Heart to Heart

by Layce Gardner

  Amy tried to hold her mother down before she rolled off the bed. She shouted toward the door, “Help! Somebody, help me in here!”

  Two orderlies burst into the room. Susan was close behind them. The orderlies held her mother’s wrists while Susan quickly loaded a syringe.

  Amy backed away from her mother’s bed. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the scene unfolding in front of her. “I don’t know what to do,” Amy said softly. She started to cry, but tried to get hold of herself. She wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t need to add to the drama already happening.

  “Hold her still,” Susan commanded the orderlies. She leaned over Mary and administered the sedative, cooing softly, “It’s okay, Mary. It’s okay. This will make it all better.”

  Amy watched as her mother’s eyes closed slowly and her ragged breath evened out. Only then did the orderlies exit the room.

  Susan turned to Amy. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “She thought I was her sister, Jean. She told me… she told me about her dead baby. My younger brother. He died of SIDS. The police thought she did it. They thought she suffocated him in his sleep. That’s why my parents moved here. The people in the town where they lived… the people called her ‘the baby killer.’”

  Susan gazed down at Mary. “That must have been terrible. Your mother must have suffered so much.”

  Amy was impressed with Susan’s empathy. “You’re very kind. Thank you.”

  Susan didn’t respond. “She’ll sleep now.”

  “I can go?”

  “You should. The thing you need to remember is that you have to take care of yourself, too. A lot of spouses and children don’t, and it takes a toll on everyone, including the patient. You need time and space for yourself. Your mother will be fine.”

  Amy nodded. She felt raw inside, too tender to speak.

  ***

  Amy’s appointment with Jeb Marshall at the Fenton Sentinel wasn’t until one o’clock so she drove home. The scene with her mother had drained her. She pulled the Rabbit into Millie’s driveway, turned off the engine, and sat gripping the steering wheel. She was scared stiff. Did she have what it took to help her mother? Was she really going to start a life here and leave New York? A big part of her wanted to get on a plane and disappear. Another part of her wanted to put down roots here. And the guilt! My god, the guilt was overwhelming. She had run away from her mother and look what had happened. If she had stayed, if she had been the dutiful daughter, none of this would’ve happened. Well, at least the burning of the house and the hoarding would never have happened.

  There was a tap on the window. Amy jumped. It was Parker.

  “You okay? It’s going to get hot in there. I suggest you get out of the car,” Parker said.

  Amy forced a weak smile. She opened the door and slowly climbed out. Before she had even shut the door, Parker pulled her into a warm embrace. She whispered in Amy’s ear, “You can do this. I’ll help you.”

  Amy relaxed into Parker’s arms. Parker smelled of sawdust and sunshine. The medicinal smells of her mother’s room dissipated from her memory.

  Parker released her. Amy immediately felt vacant. Without Parker’s arms around her, she felt cold and alone.

  “There will be times like these with your mom, but there will be good times too,” Parker said.

  “Did Susan call you?”

  Parker looked sheepish. “She was worried about you.”

  “News travels fast around here. I better watch myself.”

  “Small town life. We take care of our own,” Parker said. She seemed to consider her next words. “You’re not angry?”

  “No. It’s nice to have people care,” Amy said.

  “Good. Feel like helping me out? My helper, Jose, had to call in. His wife is in labor. He missed the birth of his first child. His wife will cut off his balls if he isn’t there this time. She’s having twins.”

  “Yikes.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Now, you have to buy two baby presents.”

  “Oh, I’ve already done that several times over. I’m going to be their godmother,” Parker said, beaming with pleasure.

  “You’ll make a good one.” Amy studied Parker, imagining her with kids. She’d be awesome.

  “I hope so. Guess what day it is?”

  “Um… I have no idea.”

  “It’s ‘clean out Amy’s old bedroom day.’”

  “It has to be after my meeting with Jeb Marshall. I’ve got to be in good shape for that.”

  “Good shape?”

  “I know I’ll get nostalgic and teary when I finally start going through all my childhood stuff. I can’t go talk to him like that.”

  “Why are you going to see Jeb Marshall?” Parker asked.

  “You’re looking at the Fenton Sentinel’s new human interest writer. Well, probably.”

  Parker’s eyes widened. “Does that mean… Are you going to stay in Fenton?”

  Amy smiled. “At least for a while. Millie talked me into it.” She didn’t mean to sound so uncertain. But she was. Her emotions were conflicted.

  “I’ll have to remember to thank her,” Parker said.

  ***

  Amy was impressed with how much Parker had achieved. She’d been so busy throwing stuff out and going to Brookside to visit her mother, she hadn’t paid much attention to what was going on in the kitchen. “Wow, you’ve gotten a lot done,” she said.

  “Roofers are coming day after tomorrow. I don’t do roofs. I leave that to the professionals. You’ve got a great insurance agent. He’s been signing the checks with no problem. That is very motivational to the contractors I’ve hired. A lot of the time, it takes a hundred and twenty days before anyone usually pays them.”

  “Why so long?” Amy asked, staring of at the trusses of the roof. The sunlight shone in through them.

