by Solly, Clare
“Sure,” Dottie said, her head still in her hands. “We will just put it in another room and close of The Baker. It will be fine. It won’t be as grand as I had imagined,” she chewed on her bottom lip. “But it will still be a fantastic show,” Dottie said now trying to comfort her friend.
“No, I mean, why is it the last show?” Joe asked with confusion.
“Well,” Dottie sighed as she stood up and grabbed another cookie, snapping a bite in her mouth and chewed. She couldn’t look Joe in the eye. “The museum has lost its funding. My mom was great at raising money for the place and getting different groups of visitors in to keep it alive. I haven’t been able to do the same thing. I keep asking Harold for help, but he says this place is a marketing disaster. So, the board voted we close the doors on December thirty-first. Permanently.”
“So, you need advertising?” Joe asked. His eyes warmly looked into hers.
“We need everything. Something exciting to keep people coming back. Money to help fix the roof. Advertising to remind people that this place exists and is good for events and meetings as well as just educating them on the area and Connecticut,” Dottie said.
“Or at least a good rumor or ghost story, like the castle,” Hetty said referring to the pile just down the road that used to belong to ‘Sherlock Holmes,’ popular with tourists.
Silence hung over the room.
“Well, I’d better get back and fill Murray in. Hetty, can you drive me?” Frank said, and Hetty’s head snapped up as if she’d missed a cue.
“Um… sure,” Hetty said as if she was trying to grasp what she was missing. Frank gave her a look and she suddenly caught on, responding with, “I… probably should… go check on Don at the diner,” she seemed to come up with out of nowhere. “That is, if you’ll be ok, Dottie?”
“Hmm? Oh, sure, sure. I’ll be… fine,” she said with distraction
“Alright. Bye then,” Hetty called as she walked out of the kitchen.
Dottie was deep in thought about how to restructure the exhibit on Hetty. It wasn’t until she heard the car engine start that she pushed herself off of leaning on the counter and looked up that she wasn’t alone. She jumped when she saw Joe still standing there. “I thought you’d gone with Frank and Hetty,” she said surprised.
Joe too seemed deep in contemplation. “No, I… I drove Frank over on my way home.”
“Oh?” Dottie started to tidy up the kitchen. “That… was very nice of you.” She stopped wiping the counter to face him, “Thank you for helping today.”
“It was nothing.”
“No, but it was,” Dottie corrected him. “You didn’t have to give me the time of day, let alone come over and patch my roof.”
“Sure, I did,” he said smiling and handing her the dirty dishes from the safe distance of the other side of the counter. “What are neighbors for?”
She smiled when a memory popped into her mind. “Do you remember when we would pretend that the museum held an army, and we would charge up the hill from your house and creep through the bushes? We did it so much that we made holes in between them. Your mother was so mad when she found out,” Dottie was laughing now.
“And you wouldn’t let me take the blame,” Joe said chuckling. “You said we were saving the bushes from the deer that were eating them.”
“I don’t think she believed me.”
“Nope. She didn’t,” Joe said rubbing his neck. And then he sighed a deep sigh transitioning from a happy memory to sadness. “She was such a kind soul, and she loved you so much. She knew you were lying to protect me, and she let it go. I mean, I did have to vacuum every week for two months after that,” he faked a frown to make her feel guilty. “But knowing you had my back was worth it,” Joe said as he looked at her and warmly smiled. The silence between them turned from warm to awkward. “Well, I should be going,” he said, feeling that his smile and his presence had lingered too long. “When Frank comes back to patch the roof, have him call me. If I’m not busy next door, I’ll help out,” he motioned toward his house.
“Thanks, Joe,” Dottie said as she walked him out.
“Wreaths look nice,” Joe said pointing to the one on the front door as he put on his rain jacket. “Almost worth getting hit on the head for,” he smiled at her. “Almost.” Joe gave her a stern look.
