“It was miserable.” Brooke’s giggles are contagious.
Pastor Craig pushes back his plate, he’s laughing so hard. “I didn’t dare tell Brooke I saw bear marks on a tree, certain we’d end up being a black bear’s lunch before we even found a cabin. The kicker?” He picks up his fork and points it in my direction. “We finally saw a cluster of cabins. All empty. It was Tuesday, not the weekend, when the hunters would come to town. John rescued us with his four-wheeler. The best part? He never said ‘I told you so.’”
Mashed potatoes fall off Sara’s fork, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Oh, Pastor Craig, don’t give my John too much credit. He broke into laughter every time he recalled your plight that day.”
Our host moves his dish forward and picks up his utensil. “You know, Sara, I can’t blame him. I was clueless.” He chews on some green beans and then shifts toward me. “Enough talk about us. Jenna, how about you? Sara shared bits and pieces, but how did you get to the Adirondack Mountains?”
I take a small sip of milk. “I had this wonderful retired neighbor growing up, Florence Owens. She was more than that, though. She was my babysitter, but as I grew, she was a mentor. Her influence was so great I knew when I went to college I wanted to work with senior citizens.”
“Did Florence encourage you to move here?” Brooke asks, her chin resting on the palms of her hands.
“In a way, she did. Florence passed away less than a year ago from breast cancer. One of the last things she said to me was, ‘Jenna, don’t make my mistakes. I wasted too much time thinking about life instead of enjoying it. Seize opportunities. Live large. Take chances. Surrender fear.’”
“She sounds like a wise woman.” Pastor Craig scoops more vegetables. “I’ve officiated too many funerals where families had little to say about their loved ones and their passions, goals, or even interests.”
Ben’s focus seems to be on his plate, as he hasn’t said a thing. His white oxford shirt rests crisp and taut against his broad chest.
Does he starch those shirts? Does he do his own ironing? How does a town grocer get a broad, built chest like that, anyway?
I blink a couple times to re-focus and continue. “Her death hit me hard enough that I wallowed for a few months. Then I realized I didn’t want to be twenty-five, living at my parents’ house completely within my comfort zone. That same night I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself.” I pause and look to Sara. “So, I went online looking at a job-posting site and saw the ad Sara placed for the center. The rest is history.” I choose not to look at Ben now that I know Sara announced the job in rebellion.
“Are the mountains a culture shock? This must be quite the transition from the rust belt.” Brooke uses a term regarding Northeast Ohio and Western Pennsylvania.
“I’ll be fine. I admit I didn’t think about my car not being up to the task in the snow and mud, but Will offered to help, and so did Sara.” I move my chair back, stealing a glance at Ben.
He makes skating designs with his fork on his plate.
Sara gives me a pat on the hand. “You know, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. You should have my John’s truck. It’s just sitting in the…”
Ben throws the fork down. “Grandma, that’s Grandpa’s truck.”
Pastor Craig stands. “Think it’s time to get some of that cherry pie Brooke made this morning.”
Apparently he’s off duty for this family counseling session.
Sara needs no help. “I’m aware of that. But—” She blinks a few times, pauses, and then continues. “We’re to be good stewards. I don’t feel right knowing Jenna has a need, and I have the provision. The truck is sitting in my garage collecting dust.”
Silence, chased by thick tension, follows. Brooke breaks the pause when she clears her throat. “Anyone want pie?”
Ben flashes me a glare and stands, facing our hostess. “Brooke, thank you for dinner. Please give Pastor my thanks, and apologies. I need to be going.”
She lifts her head, but the smile that seems sad returns.
Ben nods to Sara and stalks off, a door slam his final say.
Once again it looks like I’ve offended Ben Regan. Hating silence, I can’t help but throw out awkward conversation. “Well, Sara, I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t tired, or I wouldn’t have a ride home.”
Chapter Four
First day at the senior center and daybreak reveals nothing but wet snow. For late April, that’s a rare sight for this Ohio girl. Better pack shoes and wear boots.
