LOVE in a Small Town

by Janet Eaves

  “I don’t know yet. With money being tight, it’s complicated. I’d rather stay home for a while. Maybe ‘til Junior goes to school.”

  “So, Junior is definitely a boy?”

  “I just say Junior. She might be a girl. I decided I didn’t want to know ahead of time. Takes away that much of the fun.”

  “Could be Betsy, Jr., then,” Midnight said with a wink.

  “Wouldn’t that be funny? Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know if anyone has, but I bet you can name a baby just about anything. Celebrities come up with pretty odd names for their children. Some that would make Betsy, Jr. seem ordinary.”

  Betsy giggled. “True. But I bet her daddy wouldn’t go for it. He’d think it was a crazy idea. Really, he doesn’t even want the baby named after him if it’s a boy. Too many McClains have done that, and it makes family get-togethers real confusing. If you say one name, three fellas think you’re calling them.” She sighed. “So no Betsy, Jr. But it was fun to think about for a minute. You have cool ideas, Midnight!”

  “You were probably closer when you said ‘crazy.’ Crazy ideas. That would be me. Sometimes they work out, though.” She hesitated, thinking. “In fact, my crazy ideas work quite often,” she said much more quietly, almost to herself. She pictured some of the store displays for which she’d become renowned, traveling around the country to create a one-of-a-kind look for each location of the department store chain that had employed her for so many years. She hoped to do the same for displays in her own little shop.

  “Um, Midnight?”

  She pulled herself back to the moment. “Yes! Sorry…my mind was wandering, huh?”

  “Looked like it.” Betsy grinned, her dimples showing. “Anyhow, I gotta go. Supper to nuke and throw on the table. See you!” She waved and spun her car around, saluting with a quick toot-toot of its horn.

  Midnight waved, trying to keep her mind on the present. Away from the expensive and award-winning work she’d done for years in her job. Away from the major cities she had visited, the expensive hotels that had become home-away-from-home for her. Away from the business associates who had been the closest thing she’d had to actual friends.

  Away from her old life which, though glamorous and monetarily rewarding, had been pretty hollow. She realized that now. Had realized it the day she’d found the farewell note on her kitchen table. Jeff had been just as glamorous as the places she’d lived and work. He’d also been just as devoid of substance, when you got right down to it. Midnight had had a lot of time to ponder her relationship with Jeff.

  She hadn’t given it enough consideration during the actual marriage, which was part of their problem. But she’d thought about it during the lengthy divorce, and after the judge ruled that Midnight’s share of the property would be close to what Midnight considered fair, instead of what Jeff’s attorney had offered during settlement negotiations.

  One night after their separation, they’d accidentally attended the same party. Seeing Midnight, Jeff deposited his wine glass in the hand of the beautiful and well-endowed blonde whose neck he’d been nuzzling. He walked over to Midnight and asked why she was going to the trouble of hiring an attorney when his could draw up all the necessary papers and save the extra fee.

  “Because I want someone on my side, who knows what to look for, so everything’s done fairly,” she had answered evenly. Then she had glanced at the blonde, trying to remember where she’d seen the girl.

  “Midnight, baby.” He took her hand and she pulled it out of his grasp. “My attorney has everything printed up and ready. All we have to do is sign, and it’s a done deal. Move on with our lives.” He sighed and shook his head, looking sad. “It’s the best thing, I guess. I’ll always love you, baby, but you know…people change. Grow away from each other.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper, leaning nearer. “But there’s no reason to go through a lot of drama. Right?”

  “I’m not looking for drama. I’m looking for fairness.” Midnight searched the eyes of the man she had married, and tried to remember the love she’d seen there all those years ago. How sad that she couldn’t recall it. Too many years of both of them going their own direction, always focused on succeeding in their careers. Their relationship had died from lack of attention.

  “What do you mean, ‘fairness?’ You think I’d cheat you?” Jeff’s voice had become shrill with agitation.

  She had taken a deep breath, composed herself. It had taken a few minutes but she’d been able to place the blonde. Previously a redhead, she lived in the same building Jeff and Midnight had.

