by Lyn Cote
“My mama says,” Tracy announced, “these twins are going to turn her gray before her time. That means her hair. Not her face.”
He laughed again. The deep, joyous notes brought a smile to Thea’s face. She had heard of infectious laughter, but had never experienced it firsthand. She couldn’t help herself. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
She masked it by cocking her head and looking down into the twin’s brown eyes. What an afternoon of unexpected developments and emotions. With sudden whimsy, she bumped her nose to the baby’s. The baby cooed, spraying her slightly with water.
“He got you!” The man chuckled.
By the door, Molly yelped once. Nan pushed open the door. “Thea, I…”
Thea didn’t have to explain.
One look told the tale of “twin” mischief. “Oh, heavens! I’m so sorry!” The mother quickly scolded the twins. “I’ll help you clean up.” Nan reached for the paper towels.
“No, no.” Thea stopped her. “You’ve had enough excitement for the day. It won’t take me any time to clean this.”
“But—”
“Cleaning a little mess will give me a change. I’m tired of just dusting.”
Nan chuckled. “If you need that kind of a change, drop by my house any day! Thank you, Thea.” Nan glanced at the stranger who nodded at her with a smile.
Thea couldn’t think how to introduce someone whose name she didn’t know. What could she say? This man just walked in? Feeling awkward, Thea remained silent.
While Tracy gathered her music, Nan gave Thea the envelope with her payment for the lesson. “I’m so sorry,” Nan apologized one more time as she shepherded her children outside. She cast a curious backward glance at the stranger in the kitchen. “I’ll make this up to you. I promise!” The Johnsons’ van pulled away.
Thea, standing at the door, sighed with relief. Then she looked at the stranger who still stood in her kitchen.
Without a word, he walked past her out through her storm door.
What?
Outside, he tapped on the door and waited.
Her brow wrinkled, but she opened the door.
“Let’s try a fresh start.” He offered her his hand. “Hi, I’m your new neighbor, Peter Della.”
A reluctant smile crept over Thea’s face. She touched his hand. In spite of the chill of early April, his hand was warm, inviting hers to linger. Pulling away, she stepped back to let him in. Her ingrained manners snapped into action. “I’m Thea Glenheim. It’s very nice to meet you.” The pat phrases rolled off her tongue.
He followed suit speaking formally, but with a hint of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Glenheim. I was wondering if I might use your telephone. Mine should be in service by now, but…” He shrugged, lifting his hands, palms upward, in defeat.
She gestured toward the phone. “Certainly.”
“Thank you.” He went to it where it hung on the kitchen wall. While he wrangled with the phone company about when his service had been ordered, Thea slipped into her regular afternoon routine by heating milk for hot cocoa. As she stirred, she realized she had been “stirred up” herself today. How long had it been since a man under the age of forty had stood in her kitchen? Being shy and living in a small town…
This thought made her recall Mrs. Chiverton’s phone call. She chewed her lower lip. Should she warn him? She needed to find out if he was used to smalltown gossip.
Peter hung up the phone.
She leaned her blue-jeaned hip against the kitchen counter. “Would you like a cup of hot cocoa?”
He grinned. “What a healthy suggestion.”
Thea felt herself go pink, increasing her embarrassment. She always drank hot chocolate on winter afternoons and she hadn’t thought about how it might sound to a stranger. In an age of cappuccino, espresso, and latte, she’d offered him hot cocoa.
“Hey, I meant that as a joke. I love hot chocolate. Especially with a squirt of whipped cream on top?”
Still feeling uncertain, she half turned from him. “Sorry, no whipped cream on the menu today. How about a marshmallow?”
“That sounds even better.” He shed his red ski jacket and draped it on the back of the kitchen chair.
“Are you sure? I can make you coffee if you pre-fer?”
“Hot cocoa, please. With a marshmallow.”