I start my cappuccino machine, return to my room, and head for my still sparsely filled closet. “Okay. I want to dress well for the big day, but I still haven’t unpacked all my clothes. What to wear…”
An hour later, I park in the senior center’s gravel lot and exit wearing dark brown dress pants with a tan short sleeved blouse and a cocoa-colored embroidered jacket. “If clothes make the woman, Lord, let this be one confident ensemble.”
Holding the master key feels official. I place it in the lock and pause before rotating the key. “Jenna Anderson, you are the new Speculator Falls Senior Center Director. You can do this. Here goes nothing.” I close my eyes, set on celebrating my new Adirondack life. “Thank you God for—”
“Do you need me to take a picture?” A sarcastic deep voice kills my experience. “It’s your first day of work. You didn’t land on the moon.”
A man about seventy-five, standing on the uneven sidewalk, decked out in flannel, has a sour look on his face. He doesn’t appear to be kidding.
With a welcoming smile, I unlock the door, push it open, and gesture the cranky senior inside. “Good morning to you. How about you wait on the camera? My hair is more photogenic at lunchtime.”
He lumbers past me, muttering, and a waft of Old Spice trails behind.
“I’m Jenna. You must be—” Flicking lights on, then heading to the thermostat, I dig through my purse to find the plug-in deodorizers I packed.
“Howard Wheaton.” He pauses and gives a glance that screams disappointment. “I know who you are. Saw you run down the flower box outside of town.” He shuffles to the flat screen TV and switches on the news.
Good Morning America. Well, the curmudgeon and I have common ground.
Howard starts pulling chairs from their stacks against the back wall and unfolds them. Grumpy guy, but he knows the order for the day. “I don’t see any flower boxes here, so I think the senior center is out of danger with you running the place.”
It’s not a total vote of confidence, but I’ll take it.
While Howard and I unstack the chairs in silence, a tall, sixty-ish woman with black hair curled under, wearing the thickest lens on a pair of glasses that I’ve ever seen, thrusts a bouquet of roses in my arms. “Good morning, and welcome!” She gives me a quick hug, the thorns pressing against my jacket.
“These are gorgeous. Thank you.” I step back and glance at the flowers. Even with the embrace, they remain full. “I’m Jenna Anderson.”
“Oh, I know. I saw you at church. I’m Shirley McIlwain.” She gives me a firm, but not Sara Bivins strong, handshake while I notice her huge eyes bulging my way.
How on Earth does she drive with those thick specs?
“Now, the important introduction here is to let you know I’m the volunteer receptionist, and I’m ready to get started.” Shirley scoots out a chair at the end of the table closest to the door and places her purse on the seat. She pulls out a pencil and small notebook from her handbag. “I kept the attendance sheets from when Trish Maxwell was the director.” The self-proclaimed office manager looks at Howard for a moment then scribbles out Howard’s name and slaps the pencil back on the desk. “I helped Trish with everything from attendance and lunch count to her year-end report. I’m sure you’ll want me to continue, correct?”
I don’t know my plan past lunch. “I’m not exactly sure how I’ll need your help, but I know I do. I want this place to thrive, and it’s going to be a team effort.”
Inside the kitchen, Shirley relieves me of the roses and the vase and moves to the counter near the sink. “Well, almost no one. Her boyfriend was devastated. They’d been together most of high school and on and off through college. Ben was sure he’d marry her. No wonder he hates the center.” Shirley arranges the flowers in the vase, talking away and unaware I left my jaw between the kitchen door and the sink a few paces back.
Shirley confides in not only all the names, but the typical senior center routine for each attendee. As she predicted, Howard heads home after lunch. Will stays long enough after delivering the meals to chat about my first day.
“Howard is definitely memorable, but I think I’ll grow on him.” I take a final sip of my lemonade.
