The barren sidewalks stretched before her and dark storm clouds made themselves comfortable. The sunset was a private show not meant for her. As she turned the corner on Grove Street, the warm yellow of old-school incandescent bulbs greeted her. She shook her head.
“That Sandy.” She’d been so upset at the switch to fluorescents, that Claire and Clem hunted everywhere to find her fifty golden-glow bulbs for her fiftieth birthday. Sandy saved them for the outside lighting. Claire rang the bell as the door swung upon.
“I saw you coming. Come in. Come in. Let me take your coat.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t let the heat out. It’s from the oven. Not the heater. Old cheapskate won’t let me turn that on yet. Did you walk? Your nose is as red as Rudolph’s.”
“I walked.”
“What have I said about reflective gear young lady? Walter, you’ll drive her home. No more scotch for you.” Sandy whisked away the glass and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Anything I can help with, Mrs. McKenna?”
“Sandy. Neither one of us is in the third-grade classroom anymore. Besides, we’re kin. And no, you two head to the table.”
Walter scoffed. “Third cousins twice removed auntie whatever.”
“It means nothing except we’re kin.” Claire finished the familiar refrain, because all that mattered was somehow her grandma Norah and Sandy were related. “Too bad about your scotch.”
“You’re the one who needs it. Sorry I left you high and dry today, kiddo. I had to get out of that building after he told me or else I would have punched him, and he would have had me arrested for assault.”
“You’re too pretty for jail, Walter.”
His gravely laugh turned into a cough. With a sip of water, he recovered. “I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making me do his dirty work again. He directed me to fire Mike Mitchell yesterday and it was awful. If Mr. Fordham wants to fire people and cancel contracts, he can damn well do the job himself. Better he should live with the guilt than the rest of us.”
“I don’t think he has a conscious.”
Walter leaned close. “I won’t ask how you know about the tattoo, except is the meaning true? He acted weird after that, which gave people a chuckle on a bad day.”
“My lips are sealed.” A lecture might ruin her appetite and something sure smelled good.
“Where are you two? Dinner is served.”
A mustard yellow tablecloth protected the table from spills, which was another sign of how well Sandy knew Walter and Claire. Comfort food stretched from one end of the squoval table to the other: roast pork, mashed potatoes with gravy, roasted carrots, beets, and a cream cake for dessert. Claire’s stomach growled at the sight. She hadn’t eaten since her hard-boiled egg at breakfast, so she piled her plate obscenely high with Sandy’s delicious cooking.
“So, Claire, what are we going to do?”
“I guess I’ll go through the house since I’ll have plenty of time on my hands. I’d appreciate your input on any family heirlooms.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be busier than ever. If George doesn’t come up with a space at town hall to continue the display, then we will find somewhere else. The Ladies’ Auxiliary placed our order for eggs, flour, and sugar this morning. We can’t afford not to sell cake during the grand opening. Thinking of which, I’ll send some of this home with you. Walter and I don’t need to eat the whole cream cake. Now, where else can we house the train display?”
“The Methodist church has that open basement. It’s probably the second biggest space in town.”
“Good idea.” Claire brightened at Walter’s thought.
“But it won’t work. The middle Chisholm girl is getting married there the weekend before Christmas. There has to be some place that will work. Maybe we can bring space heaters into the old Farmer’s bank.” Sandy added.
“Wasn’t it condemned?”
“Maybe the former Ben Franklin’s?”
“With the water leak?”
The whole situation seemed hopeless. Claire handwashed the china after dinner, as Sandy packed up the leftovers and Walter smoked his cigar on the back porch. Claire didn’t have enough emotional energy to protest the heaps of Tupperware Sandy handed her.
“You don’t look like you’ve been eating well. Let me get a casserole from the freezer too.” Sandy pulled a shiny disposable pan from the freezer. “The heating instructions are right on the aluminum foil. It’s a chicken and wild rice casserole. Davy harvested it himself at some kind of park program in Minnesota. Don’t that beat all? Don’t cook everything at once. There should be enough here to get you a hot meal between now and Thanksgiving. Oh, and you are coming here for Thanksgiving, right?”
She nodded her head, knowing it was less of a question than a command. Sandy acted like a surrogate mother, or grandmother to her.
“Thanks, Sandy. It’s too much but I love you anyway.”
“Come on Claire-bear or she’ll find more food to feed you and you’ll end up with a gut like mine.”
They spoke little in the car, the silence welcome after an evening of lively conversation.
As they neared her house, Walter broke the peace. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.”
She harrumphed.
“I know you stayed in Belkin for Clem, coming back each winter to work for peanuts. You’re free of the Adena trains. You could go anywhere and get away from this dying town. Move to D.C. or Hollywood or London. Anywhere. Take a permanent job at one of those museums rather than doing piecemeal contracts and splitting your time. Maybe you’d be able to meet someone, have a chance for love to grow before you run to the next job in the next town.”
“For years, I convinced myself my future was here, that I’d expand my business on the internet and spend less time on the road. Main Street needs CJ’s.”
In profile, he pressed his lips together and turned down her street. “But you saw yourself working alongside Clem.”
She didn’t deny it. How could she deny the truth?
“We’re all mortal, kid. Don’t sell yourself
