you did hit him with your car door. And correct me if I’m wrong, but at the time of this conversation, his cat was up in a tree due to a race for its life from your dog?” Lydia tried to hold back laughter and failed miserably.

  “Still. He could have been gracious about it. He could have been nice and apologized for not having his cat on a leash or something.”

  Lydia’s laughter grew. “A leash? People don’t put cats on leashes.”

  “Well, some of them do,” Jane replied. “Even if he didn’t, he could have pretended he should have. But no, he starts talking about me endangering him and his precious cat. I should’ve let Wilson loose again just to shut him up. Instead, he walks away from me before the conversation is finished, and no matter how nice his backside looked, that’s just rude,” she finished with triumph.

  “He’s got a nice butt?” Lydia asked as they arrived at the outside door and stepped into the beautiful sunshine.

  “Hey, Mrs. Matchmaker, I’m outraged here. Can you focus on any part of this conversation other than my very brief commentary on the guy’s anatomy?”

  “Sure—you endanger a guy, he needles you for it and gets under your skin. I’m thinking I may like this guy. Tell me again what he looks like.”

  “You are so not funny,” Jane said. “If I were in the market for a man—and after Mr. Wonderful it would have to be freezing in Dante’s eighth before I would even think such a thing— but if I were in the market, there is no way on this green earth