Do You Hear What I Hear?

by Margaret Brownley

  Now he realized he was staring at her pretty pink lips. Recalling with a start the first time he’d kissed those same lips, he quickly pulled his gaze away. He needed to look forward, not back. Looking back was about as futile as trying to raise a downed tree.

  “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” she said. “Me, trying to figure out all those gears.”

  Forcing himself not to stare at her mouth was useless; he soon felt himself sinking into the lively blue depths of her eyes. “Maybe Bud has a loaner. I’ll ask.”

  “That would be great.”

  He indicated the one-story brick building behind her. “Hope she’s okay.”

  He’d had more than one run-in with Betty Cartwright, and none of them pleasant.

  “Me, too,” she said, backing away. She slammed the door shut and hurried up the walk. With a quick wave of the hand she vanished inside. It was like old times. Him sitting behind the wheel of his car. Her hurrying up the walk to her house. Only back then she had been flushed from his kisses.

  The last thought made him clamp down on his jaw. “Oh, no, you don’t, Rick Talbot. You’re not going there.” Pressing his foot hard on the gas pedal, he pulled into the traffic lane in an effort to put as much space between him and the past as possible.

  * * *

  Inside the one-story brick building of the Raising Cane Care Center, Sally glanced back at the double glass doors. Rick’s Jeep darted into traffic and zoomed away so quickly, she almost imagined hearing tires screech.

  He was too much of a gentleman to tell her to her face he didn’t want anything to do with her, but the speed with which he took off spoke volumes.

  That hurt. She didn’t want it to hurt but it did and there was no time to ruminate on what it meant. Not with so many problems clamoring for attention.

  If Bud didn’t come through with a car, she didn’t know what she would do. Her grandmother’s house was located several miles out of town. Without transportation, staying there would be out of the question. Depending on Rick for rides was the last thing she wanted to do. An alternative meant staying in town, an expense she hadn’t counted on.

  “How may I help you?”

  Sally turned toward the front desk. A pleasant-faced woman with bluish-gray hair smiled back.

  “I came to see my grandmother. Her name is Betty Cartwright.”

  The woman’s friendly smile suddenly seemed forced. “Oh, yes. We were told to expect a visitor. You’re . . .”

  “Sally Cartwright. I’m her granddaughter.”

  The woman had her sign a guest book and handed her a visitor’s badge. She pointed to the double doors on the left. “Your grandmother’s room is down the hall. To the left. Number forty-nine. You’ll know it when you get there.”

  Not sure what she meant by that, Sally hung the lanyard holding a visitors pass around her neck, thanked her, and pushed her way through the swinging doors. “White Christmas” was playing in the background, but Bing Crosby was soon drowned out by her grandmother’s strident voice.

  “I’m not doing that!”

  Oh, boy. By the sound of things Nana was just as difficult as always. Sally braced herself before entering the room. Nana was sitting up in bed arguing with a young woman who looked like she was about to burst into tears.

  “Not doing what, Nana?” Sally asked, leaning over the bed to drop a kiss on Nana’s parched forehead. It had been nearly a year since Sally had last seen her grandmother, but she hadn’t changed much. She was a little thinner, perhaps, but her gaze was as sharp as ever.

  “I told you not to come.”

  “When have I ever done what I was told?” Sally said lightly. She walked around the foot of the bed. Holding out her hand, she introduced herself to the young Hispanic woman, whose shiny black hair fell down her back in a single long braid.

  “I’m Anna, the physical therapist,” the woman said with a tentative shake of Sally’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Anna. Do you mind if I speak to my grandmother in private?”

  Relief washed over Anna’s face. “Not at all.” She couldn’t seem to leave the room fast enough. “I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t bother,” her grandmother called after her. “I’m not changing my mind.”

  “Nana, really. She’s only doing her job.”

  “I don’t care. It hurts and I’m not doing those ridiculous exercises. Did you notice how young she is? If all those contortions are that good for you, how come you never see a physical therapist older than thirty?”

  “If you keep giving Anna a bad time, I think we’ll see her age pretty quickly.” Sally pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “Only when I breathe. I feel like the morning after and I haven’t been anywhere.”

  “Hmm.” Sally tapped her chin. “Remember when I broke my leg ice skating and refused to walk with my crutches? You told me if I fell down and broke my other leg, not to come running to you.”

  “That was different. You were ten and I’m seventy. In any case, I was tired of carrying you.”

  “Nana, the point I’m trying to make is that you made me do what I didn’t want to do, and I was better off for it.”

  “If you came all this way to nag me, you can leave.”

  Sally folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re all right. Now, about that physical therapy—”

  “You cut your hair.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “And what are all those things on your arm.”

  Sally sighed. “Bangles, Nana. They’re called bangles. And I painted one just for you.” She reached into her purse and drew out a gift-wrapped box. “Here, open it.”

  This time Nana did what she was told without argument. She held up the hand-painted wooden bracelet and examined the floral design.

  Nana had a green thumb—a gift Sally had failed to inherit. After several unsuccessful tries, she decided to give nature a break by painting flowers instead of planting them.