At the note of sincerity in his deep voice, she stirred the dark powder and sugar into the steaming milk and motioned him to sit at the round maple table by the west window. She poured the fragrant cocoa into two white mugs with little black musical notes on them— a gift from a student—topped each with a marshmallow, then sat down across from him.
He inhaled and sighed. “Mom used to serve me this after school.”
She gave him a slight grin. “My grandmother did that, too.”
“She must have been very wise.”
“She is.” Thea sipped the sweet, smooth chocolate. Sitting at her table with a handsome man who had broad shoulders and an air of easy confidence was a totally new experience, an unsettling one. She glanced away at Molly as the dog lay down in front of the refrigerator’s warm base. “You bought Double L Boys’ Camp?”
“Yes, I’ve been saving and investing a long time to be able to buy a camp like this. When this one came on the market, I grabbed it.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy it. It’s a big job.”
“I won’t be working it alone. My parents will be spending the summer helping me out.”
“That sounds nice. Where do your parents live?”
“Milwaukee.”
“You were raised in a big city?”
“Does big-city life sound so attractive?”
“There are a lot more opportunities.” Like universities with music departments.
“Well, I’m really looking forward to smalltown life. I can’t wait to get away from noise, traffic, pollution. I want to be able to say I know all my neighbors and feel a real sense of community.”
He had just the faulty impressions she’d feared. She cleared her throat. “I see what you mean, but smalltown life has its drawbacks.” And she knew them all. If her grandmother didn’t need her, she’d have gone to live near her father and stepmother long ago. As usual, she felt guilty just thinking about it.
“Going to caution me about the local gossips?” He chuckled.
“Well—” she paused “—yes.”
“You’re serious.” He sounded incredulous.
She looked down. “I already got a call from…someone. They saw your car parked next door and wondered if I had seen anyone.”
“They wanted you to report on me?”
She thinned her smile to a firm, straight line. “I don’t gossip. But smalltown gossips can take the littlest thing and blow it out of proportion.”
“I can’t think of anything I’m doing that could cause gossip.” He looked at her, studied her.
She returned his regard steadily, pressing her point. On the scale of brown, his eyes would be the darkest shade of brown before black while hers ranked at the opposite end—golden hazel. Just as his dark hair curled, her light brown hair hung stick straight. They were opposites. He exuded confidence and warmth, which only made her feel shier and more reserved than ever. So now she knew that even though a handsome man near her age moved next door, she still probably had no chance of his even noticing her.
Placing his elbow on the table, he rested his chin on his hand. “I hadn’t thought of gossip so soon, but I still can’t see it. Like I told your dog, I’m harmless.”
“I just wanted to warn you. Things you never expect to bother anyone can start a neighborhood battle, but you’re just going to run the same old boys’ camp. That should calm everyone down.”
“Well,” he paused, “my camp will be essentially the same.”
“Essentially?”
The phone jangled.
Thea answered it and handed it to him.
After a brief exchange, he hung up. “My phone service has started. It was just a glitch on the line and it’s fixed.” He lifted his jacket from the back of his chair. “Thanks for the cocoa, neighbor. And the use of your phone.”
“Anytime.” Obviously the topic was closed. She didn’t want to bring it up again. She might end up sounding like the gossips she’d just warned him about.
He walked to the door. “I have to fly to Milwaukee. I’ll be back in a few days.”
“Fly?”
“I’ve got a small private plane at Lakeland Airport. I’ll commute with it”
“To Milwaukee?”
“Yes, I still have business to manage there, too.”
“I see.” She smiled politely. A man with his own plane. He didn’t sound like the type who’d want to run a boys’ camp. Am I missing something?
He opened the door and gave her a quick wave. “Goodbye, Thea. Nice meeting you.”
“Bye,” Thea said softly.
Without moving, she listened to his car’s motor catch, then recede as he drove away. In his absence, the silence filled the room around her like thick cotton candy expanding, muffling her. The day had run along unpredictable lines and now she felt off center, restless. “What an afternoon,” she murmured with a shake of her head.
