by Lola Karns
She pressed the button and pulled the rope for the whistle. From the engineer’s station, she saw the moment it happened. James the sexy Grinch with chronic upset stomach became James the seven year old who still believed in holiday magic and the goodness in the world.
THE OLD-FASHIONED TRAIN rattled before him, ignoring cars waiting at railroad crossings and passengers at a station before going around a curve and disappearing into a tunnel. All through his field of vision, movement fought to draw his attention. He focused in on the sights before him, a rectangular grid of streets, that seemed familiar. At the far end of the town, blinking lights danced around a sign declaring “Eat at Jo’s”. An old fashioned car moved back and forth trying to navigate a parking lot with cars and trucks of the last hundred years. The production rivaled anything on Broadway. The past and present collided in an imaginary Belkin.
He lifted his gaze to hers. “You did this?”
“Not all of it. My Grandfather started the display with the North Pole. The train used to deliver candy to the kids, but the crowds have grown large enough that we had to put up the Plexiglas and keep people from reaching in. Over the years he added bits and pieces. Fifty years ago, he began the town. It’s evolved ever since.” The train noise stopped.
“Where do you get this stuff? I swear I recognize houses.”
“That’s the easy stuff. Paint color and location relative to landmarks like the town hall.”
Joining him on the side nearest the outside doors, she offered him a magnifying glass. She was close enough her body heat rippled across his skin.
“You’re tall enough. Lean in at that gap and get a better look at that diner right there. I noticed you looking at it earlier.”
He held the glass rotating it and not quite believing his eyes. “That pie-wielding waitress out front looks like Jo.”
“It is Jo. I made likenesses of pretty much everyone in town.”
“You...” He turned his head to look at her. Her face was inches from his. Her gaze was serene, lacking the anger and irritation he’d seen too often lately. She glowed with an inner peace that reminded him of that evening on his porch steps when she woke him to the beauty of a sunset. “You are amazing. A true artist.”
Claire tilted her head back and her laugh rang through the cavernous room. “That’s what I do. I’m a miniaturist. The work may make me crazy at times, but I cannot imagine doing anything more satisfying. It took years to get everyone. And I’m constantly tweaking as children grow and the community changes. Sometimes I work from memory, but I prefer photographs. The kids love hunting for themselves or their parents and grandparents. Their joy is worth any aggravation.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m always in here a bunch of times, five this year. Artist privilege.” Groping her striped overalls, she extracted a laser pointer. “Here I am in my studio when I was twenty.” She moved the laser dot to a building he recognized, Adena’s headquarters. “If you look through the glass, that’s me when I was eight. My grandpa Clem made that one. We’re standing side by side in front of the train display. The train in there actually moves, but I didn’t turn that one on. Grandpa always told me that I was on the train not the tiny one, but the one rumbling around now, so one of the window silhouettes is me. I’m also walking on Main Street. There.”
“And the other?”
Her gaze shifted, her eyes focusing on something far away, if it was there at all.
“Graveside at my Grandfather’s funeral. There, on the hill behind the church. Me, Walter, Bob, and George in our dress coats. It’s a little hard to see and the Belkin geography is off. Bob was right that this scene is too sad to look at, but George suggested this spot, visible if you know where to look.” Her voice hitched as she spoke, as if the words hurt to say aloud.
“Clem sounds like a special man.” Tentatively, he put his hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t sure how she’d react, but he needed to offer her comfort, whether she accepted or not. Rather than pushing him away, she fell against him, sobbing. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close. Her tears soaked his shirt. He stroked her red and green streaked hair. She had seemed so confident and in control at every other meeting, even when she had been angry in his office, but this was different. Her strength went too deep to be dismissed as a façade, so he wouldn’t call her vulnerability a crack or a flaw.
“Why did he have to go and die on me? First Mom and Grandma, now him. They left me alone, with no one left to love me.” Hearty sobs punctuated each word.
“What about your father?”
“He’s a name on a birth certificate, and I’m pretty sure John Doe isn’t his real name. Clem was my whole family.”
He helped her to the floor, cradling her against him as he leaned against the wall. As messed up as his family was, at least he had names. Her tears eased as her breath slowed to match the pace of his fingers as he caressed her arm and back. The past losses were problems he couldn’t solve. One word resounded in his mind. Alone: that was the keyword for her sorrow and yet so impossibly wrong.
“I don’t see it that way. Claire, did you see how many people turned out to help you move the trains? All those signs of support in your yard? The people who refused me service and trashed my yard?”
“I tried to stop them.” A sea of tears covered her eyes as she looked up at him. He wiped them down her cheek with his thumb.
“And they listened, sort of, because you asked. They went after me because I made you mad.”
“They went after you because of the trains and economics.”
“It’s more than that. They continued after you found this location. If people were only upset about this train it would have stopped sooner because in spite of the extra trouble, the display is happening. For all the grief I heard about increased tax revenue, and how much money everyone makes during this period, the relocated display makes those arguments moot, and yet the forking didn’t stop. Hell, the chief perpetrator was a woman whose social security payment stays the same train or no train.”
