~*~
Penn’s tension headache drummed a dirge behind her eyebrows as she counted the squares in the dated wallpaper behind Clara’s head.
Clara droned about deadlines and budgets weaving her pen over her candy cotton-colored fingertips.
The envelope with the newspaper article sat in her purse, untouched because John was a no show. She glanced at her watch. Thirty minutes into the meeting. Pretty safe bet she wouldn’t see him tonight. Thirty more minutes and then she’d excuse herself—politely, of course.
Despite loathing his job, Penn couldn’t help herself. She wanted to see John again. Although his absence tonight weighted her heart and closed her throat, she could see the end of this train ride—a great, big wreck.
Her strong-willed heart refused to listen to her arguments regarding John’s vocation. Her imaginative mind created various scenarios of his quitting flying to write full time or becoming an English teacher at Mars High or opening a construction company—any job that didn’t include a plane.
The door chimed and startled her back to the present.
Jacob shouted, “Woo-hoo. Here he is. Mars’s own hero. Good job, buddy.”
Tingles raced around her heart and pushed up the corners of her mouth. She shouldn’t be so happy to see John.
Surprise melted into embarrassment as John rubbed the five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. “Sorry I’m late. I—”
Clara lifted her hand to stop him. “No need to apologize one bit, John. We’re proud to have you as a member of our committee. Congratulations on helping to rid our town of miscreants.” She led the group in applause and a couple of whistles from Jacob.
John caught Penn’s eye and winked at her.
She pushed her fist into her stomach in a vain attempt to quash its fluttering.
He sat opposite her beside Jacob and shrugged. “I just made a call. The sheriff’s department did the rest.”
Jacob slapped him on the back. “Proud of you, son.”
Missy reached across the table and squeezed his hand. She held contact for six seconds.
Penn counted.
Al chimed in from the end of the table. “You did more than make a call. You took me up, at no charge to the department, by the way, and I was able to radio the exact location of the ‘graves.’“ He made air quotation marks with his fingers. “Craziest thing I’ve ever seen. That Nolan is certifiable.” He massaged his forehead and stared at his notepad in front of him.
Jacob leaned forward, ready for every detail. “I heard he buried a dump truck, a front loader, and some antiques. Is that true, Al?”
“He buried a zero-turn lawn mower.” Al counted on his fingers. “He buried a John Deere front loader tractor, a huge box of antiques, and get this, a brand new Ford F-150. Do you know how big a hole has to be to bury an F-150?”
Jacob’s eyes widened.
“B-I-G. That’s how big.” Al rubbed his crew cut and frowned. “I don’t understand it.”
Jacob clasped his gnarled hands above the table. “Why in the world did he do it?”
Al sighed. “Before he clammed up at the sheriff’s office, he carried on about getting even. Seems his girlfriend broke up with him. Started talking to another fella. That guy and Nolan supposedly had a tussle a few years ago over some unpaid work. Nolan bided his time, and the girlfriend thing tipped the balance.”
Clara frowned. “I get the stealing part. Revenge. But the burying part? Why not sell the stuff and pocket the money? That’s a lot of work just for revenge.”
Jacob settled back in his chair. “Revenge is sweet. So I’m told.”
Al shrugged. “Why does Nolan do anything? He’s crazy. He’s been in and out of jail since he went to juvenile hall in high school. It’s a shame.”
Penn caught a look of compassion on John’s face before he turned his attention to his hands. Did he feel sorry for this Nolan character?
“But we can be grateful to concerned citizens like John who help our men and women in uniform keep our streets safe for us.” Clara offered a thumbs-up to John.
“Here. Here.” Jacob led another round of clapping.
John held up flattened palms. “Thanks, everybody, but I think we need to get back to the meeting.”
“Indeed we do.” Clara grabbed her pen and perused her note pad. “We need some people checking out the Three Rivers Arts Festival in Pittsburgh before it ends Sunday. Everything’s down there—music, food, arts and crafts. Missy, John, Penny? How about it?”
