by Lola Karns
“He can, so long as the company pays a break-contract fee. It gets worse.” Claire dug her fingers deep in the fur and stared at her kneecaps. They weren’t interesting, but they kept her from making eye contact.
“How?” Jo’s breathing had grown loud. The comradery of outrage helped assuage the nausea Claire felt.
“I didn’t do my due diligence and I made a bad decision out of my mother’s playbook.”
Jo wrapped an arm around her back and leaned her head against Claire’s. Her warm breath tickled.
“We’ll get you help. Dylan might have some connections to rehab— “
“What?” Claire sat upright, her body rigid. “I would never do drugs. Am I that erratic? No, I meant the other.” She slumped into ball form. “I slept with him, before I knew who he was.”
“Oh, Claire.” Jo rubbed circles on her back. “Was it the diner guy, Fordham? I heard a rumor your wagon was in front of his house. I should have warned you, but I failed you. I didn’t think. He’s a stick in the mud, you know.”
“Now I know, but that wasn’t the impression I got before. I thought he was an engineer. Harmless. Bored. A little lonely.”
“He’s a good tipper, but a bit of a jerk. He doesn’t talk to people—even if they initiate conversation. I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything. I assumed he wouldn’t.”
“He talked with me. He seemed fun, curious. I was so wrong.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. We all make bad decisions from time to time. Heck – mine lasted two years of marriage, so you’re smarter than me.”
“Ha,” she deadpanned as she glanced at Jo’s sympathetic expression. “Impossible.”
“He wasn’t worth your time and it sounds like there isn’t even a relationship to grieve. He’s not worthy of your thoughts.”
The front door squeaked, and a giant tumbled out. “There you are. Kevin and I thought you were playing hide and seek but forgot to tell us. I see you have a friend. I’m Dylan. Dylan Smyth.”
The guy looked like a burly, bearded lumberjack that accidently grabbed a golfer’s shirt and plaid pants by mistake. He extended a blue claw as Kevin rushed through the door.
Claire hesitated at the big fabric claw.
“Oh sorry.” He popped it off and Claire shook his hand. Kevin snuck out from behind Dylan and then bounced into the swing beside her.
“Aunt Claire, this is Dylan. He’s the best physical therapist ever.”
Dylan smiled and slid his gaze to Jo. Claire didn’t miss the way his cheeks flushed. They turned the same rosy hue as Jo’s did in the seconds before they both looked at the ground. Dylan cleared his throat before raising his chin.
“Nice to meet you. My buddy Kevin told me about helping you the other day, with wiring the trains. That’s awesome.”
“He was a great help.”
“I’d love to see the set-up sometime. Hey, Kevin, why don’t you show us how you can pick up a garden rock with your claws on? Mind if I sit?”
Claire and Jo scooted to the outsides and made room for Dylan in the middle of the watermelon. The swing jolted under his weigh. As Jo turned to lean forward, her knee bumped into Dylan’s. When she startled the swing went into motion again. She hadn’t seen Jo this nervous around a member of the opposite sex since they were freshman in high school.
Dylan cleared his throat a second time. “I know the claw hands seem silly, but Jo told me you’d noticed Kevin’s decreased dexterity with a screwdriver. I wanted to give him a tool to begin to get used to the idea of manipulating objects with fingers operating as a single unit in opposition to the thumb.” He used a more serious, matter of fact tone that she would have expected based on the monster noises earlier.
“Got it!” Kevin thundered up the porch steps.
“Cool. Now show us how you can move the rock from one hand to the other.”
The boy’s smile as he transferred a rock between two giant claws proved contagious. His joy spread to Claire until she grew lighter and her cheeks tightened into a grin.
“Aunt Claire, will you let me try turning on a train with these? I want to be super-lobster-Lego-man for Halloween and maybe for Thanksgiving and Christmas too.”