Then she replayed the sound of Peter Della’s laughter in her mind. If it were music, it would be marked basso profundo—deep bass, animato—lively and al-legro—fast.
The phone rang. She reached for it.
“Well, who is he? What did he say?” Mrs. Chiverton’s voice sparked with excitement.
Instantly, the last note of Peter Della’s laugh dissolved leaving Thea bleak like the leafless maples outside her window. “He wasn’t here very long,” Thea hedged.
“He was there long enough to tell you who he is.” The old woman turned petulant.
Thea leaned back against the kitchen door jam. “His name is Peter Della.” She chose her words carefully. Telling the name of a new neighbor to another resident isn’t gossip.
“What’s he like?”
“He seemed very nice.” Nice. Such a colorless, politely obscure word. So inadequate a description for him somehow.
The old woman grumbled, “Did he say why he bought the camp?”
“He said he’s wanted to run a boys’ camp for a long time. This one came on the market. He bought it.”
“Is that all you found out?”
He likes hot cocoa or is too polite to say otherwise. He’s good with children and he has a wonderful laugh. “Yes, Mrs. Chiverton.”
“I still say something’s fishy. Keep your eyes open, Althea. You call me if you notice anything strange.”
Thea thought she heard a car pull in. Her polite “out” had arrived. “My next student is here. I must go.” She hung up.
The slam of a car door caught Molly’s attention. The golden retriever loped to the door, giving the warning.
A sharp rap, then the door was pushed open. Old Dick Crandon elbowed his way into her kitchen past Molly. “Where’s the new owner? He isn’t next door. I tell you he’s not going to get away with this. No stranger is just going to move in here and ruin our property values!”
“Ruin our property values?” Thea stared at the retired real estate agent with his white hair and portly middle, bundled in a tweed jacket “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about! Not long ago I got a call from an old friend who heard something through the real estate grapevine. Said Double L wasn’t going to stay just a regular boys’ camp. What do you think about that?”
Thea felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Oh, no, the rumor mill had started already! But what if it was true? It might affect her own precarious finances. At the back of her mind, what Peter Della had said came back to her. He’d said the camp would essentially be the same. Just what did he mean by “essentially”?
Chapter Two
“What are you talking about?” Thea’s words stuck to her tongue like taffy—sour taffy.
“I’m talking about our new neighbor stabbing us in the back. What’s his name anyway?”
“Peter Della, but…” She caught herself just before she fell into the well-laid trap. At her sides her hands found her hips. “Did Mrs. Chiverton call you?”
“Well…” Mr. Crandon paused. “What has that got to do with this?”
“She called and told you he was here, didn’t she?”
“Why shouldn’t she? Everyone is curious about the new owner, but that has nothing to do with that first call I got. This Peter Della isn’t going to run a private boys’ camp.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because he was in Madison trying to get state money. That’s why!”
“State money for what?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I do know there’s been some talk down there of privatizing some juvenile correction facilities. How would you like to have a boot camp of juvenile delinquents next door?”
Thea’s eyebrows rose. “A boot camp? You mean like the army?”
“Don’t you ever read the newspaper? They take juvenile offenders and put them through a rigorous training like a military boot camp to try to teach them some discipline.”
Thea’s retriever padded into the kitchen and looked to the door. From outside the sound of a noisy car broke the atmosphere of friction. “That’s my next student.” She looked at pointedly at Mr. Crandon.
He scowled. “Fine. I’ll go. But you tell that new neighbor of ours I want to talk to him.”
Refusing to acknowledge this last statement, Thea merely opened the door. As soon as Tom Earnest and his mother Vickie and older brother entered, Mr. Crandon left.
Tom’s teenaged brother, Thad, wearing earphones, slouched onto a kitchen chair. When their family van wouldn’t start, Thad had to drive them in his old “beater.” After hanging up their coats, Vickie followed Thea to the piano.