“I am so sorry for that. I really—”
“Dottie, I’m teasing you.” He cut her off and broke into a chuckle. “My head, as my mother used to say, is thick as an oak. It’s nothing that hasn’t already healed,” he reached for the door knob. “See you soon,” he said giving her one more boyish grin as he left the museum.
“Bye,” she said watching him leap to avoid puddles on the way to his truck only to step into one and make a giant splash just before he climbed in. He turned back and threw his arms in the air. “If it’s not one thing, it’s a puddle,” he hollered.
She smiled and waved from the overhang of the porch. As he drove off, she hugged herself, feeling a bit cold and not realizing she was missing the warmth that Joe had brought inside.
Chapter Nine
Although the future for the museum seemed bleak, Dottie forged ahead anyway. Not one to take any problem lying down, she was determined to fight for the museum she loved and knew that the community had simply forgotten about. To go down swinging, as the baseball cliché goes. If she could only get the community involved again in some way Dottie knew the museum would thrive. She kept baking cookies every day. They were selling out at the diner. Hetty started telling people the only place to get the cookies was at the museum. Foot traffic at the museum doubled. Dottie even started getting holiday orders to ship outside of Connecticut. Baking was taking her time away from working on the new exhibit, but she knew it was guaranteed income. But would it be enough?
“Can you believe Harold thinks I should sell these, and go into the cookie business?” Dottie said flabbergasted to Hetty on the phone. “He says he will actually do the marketing for me. Why is it that he doesn’t do a thing to help the museum, not even hang posters around town when we have a new exhibit? But the moment I start getting buzz with these cookies, he wants me to be the new Mrs. Fields?”
“I know honey. I don’t understand men,” Hetty commiserated. “Don convinced me I was a good cook, and that’s how we ended up with the diner. And I hired a chef to cook here! Listen, not to change the subject,” Hetty trod carefully, “but I think we should call an emergency board meeting. They should know we’re making steps in the right direction. Maybe it will inspire some of them to help out a little more instead of just sitting at home, just making decisions on shutting down the history of this town,” Hetty told Dottie over the phone while Dottie rolled out another batch of dough.
“Yes, I think that is a great idea,” Dottie agreed. “We can also let them know about the new exhibit we’re working on, and the ball.”
“And maybe some of them will help with the roof,” Hetty said.
“Not likely, but it’s worth an ask,” Dottie said.
There was a knock at the front door.
“Frank is here,” Dottie told Hetty. “Why does he always knock? He only comes here during museum hours.”
“Tell him just to walk in,” Hetty suggested.
“Believe me, I have,” Dottie said to Hetty then yelled toward the front door, “I’m in the kitchen!” Then she said into the phone, “Hetty, I’d better go so I can focus on Frank and these cookies.”
“Sure, sure. Give me a call later.”
“Will do!” Dottie said then hung up.
“Hey, Frank, do you—” She said as she walked out of the kitchen and right into Joe. Again.
“Hey, Dottie,” Joe grinned sheepishly at her. “Frank headed upstairs with the supplies. He wanted me to ask you for the museum’s ladder.”
She stood motionless for a moment. Why did she continually freeze when Joe was in the room? It wasn’t his fame. She had known him before he was famous. Maybe it was the distance
of years. It was certainly not she protested to herself, as Hetty kept implying, that she had feelings for him. She loved Harold—even though these days he was gone more and more. But no matter, that would change once he got his job and they settled down. Shaking it off, she pushed past Joe, “Follow me,” she said a little colder than she wanted to. Dottie walked into a closet just below the stairs. “Remember your old hiding spot? It’s now the maintenance closet. Help yourself to anything in here,” she said businesslike walking into the small, slanted ceiling room and pulling the string to turn on the free hanging lightbulb. Leaning against the wall were a folding ladder, a broom and a mop on the shelf parallel were boxes of what looked like craft supplies with wooden sticks, glue and pompom balls brimming over.
