by Lola Karns
“This place reeks of paint fumes. I’ll coordinate a few more and run them over in the morning.”
“Are you heading home too?”
Claire shook her head.
“At least prop the doors open. You don’t need to pass out from the fumes.” Surrogate mom struck again.
Claire gave her a hug. “I will.”
“Someone could come in.”
She put her arms on Walter’s shoulders and looked into his worried eyes. “I have mace and if anyone tries to vandalize the display, I’ll go psychopath on them. I’ll say the fumes made me do it.”
“Hrumph.” He pulled her in for a quick hug. “Don’t stay up all night.”
Claire said nothing. She didn’t want to make a promise she knew she wouldn’t keep. There was too much to do.
Hours later, a set of headlights splashed bright light across the walls and interrupted her reforestation. She paused, fir tree in hand. No-one in town should be out here this late at night. Clutching her pepper spray with one hand, she picked up a pen knife with the other. Not that its miniature blade would do much damage, but it gave her a false sense of security. After slapping off a bank of lights, she walked to the doors facing the parking lot, closed them, but peeked out the window.
A mix of relief and frustration swept through her body as she recognized the man walking toward her. Releasing the various security measures, she reopened the door.
“James? What are you doing here?”
“I got the security camera set up.” His cheeks flushed either from the sudden heat of the room or out of shyness. “I wondered if you could watch it with me. I thought you might recognize whoever it is.” His pleading expression lured her in. “I can’t think of anyone else who’d give me a straight answer or who would be awake at this hour.”
He needed her help and in spite of everything, she couldn’t turn him away. She understood his frustration, the sense of being surrounded by people who kept you at arm’s length or couldn’t be bothered to answer a question. She went through something similar with every new assignment.
“All right, but I have to finish gluing and flocking.”
“Flocking?”
“Adding snow to the trees.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Sure it won’t be too boring watching someone play with trains?” She refused to forgive his earlier digs at her job. She laughed in response to his glare. “There are chairs stacked up by the wall. Help yourself.”
Since he interrupted her forestation, she snapped a few photos from outside the train loop to use for reference. One fairy light was too exposed in the forest, and the shingles still needed work. She crawled underneath the risers, slipping on clean cotton booties before stepping onto the pristine snow of the fantasy portion of her train landscape. The adults generally preferred the more detailed realistic miniature world, but the fantasy land of gingerbread and Santa’s workshop had been the heart of the display since her grandfather first created it. The kids loved it.
Using tongs, she replaced missing oversized faux peppermint swirls on the roof of the gingerbread house. As she moved to the colorful gumdrops lining the edge, she sensed him watching her. She raised her head, surprised to see him standing about six feet away at the edge of the display.
“Is that the same house we pulled from the closet?”
“Mostly. I had to redo a bunch of peppermints—the mouse gnawed the daylights out of them, and we completely redid the snow—mostly Bob did that. His drifts are skilled. On the house board, I also added the station and station head near the front. He doffs his hat when the train goes by.”
“I guess you have to be detail oriented for this.”
His understatement brought a curve to her lips. “You should see my workshop. I have drawers of snowflakes labeled by size and color.”
The way he looked at her made her slightly uncomfortable. It reminded her too much of how he’d devoured her before that fateful day when he fired her.
“You look like the Fifty Foot Woman standing up there. I always thought she was hot.” His raspy voice reminded her of when he asked her to stay.
“She had the right attitude. She’d crush you like a bug.”
She wished someone would squash the butterflies in her tummy. It would be too easy to get lost in those gold-flecked eyes, to let something happen that shouldn’t. She held his gaze longer than necessary. The noisy heater rattled on and she remembered her surroundings. And how she ended up here, a giantess tromping through the Lord’s house.
“Give me a few more minutes to finish the roofline. I’ll take a break to deal with your problem before finishing the trees.” She ignored him the best she could, which wasn’t much.
She brushed herself off when she reached the outside of the table, more out of habit than need.
“Will you give me a tour?”
“Of what?”
He waved his hands toward the platform. “This.”
“It doesn’t open until Friday and I still have work to do. Come then.”
“Even if I weren’t headed home this weekend, I think we both know that isn’t a good idea.”
She shrugged. “If you want to understand what this display is all about, that’s the best day to see it, but then you’ve already made up your mind haven’t you?” She hoped the tightening in her throat didn’t make her sound shrill. The man had a great body and nice smile, but didn’t understand people. It was better that she’d found out he was a jerk before she completely lost her heart to him. Except when he looked at her, she found herself forgetting to be wary.
“I need a snack. Let’s watch this movie you brought.” He set his laptop on the kitchenette counter and she grabbed a couple of chairs. He pulled out a notebook and pen. She opened up a plastic tub of trail mix, her own blend complete with pretzels, M & M, and sunflower seeds.
“When was this footage taken?”
Grainy footage filled his laptop screen. “Tonight, around eleven. There’s the sidewalk. The first night I aimed the camera pointed toward the wrong spot. It took me a bit to figure out how to use the app to redirect the camera.”
“Have you watched this yet?” The image stabilized.
