“Ainsley!”
Katelyn jumped in her chair, spilling her coffee onto her pink pants.
“Oh dear!” Ainsley grabbed the linen napkin on the tray and rushed to Katelyn’s side. “Blot, don’t rub,” she instructed her. “I’ll go get a stain stick.”
“Ainsley!”
“Who is that?” Katelyn asked, blotting rapidly and looking toward the living room area.
Ainsley cleared her throat. “That’s um, that’s … Melb. I’m taking care of her while her … her house is being … purged of excess company.”
“Oh.”
“Nice lady,” Ainsley said quickly. “She’s just pregnant and—” “Ainsley!”
“I’ll be there in a minute!” Ainsley shouted, then gasped at her own loss of temper. She looked down at Katelyn, who was still blotting, now with disapproving eyebrows. “I’m sorry,” Ainsley said. “I didn’t mean to shout.”
“Listen,” Katelyn said, dropping the napkin onto the silver platter and standing, “I better get going.” She pulled a card out of her designer handbag. “This is my number. Call me when it’s a better time for you, and we’ll talk about the details.”
Ainsley looked at it. Her lipstick color matched the pink lettering. Katelyn carried her bag over her shoulder, sliding on a pair of gloves before she allowed Ainsley to open the front door for her. “It was a pleasure,” she said, and trotted down the front steps. Ainsley watched the petite woman pull herself into an oversized SUV and disappear behind the tinted glass as she shut the door.
“Ainsley! Where are you?”
Ainsley sighed, slammed the door shut, and stalked toward the living room, where Melb hadn’t moved an inch. A line of crumbs from the Strudels sat upon her chest.
“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes,” Melb complained.
“I was in the middle of something.”
Melb sat up, the crumbs falling onto the couch. She dusted them onto the carpet. “You’re not going to believe this!” she said.
That was the truth. She couldn’t believe it. What one person could do to an entire, perfectly organized household! At least Melb had actually gone to get her own Strudel from the kitchen.
“I felt the baby kick!”
Ainsley couldn’t even muster up any kind of expression except the irritated one that had seized all her features.
“Did you hear me?” Melb asked.
“The baby is the size of half a peanut,” Ainsley said firmly, holding up her pinky finger. “You can’t feel it yet,”
“You just know it all, don’t you? You have this idea of how you think the whole world should run, and if it doesn’t run according to your highly developed schedule, then somebody somewhere is doing something wrong.”
Ainsley wanted to kick something. So instead she ran upstairs, slammed the door, and fell onto her bed in a heap of tears. It wasn’t yet eleven, and she already felt exhausted enough to sleep! And she still wasn’t dressed. She tore off her robe and lay in her pajamas, wiping her eyes.
Melb Cornforth Stepaphanolopolis was testing Ainsley’s longstanding idea that she was, indeed, the perfect hostess.
Wolfe walked along Main, to the corner of Pine, where there was a wonderful view of the countryside. He used to do this when he was brainstorming a book. It was hard convincing people that staring at nothing in particular was the majority of how a writer worked, but back then, he didn’t have too many people to convince. His life had changed drastically over the last several months. He’d gone from isolation to having a wife and hopefully children soon. He’d inherited a stable father-in-law and an imaginative brother-in-law, but nevertheless, it was a family. He’d learned how to be a friend and in return had gained friends. What he’d lost was his ability to write. And standing at the corner where so many ideas had often come to him, it was strange being able to think only about what he was unable to do anymore.
With the Spirit of God filling him now, was there no room left for a good story? He was certainly glad to have joined the faith. It had brought him the peace he’d searched for his whole life, but what he seemed to lack was direction. Why wasn’t God showing him what he was supposed to write? Every word he attempted seemed a worthless effort. It was as if an entire chapter of his life was over.
He heard a car behind him. Turning, he saw Martin pull up to the curb and get out.
“Morning, Wolfe,” he called as he approached.
