Sidetracked

by Lola Karns

  “Yeah, 15 seconds. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi...” The child’s voice kept counting.

  “Could you call off the dog so I can get to my car?”

  “Daisy.” The Great Dane bounced off. James slunk around the corner and to his car. An average looking man wearing a baby carrier stood next to the giant dog and a small girl whose glare was almost as menacing as the dog’s. They stood clustered and glaring as he backed out of the driveway and went down the street. Even people he had never seen before looked ready to murder him.

  Unnerved, he drove to the drugstore on Main street to restock his medicine cabinet. Cars lined both sides of the street. He circled twice. By his second pass, the neon red open sign of the pharmacy had gone dim.

  As he pulled into his driveway, he wished he had Motrin in addition to the antacids. Someone had kicked over his garbage can and strewn trash all over the yard. With the way his luck ran, Miss Jones probably already complained to the city.

  Knowing he needed to pick up his yard before approaching Miss Jones to ask if she saw anything, he changed out of work clothes into jeans and a t-shirt. In addition to fresh garbage bags, he grabbed his winter gloves to protect his hands in case there was something unsanitary or sharp. These people couldn’t be trusted.

  He went through the front door after collecting supplies. He took one step forward and immediately lost his footing. His arms wind-milled but were powerless to provide counterbalance.

  He hit the wood hard as something squished and crunched. His ass hurt and something gooey spread cold against him. Closing his eyes, he lay on the porch, assessing the damage. His toes wiggled, so did his fingers. His behind was as bruised as his ego. After slipping and sliding through two attempts, he up righted himself and looked around. Yellow sunshines, thick mucus, and jagged shells covered the porch. On top of everything else, he’d been egged.

  Chapter 13

  The town hall parking lot overflowed onto car lined streets, making Claire all the more grateful that she accepted Jo’s invitation to carpool. Earlier in the evening, she joined Jo and her son for dinner. Jo’s arthritic neighbor, Mrs. Edmunds had shuffled up the path at 7:30 and had settled onto the couch with her knitting as Claire and Jo tucked Kevin into bed. Jo seemed utterly unconcerned with the time. If it hadn’t been for the distraction of getting Kevin to bed and learning his current routine so she could give Jo and her mom a night off sometime, she would have yelled at her friend to get the lead out.

  “Are we late?”

  “Don’t worry. They can’t make any major decisions without you. Besides, it’s seven fifty-six. The meeting starts at eight.”

  “You’ll probably have to stand. The council supposedly reserved a seat for me up front, but with this crowd, they may have changed their mind.”

  As they approached the building, Jo’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

  Claire nodded. The call probably had something to do with Kevin. “I hope everyone is ok. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Entering the foyer, the unmistakable clatter of a heated debate reached her ears.

  “People, people! She’ll be here any minute so let’s get this resolved!”

  Who and what resolved? Her hand froze on the door handle. She edged it open a crack.

  An unmistakable voice reached her ears. “I still say, if we could convince her to have ‘sexual relations’ with that man, the problem would resolve itself. He’d be a fool not to compromise.”

  “Thank you, Miss Jones, however just because you saw the two of them engage in behavior you termed ‘inappropriate’ doesn’t mean we should soil the reputation of one of citizens. End of story.”

  Her jaw fell open so wide, she was certain a garden sized train could drive into it. What were they doing in there and could cleanse her ears of Miss Jones’ saying sexual relations? Her stance wavered. She tripped into the room, dropping her portfolio and falling to her hands and knees.

  A collective gasp rose from the crowd that occupied every seat. Some people glanced away or looked at the floor. Chairs squeaked as other people shifted positions. The air in the room grew heavy and still. Claire sucked it in through flared nostrils. The standoff seemed to stretch to eternity.

  “Claire Evans!” Mayor George Halberstam broke the silence. “You’re early. I thought you train people believed in punctuality.”

