by Lola Karns
“Why? Am I invited?”
“No and consider yourself lucky for that. We still have to get some approvals run through, but I think we can move events at the Methodist basement to either the school or the library. Abby Chisolm heard about the trains and called the library to see if they could accommodate her wedding reception – turns out she wants to go into library science. The reception might be interesting – but she said it’s a buffet and people could eat standing up with a few tables and chairs for the elderly. That would make the church available for the Belkin Holiday train display.”
“Traffic flow could be an issue, both inside and out, but we’ll make it work.”
“Peggy has one event left to reschedule, and the library board can’t officially meet and approve a variance until Tuesday, but if you stop by my office Monday afternoon, I should be able to get you keys to the church and a floor plan. It will simplify all those drawings you’ve been making.”
“I might even be able to get a final vision drafted for Wednesday’s open forum.”
“I was hoping you would. I’ll give you the new playground pieces then too.”
She bit her inner lip in concentration. “Could you hold on to those for a few more days? I don’t have much storage space right now. Actually, I have a lot of stuff in storage at Adena. Can we put transportation on the agenda? That ass—I mean jerk—better not give me flack about retrieving the display from storage.”
“Thinking of which, what was he doing here earlier?”
Enough time passed between James’ departure and George’s arrival she was surprised he knew about the former’s visit. Of course, in Belkin, the speed of gossip was faster than the speed of light.
She didn’t want to reveal the personal nature of his visit. She wasn’t sure if it was to protect him or out of self-preservation.
“He wanted to know if I was behind the flaming dog poop someone left on his door.”
George laughed, his gut shaking heartily. “That’s not your style. As I recall, you mostly moved garden gnomes and geese around.”
“They were installation pieces thank you very much.”
“All I know is some of them made mothers cover their children’s eyes before complaining to the police.” He gave her hair an affectionate ruffle. “You never stole anything – just relocated things and you always put everything back right or better. Dinah still has the note you left after the flock of birds’ episode when you returned everything but switched the place of two of her geese for ‘aesthetic reasons.’ You convinced her. She’s kept ’em the way you left ’em ever since.”
She smiled sheepishly, not sure whether to be pleased or embarrassed by her legacy.
“Gotta run, kiddo. But Dinah wants you to come over for dinner. Is Thursday okay?”
“I’ll see you both then.”
As the door closed behind him, she understood why she couldn’t do as Walter suggested and give up on Belkin. She needed this town. The people here knew her. Their long memories and huge hearts served as a sort of embrace. They recognized her need for companionship even before she did. And even though she’d always live in Clem’s shadow, the people of Belkin didn’t hold her mother’s transgressions against her. Moving to the city, any city, would be akin to abandoning her family, and not only the ones in the cemetery.
Chapter 15
Business owner after business owner announced the total money received so far in their train fund jars. Two dollars here, five dollars there. The secretary took notes and the city controller, Anna Klein, worked the calculator. Leading the open council meeting, the Mayor George announced that the city received fast track approval to create a non-profit for Belkin Train display. The crowd cheered. “Don’t get your hopes too high. It has to go through the state and the feds.”
“Sir, citizens.” Anna stood to get everyone’s attention. George waved her to the microphone. “We have six hundred thirteen dollars and twelve cents.”
Claire tried hard not to let her disappointment show, but keeping a neutral face required so much effort, her muscles twitched anyway. So many people used credit cards at her store that she only managed to collect seven dollars and change. That sad number included the ‘starter money’ she dumped in herself.
George swallowed hard as he retook his spot at the podium. “Well, it’s a start people.”
Without overtime and customers, no one would be able to come up with enough money quick enough, but her credit cards had a decent limit, even if she had to be careful how much money she took out of the bank on any given day. “I co—”
“Don’t interrupt your elders.” His tone was mock serious and elicited a chuckle from the crowd. “Now that we have tax-deductible status, we may be able to get some bigger donors rolling in. Talk it up at work. If you work for a company that matches charitable donations or have kids that do tell them every dollar counts! I know we’re all stretched thin this time of year, but it’s time to dig deep.”
“That goes for the treasury too!” Claire didn’t recognize the voice, but the speaker earned more than a few cheers.
“Sergeant Conner?”
A portly man four seats down from Claire rose and moved to the microphone. “I’m pleased to report that thanks to the great success of ‘Operation Ticket’ we have raised two hundred and fifty dollars so far with another four hundred in fines outstanding.”
This was the first she’d heard of ‘Operation Ticket’ but given the burst of applause, plenty of other people knew about it. Maybe it was a carryover from the summer and Labor Day weekend.
Conner continued. “In other police news, we’ve had a few complaints about vandalism. We still haven’t been able to identify the suspects.”
She swore he winked given the way his eye crinkled, but her vantage point wasn’t all that great. The crowd tittered so she guessed he had done something. Her mind drifted, assembling snippets of information she overheard into something more cohesive. The sudden sound of her name snapped her attention back to the reason for tonight’s gathering: presenting her plans for the display’s new location.
As she finished, she turned to her neighbors once again. “A large portion of the display is still in storage at Adena.”