With a faint moan, Claire snuggled against his chest, her warmth a pleasant contrast to the cold wall behind him. He rested his chin on her hair. A subtle fruity scent reached his nose, which was much better than the stale body odor lingering elsewhere in the room. Her breath slowed and her shoulder muscles slackened as he rubbed slow circles across her trapezius.
“There’s only one logical explanation for the continuing insanity. Jo, Walter, George, Miss Jones, everyone in this town loves you. Even me.”
The words surprised him. Only as they left his mouth, did he realize how true they were. He loved her and this crazy sushi-bar-free town. She didn’t respond. He tilted his head to look at her. All tension had left her face, and her lip fluttered with each exhale. Thank goodness she’d fallen asleep. As soon as he was done being a human pillow, he had work to do.
Chapter 20
James came back the next day, and the day after that, always at the end of the day and always dropping something in the donation bin. While his money was as good as anyone’s, his presence made Claire twitchy. There was no good reason for him to come night after night. He was spending money, not making it.
She avoided him as much as possible in the confined space, which was hard to do when he pestered her about how things worked and how he could help. It was one thing for Walter to work with James and show him how to cover the control panel and protect it from dust, but another matter entirely for her to risk accidental contact.
If she learned anything from the opening night, it was that his touch led to disaster either in the form of tears or worse. He’d caused her enough pain and aggravation already. She didn’t have time to indulge in lustful thoughts or notice the way he leaned in as the OMC answered his questions. Her blood boiled when he nodded his head while listening to them. He’d done the same thing to her on opening night. Asked questions, listened, and when she was most vulnerable, he took advantage of her weakness, providing comfort
, and shelter and hope. Jerk.
“Want to get dinner? Did you eat today?” He held the dustpan as she swept.
“I had breakfast.” Sunday was easy. They couldn’t open the trains until church let out. “Besides, even if somewhere was still open, you’ve been blacklisted at every place in a twenty-mile radius.”
“Ten, but the drive-thrus in the next town don’t care.” He shrugged.
“I’m not convinced.”
“I’ll work harder. This section of land here near the forest, is the elevation and location real?”
“Mostly. Before the core of engineers diverted the river, that drop powered the water wheel.”
He nodded, but his gaze seemed unfocused.
“Don’t spill that dustpan before you dump it. I don’t want to sweep again before locking up.”
“Right. When is the next open day? Tuesday?”
“Wednesday.”
“I’ll see you then, Claire.” He picked up his coat and offered her hers. “Do you ever get a night off?”
“Only when we’re closed Monday and Tuesday and even the self-employed have to earn a paycheck sometime.”
“Maybe we can grab a bite Wednesday after you close up.”
He held the door open and waited as she locked up. She met his gaze. The golden flecks in his eyes were like unexpected rays of sunshine peeking through a dense copse of trees. Her mouth wouldn’t form the word no. “Maybe.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as he nodded his head. It was a front-porch easy kind of moment that raised a world of possibilities.
HOPE WAS MORE POWERFUL than caffeine. Caught up in online research of both content and social networks, the chirping of his alarm startled James into another work week. Somehow the whole night had passed, and he hadn’t slept. He poured a bowl of cereal and looked at his paper planner with the schedule he’d set up a lifetime ago while on the plane to NYC for Thanksgiving. He crossed off almost everything, leaving the page a cluttered mess of nonsense. “That’s okay. I’ll start fresh.”
Unencumbered by the need to wash car windows or collect forks from his yard, James arrived at the office early. He paused at the security desk.
“Good morning, Ryan is it?” The man’s eyebrows rose, and he sat up a little straighter.
“Yes, sir.”
“Here. Donuts for your breakroom.” He set two boxes on the counter and held the third. “I’ll take these to the second floor, but could you make sure the others get to the main one.”
“Sure.” The guy sounded nervous.
“They’re from the gas station – nothing fancy, but they were open. I bought them out.”
“Do I need to call in additional security staff today? Will there be a lot of people needing escorts?”
He chuckled. “Nope. Not today. Have a good day.”
James put the other box of donuts in the breakroom and got settled in his office before Grace arrived. After firing up the computer, he pulled up files sent from a friend of a friend who worked for an electric company in North Carolina. Taking advantage of the large screen, to have multiple programs visible at once, he pulled up files from an old school chum who worked for an energy innovation company.
Movement caught his eye. Grace was taking off her coat. He pressed the orange call button on the intercom.
“Yes?” She sounded a bit out of breath. He checked the clock; she was a few minutes late, but that happened sometimes. Traffic.
“I need you to set up a meeting this afternoon with all the veeps, and I need maps of all Adena’s land holdings and elevation charts. I need the charts ASAP. Before I meet with the veeps, I need to see Bryce Mason in technologies. Give me two to three hours with him this morning.”
He had the maps before he finished his coffee. He spread them across the conference table. From what he could see, and what he understood of the regulations, this might work.
“Sir?” Grace’s voice rang through the intercom. “Mr. Mason is here.”