Will nods and spears a grape piece from his fruit cup. “He’s as harsh as a cotton ball. You’ll have him singing your praises in no time. Probably faster than Ben Regan will compliment you, to be honest.” He puts the so-called dessert into his mouth.
“Shirley also introduced me to Roxy Tarantelli. She talked most of the morning about her time as a Rockette.”
Will wipes his goatee with a napkin before placing the paper on his empty tray. “She’s something else. A flamboyant woman for sure. Any time I’ve stayed for lunch here after delivery once she starts talking about her dancing days the regulars turn off their hearing aids. I think her stories are kind of interesting, but I guess she likes to talk about those days. A lot.”
I make mental notes from his rundown while I take care of my tray. Once he finishes and does the same, I gesture for him to follow me to the kitchen cupboards.
The random door I choose to open squeaks. “Is there anything from previous events that I should definitely keep?”
“Fruit cups.”
It’s impossible not to grimace. “I know you’re right, but I hate how for purchasing they categorize it as a lunch dessert. Chocolate is a treat. Not a fruit cup.” I close the cupboards and turn back to Will. “So, Shirley tells me Trish’s leaving was abrupt.”
He nods. “Sure was. I think most of us knew her heart was set on leaving Speculator Falls, but the job opportunity came up fast.” He scratches his goatee. “But Ben, he took it hard. All our families grew up here or are a part of the area somehow. Trish and Ben knew each other for years. I’m not even sure when they started dating.” He stops mid-scratch to stifle a yawn. “Probably in high school. Ben assumed they would get married after college, but he didn’t think to ask. She had her sights on bigger places, and just like that, she was gone.”
Between his grandfather’s death and Trish’s exit, Ben’s hatred for the center makes a lot of sense.
After Will leaves I spend the remainder of the day introducing myself to the Bingo group and in my office reading Trish’s budget notes. The more I read her exaggerated flowery handwriting, the more my thoughts turn to Ben. Maybe I should visit him at JB’s and extend a truce.
Once I close the center, I settle in the truck and turn on the ignition. Ten minutes later I’m at the only grocery store in Speculator Falls, JB’s. After locking the truck and walking through the slow automatic double doors, I’m shocked at the small size.
There are a total of eight aisles. The produce “department” is to my right where a boy I recognize from church is arranging cucumbers. He gives me a shy smile.
I place my keys in my purse, return my focus to the teen help, and offer a friendly grin. “I’m looking for Ben Regan?”
“He’s in the canned vegetable aisle to your left.” The boy pivots and points. His black wavy hair bobs as he swings back to the cucumbers.
“Thanks.”
Ben is bent down, re-arranging cans. It’s impossible to miss his strong physique. I steal a long look before clearing my throat to gain his attention.
“Good eve—” Ben stops his routine greeting and turns his head toward me. “Jenna.”
“Hey, Ben. I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
He slowly stands and takes me by the elbow, his grip causing my jacket and sweater to chafe my skin. He ushers me deeper into the aisle. “Sorry, can’t take you inside my office. I’m the only adult working, and I don’t want to leave my junior helper alone with customers in the store.” He releases my arm.
I resist checking my arm for sweater- burn. “No need to apologize. It’s me that needs to say I’m sorry. I feel like I’m stomping all over your life just by being in town. I don’t mean to. This entire transition is important to me. But I don’t want to make enemies.” I look into the purest brown eyes, caught off guard that his gaze is on me. I look away for a moment and then return my focus to him. “I won’t accept your grandfather’s truck.”
Ben swallows hard and then gives a soft cough before wiping moisture from his eye. “I guess we’re playing the ‘sorry’ game. It’s my turn. I don’t do well with change, and you’re a lot of it. Grandma’s right about the truck. In time I’ll get used to it.”
My throat refuses to swallow. I didn’t expect such openness from the man. He shoves his hands in his pockets and fidgets. I extend my arm to give him a light-hearted shove, when a customer appears at the head of the aisle and comes forward, making me retract the gesture.