She waited until the whispering died down before continuing. “Walter, in an extension of his role as corporate liaison, will arrange a time to retrieve our materials, hopefully on Friday, maybe Saturday. There’s a lot of stuff. I’ll rent a moving truck, but if you’re willing and able to provide some muscle power later this week, I’d appreciate it.”
“Will there be food?” One of locals from the feed store shouted out. The question took her aback. She hadn’t thought about payment – there was no money allocated for food for the crew even in a normal year, but they usually did offer some refreshments for setting up the tables. She thought about the treasurer’s report. Take-out pizzas and sodas would blow that budget, but not her pockets.
“I’ll make a couple of cream cakes” Sandy McKenna offered.
Even though it earned him a smack in the chest from his wife Patti, Bob let out whoop at the offer.
“I won’t be able to help, but I can send a crock pot of soup, and maybe a pie or two.” Jo said.
“If I don’t eat the pie first.” Kevin looked up from his game system to a reward of chuckles and smiles.
Soon other residents offered to bring a dish or send napkins or paper plates. Claire’s jaw relaxed, but her cheeks tightened as her lips drew into a smile. Within minutes, enough volunteers spoke up that they planned an entire meal that sounded big enough to feed a hungry army.
“Okay. Sandy, if it’s all right with you, I’ll let you coordinate the food. I suppose we could use the kitchenette and drag some folding chairs from the closet – nothing too fancy or fussy. Just remember, no food near the display!”
AFTER RETURNING HOME, Claire sorted through the pieces in her studio and packed them in carefully labeled boxes for their journey to the church basement. Packing peanuts
and scraps of bubble wrap littered the floor. Once they had the main display in place, she and the OMC would frantically add the new and refurbished elements to get the display ready.
She picked up her favorite model of James, turning it over and over in her fingers. “It’s a shame I can’t use this. I did a great job with the paint, and all for naught” A small part of her wanted to put on a pair of heavy boots and crush him like a bug under her shoe.
“Don’t do that.”
The figurine fell from her fingers and tumbled on the table. The voice seemed as if it came from the little City Boy - it even sounded like a tiny version of him.
“I need a vacation.” She looked around at her studio, tools in an abnormal state of disarray. “Or sleep.”
Bed would be a useless proposition. Too many circuits fired at once, overloading the system. Thought trains jumped tracks at runaway speeds, anything to avoid a rest in the roundhouse. Once the display was in place, she would sleep.
Her gaze fell on the tiny James on her worktable. Of course he had to lay there face up, staring back at her with an unblinking but oh so perfect challenge in the brown eyes with golden flecks. It was his fault. But she couldn’t bring herself to throw him away. She reached out. Her hand seemed abnormally large as she lifted him up.
“What am I going to do with you?”
A gnawing grew in her stomach. It wasn’t hunger and it wasn’t overeager acid churning. It was guilt. She tried to rationalize it, saying she lacked culpability, but her unease continued, especially when the damned smile seemed to twitch. She glanced at the clock. With a sigh, she threw the jerk into box of spare figurines, grabbed her coat and set off into the night.
SHE APPROACHED VIA the over-the-fences shortcut, but even from the backyard she could see the distinctive glow of moonlight bouncing off toilet paper in the tree in the front yard. The house was as dim as the yard. No light flickered, so he probably wasn’t watching TV and her movement hadn’t triggered any motion sensor lights. She picked up a handful of gravel and flung it toward the upstairs window. A satisfying pling reached her ears, but nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. After an unsuccessful third attempt, she started searching for something that would make a louder noise but hopefully wouldn’t break the window. She gave up and grabbed a rock. He might rouse if he heard the clunk of the rock on metal. As she poised to throw it, the back door flew open.
Damn. Even wielding a baseball bat, the man made a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants sexy.
Eyes wild, he stepped onto the back porch, barefoot. “You,” he hissed.
“Put down the bat.”
“You and a rock? Are you crazy or a liar?”
“Shhh. Want to wake the neighborhood?
“No. Yes. I caught you red-handed you—you vandal.”
“Not me.”
“But you...what are you doing here?”
“Trying to get your attention?” Now that she thought about it, perhaps she should have called first. He wore a lack of sleep worse than she did and seemed a bit deranged.
“No. You’re harassing me! The flaming dog poop, the toilet paper and the forks, my God, the forks!”
“They forked your lawn?” She stifled a giggle. “Always a classic.”
“Not to me! If you think that’s funny, you’re crazy.”
“Shhh.” With a shrug, she dropped the rock. Under normal circumstances, she would have been offended by his words. But he seemed so vulnerable, even more than when he came to her store. He began shuffling his feet. Her toes were toasty warm in her wool socks, but he was uncomfortable in his bare feet. “I come in peace.”
“No one comes here in peace.”
“I do. I’ve only ever come here in peace. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“So you can trash the inside of my house?”
She rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, I came by as... not a friend exactly, but not a hostile either. You came to me not too long ago and asked for my help and here I am.” She brushed past his arm as she walked to the door and let herself in. Even through her coat, her skin tingled at the contact. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny their connection. But she had to. She refused to inherit her mother’s crown as the queen of bad decisions.
