Just Killing Time

by Julianne Holmes

  There were still pictures, the initial drawings, and one shaky silent film, but the glorious history was just that, history. My grandfather had been one of the few people in town who still remembered. He’d always dreamed of rebuilding it. I’d stayed up late reading G.T.’s notes. According to them he was sketching out his ideas just weeks ago. In fact, from what I could see, he’d started to work on the project anew, at least on paper, a few months ago. I wasn’t sure what had fired up his imagination again, and somehow it felt very important to try and figure that out.

  I shook myself out of my daydreams and memories. I needed more caffeine first, and breakfast. But I also needed some questions answered, and I hoped that Moira could take care of all three.

  chapter 10

  I stepped off the porch and headed to my left. When I was growing up in Orchard, half the town thought the building next door was an eyesore while the other half rooted for the owners, the Parkers. They’d bought the lot and opened a small drugstore with a family apartment upstairs. When the children were a little older, Mr. Parker built an addition and Mrs. Parker opened a beauty shop. A couple of years later Mrs. Parker’s brother—I think it was her brother, or maybe a cousin—someone opened a barbershop in a second addition in the back. The Parkers hadn’t even tried to make all three spaces look alike. In fact, Mrs. Parker’s family had been in construction, so everything was built with leftovers from renovations and new construction. Lots of sinks, but nothing matched. Different countertops. Cabinets that were a little nicked or dinged. “A carpenter’s castle” is what my grandfather called it.

  I wondered what he’d thought of the renovation. It looked like everything matched, or at least as far as I could tell by looking at the two chairs in front of the shop. I took a step toward the front window, trying to look in. I was about to cup my hands against the window to see better when a dog barked. I turned just as a large gray, black, and white ball of fur came hurtling toward me. I expected him to jump up, but he stopped short and plunked himself down next to me, wagging his tail. And smiling. The dog was smiling at me.

  I lowered my hand slowly and kept my voice steady. “Hello, sweetheart, it’s nice to meet you more formally. My name is Ruth. We haven’t been properly introduced.” I held out my hand and he answered by nuzzling it and flipping it over so I would pat his head. I gave in, setting my bag down as I scratched him with both hands. He stood up and leaned into my hands, trying hard to give me a kiss. I kept him at bay for a bit, but soon realized he was just a big sweetheart. I kissed the top of his head and he barked his thanks. I love dogs.

  My ex-husband did not like dogs. Or cats. Or, as it turns out, me. He obviously had bad taste.

  “Blue, leave her alone!” A tall blond man ran across the street. The guy I’d almost hit when I drove into town. He was hard to forget.

  “You know, they have crosswalks here for a reason,” I said, continuing to pet the dog.

  “What?” He smiled at me while he leaned over and put a leash on Blue.

  “We almost met yesterday when I wasn’t paying attention and almost hit you.” He took off his glasses and squinted at me. I was right, his eyes were blue.

  “Actually, you told me I almost hit this guy. Which would have been terrible. Wouldn’t it, sweetheart?”

  “Blue has a lot of energy. And gets into a lot of trouble. We’re still trying to figure out this whole ‘living in town’ thing.” Mr. Scruffy looked at me, or rather looked at my hair. A mop of auburn curls that I’d piled on top of my head. “You here for a cut? Or a shampoo?”

  I raised my hand to my head and tried to pat down my flyaway curls. “No, just looking.” Mr. Scruffy looked very disappointed. “Is this your shop?”

  “Yes. Just opened it last summer.”

  “I grew up here. My grandmother used to take me to see Mrs. Parker. It was a little different back then.”

  “Hopefully a lot different. I moved in last December. It took me a long time to renovate.”

  “You bought it?”

  “Sort of. My uncle Phil owned the drugstore and offered me the barbershop. My aunt Flo was Mrs. Parker. She ran the beauty shop for years, but decided to retire and travel the world, so I combined the two. Want to take a tour? We don’t open for another hour, but I’d be happy to show you around.”