  She hated being put on the spot, especially when that spot was carpet level. As she gathered the remnants of her dignity, she stood. Glancing at the sea of faces, realization dawned; they were in the awkward position, not her. They had no right to discuss her sex life or lack thereof in a public forum.

  “Mayor Halberstam, as a founding member of Belken’s model train society, you know we value punctuality. However, I also believe in being prepared and wanted few minutes to set up my easels. But, apparently, you started the meeting early and on a different topic?”

  A few sympathetic chuckles echoed in the hall as the mayor turned crimson. She hoped a few others shared his humiliation.

  He hemmed and hawed trying to find an appropriate response. Jo saved him by bursting through the doors, the left one of which caught on the portfolio and pushed it further across the floor.

  “Sorry. I had a phone call and she got away.”

  Claire stared at her friend, shaking her head. “You were in on this secret meeting?”

  “No. I was with you.”

  If there was one thing she learned about her friend growing up, it was that Jo easily cracked under the right sort of pressure. With arms folded across her chest, she looked Jo in the eye, cocked one eyebrow, and drummed her foot on the floor fully aware that most of the audience now focused on them.

  “Okay, okay. I tried to distract you because I suspected this lot would deal in rumor and I didn’t want to be part of that speculation. I know who lingers a little too long over their coffee and pie.”

  Claire followed Jo’s glance. Bob’s flush extended over his face, past his ears, so far up his hairline, that even his white hair had a reddish cast. Beside him, his daughter buried her face in her hands.

  “What rumors this time?”

  “Word on the street is...well... you and the... Grinch.” Jo’s voice grew tighter with each word so the last one came out as squeak. “You know how good George is at gathering information.” Jo’s face contorted as if she were in physical pain. If she were the one who spilled the beans, the guilt would probably have made her burst into tears. Besides, Jo had been too busy stalling to share the truth.

  “Some people,” Will Grant stood and tilted his chin towards Miss Jones, George’s wife Dinah, and Bob, “are saying you and that Fordham guy played tonsil hockey on the front porch.”

  “And this is meeting worthy?”

  “We, err Daisy and Poppy and I, that is, caught him creeping around your house earlier today, so it seemed....”

  Claire’s lungs struggled to take in all the oxygen she wanted. “Are you kidding me?”

  “We scared him off, but maybe we shouldn’t have.”

  She pressed her fingers against temples. “I can’t even. And this is OK?”

  Claire glowered toward the mayor, who appeared to be deeply involved with some papers on the lectern before him. There were no secrets in this town, but that didn’t mean her non-existent private life merited some sort of pre-meeting meeting, she decided to take control before the story got worse.

  Head held high, she retrieved her portfolio, walked to the podium and cleared her throat. “Hi everyone. Apparently, I need no introduction, but for the sake of my reputation let me clarify a few things and ask for your forgiveness. I kissed Mr. Fordham in a most scandalous way on his front porch a week or so ago, but it was a foolish act. Learn from my mistake and don’t kiss anyone until you know for sure they aren’t going to fire you.”

  Stilted chuckles reached her ears. She’d gained their sympathy. “In spite of some of the proposals floated around this evening, I
can assure you, it won’t happen again. I am embarrassed by and deeply regret my behavior, but I hope that won’t change the strong level of support you all are showing for the train display.”

  “Here, here!” Applause burst forth and her shoulders relaxed.

  She turned to George. “I can set up my proposed sketches later unless you want people to be able to look at them now.”

  “Later is good. Since everyone is seated, let’s begin.”

  THE MEETING STRETCHED late into the night. The number of attendees slipped as the hour grew later, but the passion and problems remained high.

  “The middle school auditorium is the ideal location. Every other site requires scaling back of the display.” Not that Claire had the dimensions for each location available to her as she sketched, but that had the most open space by her reckoning.

  “But it’s booked every Wednesday and Thursday between next week and Christmas, not to mention a full week for the play, two weekend concerts and that’s only what I know of. What about City Hall?” Will Grant, Poppy’s dad, was assistant principal of the middle school so he probably had a good idea of the scheduling conflicts. Drat.