Wolfe met him halfway. “Hi Martin. How are you?”
“Fine. What are you doing all the way out here on Pine Street?”
“Working.”
“Okay.” Martin stuck his keys in his pocket. “Well, since you’re not doing anything, can we talk?”
“Sure.”
Martin directed Wolfe toward a park bench nestled against a grassy knoll. That was one of the most delightful things about Skary—how many benches one could find. It had been Martin’s idea. He’d proposed that when a loved one died, instead of sending flowers, you could contribute to the Memory Bench program. A new bench would be put in, and your loved one’s name would be put on a plaque in the middle of the back of the bench. It was a huge success, and Martin said there were now more than a hundred benches all around the town. Even on his long walks, Wolfe never had trouble finding a place to sit.
They sat down on the memory of Mr. Elijah Samuel Smith.
“What’s going on?” Wolfe inquired, noticing Martin’s dreadful expression.
“It’s kind of hard to talk about.” Martin’s wringing of the hands was proof of that.
“Well, whatever it is, you can certainly confide in me.”
Martin gazed at the sky. “I’m in love.”
“Really?”
“I don’t talk much about my love life. Mostly because I haven’t had one in the past twenty-five years. I just believe it’s a private matter. I don’t think it’s right to go around talking about it.”
Wolfe nodded, realizing they were getting ready to talk about his love life.
“But,” he continued, “the problem is that I’m so out of touch with dating that I’m afraid I’m going to need some advice. What kind of advice can you give me?”
“Me?”
“Sure. You managed to snag the hopelessly romantic Ainsley Parker, so surely you’ve got some sort of charming secret you can spread around.”
Wolfe shrugged. “It was by the grace of God, Martin. I did everything wrong. The only thing I had going for me was the fact that Ainsley’s other option was the overly ambitious vet, Garth Twyne, who managed to keep pushing her away by his underhanded tactics.”
“Oh, now, don’t be so humble. I know you had to have done something to keep Ainsley’s heart.”
Wolfe tried to think. “Well, I guess I was just myself. I tried to let her get to know the real me, even though I was pretty sure that would make her turn and run.”
“But you had the advantage of being a famous horror writer. I mean, as much as she despised what you did to the town, it had to at least be intriguing. I, on the other hand, am an accountant. I’m much more comfortable around a multiplication table than a dinner table, especially with a beautiful woman sitting across from me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Martin. You have a lot to offer. If it weren’t for you, this town would have been gone a long time ago.”
“Managing a town is one thing. Managing a woman’s heart is quite another.”
“Well, you seem sensitive to the fact that women take a special touch. That’s at least a step in the right direction.”
“I just wish that there was something dazzling about me, you know? That movie star quality, I guess.”
Wolfe thought for a moment. “Martin, let’s talk about a person you admire. Maybe there’re a few things you can borrow from that person. You shouldn’t change who you are, but you could certainly take notes and perhaps find some of those qualities hidden deep within yourself.”
“That’s awfully philosophical, but I guess I could gi
ve it a try. Why not?”
“Okay, good. Name someone you truly admire. Someone that embodies what it means to be a great man.”
Martin thought for a long time, staring at the sidewalk in front of them, his arms crossed over the top of his chest. He looked to be thinking so hard, Wolfe didn’t want to interrupt him with a suggestion or two, like perhaps Churchill, or one of his new favorites, C. S. Lewis.
“Got it,” Martin finally said.
“Great. Who?”
“Butch.”
“Butch?”
“Butch.”
“Butch Parker?”
“Yeah.”
“Ainsley’s brother?”
“Yes, Wolfe. How many Butch Parkers do we know?”
“Right. Butch. Okay, fine. So what is it about Butch that you find so admirable?” Wolfe couldn’t wait for his answer, because as far as he was concerned, Butch was one of the wackiest guys he’d ever known.