  Nana worked the bracelet over her gnarled fingers and up her thin arm. “Been to the house yet?”

  “No . . . My car was in a . . . little accident.”

  Nana’s gaze sharpened. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m hoping Bud has a loaner I can use.”

  “The only cars he owns are clunkers.”

  “Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get.” Making a mental note to call the insurance company, she straightened her grandmother’s bedcovers. “How come you didn’t tell me that Mr. Talbot died?”

  Nana shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Why would you think that? You know Rick and his family were a big part of my life.” Time was, she’d thought she and Rick would marry and raise a family.

  “That was a long time ago,” Nana said with a sniff. “And you accuse me of living in the past.”

  “I’m not liv—”

  A cheery voice called out, “Mr. Williams, I told you not to bother Mrs. Cartwright. You’re not supposed to be over here. This side is for rehabilitation. You need to stay on the residential side.”

  Standing in the doorway was a tall, slender man with thick white hair, a mustache, and a wide smile directed at her grandmother. Dressed in plaid pants and red bow tie, he reminded Sally of the actor Dick Van Dyke.

  “Nana, I think he likes you,” Sally whispered.

  Nana didn’t bother lowering her voice. “Don’t be fooled by the glint in his eyes. That’s just his bifocals.”

  No sooner had an attendant led him away than the physical therapist walked in. “Are you ready to get back to work?”

  “I told you I’m not—”

  “Nana . . .”

  “Don’t Nana me. I’m not going through that torture and that’s final.”

  Sally gave Anna an apologetic look. Sorry, she mouthed.

  Chapter 8

  “Houston to Mars. Hous
ton to Mars.”

  Startled out of his reverie, Rick pulled his gaze away from his laptop screen. He was so out of it he hadn’t even heard the mill supervisor enter the office.

  His name was Willie Jackson but everyone called him PB, short for Paul Bunyan. A large muscular man with dark-brown skin and beard and hair the color of coal. The only thing missing was a blue ox. Peering out from behind a Douglas fir that would normally require two men to carry, his eyebrows rose like two half-moons over questioning brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I was . . . eh . . . lost in thought.” Rick frowned. “What is that?”

  “This here is what is commonly known as a Christmas tree. Thought we could use a little holiday cheer around here.” He set the tree in a corner.

  “I told you I don’t feel like celebrating this year.”

  Rick hadn’t always agreed with his father on how the mill should be run. But when he’d left town to strike out on his own, it caused a rift between them that Rick had regretted. Still did. Only nineteen at the time, he’d been in bad shape. Sally had just left and it seemed like she had taken his heart with her. Moving away from Heywood had been a desperate attempt to forget her.

  It wasn’t until he returned home to take care of his father in the months before he died that Rick realized how much he’d missed the mill. Knowing how the town depended on the business, he now felt obligated to save it. If such a thing was even possible.

  PB wiggled the tree back and forth in its stand before stepping back and running his hands down his flannel shirt. “That’s all the more reason why you should celebrate. A few lights and a couple of glass balls and we might convince ourselves that it’s Christmas.”

  In addition to being supervisor, PB was amateur psychiatrist, father of three strapping sons, and all-around know-it-all. He was also the mill’s most valuable employee and had been with the company for more than twenty years.

  “So what’s got you in such a funk?” PB asked, tossing a nod at the computer. “Don’t tell me we’re in worse straits than we thought.”

  Rick hesitated. “The bank turned down my loan application.”

  PB stared at him from between the earflaps of his lumberjack hat. “I can’t say I’m surprised. The way things look I wouldn’t give us a loan, either.” After a moment he added, “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

  Rick added “mind reader” to PB’s list of dubious talents. “Sally’s back in town. Here to visit her grandmother.”

  “Oh, boy.” PB shook his grizzly head “If your pa was here—”

  “He’s not.” Sally Cartwright had remained a sore subject till the day his father died.

  “But if he was, he would tell you to stay away from her. Consider yourself told.”

  Rick frowned. Among his other roles, PB was now playing substitute parent. “You have nothing to worry about.” He would stay away from her. Far, far away. Just as soon as the business with her car was settled. “She’s only in town for a short time.”

  “Good,” PB said, though his frown deepened. “You can’t blame your pa for how he felt. She almost put him out of business.”

  “That was years ago.”

  “Maybe so, but we’re still feeling the effects. If it weren’t for Sally Cartwright, you wouldn’t be sitting there staring at your computer and wondering how you’re gonna keep the company afloat.”

  Rick felt his hackles rise. The need to defend Sally was as strong today as it was all those years ago. “Had the housing market not tanked . . .” When a business went south, it was generally a series of factors at play, not just one.

  “Had Sally kept her nose out of our affairs . . .”

  It was an old argument and one Rick couldn’t win with his father and probably wouldn’t have a chance of winning now. Fortunately his cell phone rang just then, giving him an excuse not to try. He pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket. The screen told him it was a call from Bud. Already? Bud sure hadn’t wasted any time. Rick lifted the phone to his ear. The news was worse than he’d hoped. Sally’s car was totaled.