“Great, thanks,” Joe said as he reached for the ladder. She swerved trying to anticipate his move, but he stepped the same direction. In trying to back up so he wouldn’t step on her, Joe lost his balance but quickly caught himself putting his arms out flat against the wall. And around Dottie. She was caught. With his arms on the sides of her, they looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Feeling something rekindling. Suddenly, they both gave off a nervous laugh, and Joe drew his arms back suddenly.
She was stock-still for a moment, then went scurrying out of his way and walked out of the closet. “I’ll go up and see if Frank needs anything else,” she shouted as she rushed up the stairs. Running away from the weird wobbly feeling she had in her stomach. Again.
When she reached the top of the stairs, her stomach seemed to settle. With a calming deep breath, she took in the wonderful aged history aroma of the museum, and felt the sunlight washing in from the different rooms. She walked into the Baker room. It was a beautiful sunny day and the circular wall of windows doused the with light. Suddenly a beam of light burst in from the ceiling.
“Hey there, Dottie,” Frank called as he peered in the hole from the roof. “I’m taking off these rotten shingles.” Then as almost an afterthought he said, “Oh, and Joe volunteered to come with me.”
“Volunteered?” she heard Joe ask from behind her. The hairs on Dottie’s neck prickled.
Once again, she quickly moved out of his way while he set the ladder up directly under the hole.
“You told me you would teach me how to repair a roof, and next thing I know I’m driving you over here again,” Joe said in a jokingly defensive tone. “I really need to find another hardware store,” he said jokingly up the hole, then turning to Dottie and winking. Feeling the blush grow on her face, she pretended to check out the floor for damage as Joe looked back up at Frank.
“Well, no better way to learn how to repair a roof then to actually do it,” wisdom spewed from Frank.
Dottie and Joe shared another look and did a simultaneous eye roll. This caused the both to laugh.
“I don’t care what anyone says, you’re a sneaky devil, Frank,” Dottie teased and shook her finger up at the roof. She started to walk out of the room and said over her shoulder, “If either of you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen baking cookies. Oh, and we’re having an emergency meeting of the museum board today, but we should be out of your way. Just wanted you to know they might want to come up and take a look at the hole.”
“Why are they meeting?” Joe asked.
“Well, among other things, so we can chat about a new roof, and possibly have a ball here on Christmas Eve. And I’m doing one last big exhibit for the last weeks of the museum on Dottie and her pageant life. I want to present that to them. Hopefully one, if not all of these will be good fundraisers to keep the museum open.”
“Oh,” Joe said with more questions on his mind, “What—”
Dottie perked, and then dashed out of the room as she shouted, “I’ll be back, the timer is going off…” her voice drifted away as she ran off into the kitchen.
“I hate to see her like this with the museum closing at the end of December. Dottie is so worried these days. But don’t tell her I said that. If my whole life was invested in a place that meant as much to me as this place does to her, I’d be more frazzled than she.” Frank had a distant look in his eye.
Joe pretended his intensity was focused on the roof and no concern for Dottie.
Frank continued, “They made that decision the day you came back to town. It’s never been an economical project. And with the house getting older, the board just doesn’t want to put the time or the money into helping it stay afloat,” Frank started tossing things off of the roof. “Look to see if the drywall there looks like it dried, or if it’s going to need a whole new piece.”
Joe examined the area. “It looks like its swollen, and there are big rings on the ceiling,” Jack answered.
“Yup. Figured. Alright, son. You’ll have to cut out the drywall. Did you put down tarps around you on the floor to catch it all?” Frank directed.
“I’ll do that now,” Jack answered. He moved the ladder out of the way and spread the plastic tarps over the floor and taped them down on the corners so they wouldn’t slip around. He put the ladder back in the middle, just under the hole and took a hammer up with him. “So, what’s next?” he hollered back at Frank.
