Sarah looked Grace up and then down, and then, without a return wave, she turned and walked away.
A moment later, Sarah drove her truck out of the library parking lot and, without sparing Grace a glance, sped off.
It was the perfect ending to a perfectly wretched week.
Grace couldn’t blame Sarah for just leaving. Grace hadn’t spoken to the perky librarian since the last meeting. In fact, the short ride home that day had been painfully silent for them both. After that, Grace had made no secret of the fact she was avoiding Sarah. It was childish and Grace knew it, but she’d felt a very real sense of betrayal by Sarah’s effort to get Grace back into the chairman’s seat. It was one thing for Zoe Bell and Kat Carter to pull such a manipulative prank. To be honest, Grace couldn’t have cared less about them. But for some reason, it hurt that Sarah had been a part of it.
Grace sighed, suddenly so tired she could have cried. What a lousy, lousy week. Mama G’s restless evening behavior was getting worse. She got up several times a night, and Grace with her. Each day had left Grace a little more tired than the night before. Then, this morning, while groggily brushing her teeth, Grace had suddenly remembered that Mama G had an appointment with Doctor Bolton at nine. Panicked, Grace had called the mayor and agreed to work until seven in exchange for coming in late, which meant she had to cancel her plans to take Daisy to a movie. That had put the child in a royally unhappy mood and had left Grace trying to do the impossible—to get both a fussy Mama G and a grumpy Daisy dressed, fed, into the car, and to the doctor’s, all within thirty short minutes.
She’d managed to do it in forty-five, which was surely a record, even if it wasn’t quick enough to get them to the appointment on time. Worse, Grace’s temper, already piqued by her own forgetfulness, was further exacerbated when, once they reached the doctor’s office, Daisy flatly refused to leave the car.
Despite knowing better, Grace had gotten into a shouting match with the testy eight-year-old that had upset Mama G so much her eyes had grown damp with tears. That had put an end to the argument, but even though Grace and Daisy had apologized afterward, Grace knew it was her fault things had gotten out of control. She was supposed to be the adult, and yet there she was, yelling as if she were Daisy’s age.
Added to that, because of the argument, they were even later to Mama G’s appointment, and while the office receptionist didn’t say anything, Grace had felt that she was silently being judged, especially when she had to admit that, in her hurry to get out the door, she’d forgotten Mama G’s morning medications. By then, Grace was so upset with herself that she missed most of what Doc Bolton said during the office visit, and once she got everyone back home and settled, she had to call him and ask him to repeat his instructions about the new medicine he’d prescribed for Mama G.
The whole morning had been muddled, disorganized, and regrettable, and the responsibility for it fell solidly on Grace’s sagging shoulders.
How was it that she could walk into a complex financial situation, instantly see what needed to be done, and develop a comprehensive plan to fix things, but she couldn’t get her own mother to a doctor’s appointment in a normal manner or have a calm conversation with an eight-year-old? She was the world’s worst caretaker and parent.
The worst.
Grace had finally reached the office at eleven, stressed out and depressed, only to find that the mayor was in a rotten mood, too. He felt he had reason to be as, in her absence, he’d had to answer no fewer than four unpleasant phone calls from furious citizens. Of course, Grace had known that cutting the Apple Festival budget would be unpopular. But she hadn’t realized that the entire community would take the decision to heart in such a way, as if Grace hated their beloved town, or had some sort of evil vendetta against it.
As frustrating as it was, it was clear they blamed her and no one else. The day after the meeting, people had started treating her differently. When she’d stopped by the Moonlight Café for her usual morning cup of coffee, the waitress there, Marian Freely, who at seventy-eight had improbable auburn hair and always wore the reddest lipstick ever made, had poured Grace’s coffee and taken her money without saying a word. Normally, Marian started talking the second Grace (or anyone else) arrived and didn’t stop until they left, so her silence was shockingly pointed.
