Small Town Girl

by Linda Cunningham

  Lauren looked at her curiously. “What do you mean? He doesn’t seem like a poor guy to me.”

  “Well, business-wise, he’s doing fine. Took over his father’s fuel oil business and became a master plumber to boot. He’s got a good reputation around here. I was talking about emotionally. His wife died, let’s see, must be about five years ago. They had only been married a year. A vicious cancer. She only made it about nine months. It hit him real hard. They were so young. I think she was only twenty-six or twenty-seven. They had just bought a little house, right here, up that side street. I sold it to them. You can drive right by it on the way up to your grandmother’s house. Let’s see, my son’s thirty-eight, so Caleb must be about the same age. A lot of women have been after him.” Joan leaned forward, arching her eyebrows salaciously. “And you can see why!” Then she sighed. “Ah, well, he hasn’t gone for anybody. He’s locked his heart. Filled it with work, volunteering as a fireman, stuff like that. Too bad.”

  Lauren finished her BLT sandwich automatically, not tasting a bite of it. So that was what Bob Cochran meant when he had said Caleb had been through enough. It must have been horrible, and people were still protective of him. It said a lot for his character, but Lauren didn’t know how to process the energy she felt emanating from Caleb. She was attracted to him, that was for certain, and she was sure it was reciprocated. She was ready to write it off as a mild flirtation, but this bit of information changed all that.

  Lauren followed Joan back to the real estate office, where they discovered that “the boss” had not returned yet. Lauren waited an obligatory half-hour, and when he still hadn’t shown, she said politely to Joan, “You know, I’m not leaving until the morning, so I could stop by early and get the papers taken care of. There are some things that I have to do at the house, and I’ve hired a high school kid to mow the lawn. I better go check on it. Also, you could call me if he does come back and I’ll skip down. It’s not that far.”

  “Okay, dear,” said Joan with a kind smile. “I may give you a call later, then. You take care, and I’ll see you tomorrow at the latest.”

  Lauren hurried out to her car. She was curious to drive up the side street Joan had pointed out to see whether she could pinpoint Caleb’s house. She backed out of the parking place onto the main street and slowly turned up the road in question. It was quiet and tree-lined, the quintessential New England village street.

  Then, as she proceeded up a small rise, she saw the house. The name “Cochran” was on the mailbox. It was a small, white clapboarded house in the Cape style, with a good-sized garage attached. The garage was painted red and had obviously been an old barn. The property was pristine, with a split rail fence and a border of well-tended perennials along the road. Suddenly, Lauren felt both foolish and sad. She tipped her foot to the gas pedal and continued on up the hill to her grandmother’s old house.

  Lauren mused on the way. While she was sorry for Caleb about the loss of his wife, it was nothing that would affect her. She smiled a little. She had been lonely for Charles. Caleb was an attractive man; Joan had said as much, as had his own father. It was all very superficial and natural. He was just another good looking guy, tucked away in a small town, hammering out his life on a day-to-day basis. He would most likely never be any more than average and would probably develop a beer gut by the time he was fifty.

  She, on the other hand, was looking forward to life at the top of the social ladder with Charles, free from financial worries, living in the penthouse overlooking Central Park, chairing committees for different charities around the city. The reality was that this was a material world, and she liked the finer things in life. She had worked hard from the time she had moved away from her parents’ home, to leave their nomadic, idealistic, granola lifestyle behind, and she had succeeded.

  Lauren’s picture had already been in Town & Country Magazine, as well as in New York Magazine. The articles featured her position as curator of the prestigious Thompson Museum for the Arts. The New York Times hadn’t missed the opportunity to publish an announcement of her engagement to Charles. Lauren sighed contentedly. Soon this business up here in the back woods of New England would be behind her, and she would never see these people again. There, she thought with satisfaction, pulling into the driveway, I’ve taken care of that problem. I just reasoned it through. She smiled confidently, congratulating herself on making the important choices that would pave her path in life with security, opportunity, and more than a little bit of glamour.

