“What are you making?”
“Cornish game hens with wild rice stuffing.”
“Do you have seating for four?”
“You mean seating for eight. They have four children. I’m making dinosaur chicken nuggets for the kids.”
“You know I like children, Claire.”
“Yes. But, it’s not ideal. Let’s wait.”
He sighed. “I think it would be perfect.”
“Does she still refer to me as a beauty pageant queen?” Claire giggled.
“She refers to all my blind dates as Miss and then their town name. Yes, you’re still Miss Palouse.”
“I’ve never been pageant material.”
“And you know my response.” Why did she continue to put off meeting him?
“Does she know I call her Miss Moscow? Or is she aware yet that she’s in the running?”
“I didn’t call to talk about her.”
“You sound agitated, Quinn.” The sound of a kettle hissing and the clatter of pots and pans briefly interrupted their conversation. “Is there a chance you’re putting off your feelings for Miss Moscow on account of not meeting me?”
“I am tired of waiting.” Quinn paced the length of his living room sisal rug. “I don’t care if you have family there tonight. I actually think it would be a great way for us to meet.” He’d never been pushy before, but he hadn’t felt so impatient before.
“I’d be entertaining you instead of them. The relationship between my sister-in-law and me is already strained.”
“I understand, Claire.” And he did.
“We’ll finally meet this Friday. Only five days.”
Between her evening work at the emergency hotline in Pullman and his work at the university, little of their free time overlapped. They said their good-byes. Trying to be mindless, he ironed two more shirts.
His home phone rang.
“Quinn.” Ethel sounded tired. “At what point should I worry about Katherine getting dehydrated? She can’t keep anything down.”
“Tell her to take sips of ginger ale. Not gulps. Just tiny sips.”
“Tiny sips. I tried to call your mobile number first, but it was busy. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”
“I was talking with Miss Palouse.”
“You sound down. I hope you’re going to meet her soon.”
“She has company tonight—her brother and his wife and family.”
“I see. What’s Miss Palouse’s name? A high school friend of mine lives in Palouse. Maybe she knows her.”
“Claire Westin.” It would be nice to have another person’s input.
“Claire Westin . . . sounds like a movie star, like she could costar with John Wayne.”
He agreed—he’d always liked Claire Westin’s name.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethel had several errands to run Monday morning. Right before she’d left home, Katherine had yelled at her from the living room not to wear her strawberry hat. So Ethel had promptly exchanged it for her other straw hat with the lime-green-and-white polka-dotted tie. It looked better anyway with the peach-colored shirt she was wearing.
The parking lot at the U of I Administration Building was a hub of activity. Looking for a parking space, Ethel drove her red Chevy Nova around and around the perimeter of the five-lane lot. Numerous handicapped spaces were vacant. How long would it take her to pay her parking ticket and turn in Katherine’s paper to Quinn? Five, ten minutes. In so short a time, what were the odds that she’d get another ticket?
Parking at the Admin was more difficult than parking at the Palouse Empire Mall the day after Thanksgiving. Tired of wasting time and fuel, she gave up the search and parked beneath a handicapped sign in the fourth row, three spaces in. There was a chance no one would notice her here.
The experience had been so nerve-racking that Ethel peered in the flip-down mirror and half expected to see that all her hair had turned gray. A decent mix of mousy brown and dowdy gray remained. Thanks goodness.
In the registrar’s office, she waited in line behind three young people. When it was finally her turn, Ethel plunked twenty-five dollars on the counter for her parking ticket.
“How are you today, ma’am?” The young brunette clerk behind the counter was so pleasant that Ethel felt inspired.
“Just peachy, thank you. I’d like to speak with someone about an idea I have to improve the university.”
“What department?” The gal was so friendly and attentive; she wondered if Quinn had ever met her. They worked in the same building, but then she noticed a wedding ring on the young woman’s hand. Quinn really needed to start dating women closer to home.