HE RUBBED THE LACK of sleep from his eyes and drew a few deep breaths of cold air. Exhaust-fume free air was nice; it helped clear the brain for a brief moment. He went back inside, and reality pushed down on him.
Claire sat at the kitchen table, with a glass of water raised to her lips. She had shed her coat and the sight of her tight black short sleeve shirt made him think back to a few short weeks ago when he nearly made love to her on that same table. He thought of her every time he looked at it, which further twisted his gut and diminished his appetite for food. He ate in front of the TV a lot lately. The commercials made him hungry enough for too many chips, but even Mylanta chasers didn’t help his unease.
She disarmed him with her guileless green eyes.
“I’ll wash the glass and you’ll never know I was here.”
He’d know. Her scent would linger as before, driving him wild with desire. He moved toward the light switch.
“No!”
He hesitated at her sharp tone.
“If you turn on the lights someone might see in.”
“It’s two-thirty in the morning.”
“Then your pranksters should be in bed, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Of being seen with me.”
“Cavorting with the enemy wouldn’t help my cause, although Miss Jones thinks I should manipulate you with my feminine wiles.” She batted her eyelashes, and raised her hands demurely in front of her, a mockery of flirtation, but not.
“Really?” That Miss Jones made the suggestion surprised him, but perhaps his elderly neighbor was on to something. “I wouldn’t object if you tried.” He sat, scooting his chair close to her. His desire for her clouded his judgement. She backed away.
“But I would. It’s a respect thing.”
“Ouch. I resp— “
“Self-respect.”
He swallowed and looked at the floor. How could he compete with that? He admired her confidence and dignity above her warmth and her beauty. His shoulder blades bumped into the seatback. He jolted upright. “I’m getting a drink.” A water prop might help him fake what he didn’t feel.
He walked to the cabinet and removed one of the glasses he’d bought new after moving in. A white film covered the bottom and threatened to creep up the sides. He filled it with tap water anyway. He’d grown used to the taste. Claire stretched her arms above her head. By the time he reached the table, she had turned her chair slightly to the side and sat with her left ankle propped up on right leg. Her slight smirk reminded him of that first time she called him City Boy. He sank into his chair, pulled down by the heaviness of knowing he wouldn’t hear those words cross her lips again.
“So, Mister Fordham, have you had any trouble with the police lately?”
“Not exactly, but they haven’t been able to find the kids messing with my yard, and please drop the formality.”
A soft hmmm escaped her throat as she rolled her eyes and sighed. The action went straight to his groin. “How about parking tickets, Mister Fordham?” Her eyes narrowed.
He wouldn’t take the bait. “Yeah, I’ve had a few.”
“I thought so.” Pausing, she took a sip of water, her mouth sensuously closing on the glass.
She met his gaze and held it long enough that her pupils dilated, and her body betrayed her disinterest. The room was so quiet, the deep breath she inhaled was as loud as Union Square. The exhalation was Grand Central Station. Determination flashed in her eyes as the muscles around them tightened. She slammed the glass on the table before standing.
“You’re being targeted.”
“Duh.”
“The police are dragging their feet finding whoever keeps decorating your yard. Have you been ticketed or warned as
a result?”
“There’ve been complaints about the toilet paper blowing into other yards. I’m getting better at cleaning it up before I go to work, but I got slapped with two fines for garbage.” Recognition sunk in. “The police aren’t looking for the perpetrators, are they?”
“I doubt it. The city’s budget is so tight that I suspect they need the money from parking fines to fund what little investigation they are doing. They aren’t particularly motivated.”
“That ridiculous! They can’t do that!” He sprang to his feet.
She merely shrugged, her sensual movement distracting him.
“Cancelling the train display had a strong ripple effect throughout the town. Seems everyone from business owners to the government needs the tourism dollars it attracted. I’ve heard rumors people can’t pay off their Christmas layaways. My sales are down. Jo’s closing early because the lunch crowd is so light, and she has dropped off a frightening amount of leftover soup at my house. People are forgoing luxuries to contribute to the train fund, and it’s not much all told. In one way, your business sense proved right. I had no idea how much that rent-free space was worth in addition to other....” She trailed off as she met his gaze.
He stepped her direction, his body longing to be against hers, distracting him from her words. “Claire.”
With a hand she stopped him. “No. You might be able to separate business from personal relationships, but I can’t. I don’t like how you treated me and this town.”
An ugly thought entered his mind. When he opened the door, she held a rock large enough to smash a window. “Wait – you were going to throw the rock and smash the window.”
“I was aiming for the AC unit so it would clang not wreck it. The pebbles on the window didn’t wake you up. Besides, I told you, I’m not that kind of girl. But what’s going on with the tickets doesn’t sit right with me either. You confirmed my suspicions, so let me give you a bit of neighborly advice. If you used a surveillance camera, you could help the police find those vandals. You don’t need a whole home security system or even a doorbell camera–-too expensive to install since you’ll be gone in a month or two. A webcam or nanny cam should do, order something that you can check in on or that will record a few hours and maybe give you a chance to sleep. The police have no reason to investigate unless you give them a concrete one.”