“I’m in a wedding this weekend.” Missy smiled at John.
The hopeful glint in the younger girl’s eyes summoned another sense of heaviness in Penn’s chest. Thinking of Missy and John together heated her cheeks.
Clara persevered. “Penny?”
“Um, probably not. I’m studying all weekend.”
Clara snorted. “Well, I’m going. Wouldn’t think of missing it. If some of you could get down there, you’d help out this committee tremendously. Let me know if you need a ride.” She shuffled several pages. “OK. Let’s move on to the Fourth of July parade. We need to have a presence there.” She slid a sign-up sheet to her right. “If everyone takes a block, two people per slot, no one will have to man our booth more than thirty minutes.”
John raised his hand. “So we’ve got two festivals, huh?”
Clara shook her head. “The parade isn’t a festival, but it’s a big deal here. A few churches have bake sales, and the high school booster club will sell t-shirts and season passes, but we don’t have any real food vendors or music. We always have a booth to advertise the Apple Fest. Sign up volunteers, that sort of thing.”
John nodded. “Gotcha.”
Penn marked the Fourth on her calendar and subtracted hours from her study time. Added more of watching Missy flirt with John.
~*~
Penn inserted her key into the driver’s side door lock. She’d waved goodbye to John as Missy grabbed his arm on his way out. Her ribs pinched together again, but she told herself it was for the best. The mantra, “He’s a pilot. He’s a pilot,” played in her head.
“Penn. Wait up.” John breezed up to her with a grin. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Was he kidding or did he mean it?
“You got a problem with parking lots?”
“No, silly. I was teasing.” He dropped his grin, his dark eyes serious. “I’d meet you anywhere.”
She squeezed her folder against her tap dancing heart, a shield against John’s nearness. “You would?”
His smile appeared again as he leaned on Clara’s green sedan, propping his helmet under the crook of his arm. “I chased you out here, remember?”
He chased her?
The tap dancing in her heart sped up a notch. Time to change the subject. “Congratulations on your police work, by the way. The streets of Mars are safer today because of you. Good job.” She retrieved the envelope containing the newspaper article and offered it to him. “You made the paper. We saved you a copy.”
He chuckled, peeking inside. “Safer streets, huh? I don’t know about that, but thanks.” He scratched his throat. “Craziest thing. Never been a part of catching thieves before. For sure, never heard of burying trucks and lawn mowers before either.”
“You’ve never lived in Mars before.”
“Oh, is that it?”
“Absolutely. Mars, the motherland of crazy.”
“You know that begs the question, ‘what do you mean—motherland of crazy?’“
Penn glanced at her watch. “Trust me. We don’t have time to get into all that.”
“I know a segue when I hear one.” He shoved his free hand into his pocket. “Do you really have to study this weekend? The arts festival sounds cool. We could scout out stuff for Clara, have some fun while we do that, and you could explain the Mars penchant towards crazy. Want to go?”
She blinked and tipped her head. How did they get to this point? They were talking about crazy Mars. Now he invited her
to the festival.
Her heart thumped against her chest.
Of course, she wanted to go.
Of course, she couldn’t go.
Forget about studying. She couldn’t go because she was pretty sure the forecast promised future pain. She’d suffered through the agony of losing loved ones in a plane crash. She refused to put herself in line for more tragedy.
~*~
John could see “No” forming on her lips, her brain scanning for reasons to decline his offer. He had to make his offer one that she couldn’t refuse. “If your aunts are up for it, I’d like to take them, too, as a proper thank you for my floor. I haven’t had a chance yet.” He couldn’t read the emotion that skirted across her face before she lowered her head.
Disappointment, maybe? What she thought was a date turned out to be an invitation for the whole family.
“You paid for our lunch at Uncle Bob’s, remember? That was a proper thank you.”
“Paying for a couple of fish sandwiches doesn’t compensate for a morning of manual labor.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you think they’d like to go?”