“While filming yes, but not a second time. I figured what’s the point of watching if I have no idea who to report.”
“You could turn the tape over to the police. Are you sure something happened?”
“Wait for it. And at this point, the police would probably issue me a ticket for illegal surveillance.”
“Not on your prop—Here they come.”
Two figures moved quickly across corner of the screen, headed toward the side of the house. “What did those two do?”
“Soaped my car windows. It’s not so bad tonight. It took less than ten minutes to clean before coming over.”
“Recognize either one?”
“Nope.”
“I do. Only one person has a bright red coat like that.”
“Still doesn’t help me. Oh, here come the forkers.” Two figures crouched low to the ground while a third marched in between, handing them plastic forks quickly and efficiently. The head of the walker came into view and she doubled over with laughter.
“Mother forker—I would have never...” The words squeezed out between hearty giggles.
“Who?”
“Pause...it...”
He did, but it still took her a few seconds to compose herself.
“Don’t you recognize your neighbor?”
“No.”
Jabbing a finger at frozen image, she glanced at him. “That’s old Miss Jones! And the red-coated soaper, that’s Dinah Halberstam, the mayor’s wife.” She burst out laughing all over again, spilling trail mix everywhere.
HE BRUSHED THE CRUMBS off his pants. At least he’d given her a good laugh, but it didn’t solve his problem. He loved the sound, how she moved, even if it all came at his expense. She wiped away tears with her shirt sleeve.
“Are you done?”
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“Yes, maybe. This is too funny. Miss Jones the neighborhood snitch releasing her inner juvenile delinquent. I once got an earful from Mrs. Halberstam, too. So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t want either of them to go to jail, but I wish they’d stop. I bet Mrs. Jones—”
“Miss. Always Miss. Her fiancé died in Korea. As near as I can tell she’s been a lonely grump ever since.”
“Miss Jones then. I bet she calls the police to report the mess in my yard about as soon as she finishes vandalizing it.”
“Probably.” The corners of her mouth inched upward. He put a hand on her arm. Instantly, her lips drew into a flat line. “Touching’s not a good idea.” She stared at the screen and seemed to avoid him, which was okay.
He didn’t know what to do with his rejected hand. His fingers lacked purpose. He stretched toward her once, then tapped his coat and pants pockets, and then drummed his fingers on his knee.
She leaned in further and tapped on the one of the blurry faces. “Can you go forward, slowly and I’ll try to ID the crawlers?”
“I’m afraid you’ll become incoherent again.”
“Fine, but whatever you do, don’t destroy this tape. I want to buy it from you. Best laugh I’ve had all year.”
“You need to get out more.” He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard as Claire had. Probably never. He was the one who needed to find more joy. When he was with her, happiness didn’t seem out of reach, at least until something reminded him of the partnership contest that brought him here and would soon take him away. He scowled.
“Okay, I’ll try to behave. You could still turn this over to the police, but make a copy first. If I ever need to blackmail Dinah to get out of one of her ‘special’ catfish loaf dinners this would be helpful.”
A vision of himself on the TV news flashed before his eyes. In addition to being called the Grinch, the reports blamed him for putting two older women behind bars making them miss their Thanksgiving dinners. He patted his pockets, finding a roll of antacids and pulling down the wrapper.
“Apparently, your delicate stomach doesn’t agree with even the idea of that dinner. Be glad you’ve never had to eat it.”
He shot her a dirty look as he crunched a couple of tablets.
She drummed her index finger against her mouth and glanced toward the ceiling. “You could send a copy to them anonymously.”
“I think they’d figure out who took the footage pretty quickly. I don’t want them to end up in jail.”
“Dinah might get off with probation. Depends on whether the judge likes the Mayor or not.”
“No. I’m not vindictive. I just want them to stop.”
“Do you want me to speak with them?” Her offer wasn’t enthusiastic, but still held promise.
“Would you?” Hope rose inside him.
“I said want, not will.”
“Please? You know the people and they like you.”
A sigh passed through her lips, and for a brief moment she looked utterly kissable. She turned her gaze to him. “Understand, I don’t want to. First, any appreciation from you is too little too late, and second, I think you’re getting what you deserve to some degree.”
“So you agree with punishing me personally for a business decision?”
“It was an uninformed decision on your part. Tell me, did you consult with anyone from the town before cancelling the display?”
“No.”
“Is that your corporate policy or is it just you?”
“We try to turn around unprofitable companies. You have to make tough decisions.”
“I get tough decisions. I make contract decisions, too, but strict monetary value is only part of the equation. Grandpa handled more of the business details, but each decision has multiple cost factors. Money from the parking meters pays to fill potholes. The businesses on Main Street, including my store, depend on the increased sales during the holidays to cover overhead expenses all year long. The train display brings in people from all over. The motel on the outskirts stays full on Friday and Saturday nights during December. Last year, Jo’s diner did enough business to get an elevator shaft in her home. The increased energy usage goes back to Adena.”
