by Lola Karns
“But here we are, in a different industry, yes, the core goal is the same,” Schmidt said.
“With a partnership on the line,” Danny added in that bratty tone reserved for diminishing anything James did.
Dad’s phone chirped. “Time to go. Hamilton awaits. The air of the viper den dissipated, and Dad slapped him on the back. “Illyana can’t wait to see you. She bought a watercolor at some gallery she wants you to show you. Dinner reservations tomorrow at seven.”
Uncle Daniel extended his hand. “Good to see you. I have to admit, not seeing my nephew every day I’m in the city is a little strange.”
As James shook his uncle’s hand, Danny interjected.
“Dude, you been by the apartment yet?”
He shook his head.
“Wait till you see the cold brew coffee maker. It’s crazy. I have no idea how to use it, but this hottie at the dentist office said it’s supposed to be better for bleached teeth, not that you have anything to worry about. Oh. Don’t wait up for me. I’m the plus one for a super-exclusive party. I could maybe get you into the pre-party, but not with that haircut. You’re a mess.”
Squinting against the blue-white of Danny’s teeth helped mask what his mom called the ‘eyebrows of irritation.’ At least no one could see the acid multiplying in his gut. The Tums were not working. He needed heavier duty meds for this trip.
As the boisterous Fordham men stumbled down the hall toward their evening activities, Mr. Schmidt raised a finger at him in a silent invitation to wait in the conference room. He poured two glasses of Perrier and slid one to James.
“The country air seems to suit you.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You stayed assertive the whole time, and you’re right. This isn’t a fair fight, which is why you must win this absurd competition. Dan Jr. is hopelessly shortsighted, but he understands how to manipulate situations. I expressed my displeasure at their method of decision making, but in a two to one situation, the majority rules. You know how the two of them are.”
“Driven to outdo one another.”
“Most of the time it’s been good for business, especially as we ramped up operations. There was a reason I invested in the two of them, but also a reason I will take my name off the business when I retire. Remember, there are multiple paths to the same end.”
“Thank you.” He closed his mouth and pointed his finger toward the bathroom. Something wasn’t right inside. Although his instincts lately were as shaky as his gut, vomiting or burping on a partner, even an outgoing one, would destroy his chances.
Chapter 6
At times, Claire’s brain scrambled to keep disparate bits of information stored together. She regretted never picking up her grandmother’s habit of using a day planner to keep track of the little stuff. Claire needed to reorder HO left turns, repaint the pregnant figurine to look more like the Methodist minister’s wife, get new underwear before her date on Monday. Cute, but not too fussy or sexy. She didn’t want to appear over eager, easy, trampy, desperate like her mother, or any other derogatory reason. She didn’t consider herself any of those things. Except maybe desperate. She hadn’t met any man she liked even half as much James for a couple of years. Her toes curled thinking about that kiss and what was to come.
“Woo-hoo. Hello in there!”
The impatient voice startled her, returning her consciousness to the retail surroundings. A slightly overweight middle-aged man stood before her, snapping his fingers. His coat was expensive. “Sorry sir. I’m a little short on coffee today. How—”
“My wife phoned in an order. I’m here to pick it up.”
“Do you have your order number? I have two dozen items on hold.”
The customer scowled. “I drove an hour to get here and I’m in a hurry to get back.”
She glanced out the window. A high-end SUV was double parked outside her door. She could find the order based on a name, but he’d interrupted her. They weren’t good enough friends to allow that level of familiarity. “Number, please.”
After an awkward silence he picked up his cell phone, presumably to call home. “I’m here but they need the damn confirmation number.”
He tapped his toe. Tinny words reached Claire’s ears. This man and the woman on the other end both needed to relax.
“Yes, Dear, I owe the swear jar.” He moved the phone from his ear. “She said it’s a big Thomas train. She’s looking for the confirmation number.” This time he at least made eye contact.
“No problem. I have it here.” There was only one Thomas on hold. She removed a large box from under the counter. “The deluxe, special edition set.” The man kept his wife on the phone, splitting his attention.
“It isn’t gift wrapped? Didn’t you get it gift-wrapped?”
“We don’t offer that service, sir.”
“Who’s supposed to do that? Not me.” More squeaking came through the phone.
The man rubbed his forehead in frustration, and she hadn’t even told him the price.
She turned to the register. “That will be two hundred eighteen dollars and sixty-three cents. Would you like to pay by cash or card?” His eyebrows shot up. Apparently, the amount took him by surprise. He wasn’t an enthusiast, but someone in the family had good taste. He forked over the card and she read his name. If Mr. Thomas M. Wilkins were to be the one to assemble this train, no doubt the swear jar would be full. Either that or he would find a moment of flow in the simple click-snap motions as he assembled the track pieces to match the instruction sheet’s recommended layouts.
“Enjoy the train. The assembly hotline is helpful if you run into difficulty.”
He said nothing in response but huffed across the floor.
One of her regulars came in as the man left. She shouldn’t complain about the steady stream of customers, but at this rate, she wouldn’t be able to close early and make the seventy-five-minute drive to the nice lingerie store before it closed.
