Be Sweet (9 page)

“He's in your bedroom, watching TV. I don't know why he doesn't stay down here to watch it. He's being antisocial, that's all.”

“Mom, this is his house. He's worked hard today.”

“Well, just the same. It's rude.”

Janni sighs. “Have you heard from Dad?”

Mom lifts her chin. “No, and that's fine by me. The farther he stays away from me, the better.”

“Mom, you and Dad have been married for almost fifty years. Don't you think if he wanted to kill you, he would have done it by now?” I ask, trying to get her to see how ridiculous the whole thing is.

She leans in toward me. “You don't know your dad.” She turns to Janni. “He's changed. You haven't been around him the way I have. He walks around the house with a hammer in his hand. He's just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity, I know it.”

“To hang a picture?”

They turn to me.

“He's waiting for an opportunity to hang a picture? Well, after all, he's carrying a hammer.” Mom's staring daggers at me. I'm wondering who wants to murder whom here.

“Why would he need a hammer?” Janni asks.

“Exactly.” Mom looks at us to see if there is a trace of belief in our expressions. “He never listens when I talk to him—it's as though his mind is always someplace else.”

“That pretty much sums up half the world's male population,” I say with a chuckle. They both glare at me. I clear my throat. “We'll keep an eye on him.”

Mom nods and leans back into her cushion. It's just what she wanted to hear. “Hey, they opened that Smooth Grounds coffee shop today.”

Discussion of coffee always lifts my spirits. “Yeah?” I glance at my watch. “I'll bet it's still open. Want to go?” I ask Mom and Janni.

“No, I want to watch a movie,” Mom says. “Got any good ones?”

“You're welcome to look at our pile of DVDs. I'm going back out to the barn,” Janni says.

“Whatever for?” Mom wants to know.

“Tipsy's been acting a little odd today. I want to check on her, and maybe clean things a bit.”

Janni must be struggling again.

“This late at night? You sick?” Mom asks.

“No.”

“How about I grab us a coffee, and then I'll come out and help you?”

“That's nice, but I don't need any coffee. I just want to unwind, really,” Janni says.

“Well, you two do your thing. I'm going to watch a movie,” Mom says. “Janni, you be careful out in that barn by yourself.”

We rise from our seats. Mom digs through the stack of DVDs while I grab my coat from the closet and head for the door. “Char, you watch your speed on the country roads. You might hurt a critter crossing the road. You aren't in the big city now.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I say without adding, “and thanks for worrying about
me
.” Janni and I slip into our coats and head outside.

“Do you want me to stay and help? I can do coffee later,” I offer reluctantly.

“No, go enjoy your coffee. I can use the alone time, no offense,” Janni says.

“None taken.”

We wave good-bye as I punch my car remote to unlock the doors and climb inside. Since the farm is out in the country a ways, it takes me about fifteen minutes to get to Smooth Grounds. Fortunately, it's still early evening, so they'll be open for a while. My heart flips at the sight of the store. Do I need a life or what?

After placing a couple of business calls on my cell phone, I step inside the shop. Excitement rushes through me with the whir of the cappuccino machine and the quiet conversation of people huddled around wooden tables. Though I love the isolation my cottage provides, the scent of coffee always makes me think of work, people, the hustle-bustle of life, and that energizes me. Janni's house is so laid-back, it's starting to drive me crazy.

After I get my maple macchiato with three shots of espresso, I find a seat. Fortunately, I remembered to grab the latest issue of
Real Estate
magazine from the backseat of my car. Sipping on the hot macchiato, I browse through the pages, catching up on industry news, profiles, and meaty articles. Ignited by the inspirational articles or the three shots of espresso, I'm not sure which, fresh zeal replaces my lethargy, and I'm ready to get back to work. I pull out my Palm Pilot and make a couple of notes on clients I need to contact and land in town I want to check out. Then I pull out my cell phone and call my house to check for any messages. Jotting down the numbers on my Palm, I click off my phone and prepare to return some calls, deciding first to take another sip of my macchiato.