  “I make it a habit not to tour barbershops with strangers.”

  “It isn’t a barbershop. It’s a hair salon. A friend found the barber pole in Brimfield and gave it to me as a housewarming. Or salon-warming? Anyway, let us not be strangers. I’m Ben Clover. And you’re?” He held out his hand and I took it.

  “Ruth Clagan.”

  “Clagan? Thom’s granddaughter?” He put his other hand on top of mine and held it for a second longer. “I’m so, so sorry. Thom was a great guy.”

  “How did you know who I was?”

  “I didn’t until Caroline told me you’d be taking over the shop. Folks around here play it pretty close to the vest. Especially when you aren’t from here.”

  “Yes, they do,” I said. Cranky Yankees, as my grandmother called us. Even if you were related to folks, you weren’t from here. And being from here mattered.

  “If Aunt Flo had been here to introduce me to the town, give me her stamp of approval, that may have helped things. But she and Uncle Phil had a huge blowout and she took off in her RV. That left Uncle Phil to make the introductions, which didn’t help things much. He wasn’t too popular, but maybe you knew that? Thought maybe the town frost would melt after he died last March, and business would pick up after I renovated, but no such luck.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he’d passed on.”

  “Thank you. He was quite a character, and I miss him. But he didn’t take to the role of town elder, not like your grandfather. Not sure Phil put much back into Orchard. But Thom Clagan sure did.”

  The silence that followed should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. I was thinking about G.T. and how much he loved Orchard. Of course it helped that I was staring into the stunning blue eyes of Mr. Ben Clover. I finally broke the silence.

  “Ben, I’d love to see the shop, but I’m in desperate need of some caffeine. Maybe on my way back?”

  “Going to the Latte? How about if I walk you?”

  I hesitated, but only for a moment. “Sure, that would be great.”

  Blue actually walked us, pulling on his leash, chasing some unseen foe. Ben bent over to tie Blue to a post outside the Sleeping Latte, but Blue wasn’t having it, despite the dog-friendly parking space, complete with a bowl of water and tin of dog biscuits left by the front door.

  “He needs to walk a bit more,” Ben said.

  “Seems so. He has a lot of energy, doesn’t he? He’s an Australian shepherd, right?” I bent over and rubbed Blue’s ears, returning his smile of contentment.

  “Not certain, since I adopted him from the pound, but I think so. Wonderful breed, but they need lots of attention and exercise, otherwise they get into trouble.”

  “Is it true that owners take on the characteristics of their pets?”

  “It is indeed, Ruth. We can discuss the specifics another time, after you and Bezel have gotten to know each other a little better. Don’t look so surprised. Bezel loves me. And she’s pretty fond of Blue, though she likes to play hard to get.” Ben started to smile, then stopped. “Listen, I’m really, really sorry about Thom. He was a good friend to me these past few months. He promised me he’d show me how to repair an old cuckoo clock I found in the shop. Wish I’d taken him up on that.” Blue tugged on the leash and Ben gently pulled him back a bit. “I know that Thom didn’t want a service, but Caroline said she wanted to talk to you before she made a decision. I’d love to have a chance to honor Thom in some way, so keep me posted on any plans.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  “Let me know if I can be of any help with anything. A
nything at all. I’m right next door, except when I’m walking the beast. Okay, Blue, I’m coming. Are you staying at the shop?”

  “For a few days at least. Until I figure out what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll see you around, then.” We stared at each other for a second too long, then he turned and walked away. My heart did a little leap, and I couldn’t help but smile. I watched Ben and Blue walk away for another minute before going into the Sleeping Latte.

  chapter 11

  The Sleeping Latte should have been called Ruth’s Heaven. The warm air that swept out the door as I walked in carried a mixture of scents that practically made me swoon: fresh-baked goods, strong coffee, and a faint hint of cedar. The bones of the old diner were still what I remembered from childhood—the countertop and stools along the back, the open kitchen with shelves for pickup, tables and chairs in the rest of the room. But the details were completely different. The countertop was made of wood, the pivot stools were replaced by wooden barstools with backs. These, as well as the deep red walls and the expansive and impressive coffee machinery that lined the very back wall, must have been vestiges of the upscale redo.