  “Those pricey metal detectors the State government mandated take up an awful lot of room. Even if we could move them to the outside of the doors, they weren’t designed to handle a crowd so that would mean long lines outside in potentially lousy weather.” George was not a fan of the metal detectors. “The senior center has plenty of room.”

  “But it would be disruptive to the patients and some of them get upset when there’s change. Carl’s momma isn’t doing so well.” Beverly Westman’s mother-in-law was a dementia patient there.

  “Plus, using the great room would effectively close down all outpatient and social activities. I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

  “I don’t see how we could accommodate the trains without the patients being confined to their rooms twenty-four hours a day for over a month.” Claire didn’t recognize either of the last two speakers who sat beside each other, but presumed they represented the senior care facility on the outskirts of town.

  “I offered my shop to Claire. It’s not much, but I have more square footage than she does.”

  “And I thank you, Beverly but you shouldn’t have to forgo sales. Besides the problem with both of our shops is capacity and adequate wheelchair access once the tables are up.”

  “What about the Methodist Church basement?”

  “My daughter’s wedding is there. The invitations already went out.” Mrs. Chisholm chimed in.

  “Could you move it?”

  “At this date? Why can’t you move the concert or the play? Those are on weeknights. They could be in the church.”

  “And have public schools endorsing religion? That’s a lawsuit.”

  George slammed his hand on the podium. “People, please, let’s not snip with each other. Let’s face it, the Adena lobby was the best location and it’s hard to think of an alternative.”

  “Couldn’t we rent it back? If that cheapskate got money, he might let us use it.”

  “Except the city coffers are empty and will be until we collect the increased tax revenue and parking fines we always accrue this time of year. I propose a task force to hammer out a suitable alternative location. I’ll ask for volunteers, but it would be nice if we could have representation from all the venues. We might be able to work through the various scheduled events to consolidate locations. Remember, we will all benefit from the display and we will all hurt financially if this falls through.”

  THE MEETING ENDED LATE enough that Claire attempted to go to bed at a reasonable hour, but after mixing cat naps with tossing, turning, and worrying, she gave up at three a.m. At least Bob and Walter offered to represent CJ’s during the relocation discussion. There were too many business details invading her mind. Scheduling, money, overhead, inventory, hours, contracts, meetings. Each one a poison dart to her creative mind and project time. Grandpa Clem had shielded her from the business side and the learning curve was exhaustingly steep.

  She used the sleepless hours before the store opened to finalize the Halloween layout so Kevin could help her decorate after school. Forget the candy bowl. At her house, a ‘Ghost Train’ delivered candy to the kids on virtually invisible tracks.

  She packed up her red wagon with tiny trees desperately needing a fresh layer of flocking. On the walk to Main Street, she picked up her messages, but only two jumped out. Jo apologized once again for her role in last night’s deception and mentioned she put out a special tip jar to raise money to pay for holiday display. Roger, at the gas station, gave her the idea. Claire decided to put one up at her store, too, although given the dollar amounts, most people paid by credit card.

  “Claire, please—” She hit the delete button before James could finish.

  Her heart sagged. He had such potential. He watched the sunset, found a spider web in her hair, and kissed her senseless. Perhaps too senseless. Her boots clomped against the concrete. His house came into view. The rental. Was he lying when he said this was a temporary job, a few months of biding time before returning to the city? He was wrecking everything, destroying the community without any thought to the long-term consequences.

  She glared at the house. The row of shrubs and tall oak tree rustled in the breeze. They seemed to be begging her to come back in the middle of the night with a couple of rolls of toilet paper.

  Chapter 14

  Within two weeks, the sick-outs had spread throughout the company. Half the security staff ‘needed’ another day to recover from their mysterious food borne ailment. Somehow food poisoning also claimed a quarter of the mail room staff and three administrative assistants. James asked Grace to get a list of absenteeism from human resources, but the person in charge of that information was out sick. If this kept up, he’d be out sick too.