  Chapter Four

  WHEN LAUREN DROVE INTO the driveway of the old house, the boy was already there, mowing the lawn. He gave a wave from the small tractor-mower he drove, and Lauren waved back. The place looked better already. The yard started to show a shape, and the flower beds seemed more colorful. There was still a lot of weeding and edging to do, but the bright orange of the daylilies’ faces illuminated the whole area under the big, shady maple. The freshly cut grass smelled divine. Lauren took a deep breath as she walked into the house. She felt uncharacteristically serene as she went inside.

  In the city, Lauren still kept her own small apartment in Murray Hill, but she spent most of her time with Charles in the penthouse. Most evenings when she left her job at the museum, she walked the six blocks to the apartment building on West 67th, greeted the doorman, and took the elevator up to the private penthouse entrance. There was no need to unlock the door. The doorman would have already alerted Dennis, Charles’s house manager. Dennis would be waiting for her, welcoming her with a smile. He would take her coat, and she would walk through the front foyer, decorated with Charles’s Chinese porcelain collection, into the wood-paneled den.

  Dennis would say, “Would you care for a drink this evening, ma’am?”

  Lauren usually answered, “Yes, Dennis, thank you. I’ll have a gin and tonic. With lime, please.” While she gazed out the window, Dennis would disappear only to return five minutes later with a cool gin and tonic and a plate of hors d’oeuvres prepared by Tina, the cook. Lauren would say, “Thank you so much, Dennis.” He would smile and retreat once again, leaving Lauren to sit and wait for Charles, relaxing by the crackling fire in the fireplace in the winter, or out in the balcony garden when the weather was warm. It was the one time in the day when she was not fielding calls on her iPhone, planning fund raising, directing this exhibition to be set up and this one to be taken down and this one moved to the front of the Windermere room, or tending to the petty complaints of whiny staff members.

  Now she stood in the kitchen of the old farmhouse. The windows were open, and the smell of the freshly mowed grass wafted in on the late afternoon breeze. Lauren looked around her. Dennis and Tina were not there. Charles would not be joining her this evening. She was alone, surprised that she was rather enjoying it. Impulsively, she rolled up her sleeves and walked over to the kitchen sink. Everything was pretty much the way it was left when her grandmother had died, but the grime of neglect had settled over it. Lauren opened the cabinet under the sink and found cleaning supplies. She dragged them out, pulled on a pair of rubber gloves she found there, and began to clean.

  As she worked, Lauren found herself daydreaming. The noise from the lawnmower floated in the background, but it was otherwise quiet. As she washed, swept, and dusted, thoughts of Caleb stole into her imagination. She wondered whether he would show up this evening or whether he was just being polite. She thought about her attraction to him. How could it be so instantly strong when she was in love with Charles? Lauren had spent most of her young life struggling to reach the top. She’d had few relationships, none of them serious until she met Charles. And Charles had fit into her plan so perfectly. To her, he epitomized success. She thought of what Caleb had said about her not quite understanding what Charles’s company did. A fair observation, she thought. I’ll ask him when I get back to the city. On that note, Caleb was right. It was necessary for a wife to understand fully her husband’s business life, and he, hers. It was important to the core of the part
nership which was, in her eyes, marriage.

  The lawnmower stopped. Lauren looked up at the old clock on the wall. It was five fifteen. She smiled to herself. Dennis would not be bringing her a cocktail this evening, but she felt oddly content nonetheless. She looked around the kitchen, now neat and clean, the surfaces of the counters shiny, and the old linoleum floor three times brighter. She was pleased with herself. It felt cozy.

  There was a knock at the door. Lauren opened the screen door. The boy was there, smiling at her.

  “Lawn’s done, miss,” he said.

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

  “Thirty-five will do it.”