  None of the tables and chairs matched completely, yet they were all perfect in the space. Upholstery in red, green, black, and yellow had different patterns, but they all coordinated. A few small couches and wing-back chairs anchored the area to the left. A half-dozen people sat sprawled with laptops and coffee cups, working away. The area to the right had more tables and chairs, and about half of them were full.

  A woman bent over one of the tables, spraying it down and wiping it off. A tub of dirty dishes rested on a table behind her. She didn’t look up. “Seat yourself anywhere. Be right with you,” she said.

  I did as I was told, sitting at one of the cleared tables with no one around me. I watched my old friend Moira Reed make quick work of clearing and cleaning tables, carrying the tub through the swinging doors in the back of the diner. She was back in a moment and attended to the customers at the counter, smiling and chatting with everyone as she refilled coffee cups and water glasses.

  I tried to think what Moira had said she wanted to be when she grew up. I’d always wanted to be a horologist, so it was never up for discussion. But Moira had so many interests it was always hard for her to pick just one career. She loved food, so maybe she’d be a chef or a caterer? But she also loved to paint: an artist or illustrator, then? And then there was her curiosity. About everything. Journalist or maybe detective were the options we’d come up with there. But diner owner? We’d never thought of that.

  Where I was always on the taller side of average, Moira was a little taller. “Five foot twelve,” she used to say, as if that sounded shorter than six foot. Her brown hair was cut in a bob, with highlights. Her jeans were tucked into short boots and she wore a henley T-shirt under a black-and-white plaid flannel shirt. A red SLEEPING LATTE apron offered a splash of color. She looked Berkshire comfortable, but with an urban edge. Whereas I’d kept the boardlike shape I’d had through middle and high school, Moira was curvier, a taller version of her mother. Even in jeans, she was a knockout. She finished up at the counter and walked over to me.

  “Good morning! What can I get for . . . Ruthie, is that you?”

  “Hi, Moira,” I said, feeling shy all of a sudden.

  “Don’t you ‘Hi, Moira’ me, missy. Get up and give me a hug.” She took both my hands and pulled me into her arms. I returned the hug and was embarrassed by my tears until I pulled away and saw her face covered as well.

  “Ah, Ruthie, it has been way too long. Way too long. And I hate that it has to be now, after everything . . .”

  “Ruth! Hello, darling! Aren’t you a sight!” Nancy Reed came through the swinging doors and made a beeline to the table. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her clothing was just Berkshire comfortable. Still, she looked more like Moira’s older sister than her mother, and she hugged as tightly.

  “It’s wonderful to see you both,” I said, meaning every word. Nancy reached up and wiped my tears and then cupped my face in her hands. I leaned forward and she gave me another hug.

  A gust of cold air followed a small group of what looked like college-aged students coming in. They laughed and pushed each other until they sat at one of the tables on the other side of the room.

  “Moira, I’ll take care of them. You visit with Ruth. And make sure to invite her to dinner tonight, you hear me?”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  We both watched as Nancy walked over and chatted with the newcomers. Moira moved us to a pair of wing-back chairs in the corner, close to the kitchen and with a full view of the restaurant. Nancy stopped at our table on the way back to the kitchen.

  “How do you take your coffee?” she asked, all business.

  “Black,” Moira and I said at the same time.

  “And could you bring us something to eat, Mum?”

  “Could I bring you something to eat? Please, Moira. Like I wouldn’t feed her?”

  “Thanks, Nancy, but don’t go to any trouble.”

  “Please,” Nancy said as she turned away, sputtering.

  “She’s still the same. And you look great, Moira. And this place? Wow, look at you.”