“Hi, Bob.”
“Hi, Claire. Is Walter here yet?”
“Not yet. Should he be here?”
“He better be here. He promised to bring Sandy’s cream cake because my wife won’t let me eat sweets. Oh. Don’t tell her. It’ll be our secret.” He cast a glance around the room to make sure no one else needed to be sworn to secrecy. “I’ll put on the coffee.”
George arrived next, wearing his good overalls. He also seemed to be settling in for the long haul. What am I forgetting? Another customer picked up a phone order and left before Walter arrived at precisely the time she had hoped to close the shop.
“Should I flip the sign to closed?”
“Why?”
“So we can tend to business—”
“And cake!” shouted Bob.
“With minimal interruptions.” He glared at Bob, but she doubted he noticed. Too many shelves stood in the way.
The first Christmas meeting. She’d forgotten about it. She had good reason. The Old Men’s Club cornered her at her grandfather’s wake and reminded her of the annual meeting the last Saturday in September. Leave it to the OMC to put the date on the calendar and not mention it again. She left the bulk of the plans at home, but the schematics wouldn’t matter at this point. At least she had the most important part with her—her brain.
She sighed. No shopping for me. “Keep it open, at least for now. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
THREE CUSTOMERS AND forty-five minutes later, she finished describing her vision. Using the photos Walter provided, she pointed out the placement for the new features.
“Can we update the grade school playground? The W climbing structure went in this past spring. Here. I have one on my phone.”
“I don’t know, Bob. I don’t remember seeing that piece in any of the catalogues and this is the first I’m learning about it.”
“It has to be there. My grandkids love climbing on it. I can build the structure and get the main color on, but i
f you want nuts and bolts details, you’ll have to add those. And the people.”
“How many kids are we talking about?”
“They cover it like ants on candy, but much noisier. We can see and hear it from the porch.”
“Thanks for image of a swarm of kids, Bob.” Claire drummed her fingers on the table and chewed her lips.
“What if we just did a few kids, to highlight how they play? I take my granddaughter all the time. Sierra likes to hang upside down from the top of one of the curves. Other kids like to stand at the top and other crawl on the bars like Spiderman.”
Claire closed her eyes for a moment. Then she grabbed a blank piece of paper and started sketching. “The structure is like this, right?”
“Yup.” George spoke, but Walter and Bob nodded agreement.
“What if I add two figures? I think I can do that. I’ll put a girl hanging upside down on one peak and a boy balancing atop the other—but not looking at the girl—maybe looking at the school or a friend on the swing set. I’ll put her in shorts, not a skirt, so it’s less weird and easier to add at this late date, but I’ll give her dangling braids. What color hair does Sierra have?”
“Red, like mine.” Bob straightened in his seat.
“If your hair is red, then I’m Andy Williams.”
“Please don’t sing, Walter.” Bob and Claire spoke as one.
“No jinxing. I get enough of that around the grandkids.” Walter rasped.
“It used to be red. We’ve all faded in the sun, except Claire.”
“My patience is fading.” Clair pressed a hand to her forehead.
“Quick, Walter, give her more of that cake before Bob eats it all.”
Claire giggled and accepted another wedge of cake. A wave of quiet swept the table following her outburst. In the past, she was always the second one to break into laughter when the OMC went into rapid fire mode. Clem was first.
“I miss him.”
“We all do, Claire-bear.” Walter, George patted her hand. Bob swallowed hard. “He was...”
“Our best friend, too.”
“And like a brother.”
Her eyes watered. “I’m not going to cry. Don’t let me cry. We have more important work to do. We have to make this perfect. For Clem.”
“Hands.” George extended his hand to the center of the table. Bob and Walter followed suit leaving the top spot for Claire. As tempting as it was to slip her hand to the bottom of the stack so she could avoid speaking, the men looked at her with such clarity, she moved her hand to Clem’s traditional spot.
“For Grandpa Clem. We will honor him with the best display Belkin, Ohio has ever seen. One, two, three, choo-choo.” The air reverberated with the sound of whistle. She glanced around the table, honored that these men not only welcomed her, but believed in her. The big shoes scared her a little, but she’d do her best. “Let’s get back to business.”
Between bites of rum and sweet cream goodness, they hashed out a few other ideas. They all loved her idea to mechanize the Z scale engineer to include the hat-off gesture her grandfather so often performed for the kids. This was good since she’d nearly finished the intricate wiring process that coordinated the man’s movements with the train.
The cemetery had been contentious. Bob hated the idea. He ran his hands through his comb-over. She found it hard to take his objections seriously when he had a six-inch-long greasy, crumby triangle of hair sticking slightly sideways. Fortunately, Walter sided with her. Since he was the liaison with the sponsor, his approval mattered the most. They all had their job. She did the art. Walter did the business. George coordinated the local government and Bob ate cake.
“So, when are we going to meet? I think we should do Friday before the high school football games or Saturday night because that’s the worst TV night.”
“Some of us still work, Bob. And now that I’m short-staffed, I’ll probably have to work late.”
