If her upbeat hum is any indication, Shirley is happy, too.
Wednesday, I drive into the church parking lot with wet palms. My first Speculator Falls’ mid-week church service. Must be the more intimate setting I anticipate that has me nervous. I walk into the lobby hoping to find Carla, and thankfully, spot her across the room.
She walks over and initiates a quick hug. “Oh good. I’m glad you made it. Brooke’s leading a Bible study for women.” She pats my back as she gives me the hug.
I take a step back. “Great. But before you show me the way, I need a favor.” I take a breath, hoping she doesn’t think I’m imposing. “I have to pick up John Bivins old truck this week. Could you come to the center and give me a ride to Sara’s?” I flick a stray hair behind my ear. “I’ll pay you with a fruit cup.” Or a compact car that doesn’t work well in the mountains.
Carla’s lips protrude to a pout. “Hey, I’m not one of your senior citizens. My help is free, but if you ever want to bring gifts, give me chocolate.”
I start to give her a friendly push but stop. Wait. Where’s her ponytail? With my first Wednesday service nerves, I didn’t notice. Although in uniform, her hat is nowhere to be seen. Her wavy chestnut brown hair with blond streaks cascades past her shoulders. The beige outfit wouldn’t make anyone look flattering, but Carla’s spunk brightens everything about her. Thank you, God, for giving me a beautiful friend, inside and out, who is close to my age.
“So, Carla, tell me how you got to be sheriff? Did they draw straws at JB’s?” I grab my purse out of my desk.
Carla’s on her lunch break, ready to help me retrieve John’s truck.
She sticks out her tongue and then gazes at me with wide eyes. “I like traveling and doing something a little different every day. I mean one day I’m in Wells, the next, Piseco. I love interacting with people, and let’s face it, not too many criminals lurk around here. I’m seeing an increase in meth labs and bear trapping, which usually means trespassing, too, but for the most part, it’s safe. I also need the steady hours to provide an income for me and Noah, my son.”
I hate awkward silence, so I keep talking, my gaze on the center’s aquarium. “I wondered who that was sitting next to you at church. I also saw him at the store. How old is he?”
“Twelve. Noah’s my world. After school he goes over to JB’s, and Ben lets him stock shelves or little things to keep him busy until I get off work.”
The tense scene at JB’s with Ben and Kyle pops into my mind. I blink, and bring myself to focus on Carla. “It can’t be easy to parent him alone.”
She stares at me as if her mind was somewhere else. “I wanted to be loved. I mean, what teen girl doesn’t? As soon as I realized I was pregnant, the father made sure he had nothing to do with me. It’s just Noah and me, and we’re doing fine.” She clenches her jaw.
I glance up to notice Will Marshall strolling through the center’s back entrance. He points at Carla with a smile. “Hey, she doesn’t work here. What’s she doing with a fruit cup?”
That Shirley is good.
I pick up, first thing Monday morning, the list she laid on top of my desk. Howard Wheaton, my favorite curmudgeon, is first for my senior interviews.
I think I’ve got Shirley’s scheduling figured out. She probably believes if I get there before him and have the coffee ready, he’ll have to meet with me and actually say something, instead of grunting at everyone.
Fifteen minutes after making the coffee, I drain my first cup and look up when Howard arrives at my office.
Sure enough, he’s in a foul mood. “Don’t know why we need a meeting. You’re the boss lady. Do what you want.” Howard growls and plops down, filling the chair with enough force it sounds like a balloon losing air.
“I’m not the boss. I’m here to make things go smoother, you know?” I gaze at him to engage his eyes, but he looks toward the window.
“What do you want? How would you run this place? I’d like to hear your ideas. Tell me what you’d change around here.” I grab one of two full cups of coffee already on the table, and slide the mug of joe to Howard’s side of the table.
He stares at me with squinted eyes and takes a sip. He sets the cup on the desk but grasps it again for a long swig. His face softens when he looks up again. Maybe he trusts me now. “John Bivins and I talked about how we should have exercise stuff here.” Howard raises the corners of his mouth in a half smile. “The plaza has an exercise room next to JB’s, but why not have workout equipment here?” He takes another gulp, stretches his legs, and leans back into his chair.