“Are you kidding? They love it. They go every year. The rain kept them home last weekend, but they’ve already checked the weather for Saturday.”
“Sweet. So they’re on board.” He dipped his head to match her gaze. “What about their niece? Can you spare a few hours to show a transplant another part of the area he’s moved to?” He saw the struggle in her eyes. He couldn’t relent now. “Come on. Help a poor newcomer out. I hear Pittsburgh’s a beautiful city, but I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”
She rubbed the blue stone turned toward her palm.
“Please?”
She bit her lip.
“Pretty please?”
She closed her eyes and let out a breath. “OK, but I really do have to study.”
“No problem. How about you study in the morning, and I pick you up after lunch? We can spend the afternoon touring the festival.”
“You’re picking us up? Do you have a side-car with your motorcycle?” She grimaced. “Wait. It doesn’t matter. I’m not riding in a side car-even if you do have one. We can take their car. It’s bigger than Gretch—than mine.”
He covered his heart, feigning hurt. “Hey now. I asked you. I can come up with a ride that works.”
“Oh, really?” She arched a brow.
“Yes, really.” A puff of wind ruffled the curls around her temples. He gripped his helmet to keep his hand from smoothing those curls. He remembered how soft they were when he’d brushed them off her temple the night she’d tripped in his kitchen. “I’ll be by about 12:30 Saturday, OK?”
She nodded.
“Will you tell your aunts, or should I call with the invitation?”
“I’ll tell them. See you Saturday.” She turned toward the car door and reached for the handle at the same time he did. She drew back her hand as soon as his brushed against hers. Not exactly a good sign. He opened the door for her. “See you Saturday.”
~*~
Penn sank behind the steering wheel, thankful to be away from the scrutiny of John’s eyes. Another Saturday with him, but not a date. A man in the twenty-first century does not ask chaperones on dates with a woman he’s pursuing.
Therefore, John is not pursuing me.
Help a newcomer out. Therefore, he wants to see Pittsburgh. A thank you for the floor. Therefore, he’s still paying for help with his remodeling. Therefore, therefore, therefore, he is not interested in me.
Good.
She should be relieved. She wouldn’t have to decline offers for dates. She wouldn’t have to explain why, even though he was a perfectly wonderful man, she couldn’t become involved with him unless he promised never to set foot in a plane again.
And signed the promise. And notarized it.
She should be relieved. Instead, a familiar weight settled around her heart, making changing from first to second gear a monumental effort.
“Gretchen, let’s go home.”
12
Penn surveyed the crowd milling by artisan booths. It was a great day for a festival.
Winnie licked her waffle cone. “Mmm. This butter pecan ice cream hits the spot. Thanks again, John.”
John, working on a scoop of mint chocolate chip, saluted her with a flick of his fingers.
“That blues band could play. I’m so glad we got here in time to hear the last set. Now when does Ralph Stanley play?” Jancie crunched her cone.
“We don’t want to miss him. He’s our favorite.” Winnie dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Remember when we saw him at Hartwood Acres?”
Ralph Stanley, a bluegrass music legend, was the aunts’ favorite performer. Man of Constant Sorrow always generated either tears or goose bumps for both of them.
During the Hartwood concert, his grandson, maybe ten or twelve years old and sporting a black cowboy hat, joined Dr. Stanley on stage, accompanying him on several songs.
The aunts, nursing a minor crush on their musical hero, swooned at the joy shining from the grandfather’s face as he sang.
John retrieved a program from his back pocket and managed to unfold it without losing his cone. “Ralph Stanley. Seven o’clock. He’s supposed to be at the Point Park stage.” He glanced at Penn. “Do you know where that is?”
She swallowed a bit of her moose tracks ice cream. “I have an idea. It’s not too far from here.”
They cruised along a section of booths showcasing handmade jewelry.
Winnie stopped at one displaying hand dyed scarves and fabric purses. “I know someone who’s having a birthday soon.” She sang the words and giggled. “You haven’t given us any ideas for your present this year, Penny. What do you want? Besides a Jell-O cake, that is.”