“It, um . . . has to do with . . . senior relations.” Ethel tried to sound prepared.
With lifted brows, the young woman appeared baffled. As Ethel suspected, they had no Senior Relations department, staff, or chairperson. The three gals in the office debated for several minutes on where to send her. It felt like a waste of precious time that she’d hoped to spend with Quinn. She sighed and loosened the bow beneath her chin. Finally, they decided on the president of the university.
Heaven forbid, she was going straight to the top.
It was Monday morning, nine o’clock. Didn’t she need an appointment? A middle-aged blonde, wearing a miniskirt that was far too mini, escorted her down the hallway to an elevator. From there, they rode to the second floor. Holding her handbag close to her, Ethel told herself to pay special attention to where the elevator was when they landed. She’d take it later to the third floor.
She glanced down at her escort’s attire. The woman wore naughty fish net stockings. Though she seemed sweet enough, her attire was very immodest for office work. From the elevator, she escorted Ethel past a hallway secretary to a trio of chairs. “Wait here, Mrs. King, he’s expecting you.”
“Thank you.” Ethel wished the middle-aged woman would remain with her so the president of the university could see how a woman in his employ was dressing. The university needed a grandmother to help run things more professionally.
A century-old-looking door, very similar to Quinn’s, creaked open, and a balding gentleman, tall, with massive shoulders, stepped forth. “Ethel King,” he said, and with an outstretched arm beckoned her into his office.
She felt very unprepared.
While she strolled through his open door, she read the gold plaque: President Morrison. His name sounded like one of the US presidents. There had been a President Hamilton, or was it Harrison? She’d have to ask Katherine.
President Morrison had the same view as Quinn, with wider windows in a much larger room with expansive walls lined with expensive books. There were so many books that they were probably more for decoration than education.
“What can I do for you today, Mrs. King?” He extended his hand. His hands and face were covered with freckles. When he was young, he’d most likely been nicknamed Freckles, and now he’d risen to the top. What a wonderful success story.
After firmly shaking his hand, she took a seat in a comfy padded chair. “The reason I’m here, Your Honor . . .” She began to untie the bow beneath her chin and then decided not to take off her hat, as she’d undoubtedly have hat hair. “I visited the campus several weeks ago.” Wide-eyed, she realized this meeting could easily cost her another twenty-five dollars if she weren’t careful.
“Oh, are you thinking of taking classes here?” There was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
She suppressed a giggle. She was seventy-one, or was it seventy-two? Now was not a good time to begin a new career, not after thirty-plus years of being a grandmother. She was finally getting good at it.
“No, I’m not thinking of taking classes.” Ethel waved a hand. “My granddaughter, Katherine King, is taking classes here. The reason I’m here is . . . this is the second time I’ve recently visited the university, and it’s also the second time I’ve driven around and around your Admin parking lot and could not find one available space. There were sev
eral handicapped parking spaces available. Probably ten, if I’d taken the time to count all of them.”
He nodded.
“Do you know a Professor Quinn Benton?” Ethel asked.
“Yes, of course. He’s on staff in our US history department here at the university.”
“He’s our neighbor. We think the world of him, or at least I do.”
He nodded and smiled, but that was it. Good, he didn’t appear to know about the cinnamon rolls or Katherine’s fuss over the B.
“I think that the University of Idaho, as well as Moscow, maybe all of Latah County should assign a number of parking spaces for senior citizens. I was fine with walking and all until I hit seventy; then things started to act up. For the sign . . .” She held up two fingers of each hand and did the little bunny-ear sign like Katherine often did. “It could read ‘Senior Parking.’ You could have a turtle walking on its two back legs holding a cane. I think the sign should be white with green lettering.” Ethel nodded. That’s how she’d always pictured it.
The president’s gaze appeared a bit glazed. Of course, it was Monday morning.