“John died just as that Wii thing came out, but you know, he would have liked it. We talked about a foosball table, and a pool table. My youngest daughter works at a YMCA in Utica, and they have a program for senior citizens. John thought a trainer could come in and keep us old fogies moving.” Howard gives me a grin. “He hated seeing friend after friend come in with a high cholesterol report or hearing about someone in the hospital in need of a bypass. He kept active. Not as insane as Sara moves about, but still, he was no couch potato.”
Thank you, Shirley, for scheduling Howard first. He’s talking just like you thought he would.
He keeps chatting, not so much about the exercise ideas, but about his friendship with Sara’s husband. “John was Speculator Falls born and bred. He built JB’s and worked there for decades, many of them as the sole employee. Sara stayed home and raised Ruth and Debra. They grew up, married and moved on, never really loving Speculator Falls like John did. At least Debra came back weekends with her family, including Ben. That boy idolized John, taking college classes with the goal of taking over for John when he retired.”
I rub my chin as I listen to Howard’s story. Memories of Ben telling me how he shared his plans for the store with his grandpa pull on my heartstrings.
“But, John never retired, not the way he wanted to. Blasted cancer. Took my best friend.” Howard stares at the floor as he massages his temples.
This is a sacred moment. “John was a special man, wasn’t he?”
He winces as he returns his hands to his coffee cup. “He was Speculator Falls to many of us. Seems like a shell of a place with him gone.”
I peruse a purchase order for the center as I try to forget the tender stories Howard told me. I look up at the knock on the door. The Beebes. “Hi, Fred and Janice.”
Janice clasps my hand and gives it a squeeze as she stands next to her six foot, three inch tall husband. “It’s so good to meet the young woman who resurrected the senior center.”
“No, that was Sara.” I’m not taking credit for my landlord’s rebelliousness, not when Ben’s still upset about it. “But I’m so glad to be here and to meet you. Come on in and tell me about yourselves.”
The couple strides into my office, and Fred pulls a chair out for his wife.
Janice’s eyes twinkle. “We’re not here at the center as often as we’d like. We keep pretty busy. I’m a master gardener. In fact, I’d love to form a committee here and be the group in charge of beautification around Speculator Falls.”
I know a flower box in need of a makeover. “That sounds fantastic. Do you ever serve together?”
Fred nods. “We do. Three times a week we help Will unload the lunch bins and distribute the meals.” He looks to the right at the large window in my office. “Of course, we’re snowbirds. We head to Florida right after Thanksgiving.” He returns his gaze to me.
Janice grins. “Ben Regan gets nervous when we leave. Fred is a retired bank vice-president, and he serves as treasurer for the village council. We don’t miss many meetings, but Ben wishes we’d stay year-round.” She giggles, and I join her. I can imagine Ben reacting that way.
Fred chuckles and gives Janice a playful tap on the knee. “You know, honey, maybe he’ll forget about us this year. He’ll be too busy obsessing over the senior center budget, right?”
Wait. Why didn’t I think about the council approving my budget? I glance up as widow
er Bart Davis peeks in. I’m grateful for the distraction.
The Beebe’s stand and shake hands with the retired professor from Albany. “Jenna, Bart, we need to take off now. This was a great meeting.” They exit my office, and Bart takes Fred’s seat.
I allow my gaze to capture Bart’s. “Tell me, what’s the one single thing you want to see improved here?”
Bart doesn’t hesitate. He leans forward and stares at me. “Books. We should have a library here. All Trish had was an outdated magazine rack.”
Twenty minutes later, I type my notes from the previous interviews into the computer. With a knock on the door, I stop my summary and look up.
Roxy sashays into my office and sits down without my saying a word. “Jenna, I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’d like to propose a dance troupe. After all, I was a Rockette.” She throws her yellowed scrapbook on my desk with a wink.
I resist a sneeze. Roxy finishes her spiel thirty minutes later and walks out of my office.