“An elevator? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Her son has muscular dystrophy and already he struggles with stairs somedays. It’s not a question of if he’ll need a wheelchair but when. Insurance doesn’t cover everything, so the end of the year money is how she stays in her home. You might have learned some of this if you’d bothered to ask around first. Instead you rolled in here with a bunch of outside ideas and didn’t consider the community. There are consequences to your budget slashing and when you did it without considering the big picture, you upset a lot of people.”
“Okay, but what if I hadn’t done anything? Adena’s value was in free-fall and the ownership was desperate for cash and a way out of the responsibility of ownership. That’s how my company acquired it, but frankly they didn’t do their due diligence regarding regulation. And what about the people who depended on the company’s stability for their retirement? Or everyone employed by me—”
“Those you didn’t fire—”
“If I can’t get Adena turned around by the end of January, it will fold and be sold off piecemeal to the highest bidder, even if it means dismantling the operations. One of the national companies would take over, fire everyone in the call center, marketing departments, maintenance, line repair basically anyone whose job could be done cheaper elsewhere. That’s a lot more people out of work. A few might get lucky enough to be on the call list in case something goes wrong, but it will be the gig economy at best. No benefits, no regularly scheduled paycheck. Your precious Main Street will be vacant.” His throat tightened as he spoke.
“There’s no need to yell.”
“Yes there is. It’s the only way to get you or anyone else in this damned town to listen.”
She looked shocked, as if he’d slapped her across the face.
“Get out.”
“I’m so sorry. I—”
“I’d take this town over your city any day. Now get out. I have tons of work to do and only hours left to transform this all purpose room into a winter wonderland.”
He slunk toward the door, feeling like a snake. Reaching for the handle, a thought passed into his mind. She might hate him even more, but he asked anyway. “I know everyone in this town hates me and wants me to leave. The time I spend cleaning up and paying fines is time I’m not spending at work, trying to get Adena on more solid financial footing and preserve the company, which is all I want to do. Will you please help? At least ask Miss Jones to lay off for a few days while I’m out of town?
Her eyes softened. “Of course. What kind of a person do you think I am?”
He left, closing the door on the most maddening, infuriating, intriguing, and sexiest women he’d ever met. If only he could figure out how to stop saying the wrong thing around her.
Chapter 18
His low opinion of her town shouldn’t matter to her, but it did. She wanted him to like Belkin and, by extension, her. His job made him miserable. This wasn’t the first time she’d observed him reaching for the antacids. Maybe he’d be a bit more reasonable if he spent less time trying to avoid fines. Plus, no-one should head out of town and come back to a few days’ worth of pranks and hundreds of dollars in fines.
She woke midmorning on Thanksgiving and shivered. The garage lacked full HVAC capabilities and she didn’t like to run the space heater as she slept. The chill in the air meant she’d need to brave the second floor of the big house if she wanted to stay comfortable. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she waited for the shower in the three-quarter bath to heat up. Afterwards, she dressed in cargo pants and a t-shirt that wouldn’t suffice for the day. Her better fall and winter clothes were in her old room. It was time to go upstairs.
She unlocked the back door and st
arted the coffee maker. The thermostat on the front room wall read 62. She moved a plastic switch from off to on and rotated the ancient dial to the blue nighttime line, 66. With a clunk the basement heater fired up. The coffee pot chimed, so she poured a cup, letting the heat pass through the ceramic mug to her fingertips. She clutched it like a grown-up’s hand as she trekked up the stairs. Dust grew thicker along the sides of each wooden plank. Months ago she had asked the cleaning service to not bother with the upstairs since no one would be there.
The upstairs suffered fewer months of neglect than the holiday display, but collected more dust. Sunlight streamed through the round window above the landing, illuminating dust motes mid-journey on the ride to the floor. Between the sun and the dust, the fabric flowers on the occasional table faded into dull reds and dirty yellows.
“I’ll relocate you to a trash bag later.” Relief swept down Claire’s spine as the flowers refused to answer.
To the right of the landing, the five-paneled door of the master bedroom waited for someone to turn the custom carved wood train door handle. Dust turned the train’s steam cloud an appropriate shade of gray. She stepped close and blew a puff of air at the handle. Debris floated up. Her eyelids didn’t respond fast enough. When they closed, they trapped irritants. Her eyes itched and watered. She fell against the door as she blinked.
“Okay, okay. I am not the right person to open the door today. I’ll wait.” A soft whistle whispered against her inner ear. “I hope that was a freight train.” Her heart thrummed against her chest. She passed the guest room-slash-train collection room and continued down the hall to her room. Each corner of her five-paneled door showed a patina of neglect, but the doorknob, a piece of repurposed track, didn’t look bad. She pushed down and then forward as the door squealed.
Light fell across the floor at a strange angle. The cheap metal blinds were half-up, half down, and only one of the pink floral curtains Grandma had made was tied back. Claire’s funeral dress lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. One shoe sat on the nightstand. The digital clock blinked red nonsense numbers. She hadn’t made the bed properly last time she was here. A couple of posters had fallen from the wall. Worse, during her absence, sunlight attacked her photo wall, fading images of her and Jo, and her with the OMC and her favorite photo of her with her mom.