“Hey, Charley, mind if I join you?” The familiar deep voice grabs my attention and makes me choke on my drink. It's like my esophagus has shrunk to the size of hanger wire. Air tries to get through, but the passageway is closed. Consequently, I make this heaving sound that terrifies everyone in the shop, including me. Russ Benson slaps my back a couple of times, then suddenly my windpipe opens like a midnight rose at, well, midnight. Everyone turns away to their own little discussions—most likely about me—and my breathing settles into a normal pattern once again.

“You never answered me,” Russ says, still hovering by my table.

“I was kind of preoccupied.” My voice sounds like sandpaper scratching wood.

He laughs. “May I join you?”

No.
“Yes.” I flip my Palm Pilot closed and tuck it back into my handbag. After another sip of my drink, I'm convinced my tastes have turned their allegiance to cold drinks. Russ helps me shrug out of my coat.

“
Real Estate
magazine, huh?” He smiles at me. “I hear that you're a successful Realtor out East.”

Janni or Daniel must have told him that. “I do all right.” My words have all the warmth of an arctic blast. A shadow crosses his face, making me feel guilty. My mind searches for something to say. “I'm sorry about your wife, Russ.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you doing okay?”

He stares at his hands. “Yeah. It was hard. We had our rough spots, but Cathy was a good woman. I don't know if it's something you ever really get over, losing someone, I mean.”

Tell me about it.

An awkward silence follows.

“Janni told me a little about your life in the military. Sounds interesting.” My feeble attempt at thawing the frost from my icy-cold demeanor.

“You were talking about me?”

My gaze shoots to him. “Well, I mean, she brought up the dinner, and I—er, uh, I mean, she mentioned the military thing, and then I—” It occurs to me that I'm babbling like Porky Pig. The smile on his face tells me he's picked up on that too. Oh, he's trying not to, I'll give him that, but he's smiling. Eyes, mouth, the whole shebang are in on it. “You're making fun of me.”

“No. I'm sorry. It's just nice to know you were talking about me.” His twinkling eyes peer over the rim of his cup as he takes a drink.

Before I can comment or even think about it all, the bell jangles over the door.

“We're having a class reunion, and I didn't know about it?” a voice intrudes.

When I look up, my heart sinks. It's Linda Loose Lips in the flesh. And let me just say it's good to see an extra, oh, I don't know, fifty pounds on her—okay, thirty, but still.

She extends her hand to Russ. “Linda. Linda Appleton-Kaiser.” She runs her fingers along the edge of her shoulder-length black hair and smiles. Same old Linda. She turns to me. “Char,” she says with forced politeness.

Just then Gail walks inside, arms waving wildly when she sees us. She practically gallops over to our table. For the life of me, all I can see are galloping lips. “Oh, isn't this so fun? I'll grab my frappe and join you.”

Russ looks at me. I look at Linda. Linda looks at Gail.

“How about this? The paparazzi all present and accounted for,” I say with a fake smile. “Did you bring your notebooks and tape recorders, so you don't miss anything?” I turn to Russ. “Good to see you again, Russ. I have to go.”

Hot tears scald my eyes and my breath sticks in my chest as I dash through the coffeehouse door and slip into the night . . .

seven

“ Whoa, you're up early,” Janni says when she
comes down the stairs.

“Yep. Already been to the coffee shop and had my macchiato. Thought I'd go out and feed the animals for you.” I've also been poring over my anniversary planning notebook. I need to stop by the store and see if I can find some gold ribbon to serve as napkin rings.

Janni stares at me so long I'm afraid she's mummified. It might be that whole morning look, but I don't think so. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I want to help. Besides, I need some fresh air.”

“Well, the barn isn't exactly the place for fresh air.”

“You have a point. But at least I'll get in a couple of gulps before I enter the barn.”

“Are you sick?”

“Too many cookies before bed,” I confess.

Suspicion fills her eyes. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

“Can't a girl have a cookie binge without a major interrogation?”