  “I think you’ve cheated on me, and I’m pretty sure Mandy here is not the first. Cheating me out of money and personal property wouldn’t even be an issue for you, Jeffrey.” He’d cringed when she said his full first name, which he hated.

  “I’ve spent our marriage acquiring beautiful things that mean a lot to me. You know you don’t really care about those, Midnight. You’re just being bitchy because I finally decided to leave you.”

  “Jeffrey, I have every right in the world to be bitchy because of that. But I’m not. I just want what’s fair. You’re not the only one who acquired and enjoyed those things.”

  He’d decided to change tactics then. He had reached out his hand and gently touched Midnight at her right jaw line just below the teardrop-shaped emerald-and-diamond earring.

  “Midnight, even after all these years, with your black hair and eyes and perfect skin, you’re the most beautiful of all, you know,” he whispered.

  “Most beautiful of all what?”

  “Of all the things I’ve acquired, you’re the most….”

  Jeff hadn’t completed the sentence, because Midnight had, quite without forethought, smacked him square on the cheek with the strength of a woman scorned and well-toned.

  “I am not a thing. I am a person.”

  Jeff’s face, especially that cheek, had immediately turned crimson. A couple of mutual acquaintances had separated them, and, at her request, Midnight was ushered to the parking garage and her black Saab sedan. Jeff had one exactly like it, no doubt parked in the same garage. She’d been stunned a couple of years earlier when he’d presented her with the keys and said he’d sold her ancient Subaru while she’d been out of town. Midnight had loved that old car. Had spent many hours sitting in gridlocked traffic in the little vehicle with the ratty rag top, marvelous add-on stereo and 200,000-plus on the odometer. Jeff had never liked it, had told her it was hideous. He’d said it was beneath her to drive a vehicle so—ahem—utilitarian. And he’d repeatedly said it wasn’t ladylike to drive a stick shift.

  Well, up his. The car episode had been just one in a long, miserable series of Jeff’s controlling her, or at least trying his level best to do so.

  Midnight hadn’t let Jeff walk over her in the divorce. It had finally come down to her tough attorney in stilettos out-haranguing his tough attorney in penny loafers. Ugly, yes. But also necessary, so that she had financial assets to start her new life. When her job was suddenly gone, those assets became even more important.

  That seemed a lifetime ago.

  ****

  With the memories swirling in her brain, Midnight pulled up in what had become her parking slot at the Legend’s Landing Bed and Breakfast and turned off the powerful engine. Taking a moment to relax against the soft leather headrest and close her eyes, she regained control of her emotions. It wouldn’t do to let the past get in her way. That was over. She was here for a fresh start, and Jeff couldn’t affect her anymore as long as she put that history behind her.

  Having no small town experience beyond television sitcoms, Midnight hadn’t been prepared for the invisible barrier she would face. Although the locals talked plenty, she felt anything but accepted so far. Betsy was an exception, and Suzie Schul, owner of the B&B. Other than that, it was as if Midnight was living on one side of an invisible wall, and everybody else in Legend was on the other side. How to get over there, or get them to come to he
r? She didn’t like feeling like an outsider, but didn’t know how to change it. Her shop’s purpose was to help the people of Legend Valley while she also made a profit. It was a win-win, and she’d expected people to realize that. She certainly didn’t understand the mindset of these people. New Yorkers would have grabbed onto the idea with both hands, would have inundated her with items to sell, as long as the paperwork was done to their satisfaction. But all of Legend seemed to be waiting and watching her. She wished she knew what it would take to win them over.

  Midnight breathed deeply a few times, blowing out the negative energy and filling her lungs, and her being, with the positive energy from the tranquil scenery of Legend Valley, and the pale yellow Victorian cute-as-a-button B&B she would enter in a few minutes. She felt a little better after this ritual, and climbed out of the car. Pulling her handbag with her, she flipped the button to lock all doors. The locals simply did not lock things, but Midnight did. Always. It wasn’t wise to be too trusting.