“You can certainly help me decorate for Halloween. As for the rest—”
“Didn’t we get you a different costume last week?” Jo rescued her from having to break Kevin’s heart. “Since Claire approves, you can help her with Halloween for sure, and we’ll see how it goes from there. I’d hate to make a promise we can’t keep because some random ice storm hits.”
“Okay, Mom.” His enthusiasm faded.
Hope was a powerful tool, but Claire had learned firsthand how devastating broken promises could be. She didn’t want to add to Kevin’s burdens. “I’m certain we can have you bring those claws to the store one afternoon so you can turn the trains on and off, even if you aren’t in full costume.”
“Okay. Can I have a snack?”
Jo looked at the sky, Claire followed her gaze. The sun was dipping lower, but clouds covered the color.
“It’s getting late. I should probably get dinner started. Stay for dinner?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Dylan’s yes came as Claire said her no. The expression on Jo’s face was decidedly flustered.
“Walter insisted I have dinner with him and Sandy tonight.”
Dylan winced. “Oh, did I overstep? I wasn’t—”
“No. It’s okay if you don’t mind staying past the appointment time. I know Kevin will be so excited. Why don’t you two go in the house, and I’ll walk Claire out... to the sidewalk.”
After the boys went inside, Claire hugged her friend. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. And I know you are stressed about the holiday trains. We’ll make something work. My grandma said where’s there’s a will, there’s a way. It might seem hopeless and overwhelming now, but there are always options and always something new to try. We just have to stay open to possibilities.”
“Thinking of which, do I need to make a Dylan figurine for a scene with you? He seems smitten with you, and I saw the way you looked at him.”
“If Kevin found Dylan in the display, he’d be thrilled, but don’t you dare dress him up as a groom and put me beside him in a dress. I know how you think. Since one couple got married after you put them together—”
“Two dating couples and three as newlyweds, although one of them was by the groom-to-be’s request as a wedding proposal, so that doesn’t really count. My figurines had nothing to do with that.” Even though she knew they did. You couldn’t have wish fulfillment without the wish first and some people needed the visual nudge before opening themselves to the world around them.
The pupils of Jo’s eyes disappeared as she looked skyward. A giggle trickled out of Claire. “Okay, okay. No pressure, but is there any possibility of you two getting together?
Jo glanced at the house, then at the motorcycle parked in front. “I can’t. He’s good looking, smart, fun, great with Kevin, but he’s too young. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”
“How young?”
“Twenty-three.”
“That’s five years. It’s nothing.”
“And he’s like an employee. As Kevin’s physical therapist, there are ethical lines. Kevin needs the hope he brings more than I do.”
“Hope is important.” Claire hugged her friend one more time. She leaned in close and whispered, “Just stay open to possibilities.”
THE WIND PICKED UP, blowing brown, yellow and orange leaves from the trees. She’d need a new tube of Cadmium Orange if she were going to paint these leaves, but only on canvas. She’d tried making individual leaves out of multiple materials, but none worked yet.
Claire checked the time. She could go home and get her car, but the wild weather was better. She needed to start walking if she wanted to get to Walter and Sandy’s on time for dinner. If she took the short cut through the cemetery, she could amble at a leisurely pace, but the
thought of facing her family and sharing her shame with them put a chill down her spine. She zipped her jacket against the cold wind rushing down the cemetery hill and opted for the sidewalk. The rustling leaves made a strange sound, almost human. They seemed to whisper, “All’s well, ends well.”
“I should have driven. If this keeps up, I’ll be as batty as Miss Jones.”
The barren sidewalks stretched before her and dark storm clouds made themselves comfortable. The sunset was a private show not meant for her. As she turned the corner on Grove Street, the warm yellow of old-school incandescent bulbs greeted her. She shook her head.
“That Sandy.” She’d been so upset at the switch to fluorescents, that Claire and Clem hunted everywhere to find her fifty golden-glow bulbs for her fiftieth birthday. Sandy saved them for the outside lighting. Claire rang the bell as the door swung upon.
“I saw you coming. Come in. Come in. Let me take your coat.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t let the heat out. It’s from the oven. Not the heater. Old cheapskate won’t let me turn that on yet. Did you walk? Your nose is as red as Rudolph’s.”