“I know you may not be the right person for me to have spoken with first about this, but three very sweet ladies downstairs did not know where to send me. And one, I might add, was not dressed appropriately for public work.”
Not that she, Ethel King, was dressed appropriately for speaking with the president of the university. “I have hat hair,” she admitted. “Otherwise, I would have taken off my gardening hat. I came in this morning to pay my parking ticket. I had no idea I’d be so royally received.”
His smile started in his sparkly brown eyes and worked its way down his facial muscles to his thin lips. His response reminded her of Quinn and the first time she’d visited his office. The poor university professionals—they were probably up to their ears in young people and their overactive hormones, and they were simply hungry for down-to-earth senior wisdom.
“The law requires that we have one handicapped space for every ten parking spaces,” President Morrison said.
“I didn’t realize it was so high.” She sighed. “Is it a state law or federal law?”
“To be honest, Ethel, I’m not certain, but if I had to guess, I’d guess state. At the moment, our population of students who are over sixty-five is at about ten, and most are part-time students at that.”
“An expensive undertaking for so small an age group.” Ethel nodded.
“Yes, though I feel your idea is visionary on a broader scale.”
Ethel felt herself beam. He was a person who saw the good in others’ ideas and called it visionary. He’d been made the president for a reason. Meeting the man made her feel proud that four of her grandchildren called the University of Idaho their ala mater, or was it alma mater? She’d have to ask Katherine.
“President Morrison, do you really mean that? You like the idea?”
“Yes. My parents are aging.” He nodded. “They’re also over seventy and have dropped by from time to time to check in on me.” He smiled. “They’ve also complained about parking.”
“You have a law school here.” Her heart pounded in her chest like she was still a teen.
“Yes, we do, Ethel.”
“Can you make senior parking a senior project, or maybe a class project? Have the students learn to make a difference in their community? Have them push this wonderful idea of ours into action?”
He chuckled and tipped his head back against the top of his leather chair. “I’ll see that your wonderful idea, Ethel, falls into the right hands. With a little guidance, of course.”
She rose to her feet. “Four of my grandchildren have lived with me while attending the U of I and earning their degrees. I’ve never felt as much pride in our little town’s university as I do right now. God bless you, President Morrison.”
By the time Ethel reached Quinn’s office, they’d only have five minutes together before he needed to be at his nine-thirty class. So Ethel didn’t waste any of their precious time by sharing the news about her meeting with the president. She got right to the point by handing him Katherine’s paper.
“Usually, she types her papers in some computer laboratory on campus, but last night, she used my old Brother typewriter instead.” Ethel paused to smile. “Thank heaven I had half a bottle of Wite-Out. Katherine was yelling “Oh, brother” until at least two o’clock this morning. But . . . it’s handed in on time. Early, even.” She looked at the overhead clock. They still had four minutes before his history class started.
Now that she’d spoken her piece, she sat down in the metal folding chair and took a fresh look at Quinn. His yellow polo shirt appeared freshly pressed and was such a nice color on him, bringing out the gold highlights in his dark eyes. Sporting a summer tan, he appeared even more handsome than her first impression of him.
“Did you tell Katherine she had until Tuesday?” Quinn set the paper aside on his desk.
“Yes, but she hates to be late for anything.” Ethel sighed and for a moment, reflected on where she’d parked.
“Is everything okay, Ethel?”
“I sure hope so. Lack of punctuality is one of her biggest pet peeves. Joe was fifteen minutes late to their first date, and she almost didn’t go out with him. She thought his tardiness was a bad sign. I made the mistake of convincing her she should forgive him.” Ethel sighed. “I was so excited that she finally had a date.”
“I didn’t know that about her.” While he nodded, Quinn’s brows remained in an elevated position.
“Yes, that’s why she’s such a pain to live with. She expects everyone else to live up to her perfect expectations. She left a small sticky note for you on the last page. We’re out of the other sizes.” Ethel made a mental note that she needed to buy some today while she was out running around. They were down to the size that was really only big enough for one medium-sized word.