“Well, for starters, he’s a complete stud.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s no secret what a dangerous job Butch has. I mean, he can’t give a lot of details, but we know enough to know that man has got nerves of steel and guts made of iron.”
Wolfe closed his eyes. People really believed this stuff? Couldn’t anyone see through Butch’s Clint Eastwood facade?
“So … you want to have a dangerous job.”
“Not per se. I’m Walter Mitty’s timid brother.” Martin slumped. “But I would love to have some of those stories, you know? Just for some dinner conversation. Have you seen the way a room crowds around Butch, even when he’s simply talking about the weather? Plus, I wouldn’t mind having his hair. I have no idea how it spikes like that, but I’ve tried gel, and that’s not the magic formula.”
“Listen, this woman that you’re in love with wants to know you. And besides, you have some stories to tell. They may not be filled with covert operations that may or may not be embellished, but Martin, you’re an admirable man. Do you believe this woman is interested in you?”
“We’ve been on one date. I really enjoyed myself, and she seemed to as well.” Martin turned to him. “And believe it or not, I did it on a whim. I just asked her out. No warning or anything. Just said it. Fell out of my mouth like a bread crumb.”
“See? And she said yes, and you two had fun, right?”
“Right.” He slumped again. “But I haven’t had the nerve to call her again. Every time I think about doing it, my stomach cramps up, and I have to lie under a heating pad for twenty minutes and then go do bath salts.”
“First of all, you’ll probably want to keep the bath salts thing out of general conversation … just until you get to know her better.”
“Yeah?”
“But most of all, just be yourself and let her know that you really like being around her. Women are drawn to men whose whole focus revolves around them.”
“So should I call, ask her out again?”
“Definitely. And there’s no reason not to bring her a small bouquet of roses. Don’t go overboard, because there’s a fine line between enthusiastic date and aspiring stalker, but just let her know in small ways that you think she’s special. As you grow closer, you’ll learn what she loves, and you can cater a few special things to her liking.”
A small smile spread across Martins lips, and Wolfe could see a thousand ideas springing inside his head. “She does seem to like to go to nice restaurants.”
“If she likes German, there’s a great place called Ingrid’s. I’ll get you directions.”
They stood, and Martin pumped his hand like they’d just closed a multimillion-dollar deal. “Thank you, Wolfe! I knew I could count on you.
“You’re welcome.”
“Not a word to anybody. Promise?”
“Sure,” Wolfe grinned. “But can’t you tell me who this dream woman is?”
“Not yet. One step at a time. But I can assure you of one thing. As soon as I know she’s mine, I’ll tell you her name and shout it from the rooftops!” He started toward his car and then turned back and said, “Say, if you’re still having trouble coming up with a book idea, maybe you could write one about how to get a woman. That’s gotta be a hot seller, right?”
Martin hurried off to his car, waving as he drove away. Wolfe sat back down on the bench, wondering if he’d just been demoted to the status of self-help guru.
CHAPTER 13
IT WAS FIVE O’CLOCK in the afternoon when Ainsley finally got herself dressed. By that time, it was useless to put on any makeup. She was just going to have to wash it off in five hours. As she pulled her hair into a ponytail, she couldn’t help but think of how together that woman was this morning. Katelyn. That was even a pulled-together kind of name. Ainsley was always a name that wasn’t easy to explain. And hardly anyone ever pronounced it right on the first try. “Paisley with an n and minus the p” was the only way she could describe it.
She dusted off her jealousy and went downstairs. Wolfe was somewhere in town trying to find himself, and then would be at the bookstore most likely. She made a list of dinners for the week and then wrote out her grocery list.
At the store, she tried to keep focused, but it was hard. On one hand, she hated what all this was doing to her relationship with Melb. Yet she was so exhausted trying to manage all that was required in that relationship, could she imagine another day with Melb in her house?
She was picking through an assortment of bell peppers when someone cleared her throat behind her. When she turned, there was Melb.
“Hi,” Ainsley said quietly.