“I walked.”
“What have I said about reflective gear young lady? Walter, you’ll drive her home. No more scotch for you.” Sandy whisked away the glass and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Anything I can help with, Mrs. McKenna?”
“Sandy. Neither one of us is in the third-grade classroom anymore. Besides, we’re kin. And no, you two head to the table.”
Walter scoffed. “Third cousins twice removed auntie whatever.”
“It means nothing except we’re kin.” Claire finished the familiar refrain, because all that mattered was somehow her grandma Norah and Sandy were related. “Too bad about your scotch.”
“You’re the one who needs it. Sorry I left you high and dry today, kiddo. I had to get out of that building after he told me or else I would have punched him, and he would have had me arrested for assault.”
“You’re too pretty for jail, Walter.”
His gravely laugh turned into a cough. With a sip of water, he recovered. “I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making me do his dirty work again. He directed me to fire Mike Mitchell yesterday and it was awful. If Mr. Fordham wants to fire people and cancel contracts, he can damn well do the job himself. Better he should live with the guilt than the rest of us.”
“I don’t think he has a conscious.”
Walter leaned close. “I won’t ask how you know about the tattoo, except is the meaning true? He acted weird after that, which gave people a chuckle on a bad day.”
“My lips are sealed.” A lecture might ruin her appetite and something sure smelled good.
“Where are you two? Dinner is served.”
A mustard yellow tablecloth protected the table from spills, which was another sign of how well Sandy knew Walter and Claire. Comfort food stretched from one end of the squoval table to the other: roast pork, mashed potatoes with gravy, roasted carrots, beets, and a cream cake for dessert. Claire’s stomach growled at the sight. She hadn’t eaten since her hard-boiled egg at breakfast, so she piled her plate obscenely high with Sandy’s delicious cooking.
“So, Claire, what are we going to do?”
“I guess I’ll go through the house since I’ll have plenty of time on my hands. I’d appreciate your input on any family heirlooms.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be busier than ever. If George doesn’t come up with a space at town hall to continue the display, then we will find somewhere else. The Ladies’ Auxiliary placed our order for eggs, flour, and sugar this morning. We can’t afford not to sell cake during the grand opening. Thinking of which, I’ll send some of this home with you. Walter and I don’t need to eat the whole cream cake. Now, where else can we house the train display?”
“The Methodist church has that open basement. It’s probably the second biggest space in town.”
“Good idea.” Claire brightened at Walter’s thought.
“But it won’t work. The middle Chisholm girl is getting married there the weekend before Christmas. There has to be some place that will work. Maybe we can bring space heaters into the old Farmer’s bank.” Sandy added.
“Wasn’t it condemned?”
“Maybe the former Ben Franklin’s?”
“With the water leak?”
The whole situation seemed hopeless. Claire handwashed the china after dinner, as Sandy packed up the leftovers and Walter smoked his cigar on the back porch. Claire didn’t have enough emotional energy to protest the heaps of Tupperware Sandy handed her.
“You don’t look like you’ve been eating well. Let me get a casserole from the freezer too.” Sandy pulled a shiny disposable pan from the freezer. “The heating instructions are right on the aluminum foil. It’s a chicken and wild rice casserole. Davy harvested it himself at some kind of park program in Minnesota. Don’t that beat all? Don’t cook everything at once. There should be enough here to get you a hot meal between now and Thanksgiving. Oh, and you are coming here for Thanksgiving, right?”
She nodded her head, knowing it was less of a question than a command. Sandy acted like a surrogate mother, or grandmother to her.
“Thanks, Sandy. It’s too much but I love you anyway.”
“Come on Claire-bear or she’ll find more food to feed you and you’ll end up with a gut like mine.”
They spoke little in the car, the silence welcome after an evening of lively conversation.
As they neared her house, Walter broke the peace. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.”
She harrumphed.
