by Judy Clemens
Once she’d made the turn and gotten close to the hotel she began to see cars. People, too, lunch boxes dangling from their hands as they walked toward her. Their clothes were uniform, each light blue button-down sporting a HomeMaker patch on the left breast. Casey assumed their names were the cursive splotch below the company’s emblem.
She eased to the side of the road and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket to check the time. Just after three. Change of shift. She returned the phone to her pocket and resumed riding toward the factory, scanning the faces of the people as they passed. No one she knew, of course.
As she got closer the factory loomed large and white. Not depressing, actually, as she’d expected. The HomeMaker sign on the side of the building—blue and red—shone brightly. No letters with burned-out bulbs. No weeds growing up through cracks in the pavement. She circled the building, skirting the edge of the massive parking lot, avoiding the main flow of the exiting traffic. Well-maintained grass surrounded the building, mature trees lined the borders, and a manmade pond, complete with fountain, graced the open space toward the highway.
The traffic dwindled. Those taking over this shift had already begun work, and most of those leaving were on their way home. Casey braked to a stop close to the front door, studying the cars in the parking lot. American cars, mostly, with a few Hondas and Toyotas thrown in. None of the Pegasus hybrids. Only a few parking spaces held vehicles in the upper echelon of the car world, and those were the ones up front in the reserved spots. The ones designated for Karl Willems—his Cadillac STS—, the Senior VP—a shiny Indian motorcycle—, and the Executive Assistant. That space held a new-looking Acura Integra. Not hugely expensive, but more than the assembly line workers could afford.
The front doors whooshed open and Eric VanDiepenbos exited, his eyes on the sidewalk as he strode toward her.
“Eric?”
He jerked to a halt, his tight expression easing as he recognized her. “Casey? What are you doing here?”
She gestured to the bike. “Trying out my new wheels.”
He checked out her ride. “Nice. Where’d you get it?”
“The place I’m staying.” She got off the bike and pushed down the kickstand. “I have to tell you your hotel recommendations are now suspect.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Pretty gross, huh? But that bike doesn’t belong to The Sleep Inn.”
“No. I found a nice B & B.”
A smile flickered on his face. “The Nesting Place?”
“That’s the one.”
“You’ll like it there. I didn’t recommend it last night because it was so late and because…well, you said you wanted something cheap. Are the ladies cutting you a break since you’ll be there for a while? At least I hope you will, since the play won’t be done for over a month.”
Casey bit her lip. “Actually, we haven’t gotten around to talking about the price. With me getting there in the morning, and them being busy…”
Eric laughed. “Sounds like them. But you might want to find out the price before you get too settled.” He held up a hand. “Not that they’ll cheat you or anything. It’s just…” He swept a hand at her.
“I know. I don’t exactly look like a high roller, do I? But their place is so nice. Clean, even.”
He grinned. “It would be.” He studied her some more. “I’m sorry. You just don’t look like a bed and breakfast kind of person.”
She winced. “You know you can’t judge a book by its—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m being incredibly nosy and rude.”
She smiled. “That’s okay. I won’t take it personally.”
“So, in the vein of nosiness…why are you here? At HomeMaker?”
“Just curious. I’ve heard so much about it since I got here yesterday. I wanted to check out the big, bad wolf.”
His face clouded. “I guess it’s hard to be in Clymer and not hear about it.”
“It’s like any big business. They sort of…take over.”
“You sound like you’ve had experience.”
“Some.”
They stood quietly, watching as mist blew across the pond from the fountain.
“I hear a happy birthday is in order,” Casey said.
He kept his eyes on the fountain. “Not sure how happy it was.”
“No. I guess not. But Loretta and Johnny felt good about getting you a cake.”
“Yeah, they would.” He turned to look at her. “I’m headed over there to get ready for dinner. You coming?”
“Is it time already?”
“Not quite, I guess. But sometimes Loretta and Johnny get there early. I want to make certain they aren’t burning the place down.”
“Sure, I’m coming.” She walked back to her bike, disengaging the kickstand.
“You want to put that in my car?” Eric said. “I’m pretty sure it would fit in the trunk.”
“No. I mean, thanks, but I’ll ride. It’s not far.”
“If you’re sure.”
She straddled the bike. “I’ll race you.”
He grinned. “You’re on.” He shot off, sprinting toward his car.
Casey took off down the parking lot, waving good-naturedly when Eric passed her in a dark green Camry. She followed him, catching up as he waited for traffic at the end of the drive, then cruising up onto the sidewalk, now devoid of people.
About a block from Main Street, trailing only by a few hundred feet, Casey ducked down an alley, which she believed would take her behind Home Sweet Home. Pausing at the cross streets to make sure she didn’t get hit, she bounced through the rutted, gravel lane, counting buildings and looking for the church steeple.
She found the church sooner than she realized, and skidded to a stop as the alley dead-ended at a cast iron fence surrounding the church’s back yard. The grassy area was barely visible through the branches of thick bushes, but Casey could make out some flowers and a pathway among trunks of larger trees.