Once again I attempt to transfer my notes. Another rap on my door. Shirley.
“Excuse me, Jenna, there’s a walk-in wishing to see you.”
I didn’t want to finish my project, anyway. “It’s okay, Shirley. Bring the senior in.”
Shirley waves to the guest.
A petite woman with arms full of 45 speed records shuffles to the chair across from me.
“Jenna, this is Dora Parks,” Shirley says Dora’s name with as much enthusiasm as I would announce a root canal.
Dora crosses her legs. Her long prairie skirt hides what I imagine to be the most sensible looking shoes in the drabbest of colors. A faded shawl drapes over her shoulders.
I stand and extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet—”
“Seniors hate change. Don’t be making this place some fancy disco with loud music and immoral lyrics. We want to play bridge, bingo, and have the quilting club.” She passes the vinyl music into my hands.
I’m not sure if we have a stereo equipped to play records that size. I place her “gift” on my desk. “I assure you, Dora, I won’t turn the center into a disco. We’re keeping all the activities you currently enjoy, but I want to add events that others suggest, too.”
Dora folds her arms tight against her chest. Her worn skirt reminds me of a volunteer pioneer I saw at war re-enactment when I was a child.
Wow, could she be anymore chained to the past?
“Did you know we’re the only county in New York State that doesn’t have a traffic light? That’s a good thing, Miss Anderson. The last thing we need around here are changes and upgrades. We seniors remember how it was, and how it needs to be. If I don’t speak up, Speculator Falls will be another Lake George. Full of tourists disrespecting the land. Awful, if you ask me.”
Several minutes later, my eyes blur as Dora rises to leave. Her suggestions alone equal pages of typed notes. I sit down and try to concentrate, but my own handwriting swims in front of my eyes.
Shirley makes her way once again into my office, standing by me as I type.
She clears her throat. “Would you like me to type today’s interviews for you?” Shirley places her right hand on my notebook.
“You would do that?”
My top volunteer pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s what I’m here for.”
I want to hug her. And not let go. “You do realize I don’t pay you, right?”
Shirley lets out a cackle, then sobers. “The village couldn’t afford me, anyway. Speaking of money though, how are you going to finance the ideas everyone gave you today?”
I take a deep breath. “Good question.”
Chapter Six
Eat a few fruit cups, drive a truck back and forth a few times, and suddenly it’s my third week in town. Sunday, actually, and I’m sitting by Sara at church. The eight-person choir and sad green carpets don’t shock me anymore, and I make time in my Sabbath schedule for senior citizens and Speculator Falls neighbors to chat after service.
“I have ziti at the house. Tell me you’ll join me, dear. Oh, when you come, can you stop by the store and get me some Italian bread?” I smile at how fast Sara works. She’s a master at decreeing my schedule in such a sweet way that it’s endearing and one of the many things I love about her. I believe her motivation is to keep me from missing my family.
After church I oblige Sara and head to the store. Even though Ben’s not on duty, he’s at JB’s. “Hey, Jenna. What brings you by? Didn’t I just see you in Sunday school?”
His crooked yet handsome smile stops me short of the bread aisle. “You did, but that was before your grandmother insisted I come for dinner. And bring Italian bread.”
Why am I suddenly captivated by his grin?
Ben chuckles and gestures for me to follow him. “Grandma asked, and I mean that loosely, that I attend today’s dinner, too.” He delivers a loaf to me, where our hands graze each other’s. “Makes sense. I made the ziti and took it to her last night.”
The warmth from our touch could melt butter. I move my fingers further down the loaf of Italian to make sure my hands are away from his. Together we move to check-out.
“You cook? Now I have to go to check this ziti out.” I wink, getting in line to pay.
Ben has to have the last word. “Like you have a choice.”
Twenty minutes later, Ben walks through Sara’s front door. I smell an evergreen tree scent. It reminds me of many Christmases past with Mom, Dad, and Meg, when we’d cut down our own tree. The scent on my hands always lingered almost as long as the sticky tree sap.