And it wasn’t just Marian. Every chance they got, the citizens of Dove Pond let Grace know how much they disapproved of the committee’s decision. Most of them shunned her, looking the other way when they walked past her on the street or saw her in town. But the worst were the ones who felt they should let her know in person what they thought of her decision. There had been a number, but the loudest among them, Ms. Jolean Hamilton, had marched into town hall just yesterday, accompanied by her little dog, Moon Pie. Ms. Hamilton had told Grace in no uncertain terms that the Apple Festival was the best thing to ever have happened to Dove Pond and that if Grace thought she could stomp all the goodness out of their beloved festival and then move away, she had another think coming.
Mayor Moore had been in the office for that one, and as soon as Ms. Hamilton and Moon Pie left, he’d wheeled on Grace and said, “See? I warned you about that!” and then he’d grabbed his fishing pole and tackle box and fled as if running from death itself.
To give him credit, he had warned her. The day after Grace had laid down the law to the Dove Pond Improvement Committee, the mayor had confronted her. Although he knew as well as she did that there was a sound reason for the festival budget cuts, he’d refused to admit it.
At first, he’d blamed the decision on “petty tyranny,” repeating a phrase she was fairly sure he’d gotten from someone else, as she didn’t think he totally understood the concept. Then he’d accused her of being in Zoe Bell’s pocket and trying to get him tossed out of office.
It wasn’t until Grace had slapped the spreadsheet with the town budget back on his desk and made him look through it yet again that he’d sullenly agreed that he could see no other solution. Not that he was convinced her business outreach plan would yield any benefits—oh no. But at least she’d forced him to see the truth of her reasoning, that they had to reinvest in the town before there was nothing left to invest in. He knew that the only thing worse than being the mayor of a town that had cut a beloved festival budget was being the mayor of a town that had declared bankruptcy.
A wind whipped down the street and she shivered as rain pattered loudly on her umbrella. She took a few steps toward the car, her wet clothes clinging uncomfortably, and then stopped. She was tired, too tired to cook. She glanced down the street to where the Moonlight Café sat, the windows glowing warm with golden light, the cheery red OPEN sign beaming a welcome. Daisy and Mama G loved the café’s meatloaf. If Grace went now, she could pick up some to-go meals and be home in less than the time it would take her to cook something.
Grace headed back to town hall and, standing on the porch out of the rain, texted Linda to ask if she minded staying a little longer with Mama G and Daisy so Grace could pick up some dinner. She received a quick yes as well as a request for three roast beef to-go meals with green beans, garlic mashed potatoes, and gravy. Relieved, Grace was all too happy to comply, and she was soon on her way down the street to the café.
She pushed the wide door open, the welcome jangle announcing her entry as the delicious smell of hot coffee greeted her.
Every gaze locked on her, conversations stopping in mid-sentence, and glances quickly turned into glares, reminding her that she was currently Dove Pond’s most gossiped-about pariah.
I wish I had on spurs so I could swagger through the crowd like villains do in westerns. But she didn’t own spurs. Instead, she had on ridiculously high heels, which were now soaked. She dropped her wet umbrella into the holder by the door, hung her raincoat on a line of hooks that held other coats, tucked her wet hair behind her ears, and—as embarrassing as it was—attempted to wring the bottom of her drenched skirt onto the mat. Several water rivulets later, as
un-soaked as she could get without the use of a towel, she straightened her shoulders and made her way through the silence, wending through the tables toward the counter, her heels making satisfyingly loud clicks on the old wooden floor, even if they felt squishy.
She saw a few faces she knew—Kat Carter sat with a man Grace had never seen, a handsome guy with the build of a linebacker but who was dressed as if he belonged in a New York penthouse. Kat caught Grace’s gaze and she nodded, but stiffly, as if she felt forced to do so.
Grace returned the nod, irritated at how grateful she was for that small, although chilly, welcome.
Back in a corner, Doc Bolton sat reading the Dove Pond Register, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of him. He caught Grace’s eye and smiled, his greeting much warmer than Kat’s stilted one. Grace was so glad they’d found Doc. He was kind and thoughtful, and seemed to truly care about Mama G. He’d admitted that he’d lost a close friend to the same disease, and so had taken the time to learn as much as he could about it, and it showed.