Vickie sat down on the nearby vintage bentwood rocker. “Are you planning on selling your place?”
The land had been owned by Thea’s family for generations. Once much larger property, the parcel they held now was all they had left of the fortune her greatgrandfather had made in lumber.
“How could I even think of moving? My greatgrandfather bought this land. It would kill my grandmother to sell it. Why would you ask?” Thea prompted twelve-year-old Tom to bring out his music.
“I’m sorry. It just seems like Dick Crandon sniffs rumors and real estate deals out of the air.” The woman chuckled. “A few years ago my husband and I discussed selling our home one evening and Dick appeared at my door the next day. I asked him how he knew. He said it was just part of being good in real estate.”
Vickie suddenly became serious. Thea guessed that Vickie had regretted bringing up her husband. He had left the family and town and filed for divorce a year ago. The sudden divorce had taken the community by surprise.
In the awkward silence, Thea turned on the metronome. Vickie took out her knitting. Soon her needles clicked in time to the metronome’s wand.
At Thea’s nod, Tom began playing his finger exercises. An exceptional twelve-year-old boy, three years ago Tom had begged for lessons. He still never needed to be reminded to practice. In fact, his mother had limited him to an hour a day. This made going over a lesson with him easy. Thea’s work came in preplanning his materials, rather than keeping him on track at the keyboard.
Unfortunately, today this left her mind free to roam over the sounds that echoed from this afternoon—a whimpering poodle, shrieking twins, Mrs. Chiverton’s wheedling, Mr. Crandon’s bluster, and Peter Della’s laugh.
As she replayed its cadence in her mind, she couldn’t help smiling. Could a man who laughed like that really be trouble?
She complimented Tom on his finger exercises and briefly corrected and discussed a theory assignment he’d done. Then she asked him to begin his assignment, a piece by Mozart.
Vickie
Earnest’s words repeated in her mind. Dick Crandon sniffs rumors out of the air.
Then she recalled Peter Della scooping the twin up off the floor and laughing when the baby had sprayed her with water. She smiled.
Why am I paying attention to any of them? It’s just smalltown gossip.
At midmorning Thea parked and walked to The Café. The early April air still blew cold around her ears and fluttered through her unbound hair. She pulled up the collar of her blueand-green plaid wool jacket. On Tuesday mornings when she visited her grandmother at the retirement center, she always stopped to pick up a Café caramel roll, her grandmother’s favorite. This morning, though, she walked with a slight lag to her step.
She usually parked in the alley, so she didn’t have to feed the meter for such a quick stop. But today she’d decided against entering by the rear entrance. To do so would mean running the gauntlet by passing the gathering of retirees who would be, as usual, drinking morning coffee at the large back table.
The group included both Mrs. Chiverton and Mr. Crandon, neither of whom Thea wanted to encounter. She knew she shouldn’t let them upset her, but she didn’t like being confronted by a group. She could handle these people one by one, but en masse they were to be devoutly avoided.
A few peaceful days had ensued since that “crazy day,” as she now termed it. The unruffled routine of her life had resumed. But Thea’s inner self, before as calm and orderly as the steady three-beat rhythm of a waltz, had deserted her. Now she was as restless and high-strung as a violin performing the frantic “Flight of the Bumble Bee.” This unaccountable, uncontrollable disquiet made her want to avoid discussing Peter Della and Double L Camp.
Bracing herself, she opened the front door and slipped inside. She slid onto a stool at the counter. If she was very unobtrusive, maybe she could get in and out without being noticed. A cup of coffee appeared in front of her on the scratched counter.
“Thanks.” Thea reached for the stainless steel creamer. “The usual please.”
“Two caramel rolls to go?” The waitress grinned.
Thea nodded and took a cautious sip of coffee. She breathed in the delectable scents of The Café—buttered toast, sizzling bacon and rich coffee.