I can’t figure out if it’s the trees I smell or the cologne Ben might have dabbed on in his five-minute drive to his grandmother’s. His shirt is different and so is his beige V-neck sweater. Those deep brown eyes really stand out against the sweater.
Sara gives the blessing, and I enjoy two extra cheesy bites of the ziti before she starts talking business. “So dear, tell me what’s new at the center? Has Howard softened up toward you?”
Chewing faster, I nod, happy I have something positive to share. Once I swallow, I put down my fork. “My guess is being a curmudgeon is part of Howard’s DNA. However, he doesn’t mutter under his breath anymore when I’m around. It’s progress.” I pick up the fork for another taste.
“How about the meeting Shirley told me about? The one where you asked everyone their ideas for the center? Did you receive good input?” Sara reaches for a piece of bread.
“Would you believe I even collected plans from Howard? He suggested purchasing a Wii system and creating an exercise group.”
Ben doesn’t say anything, but I’m sure with every idea I explain, his mental calculator is burning up with budget overload.
Lord, help Ben understand how important these activities are for the community. “A few ladies want to host a variety show. They’re thinking Broadway, Adirondack style.”
Before Sara can reply, I place another bit of ziti in my mouth and start chewing.
She beams and punches her fork at me, emphasizing her words. “For Howard to come to the meeting is a great success. The fact that he has a suggestion for the center is simply thrilling.” Sara puts her utensil pointer down and then directs her attention to her grandson. “Ben, speaking of ideas. How about you? You mentioned a few months ago that you were praying about expanding the store. Tell us more.”
Ben drops his napkin. I’m twisting the cheese with my fork, but I’m curious about his response. Expanding the store? That sounds like a huge risk for mild-mannered Ben Regan.
“Funny you mention that. I met with Fred Beebe this week, and we talked numbers. He’s helping me draw up a business plan and is calling in a guy from Utica to provide blueprints. Will gave me ideas to help the concepts be cost-efficient. I can transition from five to ten aisles. Fred made a great point. JB’s is the only grocery store in a thirty-mile radius. I need to capitalize on that, especially with the locals who stay here year-round.”
I nod as he shares, bu
t I have my own ideas brewing, already expanding his expansion. Sara reaches for the bread and grins with what I assume is pride. “Tell me the specifics. Do these plans have anything to do with what your grandfather wanted to do with the store before he got sick?”
Ben’s gaze drops to his plate at the mention of John. He then glances back up to his grandmother. “It does. I remember him scrawling out the aisle expansion details on an Oxbow Inn napkin.” Ben wipes his lips, still missing sauce on the edge of his mouth.
I clear my throat and try to tell him where the sauce is.
“To the left. Wait. Too far.”
“Wow, Jenna, your directions are as good as your GPS.” Ben chuckles.
“Very funny.” I stick out my tongue and give one more directive, but Ben misses the mark again. Frustrated, I grab my napkin, stand up, and quickly wipe the spot before briefly resting my hand on his neck.
“While I have you pinned in a headlock,” I joke, “why not put a café in as part of your plans? All the grocery chains have one with a little coffee shop, pizza corner, and deli, you know?”
I’m still smiling, but Ben isn’t partaking. He pulls away, and I sense I’m on the receiving end of another of Ben Regan’s disapproving stares. He drags his sleeve over the very place I just cleaned.
“I appreciate your interest, but you don’t understand how a small village works. We support each other. If I built all those things in the store I’d sign a death notice to the little stores around here, like Mocha Mountain and The Pizza Shack. Besides, that idea caters to tourists, but they don’t pay my bills. They aren’t here long enough to make the impact I need.”
I peek at Sara, who is focused on buttering her bread, so I look back at Ben and can’t help but obsess on the red stain on his sleeve. “Why can’t you please the locals and the tourists? I think you’re afraid. The little time I’ve been here you seem too nervous to rock the boat.”
He shook his head in a vehement denial. “I’d like to think I held my own on this subject with your friend Kyle Swarthmore.”
Entrusted (Adirondack Surrender Series Book 1) Page 4