Kyle Swarthmore is to my right. “Miss Jenna Anderson. Did I hear you need a vehicle? I would love to help our senior center director.”
Although he’s talking to me, his narrowing dark eyes are fixed on Ben, who is equally steely in his return gaze.
“Oh, I’m good, Kyle. Really.” I smile, but no one in this stare down is going to see it.
Kyle breaks contact and turns to me. “I want to help. I have two trucks up here. I’ll give you one.”
Ben squirms. He digs in his pockets. I try to clarify Kyle’s offer. “Give? Don’t you mean lend?”
Kyle’s hand encircles mine, and his squeeze is tight. The grasp lasts a good five seconds longer than a simple key exchange should. When he frees up the grip, his key is in my hand. I look at it like I’ve never seen one before.
Ben rips his hand from his pocket and makes a grab for the key. While the key falls to the floor, he says, “That’s so generous of you, as usual, Kyle, but Jenna said she’s set. She’s taking Grandpa’s truck.” Ben bends down to retrieve Kyle’s key, and slaps it in his rival’s hand.
Kyle clears his throat. “Thing is, Ben, I’m offering Jenna something long term. I didn’t hear the same from you. Which doesn’t surprise me. Nothing in your life lasts too long, now does it?”
I expect a fist to connect with Kyle’s sneer. Perhaps that’s because I observed enough of those “discussions” growing up in Youngstown, and they always ended with bloody noses. But Ben doesn’t reply, doesn’t even twitch. Instead, he narrows his eyes and locks on once more with Kyle.
The tension is too much for me. “You both are so kind, really. Kyle, I’m going to pass on your truck because Sara offered first.” I clear my throat. “Ben, sometime this week I’ll have Carla come get me or something so we can complete the vehicle exchange. Good talking to you both. Good night.”
I take a step back, but Ben reaches for my left arm. His clenched fist lands in my right palm. The quick touch between us carries on long enough for me to appreciate the firm yet gentle grasp. Flashes of his fit build heighten my admiration. His daily strength training from box loading and unloading must do wonders.
He unclasps the fist, revealing a key. “Here, Jenna, take my Grandpa’s key.” He pauses and glares at Kyle. “Consider it a deposit of sorts until we make arrangements to get his truck.”
Kyle gives me a tight smi
le, and in a flash, scowls toward Ben before exiting the aisle. Heavy footsteps head toward the customer exit, and I wince when cans shake, as soon as a vehicle that I assume is Kyle’s, tears out of the parking lot.
I sigh and shrug. “Guess I’m not the only one around here who gets on your bad side.”
Chapter Five
By the end of my first week, my bags are unpacked and I have my little cabin decorated. At work, I understand the general senior citizen routine and have a decent grip remembering their names. On Friday, after Howard and I open the building and set up the chairs, Shirley, like every morning, greets each member as they enter and checks their name off on her attendance sheet.
“Hey, Shirley?” I glance at the roster on her makeshift desk, a wobbly Formica table that was a Bingo castaway.
She taps her trifocal frames with her index fingers, pushing her specs down her nose. “Yes, Jenna?”
“Would you be willing to call the seniors who’ve attended here, even once, in the last year? I’d like to introduce myself in a one-on-one meeting and get a feel for what they like and don’t. Their input will give me ideas on a wish list I can incorporate into the budget.” Her ginormous eyes are impossible not to stare at.
“What a wonderful idea. I’ll start calling right now.” If she realizes I can’t break the habit of gawking at her magnified pupils, she isn’t letting on. In fact, there’s almost a glow about her. Shirley takes a seat and reaches for the attendance papers and pencil. “Was there something else?” She glances up while I’m still standing in the same place.
“Huh? Oh, no, that was it.” I take a couple steps, passing the desk then perform my own small rotate toward her. “Well, actually, there is one more thing.”
Shirley puts the pencil down and gives me her full attention.
“I just want you to know how much I appreciate you. You’re amazing.”
Entrusted (Adirondack Surrender Series Book 1) Page 3