  She paid him with cash and watched as he loaded the lawnmower into the back of his pick-up truck and disappeared down the road. Lauren was alone. She heaved a sigh and decided Caleb was not going to “check on things.” She would have liked to have seen him, just to assure herself she could carry on a platonic conversation with this man and get through the night without any more erotic dreams featuring his erection.

  Lauren went outside, wandering around the garden, inspecting the lawnmower’s work. The lawn looked very good. The boy had weed-whacked along the fence, and the garden looked crisp and cared for. She was satisfied with the job.

  As she stood there, Lauren’s stomach suddenly gave a little growl. She realized she was beginning to feel hungry. There was no real supper food in the house. She had only bought coffee and juice, and some bottled water and iced tea, but she felt like having a cold beer. Too much country air, she thought wryly. Well, perhaps she would go down to MacTavish’s Pub and get a hamburger and fries for dinner. It would be entertaining to observe the locals on a Friday night, anyway.

  She skipped up the stairs and changed into a simple cotton sundress with a fitted bodice and full skirt. It was white with a pale blue embroidered pattern, very summery. And although she had no one to impress in this small hamlet, she was pleased with the way it showed off her small waist and rounded breasts.

  It took her about five minutes to drive down into the village. She went alone into the small pub. All heads turned and looked at her, then turned back to their conversations and their drinks. Lauren noted immediately Caleb was not among them. One of the tables in the bow window was empty, so she sat there. The same waitress walked up, pad and pencil in hand as usual.

  “What can I getcha?” she said.

  They must have patterned the stereotypic waitress after you, Lauren mused before speaking. “Oh, I guess I’ll just have a burger and fries.”

  “You want cheese with that?”

  “Yes, provolone, please.”

  “We don’t have provolone. We have American and cheddar.”

  “American, then,” said Lauren. She consciously chose to ignore the waitress’s irritating manner.

  “Drink?”

  “Yes, a Sam Adams on tap, please.”

  “Summer Ale?”

  “Sure.”

  The waitress turned abruptly and disappeared into the crowd that was clustered around the bar, watching a baseball game on television. The crowd seemed to be split about fifty-fifty male and female. They laughed and cheered or booed at the game. It was a friendly place, even though she was alone.

  When the waitress returned with her order, Lauren enjoyed her simple supper, but every time the door swung open, she caught herself looking to see if it was Caleb. Probably, like herself, his circumstances precluded their mutual attraction progressing any further than friendly professionalism. I can live with that, she thought. Hopefully, he can. She laughed softly to herself rather smugly.

  When the front door opened again, this time Caleb Cochran walked into the pub. All the smugness that Lauren had harbored two seconds ago evaporated. Her stomach did a flip, and she struggled to conceal her pleasure at the sight of him. She quickly dropped her eyes to her plate and then peered out from beneath her thick lashes.

  Caleb walked over to the bar. She saw the crabby waitress smile at him, heard him say something, and saw the waitress pull a beer from one of the taps, setting it in front of him. Lauren watched him, unconsciously mesmerized, as he turned around to face into the room, lifting the glass to his lips. He saw her instantly and gave a friendly wave before he made his way to her table.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” said Lauren.

  “Are you eating alone?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  Lauren managed a weak smile and motioned to the empty chair at the table. “Be my guest.”

  “What are you drinking?” he asked, looking at her nearly empty beer glass. “Can I get you another?”

  “Sam Adams,” replied Lauren, beginning to relax a little. “Sure, why not.”

  Caleb caught the eye of the waitress. “Vanessa, can we have another Sam Adams over here, please?”

  Vanessa nodded, pulled the beer, and sulkily set it in front of Lauren.

  “Thank you,” Lauren said, but there was no response from Vanessa. “What an attitude,” added Lauren under her breath as the waitress made her way back to the bar.

  Caleb laughed. “Aw, she’s just shy.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. She’s rude!”

  Caleb lifted his glass and clinked the rim of her own. “Welcome to town,” he said.

  “Well, thank you,” said Lauren. “Thank you for the beer, too.”