Near the counter, she passed Maggie and Ed Mayhew, who sat laughing over something Ed was showing Maggie on his cell phone. Maggie saw Grace and the older woman’s laughter disappeared, an accusing glare taking its place. Ed, meanwhile, flashed a short, awkward smile.
Grace returned the smile, feeling as welcome as an alligator in a fish pond as she slid onto one of the old-fashioned barstools along the counter.
A heavy man with a beard who sat at the end of the counter was working on the daily crossword in the Dove Pond Register, but he took the time to shift on his stool until his back was to her. She was fairly sure she’d never seen him before in her life, so the rebuke felt especially brutal.
Usually, the café was her favorite place in town. Small and cozy, it was decorated like most small-town diners, with a rich display of country kitsch that consisted of red gingham tablecloths, framed grain sacks, mismatched chairs, and jelly jars used as water glasses. It didn’t hurt that the café also served the best coffee Grace had ever had. As corny as the place was, it had always felt right.
Or it had until the meeting last week. Grace slid the napkin dispenser close, took out a handful of napkins, and dried her face as well as she could.
The waitress Marian came through the kitchen door carrying a tray of clean coffee mugs. When she saw Grace, she gave a loud, disapproving “Humph!” and carried the tray to the far end of the counter, clinking the mugs especially hard as she put them away.
Coming here had been a mistake. Grace could see that now, but her pride wouldn’t let her leave without doing what she’d come to do—get dinner for her family and Linda’s. Grace pulled a menu from the stack tucked behind a napkin holder and pretended to read through the list of omelets, hiding from the other customers who sat nearby.
She’d been in Dove Pond for almost six weeks now, which wasn’t that long. But somehow in that brief time, she’d come to enjoy being waved at, smiled at, and treated as if she was a part of something.
And now, to her surprise, she missed that.
A mug was slapped down in front of her and coffee poured into it.
She lowered the menu to find Marian standing in front of her, gathering the damp napkins Grace had used to dry her face. The waitress’s bright auburn hair was piled on her head in something remarkably close to a beehive, her red-lipsticked mouth pressed into a straight, unhappy line. She was a remarkably colorful woman. Grace rather admired that.
“Thank you.” Grace put the menu on the counter and reached for the coffee.
“Two creams, right?” Marian dropped them beside the mug along with a spoon.
“Yes. Thank you.” Grace added the cream and then cupped the warm mug between her hands and cleared her throat. “I need six to-go orders.”
Marian dug her notepad from her pocket and clicked her pen.
“Three meatloaf plates, and three roast beef plates. Fries and salads with the meatloaf plates, and green beans and garlic mashed potatoes with gravy for the roast beef.”
Marian scribbled down the order. “That’s a lot of food.”
“The roast beef plates are for Linda Robinson and her family.”
“I’ll put extra rolls in Mark’s. He loves our rolls.” Marian tore the order from her notepad and turned to stick it on the wheel that hung over the pass-through window to the kitchen and spun the wheel around.
That done, she turned back to Grace. “It’ll be fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She dropped her notepad and pen back into the pocket of her apron and handed a dish towel to Grace.
Grace looked at the towel, not sure what she should do with it.
“You’re dripping. I thought you might want to put it under your feet.”
Grace looked down, and sure enough, a small puddle had formed where the water had collected at the hem of her skirt and was steadily dripping onto the floor. “Oh no. Thank you.” She dropped the towel on the small puddle.
“You’re welcome. Now.” Marian leaned one sharp elbow on the counter. “You and I need to talk.”
The other people sitting at the counter all stopped chatting and turned to listen in.
Tom Decker, a grizzled white-haired old man sitting three seats down from Grace, put down his cup as if he planned on taking notes.
Grace wished she didn’t feel like a gladiator with a broken sword facing a pack of furious lions, but she was going to get what she was going to get. Besides, for the last week, she’d been explaining the reason behind the budget change to one citizen at a time. Maybe if she explained it to Marian, who was a notorious town gossip, the word would get out faster. She gave Marian a nod. “Fine. Let’s talk.”
