by Ashton Lee
It did not strike him as strange at all when the lovely features captured in oil came to life and whispered back. “Hello, Locke. Don’t you have better things to do than stare at me in the middle of the night?”
He took her chastisement in stride. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d notice. Incidentally, how are you doing this?”
“We have our ways.”
He frowned and blinked. “We?”
It had been a long time since he had enjoyed her gentle laugh, but suddenly there it was, surrounding and soothing him like a muted church organ playing communion music. “We—meaning those of us who are no longer with you physically.”
Her answer made eminent good sense to him, so he proceeded. “Do you have a moment?”
Even though her arms had not been painted, he felt strongly that she was stretching them outside the frame even as she answered him. “Oh, God, yes. I’ve been up here for a lifetime just waiting for somebody to say something to me. And now, God bless you, here you are.”
“You have to know I think about you all the time.”
“I do. And I appreciate your thoughts so much. But speaking to you like this is so much better. I’m so much more than delicate pigments on canvas. There’s real feeling running all through me. At least that’s what I hear people saying about me all the time—‘What feeling there is in that portrait!’ they like to say.”
Locke paused for a moment. He had to phrase this next part just right. “I wanted to ask you about Voncille. Specifically, how you felt about her being in the house . . . in our bed? She’s there right now.”
There was her special laugh again, and it put him at ease. “You already have the answer to that. I put it in my letter.”
He took a step back, scratching his head. “Which reminds me, how did you figure things out so far ahead of time? Voncille and I continue to marvel at everything you put in there, especially everything you anticipated. There’ve been times when I’ve even thought of charging admission to let people read what you wrote.”
“I see you’ve kept your sense of humor,” she said, every brushstroke that composed her face lighting up.
“It’s something everyone should keep in their pocket wherever they go, no matter what happens.”
“Aptly put.”
Then he wondered if he dared ask it. If anyone would know the answer, surely she would. “Do you know when I’ll join you?”
For the first time during their surprising conversation, she appeared to hesitate. “Actually, I’m not at liberty to say. What I can tell you again is what I expressed in my letter. You have to go on living your life. Don’t put anything on hold because of me. I’m just fine.”
“You couldn’t even give me a tiny hint of what comes next?” he said, sounding just like a little boy asking her to reveal what she’d given him for Christmas.
“Doesn’t work that way, Locke. You have to do the living first.”
He gave her a sly smile and took a deep breath. “You know, your eyes were what made me fall in love with you. I took one long look deep into them and thought you held the secrets to the universe.”
Her colors almost seemed to be glowing now. “That’s what I like best about this version of me, Locke. Who would have thought that a little paint and turpentine could capture a soul so well?” Then she bore into him with those eyes of hers. “Do you have everything you need from me now?”
“I think so.”
“You can talk to me anytime, you know. As I said, your thoughts are nice, but any oil painting worth its burnt umber and alizarin crimson likes to have its brushstrokes tickled every now and then.”
Miss Voncille’s voice suddenly intervened. “Locke?”
“It’s time for me to go,” Pamela said. “Don’t be a stranger now.”
“Locke,” Miss Voncille repeated, shaking his arm gently, “you’re talking in your sleep.”
Locke woke up and turned to see Miss Voncille sitting up in bed, smiling at him. “What?” he said, feeling completely disoriented.
“You were talking in your sleep, honey.”
“Was I?”
“Umm-hmmm. Well, actually it was more like mumbling.”
He sat up and looked around the moonlit room. “How about that?” Then he chuckled under his breath. “That was the damnedest dream I’ve ever had. I thought you were the one who was asleep, and at first I was watching you and then I got up out of bed and the craziest part was—”
He stopped in midsentence and smiled. Trying to describe a crazy dream always made the dreamer sound even crazier. “Never mind,” he continued. “I guess you had to be there.” Then he inched closer to her and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss.
She pulled back in astonishment. “Locke, it was just wonderful tonight, but I don’t think I’m ready for another round just yet, sweetie. We both need our rest.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Never mind all that. May I have your hand in marriage?”
She had been waiting far too long for the smile that broke across her face. Not even the most gifted portrait painter in the world could have done it justice. “I thought you’d never ask.”
16
Damaged Goods
Maura Beth focused on the rhythmic whirring of the ceiling fan above her head. Barely audible, it was nonetheless just the element she needed to get her through the session. It would cocoon her ever so subtly, and they would be none the wiser that she was clinging to it for strength and courage.
Not quite a year ago, Maura Beth had endured the distressing ultimatum from Councilman Sparks and his underlings that had set her on an unending survival track for her little library. Now, here she stood again before the terrible trio in that same meeting room without a witness, taking yet another stab at keeping her head above water. This time, almost literally.
“I’ve had our insurance adjuster take these photos of the storm damage, gentlemen,” she was saying, while passing around her handouts. “As you’ll see, they clearly show the damage to the roof done by the lightning strike, and then all the water damage to the ceiling, the stacks, and the books in the children’s area. Of course, I’ve included the floor in that corner of the building as well. I’ve also given you the adjuster’s estimates, minus the deductibles. I’m sure you’ll find everything on the up-and-up.”
