Kids are Chancey

by Kay Dew Shostak

  Kimmy stands up and pulls both kids back. “See you there.”

  Maybe she was just tired the other day. She seemed right nice this morning. At the bottom of the hill, where all the daffodils were in the spring, a couple dozen American flags have sprouted. I see now what the seemingly random placement of hosta plants was about. Each bunch of hostas must have a flag holder in the middle and at some point last night or this morning, the flags were installed. The morning sun brings out the bright colors of the flags, and a bit of breeze causes them to slightly ripple. July Fourth is Sunday, so this weekend will be full of activities.

  The patriotic decorating continues downtown. Red, white, and blue bunting graces the gazebo, and ribbons in the same colors are tied around the smaller, decorative light posts. American flags fly from the street lights at the corners of the square. The front window boxes on our building have red and white petunias in them. Comes in handy being in the florist’s building. At Ruby’s, she’s stuck little American flags next to the plastic poinsettias that are still in her window boxes from Christmas, though they’ve now faded to light pink.

  Then suddenly my head snaps up. Oh my word. She said I couldn’t miss it. But, well, I never imagined. Main Street, which goes in front of the line of shops including Ruby’s, the bookstore and florist, and Peter’s bistro, dead-ends at a line of Civil War era homes. Big homes with deep porches, varied rooflines, and lots of windows. Houses small towns cherish and celebrate. Some of these in Chancey are cared for and restored, like Missus’ and a couple more in the line. Peter’s new home is the last in the line, off to the right when you have to turn. It used to be the eyesore in the bunch, but he’s fixing it. Between his house and his parents’ is the house the younger couple was moving out of last week. It sits center at the end of Main Street. They’d done some repairs, but these houses take a boatload of money to fix up and then monthly arrivals of boatloads of money to keep up. Well, apparently the latest money boat has arrived. The U.S.S. Gertie Samson is in port.

  Neon green paint covers the wooden siding. Elaborate gingerbread trim I hadn’t really noticed before is now bright purple. The front door and shutters are orange. Highway safety vest orange. The lack of taste isn’t how I know its Andy’s new place. Nope. Says so, in big letters on the roof. “ANDY’S.”

  A honk lets me know I’ve gawked long enough, so I pull into one of the angled parking spots off Main Street on the park side. Out of the car, I step back into the empty street to take a picture. Jackson is not going to believe this. Heck, why just share with him? On the sidewalk outside Ruby’s, I add Laney and Susan onto the text and send it out.

  Walking in the door, I tuck my phone in my skirt pocket. Laney holds her phone up. “Got your text. Come sit down. Can you believe that? I didn’t send you a picture because, well, because I didn’t want to look at it even a minute longer. And you should hear Missus.”

  Ruby’s is buzzing, and it’s an angry buzzing. Sure, our little town doesn’t look like those postcard ones. We’ve been kind of proud that we’re not artificial, we’re a real small town where the signs don’t match, with artificial flowers in some of the window boxes, and a boarded up business right on Main Street, but come on, there was a certain charm.

  Libby brings coffee to the table, so I flip over my green cup. “How did she get it done so fast?”

  Libby pours as she talks. “There was a full crew up there working when I got here at five. Barely light.”

  “Gertie told me this morning I couldn’t miss it. She was right. Where’s Missus and FM?”

  Laney reads her phone. “Be here in a minute, she says.” She lays her phone down on the table. “Oh, look, it’s the K family.” She waves. “Hey, Kimmy. Hey, kids.”

  Kimmy seems even smaller carrying in the bulky baby carrier. She looks around and points to the table near our booth. Zoe grins at us as she takes the younger kids, which she has by hand, to the table.

  “Was that house that color before?” Kimmy asks as she kicks out one of the chairs at the table and deposits the carrier onto it. “Zoe, get an extra chair,” she calls over her shoulder and flips her hair. Kimmy’s hair is fairly limp and non-descript. Wonder what color she calls it on her driver’s license? It’s not really blonde, not really brown.

  “No,” I answer. “Never a dull moment in Chancey.”

  She folds her arms and looks at us. “It’s original? Interesting.”