The gravel lane angled sharply to the right, toward Main Street, and Casey turned her bike quickly in that direction, hoping she could still beat Eric to the kitchen.
“But it’s not fair!”
Casey froze at the words, the woman’s shrill voice traveling easily through the air, along with footsteps and the slap of the church’s back door. Casey leaned toward the bushes, squinting through the leaves into the church’s garden.
“I don’t like it either, Holly, but what was I supposed to do? Eric made it clear what he would do if I didn’t cast her. And we have to replace Ellen if we want to do the play.”
Thomas. The play’s director. Casey grimaced. And he was talking about her.
“What could Eric really do? Tell people about your little problem? Like they even care?” the woman, Holly, said. Casey couldn’t quite make out her face, but could easily imagine the pout that must have been on it. “You’ve got to tell her to go away.”
“I tried. You can try if you want, but you’ll get the same response. Everybody else wants to keep her.”
The two were close together, the woman’s arms crossed tightly over her chest. Thomas stood over her, his posture just as stiff.
“I don’t understand why you let Eric push you around so much, Thomas. He’s younger than you. And smaller. Why wouldn’t people believe you instead of him, no matter what he said? You should just show him who’s the boss. I mean, you are the director.”
“I know that, dammit! And he knows it, too. But I can’t change who his parents are, can I, or what he knows? Or why he’s come back to town?”
Holly snorted. “How about why you came back? Doesn’t that matter at all?”
They stood glaring at each other.
“I think,” she finally said. “That you’re just chicken. Like everyone says.”
Thomas reared back, his face a picture of shock and anger.
“Quite a pair, aren’t they?”
Casey jumped, whacking her foot against the bike’s pedal. Death stood on the back,
feet on the axle and hands on Casey’s shoulders, like a ten-year-old catching a ride on a friend’s bicycle.
“Who’s there?” Thomas stalked toward the bushes, his face dark.
With a growl Casey pushed off, racing down the alley, trying to balance with Death’s weight on her back. After the short distance to Main Street she skidded around the corner and dashed the remaining half block to Home Sweet Home, hoping the church’s fence didn’t have a convenient gate for Thomas to find.
“Thanks a whole lot,” Casey said. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”
Death’s eyebrows rose. “Who? Me?”
Casey shuddered. “You are so—”
“Casey?” Eric held open the front door and winked. “Glad you could join us.”
Casey stepped off of the bike and dropped it against the brick store front, hoping to squash Death against the wall. Death stood suddenly at the curb, shaking a finger at her.
“Yeah,” Casey said. “I got detoured.”
“Maybe next time. But then, I was driving a car.”
Turning her back on Death, Casey walked past Eric into the soup kitchen, taking a whiff of the same cologne Eric had worn the night before. This time it was replaced by the smell of pasta, rather than beef and vegetable soup.
“Macaroni tonight,” Eric said. “We had lots of government cheese to use up.”
Casey followed him to the kitchen.
“Thank you, Jesus! ” Loretta said. “Hallelujah! ”
“Pretty lady’s back!” Johnny skipped toward her, arms outstretched, a bundle of silverware in each hand.
Ducking to avoid losing an eye, Casey allowed Johnny to hug her, squeezing her so tightly she lost her breath, along with her sense of place.
It was at the funeral. The last time someone had hugged her like that. Not as hard, nor as joyfully. Her aching breasts had sent arcs of pain through her body. Full breasts, and tender, no longer the sustainer of life, but the reminder of life lost. Omar’s casket, so small in the receiving room next to the larger box.
Casey’s whole life, enclosed in two cases of pine.
“Let her go, Johnny.” Eric was laughing. “Ease up, my man.”
She almost fell from his arms, grabbing onto the counter for support.
Eric’s hand slid onto her back. “Casey? You okay?”
She took a deep breath, eyes focused on the bread knife lying on the counter. “I’m all right. It’s nothing.” She darted a quick look around the kitchen, expecting Death’s face. It was not there.
“Well, you look pale. Johnny, you’ve got to be more careful.”
“No.” Casey stood up, her hands flat on the counter. “It wasn’t his fault.” She attempted a smile. “He’s fine.”
Johnny stood chewing on his lip, his eyes twitching.
She tried harder at the smile. “I’m glad to see you, too, Johnny. Thank you.”
His tight face relaxed, and the smile returned. “See, Eric. You find nice ladies.”
“Yes, Johnny, I do.” He steered Casey toward a chair and pushed her down into it. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” She brushed him away and rubbed her face. “He just surprised me, is all. Now, what can I do?”
Obviously not convinced, he reluctantly set her to work doing what she had the previous night—arranging bread in baskets and cutting up just-past-ripe fruit. She could feel his eyes on her throughout their food preparation, and even when the guests began arriving.
“Eric.” She waved him over to the kitchen door from his spot in the dining room.
“What is it? Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. Really. Now pay attention to them, not me. Okay?”
Color rose in his cheeks, and he looked away.
“I appreciate it, Eric, but really, they need your attention more than I do.”