Maura Beth sat back down in her chair and waited for their reactions, occasionally gazing up at the ceiling fan to steady her nerves. What Chunky Badham and Gopher Joe Martin thought or said hardly mattered, of course. She knew quite well that Councilman Sparks would give her the official position of City Hall without flinching. Soon enough she would know exactly where she stood.
“Looks pretty bad, Miz Mayhew,” he said, tossing his photos and documents on the table in front of him after perusing them for a few minutes. “I have to say I’m not crazy at all about these deductibles we’d have to pay to repair the roof and replace these books. Children’s books at that. Sure seems like a lot of money to spend on a few pictures of farm animals, fruits and vegetables, and such. But I have to tell you, Lottie informs me that there have been exactly two calls to the City Hall offices inquiring about when the library will reopen. Two.” He was holding up two fingers and gave her what could only be described as a contemptuous laugh. “At least I know you haven’t been circulating petitions to have your followers participate in a phone campaign. And don’t get any ideas, either. If we’re suddenly inundated, I assure you we’ll know what’s up. You won’t catch us unprepared twice.”
Maura Beth took a deep breath and spoke as evenly as possible. “Some of the more avid library users have called me personally about it at home, but I haven’t really kept track.”
“I’m sure,” he said with disdain. “We all know the world revolves around your library.”
At that point, however, it was a struggle for Maura Beth to suppress her amusement. She and Nora Duddney had scripted and rehearsed every possible scenario in preparation for her appearance today, and it w
as uncanny how close they had actually come to predicting the responses of the head honcho.
“I’m also sure,” he continued, “that you can see the folly of all this. It would be like pouring money down a rat hole, Miz Mayhew. I think it’s time we all admitted this building has had it. We’d be better off having a book sale for the remaining collection and then tearing down The Cherico Library rather than throwing our good money after bad. We can always pave it over and provide some more downtown parking. I don’t have to tell you that we’ve needed to address that for some time now.”
Chunky and Gopher Joe were nodding in unison with smug expressions on their faces, doing an uncanny imitation of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
“No one out in the Netherfield Community where I live has said squat about the library not being open,” Chunky said. “They just wanna get all the tree limbs that fell down during the storm chopped up and hauled off. Why, some people even had their driveways blocked. Out my way, folks’re much more inner-rested in buzz saws than books!”
Maura Beth flashed a patronizing smile his way. “And why does that not surprise me?”
“Now, Miz Mayhew, just because people don’t use the library dudd’n mean they aren’t good people,” he snapped back. “Seems to me you’ve let this library bid’ness go to your head a mite. The world’ll go on nicely without your library, I do b’lieve. But I know this much—folks’ll use that extra parking when they come downtown and be glad for it.”
Knowing quite well she was fighting a losing battle, Maura Beth deferred as best she could. “Perhaps you’re right, Mr. Badham. Perhaps I should just accept the wisdom and counsel of you good people here at City Hall.”
Maura Beth’s sudden spurt of diplomacy may have mollified Chunky and Gopher Joe, but Councilman Sparks was having none of it. “Ah, sarcasm! The last defense of those who cannot win the argument outright. I expected more from you today, Miz Mayhew.”
“So sorry to disappoint you. I just need a clarification from you, Councilman Sparks. As of this meeting, is it your intention not only to close down the library but to tear it down as well? Have we upped the ante, so to speak? Is the one-year reprieve out the window?”
He leaned in triumphantly. “It was just a matter of time before that happened, Miz Mayhew. This violent spring weather of ours just pushed up the timetable. Maybe that’s a sign we both shouldn’t ignore. Mother Nature just trying to tell us something, if you will.”
Maura Beth remained calm and held up her end of the projected exchange as the ceiling fan continued to soothe her. “And my position, Councilman? Is that over as well?”
“It’s not as if you didn’t know this was coming down the line. However, your severance will be generous. We’ll pay you for the last half of the year. That ought to tide you over until you can track down a position somewhere else. As you recall, I offered you a job working at City Hall as my secretary last year, but you turned it down,” he reminded her, his face hardening somewhat.
She did not blink. “So you did, and so I did. But I have to say, I still have no regrets about that.”
“So I gather. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions. Meanwhile, I’ll want you to put your financial house in order over the next two weeks before you leave. Clear up all outstanding payments to creditors, straighten out and close the books, that sort of thing,” he continued, looking past Maura Beth as if she weren’t even in the room.
“That’s doable,” she answered, sounding not the least bit upset by his directives. “May I request an appearance with you here two weeks from now to present all those documents?”
Councilman Sparks drew back slightly, his instincts apparently alerted. “Yes, of course. But I must say you’re being awfully docile about all this. I expected a fiery speech and another threat to rally the public behind you. Of course, guided tours of all the damage would most certainly convince the average Chericoan that the library has indeed had it.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” Maura Beth said. “I’m no fool.”