“I have to go the football games, it’s a mayoral duty to cheer.”
“I’ll give you guys Saturday mornings before I open the shop. The rest of the time I need to be working or sleeping.”
“Okay.” With consensus made, George and Bob got their coats, made their goodbyes, and left.
The Old Men’s Club didn’t need to know why she wanted some evening flexibility, at least for the next month. Once they set up the display in mid-November, she’d be busy day and night, but until then, she wanted a chance to see what happened with James. Perhaps she could convince him to help too. They could use some young muscle and youthful energy. He sure seemed strong the other night. Monday was far away.
Walter stayed back, moving slower than necessary to brush the crumbs off the cake plate. “You look wistful.”
“Do I?” She’d always been closer to Walter than Bob or George, but once she made the mistake of saying she had a boyfriend when the relationship was really new. Walter hadn’t let up about wanting to meet the man. She had nothing to tell at this point. James was no more than a dreamy sensation and hope.
He made a noncommittal hrumph as he helped her turn off the power strips. “I didn’t want to say anything while the others were here, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this year.”
“How so?”
“The kid visited my department last week for an ‘evaluation.’ He handed out a few pink slips, which I expected, but there’s something else. I didn’t like the way he looked around my office. He kept making faces like the trains smelled bad.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Not everyone shares our passion. I’ve scared off more than a few boyfriends with my little hobby.”
Smiling reassuringly, he covered her hand with his. “Don’t diminish your talent as a ‘little hobby.’ You have a rare gift, and someday you’ll find someone who appreciates it and you—”
“Sure. When I’m as gray as you—”
“Respect your elders, young lady, and bask in our wisdom.”
His eyes twinkled as he wagged his finger, repeating the phrase her grandfather so often used. The familiarity warmed her. She could have a larger dating pool in the city and make more money if she took a full-time position, but she couldn’t leave Belkin completely.
“As I was saying, during the review, the kid in charge kept asking about the train budget, wanting to know how much money we lost each day versus made. I didn’t have an answer immediately. He fired three people in my department yesterday, and he’s going over all the operating expenses for the last five years.”
“But we have a contract! And the kids! They count on us.”
“He doesn’t give a rat’s behind about that. He only cares about making money. I’ll do my best. I listened to Clem rail against the system before. Hopefully I can be as persuasive as him.”
I will not cry; I will not cry. In spite of her admonishments, her chest heaved in preparations to bawl. She swallowed hard. Then she did it again. Hic. “Great. Hic. Now I’ve got the hiccups.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Thank hic you.”
She craved a bit of retail therapy, or to see a comedy. Anything to push away the negative thoughts crowding her brain. She sure as hell wouldn’t be able to work on constructing any of the components tonight. Not with her mind this cluttered. Too bad James went away for the weekend. He had amusing diversion written all over him. The way this year had gone, she needed a little fun and a break from her own company.
Jo had family visiting and she’d already seen the only new releases still available at the video store. She could re-up a streaming service but that seemed like a waste of money for one night. At least she could do some one click, next day shipping retail therapy before Monday night.
Chapter 7
Monday evening’s nip in the air was enough to signal to the trees to change their leaves and to remind Claire that she better venture farther into the main house and find the box of winter clothes she’d shipped there last May. Instead, she grabbed her beat up leather mo
torcycle jacket. It wasn’t New York fashionable, but she’d had it so long, she suspected it possessed the ability to anticipate her every move. Perfect for jumping over fences if the need arose.
She didn’t know a thing about James except that he was a great kisser and a fun conversational foil. Perhaps, he had a girlfriend back in New York, one who wore skyscraper high heels and the latest styles. She scoffed at the idea as fast as it came to her. He was an engineer, not a millionaire. He couldn’t afford a high maintenance girlfriend. Thinking of which...
The Napa Valley cab-blend weighed heavily in her hand. She didn’t want him to feel obligated to serve it, and if he did have a girlfriend in New York, he didn’t deserve the special occasion wine. Scowling, she returned to the house and grabbed a six pack IPA, technically a five pack since she drank one Saturday night at the house as she sorted magazines and catalogs to recycle. The change of plans only added two minutes to the seven-minute walk to his house, but it was two more minutes stuck in her mental worry loop. He’d better not disappoint her. She desperately needed the sort of fun low-pressure distraction he seemed ready to offer.
The door swung open before she reached the porch. He was even better looking than she remembered. His dark-blond hair was short but not buzzed. His clean shave showed off a rugged square jaw. The best part, he wore a frilly apron and a hungry look.
“I brought you a housewarming gift.” She waved the beer as she crossed the porch.
“Then you better come in before Miss Jones calls the police.”
As soon as the door banged closed, he wrapped her in his arms, holding her tenderly as he nuzzled her hair with his face. All the tension of the last few days left her body. If she left now, it would be the best date she’d had in a long time. But she had no intention of leaving.
“I missed you.”
Blinking, she met his gaze. His eyes held a twinkle that didn’t come from an obvious light source, but rather from somewhere inside. She shared the sentiment but resisted saying so. She wasn’t ready to make herself that vulnerable. Not yet.