He leafed through Katherine’s essay to page five.
“I need a magnifying glass. Her print is microscopic.”
Ethel giggled. Now, if she’d been the one to describe it, she would have referred to it as itty-bitty or flea-sized. Quinn was just like Katherine, using highfalutin words. Before Ethel had left home, she’d used the magnifying glass she kept on the curio cabinet to peek at what Katherine had written.
“I memorized what it says if you want me to tell you.”
“I’m curious.” He nodded. “Your granddaughter has mastered being unpredictable.”
“She wrote: I’m sorry for the crossed-out lines on page four. We ran out of Wite-Out. Oh, and thank you for the ginger ale. It helped.”
“Hmmm . . .” Quinn’s cheek muscles bunched, like Katherine’s sticky note had genuinely touched his heart.
“Between her trips to the bathroom, Katherine worked herself into a tizzy fit trying to type it out perfect. She completely wiped herself out. Who knows if anything makes sense, Quinn, but I think she should get an A for effort under awful circumstances. Don’t you?”
Ethel hoped he’d, at least, smile, but Quinn merely nodded like he was still dwelling on Katherine’s flea-sized note. Or maybe his mind was elsewhere.
“Your granddaughter is very determined.”
She didn’t like the sound of it. Determined started with D. Brilliant started with B. She hoped he wouldn’t hold the crossed-out lines against her. Quinn was difficult to read this morning. Something about him wasn’t quite centered, but maybe it was because of her timing during his workday.
They walked together from his office down the hall and paused near the elevator. “I have some exciting news.” She patted his arm. “I’ll tell you tonight when you stop by.” She added a wink, but she was so out of practice that it probably looked more like her eye twitched.
He chuckled none-the-less.
They held no plans for him to stop by; it was simply her way of hinting that she hoped he would. Quinn had no idea her next errand was in his honor. She was going to track down Miss Palou
se. He might be patient enough to wait until Friday to meet Claire Westin, but Ethel King wasn’t!
Ж
Another goldenrod parking ticket sat beneath Ethel’s windshield wiper. She stewed about it for the first nine miles of her drive, and then, as she reached the summit of Moscow Mountain, the view of the rolling hills in all their patchwork grandeur took her breath away. Early summer on the Palouse was one of her favorite seasons. Beneath the glorious blue sky, the rolling hills were quilted in blocks of gold and vivid greens, stitched by the Master’s hand. Following the signs to the town of Palouse, Ethel took a left off the Coeur d’Alene highway and headed west.
She drove her Chevy Nova on the quiet, two-lane country road through the rolling hills of knee-high golden canola. Miss Palouse had one of the most splendid settings in Whitman or Latah County. If Ethel were Claire, she’d get Quinn to meet her soon while the canola was in full bloom. During the drive, he was bound to fall more in love with her.
Too bad he didn’t like a local girl . . . like Katherine.
Katherine was pretty and made amazing cinnamon rolls, but how would Quinn describe her personality? Three words came to mind: Brilliant. Stubborn. Determined.
Near the cusp of town, Ethel passed the museum. Palouse had only one main street of businesses. A hillside with lovely historic homes lined the north side of the street, and the Palouse River the south side. She parked her car in front of the little hamburger place where she planned to dine sometime before she left town. Burgers and Fries. What kind of name was that? No wonder she’d had a difficult time remembering it.
Ethel carried her black everyday handbag and strolled to a public phone booth that sat in the corner of the gas station parking lot. In the thin phone book, she found Claire Westin’s name listed. Next, she looked up Noralee—a girlfriend from high school. Was she still alive? What was her married name? For a moment, inside the warm telephone booth, Ethel racked her brain. It started with a D. Now was not the time to have a senior moment. Dobrensen. Praise the Lord! She scrolled through the Ds and found Noralee’s number.
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 16