“Hello.” Melb threw her nose in the air.
Ainsley tried to keep her composure. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning, okay?”
“You sound real sorry.”
“What do you want from me, Melb? I’m doing my best to accommodate you. But you’re pushing your limits.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was a limit to friendship.”
Ainsley bit her tongue and took a deep breath. “You’re welcome to stay at my house as long as you need to.”
“No need. I’m going to call Ollie’s cousin, Lois. She’ll take us in.”
Ainsley clutched the plastic bag in her hand. “Melb! Stop being such a martyr. If you could just understand that … that.
“That what, Ainsley?”
There was going to be a way to explain this, and it had to be done with great care. “It’s like this. I have my world. You have your world. My world is very … structured. You are more … carefree. I’m just having a hard time adjusting to some of your personality traits, traits that are often confined to one’s home.”
“You’re saying I’m a slob.”
“I did not even use a word close to that!”
“Well, from now on, we can keep our personality traits to ourselves. I’ll have Oliver come by to get our things later tonight.”
Ainsley watched her sweep past, feeling both relieved and guilty. She closed her eyes, trying to remember exactly what Jesus had said about dying to yourself, your needs, your comforts. Yes, that’s right. He said die to yourself, your needs, your comforts. She turned, watching Melb walk toward the meat counter.
Without any more hesitation, she chased after her.
“Melb! I’m sorry. Please, come stay with me again. I won’t be such a grump. I promise I’ll do better. Please, I want you to stay.”
Melb stood with her back turned. Ainsley hoped it wasn’t too late. Had she offended her friend forever?
“Melb?”
Melb slowly turned around, but when Ainsley saw her face, she gasped. She was as pale as the white floor on which they stood. “Melb!” Ainsley grabbed her shoulder.
Melb collapsed into her arms.
“Come in,” Lois said. Martin tried not to stare, but she looked stunning tonight. Her lips looked amazing painted in red, and not everyone could pull off pink eye shadow at the same time. Martin hadn’t come into her home on the last date. He di
dn’t think it was appropriate for a first date. Of course, he wasn’t sure what was appropriate for a date anymore. With women’s lib and all that, it could easily confuse a man like Martin. He’d browsed Hardy’s new bookstore for some tips, but even that lost him. There was a lot of talk about different planets, but nothing of practical use.
“I’ll just be a moment,” Lois said. “I need to get my shawl.”
Martin’s insides tickled. A shawl. This was one classy lady. Martin walked around the living room, admiring her knickknack collection. On top of an upright piano, a collection of old pictures were gathered together like they were going to sing bar tunes. Martin looked carefully at each one, recognizing Lois in most of them. He studied a black-and-white picture of a baby, smiling broadly considering the lack of teeth.
“That’s my ex-husband,” Lois said from behind him.
Martin glanced back at the picture. “The baby?”
“It was the only picture of him I could stand to look at. It reminds me he was once an innocent human being instead of the bloodsucking monster he became. It also reminds me of the level of maturity I was forced to deal with for so many years.”
“I was married once too.”
“So you understand how painful it can be when a marriage falls apart.”
“Sure.” Martin stared at a clock across the room. “It hurts when someone just stops loving you.”
“It hurts even more when they decide to love someone else.”
Martin tilted his head to the side and took Lois’s hands. Trying to get past the fact that he was actually touching her, he said, “I’m so sorry, Lois. Did he leave you for a younger woman? Some men are bad about that.”
“He left me for an older woman.” She dropped her hands from his. “You got left for an older woman?”
A wash of bitterness hardened her features. “I hear these women complain about losing their husbands to younger women, and I just want to scream. I say, ‘Look, deal with it. Try being left for an older woman, and see what that does to your sense of self.’ “ She looked at Martin and smiled. “But I’m long past it.”
“Oh. Good.” Martin took a step back and said, “You look so lovely this evening. And you should know, I’m taking us to a new restaurant tonight. Were going to the next county.”
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