“Send him in.”
Bryce Mason looked even younger than James expected, but his credentials on paper looked good. He extended his hand.
“Bryce, call me James, I know your two-year term is expiring soon, but I only recently saw the recommendation report you filed in your second month at Adena. Let’s talk.”
JAMES COULDN’T EAT lunch. There were too many piles of paper on his desk, the table, and even a few on the floor. Besides, his stomach was too weird—not gurgling, not upset, but something different. He prowled the room, weaving together information and rapidly updating a presentation for the Veeps. He didn’t have as much detail as he needed, yet. Bryce promised him updated numbers by Tuesday morning. An alarm rang on his phone. Three minutes until showtime. He cleared the conference table as his guests arrived.
“As you know, my sole goal is to make Adena profitable as expediently as possible.” The Veeps eyed him with skepticism and worry. “I’ve been consulting with a few outside firms. I’ve charged Bryce Mason with assembling information for few different proposals. In the next forty-eight hours, I expect all of you to keep your phones on twenty-four seven and do what you need to do to keep all vital data regarding your department operation at your fingertips. If Bryce or I throw a hypothetical at you, we need the answer without questions as to why. This is the only way to keep the rumor mill at bay. I will say this. Some outside parties are interested in Adena’s future, but there may be a way to increase both the profit and the number of employees at the same time.”
“Will the jobs be here in Belkin?” Pat Jones from HR queried.
“That’s precisely the type of question I won’t answer at the moment. I’ll have better information soon.”
WEDNESDAYS WERE TRADITIONALLY slow. Bob helped for the first two hours, then George arrived for the six to eight shift, bringing with him a thermos of Dinah’s vegetable beef soup for her. The visitors may not have been abundant, but they stayed longer, even after George left.
“Hey Maria?” The high school art student looked up from the camera balanced on a tripod.
“Yes?”
“I have to close up for the night.”
“Oh my goodness. I totally lost track of time.”
“Happens to me all the time. If you need more time or want to try taking photos in a different light, let me know and I can arrange to let you in. The Winter Wonderland gets bathed in a beautiful pink light at sunset.”
“That would great. I played with the filters to try different color washes, like Mr. Mitchell said, but I like natural light best. I tried to mimic it with the lights, but I’d love to take photos at different times of day to see how my approximations compare.”
Claire chuckled. “Has Mr. Mitchell assigned you to photograph the same item from the same location every fifteen minutes to watch the light yet?”
“I did a sunflower. He hated it and said the stem was a better subject. I have to redo it in the spring when there’s more light.” Maria rolled her eyes.
“Or try on a full moon. Mike will get you and your portfolio where it needs to be for art school.” Claire’s own internship with him helped her get into school. It also cemented that she was not a gifted photographer unlike Mike and Maria. “Need a hand packing up the equipment?”
“Please.”
“James? Could you?” Claire looked around. He wasn’t there. Strange how quickly she’d grown to rely on his presence.
“I think it’s just us.”
“Weird, but no problem. I don’t want to touch your lights, but I’ll get the tripod and stands.”
As she helped sort various hunks of metal into a more portable carrying case, Claire tried not to scowl. James had made no promises or commitment to show up at closing time, and he had said maybe Wednesday, but his absence was a missing gumdrop on Santa’s workshop.
WHEN JAMES CALLED ON Saturday and asked her to breakfast on Sunday, part of her wanted to say no and ask where he’d been all week, but she agreed anyway. He pulled up in the ren
tal car, which looked less shiny than it did a month ago.
“Where are we going? I have to be back by noon and you’re still banned from everywhere.”
He flashed her a grin. “You’ll see.”
“What’s with all the stuff in the backseat? It doesn’t smell like cleaning supplies.”
“You’ll see.”
“Your caginess is making me nervous. You aren’t going to kill me, are you?”
“Nah. I’d rather kiss you.”
“Maybe on the way home, if I’m still alive.”
A ringing phone commandeered the Bluetooth speakers “Hello, Father.”
“James. Danny’s announcement goes out tomorrow. I’m disappointed I haven’t heard a counter announcement from you.”
Claire couldn’t help but eavesdrop since the conversation blasted throughout the car. Maybe it was the audio quality, but the man’s words sounded cool and harsh. One of James’ hands gripped the steering wheel, and the other patted around the cup holders. He pointed at the glove box. When she opened it, he grabbed a bottle of Mylanta.
“I understood the latest deadline to be December 24th, which is a month sooner than the previous one of January 31st.”
“Danny is outmaneuvering you and ready to go. He wants the partnership. Do you?”
If James’ knuckles grew any whiter on the steering wheel, he’d probably break the thing.
“Lucky for you, I found someone to buy out that little company. All you have to do is sign the paperwork and do some layoffs.”
“How many?”
“All. The buyers want a clean slate and to bring in their own staff.”
“I have to go Dad. I’m in the car. It’s not a good time.” He punched a button on the dash. “Sorry about that.”
“Something wrong?”
“The partners keep changing the rules mid game.”