  Entering the front door of the B&B, an immediate sense of peace and comfort enveloped her, as it did each time she stepped into the house. Some of the strain from her recollections of the Jeff Years fell away. Her shoulders were still tight, but she relaxed her hands from the fists they’d become. She walked to the kitchen and leaned against the door jamb. Suzie Schul looked up from a large steaming stainless steel pot and smiled her I love everybody smile.

  “Hey, Midnight honey. Have a hard day?”

  “Oh, not really. Just some unfortunate memories cropping up. Makes me tired.”

  Suzie weighed that for a moment. “It’s not fair, is it, honey? Some people keep their hold on us even when they’re gone. Even when we think we’re rid of their sorry behinds. Well, you come on over here and stir this soup for me while I work on the yeast rolls a minute. Nothing like some kitchen time to work out stress.”

  “I’m not a cook, you know.” But Midnight took the large spoon from Suzie, who described how to stir slowly, just so, to ensure the creamed soup would heat evenly and not stick.

  Midnight stood there, mimicking the motion Suzie had shown her, enjoying the aroma of the vapor as it rose. She watched Suzie’s adept movements with the yeast dough, shaping dozens of tiny round balls and then putting three in each greased muffin cup.

  “Cloverleaf rolls, Midnight. Funny-looking, aren’t they? But when they bake up, they won’t be three little balls in a muffin cup. Each will be a perfectly shaped roll with three knobs on top. You pull them apart and slather them with butter. Mmm. Nothing much better in this world than fresh bread and butter. At least nothing I can do in my kitchen.” Suzie looked up. “Health department, you know.”

  It took a moment, but Midnight caught Suzie’s meaning and laughed as Suzie winked long and slow.

  “Why, Suzie Schul, shame on you! What talk! But don’t let me stop you. Just what have you been doing in the kitchen that has the health department after you?”

  The smile tightened a little. “Oh, honey, I don’t really do it in the kitchen. Just teasing. Trying to get you to laugh, and it worked. If you come home some time and find all the doors locked, though, don’t peek in the windows. You never know when someone tall, dark and handsome might walk into my kitchen and knock the socks off me.” She sighed delicately, her face flushed. Suzie shook her head. “Not that I need a man. Because I don’t.”

  Words that were part of Midnight’s current mantra. Midnight didn’t know any details, though Suzie had said her marriage had also ended in divorce. Midnight assumed yet another idiot man had made the mistake of his life. Why did most of them zip their brains into their jeans?

  “Well, if Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome gets in the way of you cooking for your guests, I hope you realize there’ll be an uprising!” Midnight said, to lighten the mood.

  Suzie dimpled. “I guess I’ll have to teach him to cook, then.”

  “Or find yourself a chef. What a perfect match that would be!” Midnight laughed at her own joke, but Suzie wasn’t laughing, or even quite smiling anymore. What did I say wrong? Midnight looked back down, watching the cream soup swirl in the pot while she stirred.

  “Some people seem to find the perfect match,” Midnight continued. “My parents are like that. It gives me hope for the future of marriage. For the species in general.”

  “Oh…that reminds me. Martin McClain called for you a little while ago.”

  Midnight dropped the spoon and barely caught it before it was totally immersed in the soup. “He did? Why?”

  Suzie smiled. “Didn’t say. Martin’s not much of a talker most of the time. He said he’d tried your cell, didn’t want to leave a message with me.” One arched brow rose.

  “I don’t get good cell reception here. The land line should be installed at the shop soon. That’s odd, though. Why would he call?”

  “Better yet, why didn’t he just walk over and talk to you at the shop?”

  “I was busy all day. He may have looked in, or even stopped in and I didn’t see him. It’s been a steady stream of arts and crafts people, thanks to Betsy.”

  “Hmm. It’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “Martin. Calling you, then not leaving a message. Just not like him.” She looked up through her bangs and caught Midnight’s eye. “Quite interesting.”

  “I saw Betsy right before I came home, and she didn’t say anything about it.”

  Suzie waved a hand. “Oh, well Betsy’s got a lot on her mind right now.”

  “Right. Like, is he going to let her stay home with the baby?”

  “Oh, I think Martin would let Betsy do about anything she wanted. That decision’s more likely one she’ll let her husband make, though. She’s an old-fashioned little thing.”