  Laney throws up a hand at her. “You don’t have to be nice. It’s hideous. Hey, Zoe.”

  Zoe looks up from where she’s unbuckling the baby. “Hi, Miss Laney. Miss Carolina.” She lifts the baby out and puts him on her shoulder.

  “You sure are good with that baby,” Laney says.

  Kimmy looks over her shoulder. “Is there a baby seat here?” Then she looks back to us. “It’s so nice to get away from unpacking this morning. Is there room here in your booth for me?”

  I scoot closer to the wall, and she slides in. I ask, “Are the kids all right there without you?”

  “That’s what Zoe is for. She loves being with the kids.”

  “Good, because Laney is wanting—”

  “Wanting to tell you how much I like what you’ve done with the house. It seemed so cluttered when my sister lived there,” Laney says while kicking me under the table. “Right, Carolina?”

  I echo her “Right,” but I have no idea why she’s kicking me. I introduce Kimmy to Libby as she comes around with her coffee pot and a plate of muffins.

  “Kids want muffins, too?” she asks and Kimmy just nods her head toward Zoe.

  Zoe smiles at Libby. “Hi, I’m Zoe. Can we get three milks? What muffins do you think the kids will like?”

  Libby looks back at Kimmy, but she’s busy fixing her coffee and doesn’t look up. So she says to Zoe, “Blueberry are good, and I have some strawberry ones with white chocolate chips.”

  “Okay, one of each of those. Do you have banana with nuts?”

  “Sure do.” Libby by this point has moved next to Zoe.

  “Great, I’ll have one of those. Kimmy, do you want me to order for you?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just try one of these. I’m assuming the plate is for the table?”

  “Apparently,” Laney says through tight lips. Then she raises her head. “There’s Missus.”

  Walking through the restaurant, Missus receives condolences, questions, and just shakes of heads from those who don’t know what to say. When she reaches our table she stands at the end to make her pronouncement. She really should have a balcony. “I’d ask if you’ve all seen it, but it is impossible to miss. Which is the entire purpose, that woman says. I told you people when she showed up last fall, Gertie Samson is not to be trusted. Did you listen? Not at all. My husband said I was nursing an old grudge. You,” she points at me, “welcomed her into the bosom of your home. She steamrolled over every objection, every caution I tried to lay in her way. Me, just me, left to protect our town from such complete disaster.”

  “Hi, Missus. This is Kimmy and these are her kids,” I say.

  Missus nods at Kimmy and then steps toward the seat left open for her beside Laney in the booth. “If they are your children, shouldn’t you be sitting with them?”

  Kimmy’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

  Missus waits, but finally looks away from her. “I’ve spoken to my lawyer, who also happens to be the town’s lawyer. He’s not offering much hope. We never finished the paperwork for any type of historic designation. Griffin was obviously too busy tracking down a power plant to bring to town for new jobs for him and his wife. Such a shame when people don’t take their responsibilities seriously.”

  Laney squints up her eyes and shakes her head. “Now, that doesn’t sound like Griffin. On the contrary. He’s the most responsible person I know. Makes it kind of a pain to have him for a brother-in-law, but he always did a good job on the council.”

  Missus huffs. “Of course he did. Just look at that monstrosity he allowed in
our town.”

  Kimmy shrugs. “If this Gertie bought the house, I guess she can paint it whatever color she wants, right? This is America. You know, Declaration of Independence and July Fourth, and all that.”

  I can’t help but let a laugh slip out. Missus’s face is turning red. Her eyes are bugging out. If she were to shout, “Off with her head!” I don’t think I’d be surprised at all.

  Kimmy looks down at her empty saucer and mumbles, “But I don’t really know.”

  I catch Zoe’s look, and she’s rolling her eyes at her stepmother. Zoe sees me catch her, and she winks, then grins. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a middle schooler wink. And we all know I love a man who winks. Now, I love kids that wink.

  When the baby, Kevin, starts to cry, Zoe lifts him to her shoulder and rocks him back and forth. He calms down for only a few seconds and then gets louder. Zoe continues rocking him, eating her muffin at the same time.