“Well, if they can raise the funds, I guess they could keep the museum open,” Frank mused. “For a few more months anyway. But now with this roof needing replaced—”
Jack interrupted, “No, I meant what do I do with the ceiling.”
“Oh, sure, sure. Take a hammer, flat side and start whacking away at the drywall. It will just fall off. Make sure you’ve got protective eyewear. Don’t want any of this flying into those million-dollar eyes of yours,” Frank teased.
“Fifteen million,” Joe corrected him with a smug grin.
As Joe started to bang away at the damaged drywall, he could hear Frank treading the boards above, and pulling out all of the immediate shingles that needed replacing.
“Too bad, this place has a lot of history. A little money pumped into it could do wonders,” Frank muttered to no one in particular.
An hour later, Joe had cut away the damaged parts of the ceiling exposing the beams overhead. “Frank, I think I’ve cleared away all of the soaked drywall,” he hollered up as he started to wrap all of the debris up in the plastic tarp. “What should I do next?”
“You afraid of heights?” Frank said sticking his face near the hole.
“Nope,” Joe answered a little to boldly.
“Well then. Why don’t you come outside and climb on up here with me, and I’ll show you how to shingle?”
“Great. I’ll be up in a minute,” he said wrapping up the last of the tarps and starting downstairs. Joe had a great idea. “I’m just going to stop in the kitchen and … get a glass of water,” he said over his shoulder toward Frank.
He was already walking down the stairs, so he didn’t see Frank watching after him. Nor did he hear Frank mutter, “Mm, hmm. Take your time.”
Joe walked the large bundle that rivaled Santa’s sack in size out the front and put it in one of the trash cans. Joe walked around the porch, so he wouldn’t track in more dust or dirt inside the museum and walked in through the kitchen door.
Music was playing loudly. He called out a hello to Dottie, but she couldn’t hear him over her own singing. He stood back and watched as she sang and wiggled her hips to the music. He smiled as he took in the sight of her. Joe started to feel guilty and reached out to get her attention.
“Oh, you scared me,” Dottie jumped as Joe touched her gently on the shoulder. She reached toward her phone to turn down her music, but her hands were so covered with dough. Circling herself to find a towel or something to wipe her hands-on Dottie seemed scattered. Finding nothing she bent over to the phone. Stuck out her tongue to one side of her mouth as she closed one eye and squinted to focus with the other on the phone screen. Touched her nose to the screen and swiped left three times before the music was muted.
“I’m so sorry to frighten you,” he said laughing now audibly at her actions.
“What?” she said wiping the clean cheek again.
“Here, let me,” Joe said taking the dishrag he found under the cookbook close to him. He raised it up to her face and gently wiping the flour off her cheek. They were so close he could almost touch her and could smell the vanilla of her skin. Dottie was even more beautiful than when they were kids. The curl fell back in her face again. Joe couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He started to lean closer. She wasn’t sure if he was going to kiss her. Joe stared relentingly deep into her eyes. He licked his lips and edged a millimeter closer. Dottie seemed to hold her breath, until she reminded herself that he had come into the kitchen for something specific.
“What was it you needed,” she asked, and he jumped back, taken out of his trance.
“Oh, I uh…” Why did she keep getting stuff on her face? He needed to stop reaching out and touching her, Joe thought to himself.
“Water?” she guessed as she reached for a glass and started filling it from the new stainless tap. The kitchen had been completely redone a few years ago, Frank had mentioned. It was modern with white cabinets and countertops with silver appliances.
“Yes, I—No. I mean, I’ll take the water. But that’s not why I came down here. In here.” He was usually so good with words. Why couldn’t he speak. He took a breath to regain composure. “I mean. I came in to talk to you about the museum,” he said finally able to put words together in the right thought. He took a drink of the cool water to center himself before beginning. “As I was up there, I started thinking about this place and what you need. My advisors and my accountant are always suggesting that I give to charity, and I think this museum would be a great cause to support and—”