  “Right. That’s what I said. Whether he’s going to let her stay home.”

  “Mike?” asked Suzie, shoving a pan of rolls into the oven.

  “Who’s Mike?”

  “Mike McClain. Betsy’s husband.”

  The long handled spoon slid out of Midnight’s hand again, but she was too slow to catch it this time.

  “What’s that look about?” Suzie straightened, looking as if she had an idea.

  “Look? Oh, I don’t know. Just thinking about Betsy. And her husband…Mike. I’ll bet they’re a good match.”

  “Nearly perfect.”

  Suzie got another long-handled spoon, scooped the first one out of the soup, and dropped it into the sink. She handed the new one to Midnight, who automatically began to stir again. The hot kitchen was suddenly making her sweat. She cleared her throat. “Well, if Martin McClain was calling me, it must be about business. Why else, after all?”

  Midnight wouldn’t let herself think Martin might’ve been calling her for a personal reason. Impossible.

  Plus, Midnight had sworn off men. She definitely wasn’t interested in a romantic entanglement. Even with a tall, handsome man whose dark chocolate eyes made her hungry. No, she wasn’t interested.

  She stood and stirred, and tried not to think about him.

  Chapter Three

  Midnight leaned over and dunked the large sponge into the weird-looking concoction that one of the other store owners had recommended so highly. It smelled like green tea, and was made of a mixture of natural local ingredients she’d never heard of. When she smeared it all over the plate glass window, it obscured the view entirely, like a thick fog. She put the sponge back into the bucket and softly hummed the Jeopardy! song to herself twice, meaning the stuff had been on the glass for a full minute. She pulled the short-handled squeegee from the back pocket of her jeans and started at the top left corner, removing the white slime. Afternoon sunshine poured in through the first stripe of immaculate glass. This was an amazing cleaner, without a doubt. She’d started out being leery of it, but decades of cigarette smoke and general crud had been cleaned off the first plate glass window in a short amount of time.

  She wiped the edge of the squeegee with a cloth, then made another horizon
tal pass. Several days had gone by since the evening she’d dropped the spoon into the soup in Suzie’s kitchen. No word from the realtor who had supposedly been trying to reach her. It probably had been a misunderstanding, although Suzie didn’t seem the type to get a message wrong. No doubt Martin McClain and everyone in town who was interested knew the store’s new phone number. The landline had been installed, a two-hour event in which Midnight learned that the phone company guy, Junior, lived in a Knoxville suburb in a house he and his wife had personally rehabbed, had been with the phone company 17 years, was the proud dad of fifteen-year-old twin boys who excelled in football. Junior and his wife Monica were considering selling their beloved house and moving to Legend so the boys could play for the Legend Dragons, and maybe get noticed by a college recruiter. It would mean a lot of sacrifice for Junior and Monica, but the boys were everything to them, after all.

  And that was just to get a phone line installed! Midnight had learned more about the people of Legend (and Junior’s family in a Knoxville suburb) than she’d ever known about most people in her life up until now. It was strange, yet endearing. One woman had told Midnight she was very easy to talk to—that it was no wonder everyone confided in her. That had either been the young redheaded mother of three who made natural-ingredient soaps that looked like cupcakes and pie slices, or the young strawberry-blond mother of two who wove rugs and placemats out of worn-out blue jeans. Midnight didn’t feel particularly easy to talk to, and quite often felt unreceptive of the life story being poured out to her. But in a couple of minutes she was always sucked in, loving the way a young mom talked about her own mother, her grandmother, the things they learned from each other, and how their family was related to others in the area.

  The phone company guy, for instance, was some kind of cousin to the McClains. He’d been proud to tell her that. Evidently being a McClain in Legend was rather a big deal. Midnight pulled the squeegee across the window again, almost halfway done with this one. She smiled to herself, picturing Martin McClain dressed like a Victorian-era Rockefeller, with a high white collar and big wide tie cinched up tight. He didn’t really need uncomfortable clothing to look all cinched up, though. She wondered if the man ever relaxed.