He let out a breath. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. You don’t really need help from me, do you?” Without looking at her again, he set to work welcoming the diners.
Casey did what she could to serve, scooping out macaroni, taking away garbage, and refilling water glasses. As she worked and watched, it became even more apparent, this second night, that food was only partly why the people came. The time here in Home Sweet Home served another, perhaps even more important, function. More than filling their bellies.
These people’s lives were hard. They’d lost jobs. They’d lost dignity. They’d lost Ellen Schneider. This fellowship, this time together, underscored the reality that they weren’t alone. They weren’t the only people suffering. Here, in this room, was proof that others were as badly off as they. Some even worse. It wasn’t their life, alone, that had been affected.
But this realization wouldn’t come through conversation. The people were as quiet as the night before, speaking only when they needed something passed, or to offer a quick thank you after being served. But they were together. They understood each other.
And they had Eric.
Casey watched Eric as he mingled with the people. He, out of everyone, was the central figure. Not in a showy way. But everyone in the room seemed aware of him, turning toward him, searching him out, as one searches out any item of comfort. His concern for the people was evident on his face as he moved from one to another, listening, talking, putting an arm around a shoulder.
What exactly was his connection here? While Eric had questioned Casey about her presence at HomeMaker, she hadn’t asked why he was there. Was he an employee? Had he been visiting someone? And what had those other two—Holly and Thomas—meant in the church garden? Who were Eric’s parents? And why did they think he had the upper hand?
“Praise God, here are the cookies!” Loretta handed Casey a tray with cookie plates, filled with a variety of day-old goodies from the bakery.
Casey took the tray and walked around the tables, leaning in to deposit dessert every so often. The people whispered thank yous, but didn’t look up and meet her eyes. She wondered how long she would have to work there before they would be brave enough to acknowledge her presence.
She met up with Eric at the kitchen door. “You okay?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Right.
The diners ate the cookies quickly, and were soon headed home. Eric stood as host at the front of the room, shaking hands and patting the kids’ heads. Casey smiled. He should be running for office.
As soon as the door shut, Eric locked it and strode to the kitchen. “Any of that macaroni left, Loretta!”
“Thank you, Jesus, there’s just enough!”
She pulled a partially filled casserole dish from the oven, and Casey found a couple of bruised peaches in the refrigerator, which she sliced and distributed on their plates.
“Silverware, nice lady!” Johnny thrust a bundle at her.
“Thank you, Johnny.”
“I’m the best at wrapping it, you know.”
“Yes, Johnny, you definitely are.”
They sat at the end of one of the dining room tables, Loretta said grace (Thank you, precious Jesus!), and Johnny told them all about a restaurant he’d visited when he was sixteen, and how the napkins were folded like pyramids. Eric made comments at the right places, but Casey could see he wasn’t entirely with them.
He finally set down his silverware on his empty plate. “Well, Loretta and Johnny, do you mind cleaning up? Casey and I have a rehearsal to get to.” He smiled at Casey, almost erasing the worry from his face.
“Is it that time already?” Casey glanced at the clock. The day kept flying by. And she wasn’t exactly looking forward to another meeting with Thomas, or coming face-to-face with this Holly person, who obviously didn’t want her around.
Eric stood and took Casey’s plate, along with his. “We can clean up before dinner tomorrow. If Loretta doesn’t mind wiping down the tables, at least?”
Loretta clucked her tongue. “Of course I’m happy to do that, baby. Jesus wasn’t afraid to work, thank the Lord! ”
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“I appreciate it. See you tomorrow, Johnny?”
Johnny jumped up from his chair to hug Eric, and spun toward Casey. She was ready this time, and folded her arms protectively in front of her chest to receive Johnny’s embrace.
“See you tomorrow, Johnny.”
“See you, nice lady.”
Eric walked her to the front door, so he could lock it behind her. He smiled as she passed. “Wanna race again?”
She made a face. “On a full stomach? I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t want to make you look silly in front of the cast.”
“I’ve still got the car.”
“Yeah, but I’m getting a head start, and it’s not that far.”
He grinned. “What if I told you I’m walking?”
She waved at her bike. “You can have a ride on my handlebars.”
He eyed the old Schwinn. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”
“How ‘bout I just wait for you to lock up, so we can arrive together?”
He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. “Scared?”
“Not for me. But I think Thomas is going to be gunning for you tonight, after your show of…whatever it was last night.”
He pushed off from the jamb. “Nah. He’s too wimpy, when it comes right down to it. And he really has no say in the matter.”
“I wanted to ask you about that—”
“So we’d better get going. Just a sec.” He trotted back into the building and came out with his bag, Loretta following. “She’ll lock up. Shall we?”
Casey walked beside her bike, with Eric on the other side.
“It’ll be interesting tonight,” Eric said.
“Why’s that?”
“Whole cast will be there. You only met some of them last night.”
“Aaron and Jack, right? And Becca?”
“Yup. And there’ll be a few more. Todd, who does some of the older male roles, and Leila. She fills in wherever needed—acting, props, whatever.”