  Parker shrugged. “Because they can.”

  “It’s so pretty in here with all this light coming in. I always thought this kitchen was kind of dreary,” Amy said.

  “I can change that if you want.”

  “How?”

  “I can put in a skylight and make the windows larger. I was planning on putting in a kitchen bar too. I’ll discuss any changes with you, but I think with some updates, your house could be really nice.”

  “Yeah, with new flooring and painted walls,” Amy said, “it won’t be half bad.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” Parker handed Amy a two-by-four and pointed to the door jam. “I need you to hold it while I nail it in place.”

  “I can do that,” Amy said with a smile.

  They worked side by side until noon. Amy learned how to use a circular saw and a nail gun. It was kind of fun after she got over being scared.

  “It looks great in here,” Millie said, holding a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of sweet iced tea. She set the tray down on a stack of sheetrock.

  Parker got three lawn chairs from the backyard. There was a light breeze coming in through the open spaces and the sunlight filtered in.

  “This is nice,” Millie said. “Like a picnic.”

  “Parker’s been telling me some of her ideas for fixing up the house, so it’ll be easier to sell,” Amy said.

  Millie and Parker were ominously quiet. They exchanged long looks.

  “What?” Amy asked.

  Parker swallowed then said evenly, “We’re getting attached to you. If you sell the house we’re afraid you’ll leave us.”

  Millie added, “By we, she means her.”

  Parker dipped her head and shyly looked at Amy. “She’s right. I would miss you.”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere right now,” Amy said. She took a big bite of her sandwich. She was secretly pleased that Parker wanted her to stay. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody cared that much about her.

  ***

  Jeb Marshall was in his late fifties. His hair was the color of straw
and hung over his collar like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to go the ponytail route or get it cut. He had some gray around his temples. He had the rugged good looks of Robert Redford. He wore faded blue jeans and scuffed boots that thudded across the worn wooden floor of his office.

  “I wasn’t sure you were coming,” he said, extending his large hand toward Amy.

  Her smaller hand disappeared into his. Despite being so much larger, his hand was gentle. “Am I late?” Amy asked.

  “Nope. You’re right on time. Millie can be persuasive, but she is human despite her ideas to the contrary. I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  “Well, I will admit I was taken aback momentarily,” Amy said.

  “I Googled you, you know. You’re more than qualified for this job,” Jeb said. He moved back to his desk. “Have a seat.”

  Amy sat in an old leather chair that looked like it belonged in a man cave—more easy chair than office chair. She sank into its soft cushions. “I brought my resume,” Amy said. It wasn’t as updated as she would’ve liked, but she hadn’t had a chance to add her latest accomplishments.

  Jeb took the offered sheet of paper and scanned it for less than five seconds. He set it aside, saying, “Yep, like I said, you’re more than qualified. You’ve got just the kind of versatility that I need. Making human interest stories interesting is harder than it looks. That’s why I want to start you off with the Bingo-a-thon. In this town that’s big news. Hell, half the town turns out for it.”

  “Okay. Does that mean I have the job?” Amy asked, wanting to make certain.

  Jeb laughed. “Hell, you had it before you got here.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “You want the job, right?” Now he was the one who seemed uncertain.

  “Of course! But I think you need to know that I’m not certain how long I’ll be here. In Fenton, I mean.”

  “Millie told me about that. I’m willing to keep you as long as you’re here. I’m sorry to hear about your mother, but you’re a good daughter for being here for her. That counts for a lot in my book.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll give you a quick tour of the place and then let’s head on down to Molly’s Bakery and celebrate with a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. Today’s special is cherry. You like pie, right?” Jeb said, getting up.

  “I love pie.”

  “Good. I don’t trust anybody who doesn’t,” Jeb said, patting his belly. “Gotta be careful of those calories, though.”

  “Doesn’t look like it’s done you any harm,” Amy said, getting up.

  “I’ve got a ranch. Cattle, pigs, goats, chickens, barn cats, house cats, and four dogs. Keeps me busy.”

  “I’ll say. It makes me tired just thinking about it.”

  Jeb opened the door and gestured for her to step through. “Yep, I gotta keep my energy up. That’s where the pie comes in.” He closed the door behind them.

  They took the marble staircase with its elaborately carved cherry wood banister down to the first floor and through a set of heavy wooden doors that led into a hallway. One wall of the hallway was soundproof glass and behind it ran the printing machines. Big mechanical arms swung up and around, printing, folding, and spewing out newsprint.

  Jeb waved at the men running the machines. They waved back genially. That impressed Amy. She’d always been able to tell a good boss from a bad one by the way the workers interacted with him or her.

  Jeb led Amy toward the exit. “My family has run this paper for three generations,” he said. “Some of those guys in there have been here through the generations as well. I’ve got sons of fathers that my father hired. Hell, we’re just one big family. Don’t get me wrong, we’re dysfunctional at times, but nothing a good piece of pie can’t fix.” He chuckled.

  “So, you’re the owner and the editor of the paper?”