  “I know, right? Crazy. One of those universe-aligning things. I needed a change, was visiting my folks, saw the ‘for sale’ sign, and boom. A year later here I am, a business owner.”

  “Visiting?”

  “Yeah, I went to grad school in New York. Went into graphic design, met a guy, living the life, then it all went to hell in a handbasket. Long story for another time. And a bottle of wine. And you? I will admit, I Facebook-stalked you a while back. Saw a picture of that handsome husband of yours in a cute garden. Is he here with you?”

  “Another long story. And a second bottle of wine. The divorce papers are still fresh. He and his girlfriend got the garden.”

  “Yikes, I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to bring it up, especially now. What with G.T. . . .” Moira’s voice broke and she took my hand. “Shoot, I’m so sorry. It keeps creeping up on me. I forget most of the time, and then I remember and I feel like throwing up. He was like another grandfather to me too, you remember. It’s so awful.”

  “I can’t believe it either. Awful is a good word. Inadequate, but good.”

  Nancy interrupted us, bringing over mugs of coffee and a large plate of wondrous baked goods. A brioche roll. Blueberry muffins. A turnover that I hoped was apple. I inhaled the aroma of the coffee, and sipped. It tasted even better than it smelled. I picked the turnover from the plate and took a bite. It was apple. The apples were still crisp, with a wonderful spice mixture that included the traditional cinnamon and nutmeg, and something more. Was that ginger? Yum.

  “This is amazing,” I said, gesturing to the turnover.

  “Mum makes most of the food for the Latte, but we do outsource some of it. The turnovers are from a bakery in town. We always use other small businesses if we can, and keep it seasonal and local. Orchard is on a big ‘keep it local’ trend right now.”

  “Hasn’t it always been like that?”

  “Yeah, but the idea has built up some momentum. There’s a new town administrator—did you hear about that?”

  “Someone mentioned it, but no real details. What is a town administrator? Is that different than what Grover Winter did?”

  “A town administrator is a paid position. The first one in Orchard’s history. Grover Winter had taken on the role for years, but he was never paid for it. When his wife got sick, he had to cut back on the time he spent on the Board of Selectmen. It made everyone in town realize just how much he’d been doing over the years to keep the town running. He suggested that the town hire an administrator and pay him or, as it turned out, her. Kim Gray. Grover Winter still served on the Board of Selectmen, which was a good thing. One of the first things she did was to come up
with the idea to bring in a couple of chain stores, including a coffee franchise.”

  “How did that go over?”

  “Not well. But the brouhaha started a ‘buy local’ movement. It’s one of the reasons I got this location at such a great price. Strong local ties, and I wasn’t a franchise. Now the new idea is to make Washington Street a historic district. Some people are taking the whole ‘buying local’ thing to the extreme though. See the couple by the window?”

  “I don’t recognize them.”

  “Ada and Mac Clark. New age hippies. They’ve taken over the grocery store.”

  “Taken over? You make it sound like it’s been invaded by alien life-forms.”

  “They’re into all things local and organic. Mum bakes for them and we send leftovers over at the end of the day for them to sell as day olds that night since we won’t use them. They have an emphasis on seasonal foods and a crazy selection of teas. They are really very nice people and a big improvement over his uncle Matt Clark. Of course, that isn’t difficult. The problem with Mac and Ada is that they’re the food police.”

  I laughed a little and moved the brioche over to my plate. Moira hadn’t changed a bit. I’d forgotten how she could make me laugh.

  “They judge your basket, I swear. All the junk and processed food is in one badly lit aisle. I feel guilty even going there, since half the time I only want corn chips and ready-made onion dip. And they keep trying to host wine tastings and cheese events in the store, to support local. People attend, but the events aren’t fun.”

  “What could possibly make an event in a grocery store fun?” I laughed.

  “You know, they need to make it the kind of event you look forward to attending. That makes you smile while you’re there. That you don’t check your watch during. You know. Fun.” Moira sighed and shook her head. “There isn’t much fun in Orchard.”