“I know you stayed in Belkin for Clem, coming back each winter to work for peanuts. You’re free of the Adena trains. You could go anywhere and get away from this dying town. Move to D.C. or Hollywood or London. Anywhere. Take a permanent job at one of those museums rather than doing piecemeal contracts and splitting your time. Maybe you’d be able to meet someone, have a chance for love to grow before you run to the next job in the next town.”
“For years, I convinced myself my future was here, that I’d expand my business on the internet and spend less time on the road. Main Street needs CJ’s.”
In profile, he pressed his lips together and turned down her street. “But you saw yourself working alongside Clem.”
She didn’t deny it. How could she deny the truth?
“We’re all mortal, kid. Don’t sell yourself short out of a sense of obligation to some old men. Would you look at that? You decorated.”
“I didn’t.” She followed his gaze out the car window and up the steps. There were potted flowers and balloons. Weird. She hugged him “Thanks for the ride, Walter.”
He waved her off as she climbed out of the car. She walked up the steps to the main house, because she needed to put the food away, and because Walter wouldn’t leave until he saw her safely inside the house. The porch was too dark to see much detail other than mysterious outlines. She unlocked the front door, and flipped on the porch lights, a matching set of old train lanterns she’d rewired years ago as a Father’s Day gift for Clem. Light spilled forth in round circles on both sides of the doorway. There were two potted mums, one yellow, one orange, a bundle of Indian corn, a Thomas, two pumpkins, four balloons, a floral bouquet and a bunch of cone flowers that must have come from someone’s garden. Cards and colorful note paper dangled from each.
She gave Walter a wave and watched his taillights disappear. So many things on her porch. She picked up the toy train, running her fingers over the edges. A slight dip indicated the paint had worn thin from hours of play. A long piece of scotch tape hung off the train, twisted and turned on itself until ending on a card. In spite of the uneven scrawl, the message was unmistakable. “We luv ar tren.”
Leaning against the door frame, she caressed the precious toy, a smile blossomed on her face as she pictured a little moppet pushing the toy round and round. She didn’t know which child gave her this treas
ure, but one way or another, she’d make sure this kid got to see a special display.
THE FIRST BAG OF FLAMING dog poop appeared on his door around eight o clock Tuesday evening. When the doorbell interrupted his channel-surfing-beer-drinking-wallow in pity moment, one person sprang to mind. Claire. No one else had used the bell. She’d had plenty of time since the morning’s debacle to see the rationality of his decision.
The door grudgingly let go of the frame after the second time he jerked the doorknob. No-one encumbered his view of the street. A hedge rustled; an owl hooted. Then a flickering of light drew his attention to the doormat.
“Fire! Call 911!”
“Crap.” No one else was there and no one seemed to know his house was about to burn down. The flames grew larger but hadn’t spread. His primal brain kicked in, some stop-drop-roll nonsense. “Oh. I can smother it.”
James raised his foot to go outside, but a putrid smell triggered his gag reflex. His eyes watered as the flames grew larger. No way in hell was he going to stomp that out. The ugly hall rug caught his attention. With his left elbow shielding his nose and mouth, he bent forward, grabbed the ghastly floral thing and tossed it out the door. A small hole let a flame sneak through. The ratty thing had too many air gaps. The only way to smother the flames was to press down. His solar plexus pulsed in revulsion making it impossible to stand upright, or even move properly, but he flung another corner over the middle section and stomped on the edges in a frenzied dance.
His breathing smoothed out and he stopped, legs astride and shaking. Even the best drycleaner in New York would not get the shit out of that rug. Not to mention the singed spots. He wouldn’t get the deposit back.
From the porch, James assessed his surroundings with an eye for risk, after all, he specialized in eliminating small problems before they got worse. That was all he had to do. Then he could maximize the efficiency of the house so it didn’t happen again. The hedges along the perimeter allowed the tricksters an easy escape. He could remove them. And why not? He’d already forfeited the deposit. He should check the rental agreement first in case of weird fees for hacking at shrubbery.