“A Jell-O cake?”
Winnie chuckled. “When she was about eight or nine, she loved strawberry Jell-O and asked for a Jell-O cake for her birthday. Making the layers was no big deal, but assembling them...”
Jancie squeezed her eyes shut and bit her knuckle. “The wobbly top layer was too heavy for the whipped cream frosting. It just squished the white fluff out of the sides. Sat flat on top of the bottom layer-until it slid right off onto the counter.” She shuddered.
“Winnie came close to losing her Love Community membership card that day.” Jancie laughed at her own joke.
Jancie pursed her lips. “Wrong, sister. I kept my cool. Barely, but that was my first and last Jell-O cake.”
“It still tasted good.” Penn still felt the need to defend her choice.
John smiled at Penn. “So your birthday’s coming up? When?”
Penn closed her eyes against the heat rising in her cheeks. First the Jell-O story and now her birthday story which would inevitably reveal her real name. She peeked at the booths for an escape route.
Jancie gave Penn a one-armed hug. “Penny’s our patriotic baby.”
“You were born on July fourth.”
“Not exactly. I missed it by one day.”
“July fifth. Her birthday’s July fifth, but she still got a great name out of the deal.” Winnie wiggled her eyebrows and licked another swath of ice cream before it dripped onto her thumb.
“Her name?” John’s eyebrows bunched together. “Penelope?”
“Independence.” Both aunts grinned and raised their cones in tribute.
“Independence?” Lines creased John’s brow.
Penn pinched her nose and dragged her hand through her hair. She nodded, but kept her eyes on a basket of scarves.
“Independence.” He stepped toward her. “Penn, that’s a great name.”
Penn grimaced. “Yeah, right. Tell that to all the elementary boys who had a field day once they learned my real name.” She led the group from the table to make room for other shoppers.
He waved the imaginary tormentors away. “Elementary boys. What do they know?” He popped the tip of the cone into his mouth.
“John’s right. It
’s a great name.” Winnie grabbed her hand. “Your parents loved you so much, honey. They gave you a special name.”
He rescued her. “You know, come to think of it, all of you have interesting names. I’ve heard of Winnie before, but I’ve never heard of Jancie.” He tossed his napkin into a nearby garbage can. “Winnie’s short for Winifred, right? Is Jancie short for something?”
Penn sent up a quick thank you prayer for the turn in the conversation.
“Winifred’s a good guess, but wrong, and Jancie stands alone. It’s not a nickname.”
“I’ll explain my name, Winnie. You explain yours.” Jancie, as the oldest sister, took charge. “My name was originally Janice. Janice Joan Davenport—then Johnson when I married, giving me luscious alliteration. But I digress.”
Jancie cleared her throat. “Someone made a type-o on my birth certificate and didn’t proof the information. My mother saw the name, thought it fit me better, and never called me Janice again.” She arched her neck with a flourish. “I’m Jancie.” She curtsied. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Now me. Jancie was enamored by—” Winnie slanted a glance at Jancie, who trilled her tongue for a drum roll. “Winnie the Pooh. I am not Winifred. I am Winnie Robyn Davenport and proud of it.”
Penn rolled her eyes. “My grandparents allowed their one-and-a-half-year-old to name the new baby.”
“And I love it. Thanks, big sis.” Winnie planted a kiss on her sister’s cheek.
“That’s a great story.”
Winnie finished her cone and dusted her hands. “Tell us the story of your name.”
John raised his palm toward the next craft table, and the group moved forward. “Not much to tell. It’s a cliché. Named after my grandfather. Like two other boys in my class. John T, John D, and John K. To this day, I have old friends who call me John T.”
“A good, solid, normal name.” Penn’s breath jammed in her throat when John smiled at her. She’d spoken out loud. She skirted her attention to a tray of bracelets at the next table.
“In other words, boring.” John laughed. “But thank you.”
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