“I hear you want to cut the festival budget.”
“I don’t want to, we need to. I know the festivals are important. I get that. But look at this town. While the café is doing okay, as it’s the only restaurant left, Dove Pond isn’t making it. Over a third of the businesses on this street are gone. We have to start planning for the future, which means investing money in attracting new businesses.”
“I know.” Marian leaned over and tapped a red-painted nail tip on the counter. “We need new business, but we also need our festivals, especially the Apple Festival. Surely you can find the money somewhere else.”
The bearded man who’d been working on his puzzle nodded. “The Apple Festival is the town’s oldest tradition.”
Old man Tom took a slow sip of his coffee, looking at Grace over the rim of his cup, his gaze accusing.
She swallowed her irritation. “I don’t want to get rid of the festivals. We just need to reallocate some of the funds for one year, perhaps two. Just long enough to see some payback from our outreach. You know, attract a few new businesses, get some new tax revenues, and then we can restore the festival budget and maybe even increase it. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I—”
“Hi, Grace.” Kat slid onto the stool beside her. “Mind if I join you?”
Grace looked past Kat and saw the man she’d been talking to was now beside the door, tugging on an expensive-looking overcoat. He appeared mad, too, his jaw set, his mouth curved into a firm frown. Grace turned back to Kat. “Sure. I’m just waiting on some to-go orders and chatting with Marian.”
“About the Apple Festival,” Marian said grimly. “And why it needs to be fully funded.”
Kat smiled at Marian. “Coffee, please.”
“Fine.” Marian sent a hard look at Grace. “I’ve got more to say about this.”
At his end of the counter, Tom gave a decisive nod.
“Marian,” Kat said in a dry tone, “I’ve known you since I was born and I would never expect you to drop a subject once you got your teeth in it.”
“I’m not shy,” Marian agreed as she placed a mug in front of Kat and filled it with hot coffee. “I was just explaining to Ms. Wheeler here that we need our Apple Festival.”
“We’re still having it,” Grace
repeated, feeling cold and wet and miserable. She hunched over her hot coffee and fought off a shiver.
Kat must have noticed, because she tsked. “How did you get so wet?”
“That puddle in the road near town hall. A truck drove through it right as I was walking past.”
“It got you good.”
“It was like a movie. A bad movie. I hope it was an accident, but I can’t be sure. I seem to have made a lot of people angry.”
“I’ll say,” Marian said as she set a small pitcher of skim milk in front of Kat.
“It sounds like Erma’s been by.” Kat looked over her coffee mug at Grace. “She’s been making the rounds.”
“I heard it from other people, too,” Marian said in a sharp tone.
Kat snorted. “Yeah, well, the Soc—I mean, the Improvement Committee is going to do what we think is best for the town. That’s all we can promise.”
Marian sniffed. “If you cut the budget, there won’t be anything left. It’s already a quarter the size it used to be. Why, when I was a kid, the Apple Festival was the biggest event around here. People came from miles away. Back in the day, we had Ferris wheels and hot-air balloon rides and—oh, so much. Over the years, it’s shrunk down until there’s not enough left to cut, just booths and crafts and a few games. I can’t see how—” A bell rang, notifying Marian that someone’s food was up. She mumbled her irritation and left to fetch the orders, leaving Kat and Grace alone.
Grace rubbed her neck where it ached.
Sympathy softened Kat’s expression. “They’re being tough on you, aren’t they?”
“You have no idea.”
“I can imagine. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Grace lied, wondering why her eyes burned so much. “I take it people have been after you, too?”
“Yup, although they aren’t blaming me.”
“No, they’re blaming me,” Grace said tiredly. “I noticed.”
“Sorry. You’re new, so . . .” Kat shrugged.
“I know how it works. I was a foster kid once and I went to seven schools in four years. I was the new kid a lot and it always sucked.”
The Book Charmer Page 21