Councilman Sparks resumed his haughty demeanor. “I never took you for one, I can assure you. But I’m glad to see you at least understand that the library is definitely damaged goods, whatever it may or may not have been in the past, or whatever you were trying to make it.”
“It pains me to say so, but you’re right.” She rose from her chair and nodded quickly toward the councilmen. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you gentlemen in two weeks for the last time?”
Councilman Sparks flashed his best vote-getting smile. “We’ll look forward to that, Miz Mayhew.”
Maura Beth nodded politely as she passed Lottie Howard in the outer office and moved energetically down the hallway. Once outside on the steps of City Hall, however, she could not help herself. “Yesss!” she exclaimed, pumping her fist.
It could not have gone any more according to plan.
Harlan Lattimore had just selected “You Don’t Know Me” on his trusty jukebox—the Ray Charles classic with the slow, romantic fuse that he and Periwinkle had called their favorite when they were first courting and indulging those tentative romantic explorations.
“For old time’s sake?” he said, welcoming her into his arms on the floor of the otherwise-deserted Marina Bar and Grill.
She let herself be wrapped up, and he began leading her around, his eyes riveted to her every second of every move he made. “They just don’t make songs like this anymore, do they, Peri?”
“Nope.” She decided to keep it short and sweet, resisting the full effect of the music and the intoxicating neon glow of the jukebox.
“Now this is what I call dancing, Peri. The youngsters today don’t know what they’re missing.”
She nodded her head, but what they were doing wasn’t dancing so much as it was rubbing up against each other in an undeniable sexual choreography. She allowed herself to go along with it to see where it would take her emotionally on this spring evening. Yes, those old feelings for Harlan had reappeared over the last couple of months. She could not deny that; and her impression, borne of instinct more than anything else, was that tonight was the night he was going to pop the question.
“I’ve made some big mistakes in my life,” he continued as the music played, and he hummed along here and there. “But the biggest one was letting you go, Peri. I got the big head out here on the lake, thinking I was doing it all by myself. But you and I know the truth. You’re really the businesswoman—you’ve got the knack for the figures. And you were the one who made The Marina Bar and Grill work from the get-go. Me? I still like hanging behind the bar, pouring drinks, and just being one of the guys with the customers. Shoot the Breeze Lattimore, that’s me.”
Periwinkle pulled back slightly and gave him a smile. “Yep, that’s you.” Uncannily, she felt it coming. And suddenly there it was.
“Peri, don’t you think it’s time we both put the past behind us? I really think we should be a team again.”
“Is that a proposal?”
He didn’t answer right away, taking her by the hand even before the song had ended. “Let’s go out on the deck. It’s really a beautiful night out there.”
Indeed, it was. Balmy, with the kind of breeze that felt delicious on the skin, like caressing fingertips. The moon wasn’t quite full, but it was well on its way, and the surface of the lake seemed brushed with a layer of light.
“We always seem to end up here,” Periwinkle said, once they had both settled against the railing, looking up into each other’s eyes.
“Is this such a bad place to be?”
She said, “No.” But what she wanted to say was, “Depends.”
“This time around, I think we’d be an unbeatable team,” Harlan continued. “I’ve grown up, so you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Oh, I believe you,” she said. “You just took a lot longer than most to sow your wild oats.”
The smile on his face had a trace of relief in it. “I can’t excuse my behavi
or, Peri. I can only hope you forgive me because, yes, I want you to marry me. You had to know I was going to ask you.”
She gestured toward one of the nearby picnic tables. “I think we ought to get off our feet for this.”
He looked slightly puzzled but obeyed, and soon they were sitting next to each other, facing away from the lake. She had had enough of being influenced by nature’s pretty pictures. That was how all the damage had been done the first time around. “Is this because you’re going to turn me down?” he said, taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “I’d get down on bended knee, if it’d help, you know.”
“No need to do that,” she told him with a pleasant smile on her face. “I was going to accept your proposal, as a matter of fact. Will there be another ring, or shall I bring the one in my jewelry box out of retirement? I haven’t worn it since our divorce. I thought it was enough that I kept your name. But maybe that was because I never liked my maiden name anyway.”
“Kohlmeyer, right?”
She nodded and made a disgusted face. “I always thought Periwinkle Violet Kohlmeyer was a bit much. As I think I once told you, my mother is oh so fond of flowers. It runs in the family. Mom is Pansy, and then there’s Aunt Rose and Aunt Iris. What’s in a name, huh?”
He gave her an easy smile and eagerly displayed the handsome gold band on his ring finger that she had given him. “I’ve never taken mine off, Periwinkle Violet Kohlmeyer Lattimore. I guess I was trying to tell myself something all this time. I think it’d be special to exchange our rings again, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said.
“Hey, that sounds like you just married me again, huh?”
She laughed pleasantly enough but managed an element of restraint as well. “All of this sounds so nice, Harlan. Like a fairy tale ending for us.”
He drew back slightly, stroking his mustache in distracted fashion. “Don’t you think we deserve one?”
“Of course I do. But I need to talk about something that’s been on my mind quite a bit lately. You said just a minute ago that you thought I was the one with a head for business—of the two of us, I mean.”