  Missus’ face is losing its redness, Laney’s frown is deepening, and Kimmy is looking over the plate of muffins for her next selection. The rest of us watch her and wait for her to hear her baby. Surely she hears him?

  Zoe stands up and begins walking with the baby still on her shoulder. The toddler girl—what is her name? – plops off her chair and comes to her mother’s leg. “Mama, I don’t like my muffin.”

  Kimmy reaches out to the plate on our table and takes the last muffin without even looking at us. She hands the full muffin to the little girl. “Go back to your table. This is the adult table.”

  Missus says, “I believe that was my muffin you just gave away to a child who still has virtually a full muffin at her place.”

  “You want her old muffin?” Kimmy asks. “She said she didn’t like it.”

  K.J. has left the table, I realize, and is whirling on top of one of the stools at the counter. He stops it by hitting his hand on the counter as he goes by, and when the stool stops, he falls off, laughing. Zoe, walking by with the now-screaming baby, reaches down and grabs him by one arm. Still laughing, he climbs back up on the stool and starts the spinning again. The little girl apparently has decided she doesn’t like her second muffin either, as she’s tearing it into pieces, and then shaking her hands to get the pieces off. There are bits of muffin all around her on the floor and on the table.

  Hard to believe, but this little family, new to our town, has completely caused us to forget Gertie’s paint job. We are mesmerized by the little crew, and their mother is calmly eating her second muffin and drinking her coffee.

  Suddenly Ruby appears at the counter. She stares at K.J., once again picking himself up and climbing on for another ride. “Who do these kids belong to?”

  Zoe stops walking and looks at Ruby.

  “That baby is not yours, is it?” Ruby exclaims.

  Kimmy takes one more sip of coffee, then laughs and says, “Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, kids. Time for story hour at the library.” She gets out of the booth, ignoring that she’s now mashing the bits of muffin her daughter threw in the floor, lifts up the carrier, and heads to the door where Zoe is waiting.

  Zoe yells, “K.J., Katherine.” (There, that’s her name!) She sheepishly adds, “Storytime.”

  K.J. jumps off the stool and shoots by Ruby who’s come out from behind the counter. Katherine grabs what’s left of the two muffins in her hands, slides off her chair, and heads to the door; leaving a trail of crumbs like she’s headed for the witch’s house.

  When the door finally closes on the newest Chanceyites, talk picks up again, accompanied by lots of rolling eyes and shaking heads. Ruby surveys the damage and then everyone’s attention is grabbed by Laney’s loud laughter.

  Ruby turns towards our booth, eyes, elbows, and voice, all sharp. “You think this is funny?”

  Laney eventually makes enough of a gap in her laughter to explain. “I’m just hoping those muffins last long enough to get to the library and Ida Faye.”

  And as we imagine the gossipy head matron of our library with the K kids running around her, Laney is no longer the only one laughing.

  “Okay, enough of this fun. Who wants to go check out the bookstore and give me some ideas? It probably won’t be empty of all the junk yet, but we can take a look,” I say, sitting on the end of the booth seat while Libby sweeps the floor around the messy table.

  Missus perks up, not in a good way. “Do you think Gertie might be there?”

  “Now, Missus,” Laney advises the older woman beside her, “you know if you get Gertie all riled up she’s only going to make it worse. She’ll put a searchlight on the roof, or a flock of plastic flamingos in the yard.” She then looks at me. “Of course I’ll go, because you know, no matter what I say, Missus won’t be able to keep her mouth shut, and I do love a Monday morning brawl.”

  “I do not brawl. Thank you, Libby,” Missus says as she steps out of the booth and marches towards the door. Laney follows, and after I add a few bills to the pile on the table, I hurry to catch up. Hard to not notice Kimmy didn’t leave any money. Of course, as a newcomer we would’ve told her it was our treat. Not very nice to not give us a chance to tell her how nice we are. Not very Southern, either.

  Laney has on a yellow dress with daisy buttons at the neck. It is sleeveless and pure maternity wear. “Your dress is cute,” I say as I fall in step beside her.