  Rick ended the call with a grimace. Staying away from her just got a whole lot tougher.

  * * *

  Sally walked along the sidewalk with her phone plastered to her ear. Rick’s news was not what she’d wanted to hear. “Totaled? What do you mean? Only the front end was damaged.”

  “Unfortunately, that happens to be the most important part of a car,” Rick said.

  She sighed. “Does Bud have a loaner I can borrow?”

  “His loaners are all out. He’ll call you when one becomes available. I dropped your suitcases off at the Star Inn. If you like we can pick them up and I’ll give you a lift to your grandmother’s house.”

  She thought for a moment. “No, that’s all right. I’ll stay in town.” At least here she could walk to Raising Cane, and right now her grandmother was her top priority.

  “If you need anything . . .”

  “Thanks, Rick.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and flipped it off.

  Santa Claus stood near the entrance of the grocery store ringing a bell. She dropped a dollar bill in his kettle.

  Santa thanked her and wished her a Merry Christmas.

  Sally managed to wish him the same, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “Why, Sally Cartwright! Is that really you?”

  She recognized the voice immediately as belonging to Kathy Wendall, an old high school friend and fellow tree hugger. During their school years, they’d shared every detail of their lives with each other. Now they weren’t even Facebook friends.

  Kathy threw her arms around her. “I was hoping Mrs. Greenwell’s retirement party would bring you back to town.”

  “Actually, I didn’t know she was retiring until I arrived. I’m here for my grandmother.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I heard she was painting her house or something and fell off a ladder.”

  “Actually, she was fixing a leak in the roof.” Sally glanced at Kathy’s flailing hand. “So tell me about your new sparkler?”

  “Which one?” Kathy asked, feigning innocence.

  “The one you keep flashing in my face.”

  Kathy held her hand out, and the large diamond on her ring finger picked up the sun in a bright gleam. The conservative solitaire diamond offered a startling contrast next to Kathy’s tattoo sleeve and purple-tipped brown hair. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  “Beautiful,” Sally said. “Who’s the lucky man?”

  “Freddy Harper.”

  “Oh, no! Not you and Freddy.” Talk about opposites. Freddy had been a star athlete in college who spent his summers hiking and winters skiing. The most athletic thing Kathy ever did was drive by a gym.

  “We’re having a June wedding. Oh, please say you’ll come.”

  “I’ll try,” Sally said, not wanting to make promises she couldn’t keep.

  Kathy pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her messages. “I have to run. I promised to meet Freddy for lunch. Maybe we can get together before you leave town again.” She sounded more self-absorbed than sincere.

  “Yes, that would be nice,” Sally said, her voice noncommittal.

  “Toodle-do. See you at Mrs. Greenwell’s retirement party.”

  Sally watched Kathy hurry away and felt oddly alone. No one was waiting for her. Nothing about the town she’d once known so well seemed familiar. For the hundredth time that day she checked her phone. Still no call from the studio. Sighing, she returned her phone to her purse. She hadn’t expected to hear anything till the first of the year. Still . . .

  She followed the path through the town square to the Star Inn. It wasn’t home, but she supposed there were worse places to spend time than an old Victorian mansion.

  The door swung open to her knock. Angel greeted her with a warm smile, scooping up the cat just as he tried to escape. “Oh, no, you don’t, you naughty boy.” She invited Sally in with a wave of her free hand. “Come in, come in and close the door
. Ah, you’ve come for your suitcases. That nice Mr. Talbot delivered them earlier. Said something about an accident. Hope there wasn’t too much damage to your car.”

  “Totaled,” Sally said, swinging the door shut.

  Angel’s eyes widened. “Mercy. What are you going to do?”

  “Right now I’m hoping I can stay here.”

  “Of course. You can have the same room as before, if that’s okay. The room isn’t booked until the eighteenth. That’s the beginning of our busy week.”

  Sally nodded. “I’ll be out by then. Thank you.”

  “A nice gentleman checked in this morning.” Angel set the cat on the floor and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Fortunately, he’s hard of hearing. Oh, dear. Speaking of which, I have to go and fetch Toby. He stayed after school for rehearsal. The school’s just across the way but I don’t feel comfortable letting him walk home alone.”

  “I’d be happy to get him,” Sally said.

  Angel looked surprised by the offer. “That would be a big help. But are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not. It will give me a chance to say hello to Mrs. Greenwell.” Maybe seeing her favorite teacher would take her mind off her troubles, at least temporarily.

  “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

  “I’ll leave as soon as I put my suitcases in my room. It looks like it’s getting ready to snow again.”

  “I just hope it doesn’t snow on the night of the pageant,” Angel said. “That would spoil everything. Not that it won’t be ruined, anyway.”

  Sally frowned. “How do you mean? Ruined?”

  “Toby wants so much for his father to see him perform. That’s all he talks about.”

  “I thought they were taping.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the same as having his father in the audience,” Angel said.

  “What about Skype? Or Facetime? There might even be some app that would let his father watch in real time.”

  Angel rolled her eyes. “Oh, you young people with all your app talk. Next they’ll have an app that will live your life for you.”