  “Guilty as charged. What I really like about you is that writing for magazines has taught you brevity. I don’t mind a little writing long, gives me something to work with. Sometimes I get these fresh out of school kids in here and they write me the great American novel when all I need is how the construction of the 509 county road is coming along in two hundred words or less.”

  “That used to be me. I caught on quick, though. Making rent is a great motivator in changing your style to fit the job.”

  “You got that right,” Jeb said.

  Coming out of the Sentinel’s doors, Amy noticed the lettering above the double doors, proclaiming it as “The Marshall Building.”

  “You own the building too?” she asked.

  “My great-granddaddy built it. He wanted a building that would endure.”

  Jeb led the way around the corner to Molly’s Bakery at a leisurely pace. He gave her a bit of history on the other old buildings. “We have a downtown association that helps with the upkeep. The county gives us a tax break for doing it. They want to keep the downtown vibrant for tourists and college students. So far it’s working.”

  “It’s better than when I lived here,” Amy said.

  Jeb stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and snapped his fingers. “That’ll be your next human interest story. After the Bingo-a-thon.”

  “What story?”

  “About how the town has changed since you’ve been away. You know, an outsider’s perspective. People want to be proud of where they live. You’ll give them a reason to be proud. We all get enough crap news. You’re gonna be a breath of fresh air, pardon the cliché.”

  “Forgiven.”

  The door of Molly’s Bakery tinkled when they entered. Heads turned and people held up hands in greeting. Without preamble, Jeb called out, “You all, I want you to meet our new human interest reporter, Amy Warner. You can send your suggestions for stories in her direction. Now, I want you all to play nice. I do not, I repeat, do not want any snarky letters to the editor about Amy. You are to greet her with open arms. Understood?”

  Heads nodded and eyes looked her up and down. Amy turned scarlet. She waved weakly.

  “Jeb Marshall, you old coot, you’ve embarrassed that girl from the tips of her toes to the hairs on her head,” said a woman. She was wearing baker’s whites and looked a lot like Mrs. Santa Claus. “Darlin’, you sit right over here and I’ll get you a piece of pie and a strong cup of coffee. You’ll be needing it hanging around with him.” She pointed to two seats at the counter. “I’m Molly, by the way. I own this here place.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Amy said.

  Molly shook a finger at Jeb, saying, “And you… you better watch that mouth of yours.”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll try to conduct myself in a more gentlemanly manner,” Jeb said.

  “Or I’ll be putting a call through to Clementine and report you,” Molly said, winking at Amy.

  “Just bring me my pie and coffee first,” Jeb said.

  Jeb and Amy sat at the counter. Jeb said, “Clementine, if you haven’t figured it out, is my wife. She rules the roost. She and Molly are best friends.”

  “Ever since the third grade,” Molly said. “I still remember you pulling her pigtails.” She poured them two cups of coffee and put a small pitcher of cream in front of them.

  “Allegedly,” Jeb corrected, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I was accused, but never caught in the act of pigtail pulling.”

  “Jeb Marshall, you sat right behind her. Who else could it have been?”

  He laughed. “I’m never going to confess.” He poured sugar, lots of it, into his coffee.

  Amy added cream and much less sugar to her cup.

  Molly walked down the line of customers at the counter and topped everyone’s coffee off, whether they wanted it or not.

  Amy wondered what it must have felt like to have known your wife since the third grade. She didn’t even have friends she had known for that long. She left for college and never came back for the reunions. She couldn’t even remember whom she’d gone to school with in the third grade. The whole period was a blur that s
he had blocked out.

  Molly returned with the pie menu. “Today’s special is cherry a la mode,” she said. “Fresh out of the oven.”

  “I’ll take it,” Jeb said.

  “Like I didn’t know that. Just let me know what you’ll be having when you’re ready, honey,” she said to Amy.

  “I’ll have the same as Jeb. Cherry is my favorite,” Amy said.

  “Coming right up,” Molly said.

  The pie was amazing and if Amy could’ve fit a second piece in her tummy she would have.

  “What’d I tell you?” Jeb said, pushing his empty pie plate away.

  Molly came by with more coffee. “What’d you think?” she asked Amy.

  “That was the best pie I’ve ever eaten,” Amy said. “No lie.”

  Molly beamed. “You’re going to fit right in here. It’s a surefire sign whether a person belongs in this town by the way they approach pie.” She nodded her head firmly.

  “I’m a pie lover,” Amy said and she meant it. That was another thing she was learning—people spoke their minds here. There was no subterfuge, no padding the truth. They told you the truth whether you wanted to hear it or not. Amy liked that. Every day it seemed she found another thing she liked about Fenton.

  Picking up their empty plates, Molly squinted her eyes at Amy. “Are you covering the Bingo-a-thon?”

  “She sure is,” Jeb answered for her. “It’s her first story. Kind of a tough crowd to be cutting her teeth on, but she’s got to start somewhere.”

  “Millie Fitzsimmons promised to take me for a practice run tomorrow,” Amy said. “She’s going to show me the ropes.”

  “Millie has won the title three years running. She’s an expert,” Molly said. “The best dang bingo player I’ve ever seen. Lightening-fast reflexes.”