  “Yeah, cute,” she tsks and looks down. “Maternity clothes are for girls, young women. Not, well, not women my age. They have more business, or professional looking suits and such, just, well, just not in my size. So, I got a couple of these. Basically tents in pre-school colors. The long caftans got too hot, and those long swirling skirts are a pain getting in and out of the car.”

  Missus beats us to the bookstore. By the time we join her inside, she’s searched the space and tells us, “Gertie isn’t here. Just Shannon.”

  Shannon is short and reminds you of a fairy or an imp. She has wispy black hair all around her tiny face. She’s short and her waist is really small, but her bosom is rather large. She’s cuter in the whole than she is cute in her parts. Like, her face just doesn’t uphold the fairy image. And her tiny waist looks too small in the shadow of her breasts. Her hair is cute, until you really think about just how black it is, which is kind of unnatural. I don’t think she colors it, but it sure looks like a bad dye job. But she’s a hard worker and a good florist. Could definitely have worse people running the business that shares space with my bookstore.

  Laney walks straight to the couch and sits down. “It’s hot out there. Looks like some of the junk is gone.”

  “It does. Hey, Shannon. Do you know where Gertie is? Has she said anything to you about Andy’s place? Have you seen it?”

  Shannon bobs her head as she arranges a small basket of carnations. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen it. And she thinks it’s a hoot. So, don’t believe you, or anyone,” she adds a glance at Missus, “will be able to change her mind.” Wandering over to the front window, I look down at the display I did a while back. The painted wine glass has been knocked over. The books have been laid on their sides in a stack and used as a pedestal for an old, green bowl. Inside the bowl are about a dozen boxes of playing cards and two dozen Bic lighters, still in their wrappers. A shudder runs through me. “Let’s get out of here. Nothing can be decided until all this stuff is gone.” I turn back to the door. “Shannon, tell Gertie I came by, okay?”

  I hold the door open for Missus to march out of, and then I wait for Laney to get up out of the depths of the couch and slowly proceed to the door.

  “Do you think it’s possible I could be bigger than when I was carrying twins?” Laney asks, moving past me.

  “Surely not,” I say out loud. Then add a bit quieter, “You’re just eighteen years older.”

  “I’m going to peek into the bistro, and then I’m going up to your house to take a nap,” Laney says.

  “Why my house?”

  “Well, that’s where I work, right?” she says, as I let the door fall closed behi
nd her. “If I go home, I might have stuff I have to do.”

  I follow the yellow dress, and the tense gray head bouncing at the head of our column, next door. There’s still that quiet hush that I liked from MoonShots, the clean, new smell of new construction and paint. Peter has tried to make the space more homey and old-fashioned, but there’s too much shine for him to cover up.

  “Mother, welcome. Hey, Laney and Carolina.” Peter greets us from near the front windows. He’s standing behind a table with big jars of fresh lemonade, both pink and regular. There are slices of lemons in both jugs, and he holds out little sample cups to us. “Here, try this. So refreshing on a hot day.”

  Missus ignores his offering and walks on into the store. “Harvard education for you to play lemonade stand.” She shakes her head in disgust as she wanders down the next aisle.

  “I’ll have some,” Laney says, reaching out her hand. “Are those cookie samples, too?”

  She and I both have a piece of a wonderful sugar cookie and a sip of lemonade. The place feels good. It does remind me of the bistro over in Canton where we had Anna and Will’s rehearsal dinner. “This is nice. Oh, and there’s the area for folks to sit down and eat. Have you figured out what you’re going to serve?”

  “Sandwiches. Hi, Carolina, Laney,” Alex says from somewhere near the back counter. “I’m coming up with the menu.”

  Missus says clearly, even though we can’t see her on the other side of the aisle. “That is Miss Laney and Miss Carolina, young man.”

  Alex laughs, clearly thinking she’s joking. “See, I’m going to put it on this chalkboard, that way we can change it. Lots of restaurants in New York do it that way.”

  Coming around a center display of cheese straws toward his voice, I see him leaning on the counter writing on a pad of paper. Sitting on the counter next to him is Savannah in her short shorts, tight tank top, and her bright red lips.

  Oh. You didn’t think I won that battle this morning, did you?