  Except he couldn’t afford to make mistakes or take a sick day at this point. The PR department in the home office offered to keep an eye on the situation. Their advice at this point was to emphasize the jobs saved, which he’d done since first breaking the news.

  He postponed formally reviewing the facilities department until next week. Between ‘Traingate’ and the extra cleanup at home, the delays in improving Adena’s financials piled up.

  He expected tonight to be worse. In anticipation of Halloween, he bought two cases of full-sized candy bars, hoping to bribe the kids into not throwing eggs again. As a back-up, he purchased two mops, a bottle that claimed to clean exteriors when properly attached to a garden hose, a box of rubber gloves, and multiple cleaning products.

  When the appointed hour rolled around, he sat on his front steps. No-one ventured up the driveway. Instead they booed and hissed from the sidewalk. Or they made a grand production of walking into the street to avoid his house. Some of the older kids pushed each other toward his hedges. He heard them yell “Don’t let the Grinch get you.”

  He took a chair from inside the house and moved to the sidewalk, hoping that if the kids saw the treats he’d bought for them, they might be willing take one. He didn’t like that the children were scared of him or thought of him as mean. He was a nice guy, but one who fired people.

  He recognized a few of the adult faces that strode past from the office. One looked like the security guard who was supposedly too sick to leave his bed. None of the employees let their children trick or treat at his house. A few held their children closer as if he would bite them. He rubbed his temples. Part of him wanted to go back inside, but then the eggs would start flying. His gut twitched with discomfort in spite of his antacid dinner. He should claim food poisoning. He should have worn a costume, a mask to hide his face. He should have borrowed an empty driveway or sat at a corner so no one knew who he was. Instead, he forced a smile to his mouth and tried to look approachable with the open so-called confident posture he’d learned at a management seminar.

  A little girl with curly blond hair and a princess costume tottered his w
ay. He smiled and held out two chocolate bars for her. But as her little fingers touched the wrappers, her brother, a pirate, ran over and grabbed her outstretched hand.

  “No, Emma. He stole the trains.”

  The girl’s eyes widened, looking back and forth the between her brother, the candy bars and him. She considered the prizes before her. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the brother scowl and tug at her pink glowing bucket of candy.

  “Dat Gwinch?”

  Her brother nodded. The princess narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. Her glare gave James the heebie-jeebies. He smiled so wide the cool air tickled his teeth. He waved the candy closer to her. “Full size chocolate bars.”

  His shin exploded in pain. The chocolate fell from his hand as he doubled over and clutched the swelling lump. That little girl kicked him.

  He glanced at her. She wore an evil smile that would put the devil to shame. “You mean.” She puckered her mouth, spit, and turned away empty handed.

  HE WOKE THE NEXT MORNING to find his trees filled with toilet paper in addition to what he’d come to consider the usual splattering of eggs. The TP would have to wait. Maybe it would blow away in the wind. If not, he’d need a ladder. There seemed to be more yolks than usual, perhaps two dozen. Some of the yolks cracked so it was hard to get an accurate count. He hosed the mess off the porch and down the driveway.

  “I’m getting good with the sprayer.” No-one answered. There was no-one to care anyway. This kind of pettiness wouldn’t happen in the city and if it did, the door attendant would have cleaned it up long before the residents found out about it. If Danny were stuck out here with him, he would have cracked wise about the hose skills and they could have shared a laugh. If he hadn’t tried to save jobs by cancelling the train display, he would have Claire by his side and a leisurely breakfast instead of daily cleaning.

  A light drizzle settled in as he backed down the driveway. A greasy film on his windshield erupted into a wall of bubbles that wouldn’t come off with the wipers. He shut off the engine, ran back inside and grabbed a roll of paper towels. His raincoat protected his suit as he wiped as much goo off the windshield as he could reach. The rain was not hard enough to wash the substance away. He grabbed the hose. Cool water slapped his pant leg against his calf. The stupid hose backfired.