  “That’s okay. Every once in a while I get a night where I can enjoy a couple of brews. See, I’m always on call for something. Either the business or the fire department. Tonight, I’m really off. My time’s my own. That doesn’t happen very often.”

  “You sound pretty busy,” said Lauren, looking at him over her glass. His eyes were snapping green lights.

  “I guess I am. I like to keep busy. I don’t handle lying around too well. Never have.”

  “What else do you do? What do you like to do when you do have time off? Nobody can work all the time.”

  “My father thinks I do.” Caleb laughed again. “But no, I do have other interests. I like to snowboard or ski in the winter, and in the summer I have my garden and I like to work on my house. I like woodworking. I’ve got a woodworking shop at home.”

  “Oh, that sounds nice. What sort of things do you do?”

  “I’m no expert, but I’m trying to learn more things. I used to just do rough construction. Then I got into cabinetry. I made all the cabinets in my kitchen. Now I’m trying furniture.”

  “Really! What are you making now?”

  “A bed,” said Caleb. “A four poster, king sized bed.”

  There was an awkward pause, just enough for each of them to notice it. Then Caleb said, “And you? What do you do when you’re not working?”

  “Oh, I like to read. And I chair a lot of committees for fund raising in the city.”

  “That doesn’t count. What do you do for you?”

  Lauren stopped and thought. “Well, I’m a pretty good artist when I take the time to get out my paints. And I love interior design. I designed a lot of Charles’s apartment.”

  “Ah, Charles, the elusive boyfriend.”

  Lauren felt suddenly annoyed. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, trying to control her temper.

  “Nothing. Just, well, why isn’t he up here with you? You’d think he’d be interested in seeing where your family came from.”

  Lauren gave a nasty little laugh. “There’s nothing that would interest Charles less. He’s got bigger fish to fry than getting to know where my family crawled out from.”

  Caleb’s forehead furrowed with disapproval. “Sounds like you’re ashamed of them. I always thought Mrs. Hamilton was a nice woman. I didn’t know her very well, but my father did. Everybody in town liked her. My father went to high school with your mother, I think.”

  Lauren took a sip of her beer. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved my grandmother. I spent a lot of summers here. It’s just that…that I set higher standards for myself.”

>   “Hmm,” said Caleb softly. Lauren felt him looking at her. She looked up from her glass and saw him scrutinizing her carefully. “You don’t seem to be that shallow.”

  “I’m not shallow!” Lauren was indignant.

  Caleb gave a little laugh. “I don’t mean to judge. I guess it’s an individual thing, you know, what a person considers success.”

  Lauren squirmed a little in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable. Caleb said, “Look, your relationship and life are none of my business. I only meant to make you feel welcome in town while you’re here, that’s all. Guess I’ve put my foot in it again, like I did when I came to fix your hot water. Sorry about that.”

  Lauren relaxed. “Oh, that’s okay,” she replied. “I just want to get this house business over with and get back to the city. I’ve still got a lot to do to plan my wedding.”

  “Oh, yeah? What, for instance?”

  “Well, I’m meeting with the wedding planner to discuss the venue. It has to be big enough. We’re inviting a lot of people. Also, there’s the menu, and Charles and I still have a couple of meetings yet with the lawyers.”

  “Lawyers?” Caleb blinked his green sparked eyes at her. “Why do you need lawyers for a wedding?”

  “Just hammering out the last details of the prenup,” Lauren responded nonchalantly.

  Caleb laughed out loud. “Prenup? You’ve got a prenup?”

  “Of course,” said Lauren, somewhat uncomfortably.

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “What do you mean? Everybody has a prenup now.”

  “Ha! No, they don’t.”

  “Well, I do. It’s for Charles’s protection as well as my own.”

  “It’s planning for a divorce. When you love someone, you don’t need a prenup. You don’t even think about a prenup.”

  Lauren felt her hackles rise. What kind of provincial idiot was this man? “I’m not planning for a divorce. It’s just a precaution.”