“You only eat cookies before bed when you're upset. What gives?”

“I really don't want to talk about it right now. Maybe later. Over coffee, okay?”

She frowns. “Specialty coffee, I presume?”

“You got it.” I smile. “It's probably too cold to stay out for long. I'll be back soon.” Tucking my scarf into my jacket, I walk through the open door. Frigid air stings my face the minute I step outside. Had I known it was so cold today, I might have reconsidered that helping-out thing.

When I slide the doors into place, another gust of cold air swooshes through the barn. I turn on the light.

The animals peek over their stall doors. “Good morning, guys,” I say. A couple of the kittens curl and mew around my feet.

Elsie's unimpressed and keeps chewing something I don't care to think about. Mr. Ed watches me with interest. Tipsy is a little skittish, so I'm trying to move in a nonthreatening way.

After filling their food bins with oats, feeding the kittens, stacking up more hay, and giving everyone water, I make my way to the place that is near and dear to my heart. The hayloft. This place was also one of my favorite hangouts, well, next to walking in the woods and going to the lake.

Climbing the few steps of the ladder, I step onto the floor of the loft and glance around. The perfect thinking place. A wonderful spot to work on floor plan ideas.

Besides an old trunk and some hay, there's nothing much up here. Walking over to the corner, I plop down, causing the woodsy scent of fresh hay to fill the air. My body relaxes in response. All the years and it's come to this. Me. In a hayloft. Alone.

The barn doors creak open, letting in the sound of a car passing down the gravel road. “Char, you in here?”

“Up here, Janni. In the hayloft.”

Her footsteps scuff across the floor, then climb the wooden ladder. Her head pokes through the opening.

“What are you doing up here?”

“Being a kid.” I vigorously rub my gloves together to keep warm.

Janni hauls herself off the ladder and steps over to me.

“Where's Mom?” I ask.

“She's getting ready to go out to breakfast with her lady friends from church.”

“You don't think anyone will tell about the anniversary party, do you?”

“I sure hope not. It's not easy keeping something like this a secret.”

“Have you gotten any letters back or responses from former mem-bers of the church who have moved away?”

“Yeah, we have,” she says with excitement. “I put them in here.” She walks over to the trunk and pulls out two packets of letters bound together. “These people are coming.” She holds up the stack in her right hand. “And these can't make it.” She lifts the packet in her left hand.

We go through a few of the letters together, talking about what those people meant to our lives and how good it will be to see some of them again.

“What's all this other stuff?” The musty smell of age lifts as I sort through old newspapers, bound letters, a baby's blanket, vintage clothes, family pictures, and assorted documents.

“A little bit of everything, I think. Mom had this trunk in the attic, but I had Daniel bring it out here temporarily so we—or I—can work on the scrapbook.” Janni turns over some pictures and looks through them.

“You know, I was thinking that while you're working on the scrap-book, maybe you could pick out some pictures of Mom and Dad that we could display in gold frames at the party. Carpenter Center is going to put out a round table with a gold tablecloth where we can display those photos and your scrapbook.”

“Do I get any say in this?”

“Well, of course you do. You're not crazy about the idea of photos?”

“It's not that. It just seems you're planning everything, and I get very little part in it.”

“That's not true. You're doing the scrapbook.”

“Always something to prove, huh, Char?” Before I can respond, she holds up her hand. “I can't talk about it right now.” She's going through some mood thing, so I drop the matter. For now.

“Since there's not enough sap to do anything yet, why don't you make whatever calls you need to make for the party, and I'll start sorting through pictures while Mom's at her breakfast.” Janni pushes herself up from the floor.

I'm thinking I'd better get on her good side before I tell her my plans about the string quartet I hired for the party.

“So you never told me what happened that made
you binge on cookies last night,” Janni says after lunch when we meet back in the barn to sort through photos.

“Russ came into the coffee shop.” Careful not to ruin my manicure, I lift tiny scraps of paper and toss them in the throw-away pile.