Whispers followed him through the hall to the break room. The coffee was as bad as yesterday. He opened the fridge to get his plan B drink – Moxie Energy.
“Gone!” Who the hell took his drink? All six cans. Gone. If his executive office had a mini-fridge like it should, then this would not have happened. His gut churned, almost as much as the thief’s would if he or she shot gunned the drinks at once. The rat-bastard deserved whatever misery they got.
James returned to his office, stopping outside the door. Grace dropped her nail file.
“I want you to make a poster for the break room reminding people not to steal other people’s food and drink.”
“Yes, sir. Should I include photos? Make it colorful or would that waste too much expensive printer ink?”
His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “Make it eye catching. Color is okay.”
“Will do. The NBC affiliate would like to set up an interview with you. Would you prefer before or after lunch?” She gave him a doe eyed look, one as fake as her nails.
“Send all inquiries to the New York office hotline, no exceptions.”
“Yes, sir.”
He closed his office door and took the last swig of liquid Mylanta in the bottle. Another reason to run out at lunch.
CLAIRE DRAFTED AND redrafted the visions of sugar plums that danced in her head until night turned into day. “This would be so much easier if I knew what the space was like.”
She developed multiple sketches, each one ripe with eraser marks. She’d approach the city council first and see if they would provide space at city hall. If that didn’t work, she’d dramatically rework her shop, storing all the season displays and most of the merchandise in the big house so she could convert every available inch into display space for the holiday trains. Either way, she’d have less space to work with, but there had to be a way to make it fit and be viewable without installing glass walkways or people sized hamster tubes.
Logically, she’d work more efficiently once she knew where she’d be. But she needed to work. Laying out the parts of her home Halloween display hadn’t helped. It kept her body moving, but her brain ping-ponged everywhere. Especially places she didn’t want it to go, like the front porch of a certain jerk with gorgeous brown eyes. She could string him up in a Halloween fright scene, but he didn’t deserve the time it would take her include him in the one-day scene. At least she’d doubled up on birth control.
Placing pencil to paper focused her thoughts and delivered them from thinking evil. That child who so generously gave her a well-loved toy needed a train display. Crumpled paper grew in a pile beside her desk until daylight outshone the work light and ringing phones and slamming car doors suggested she was no longer the only one awake in town. Thomas winked at her.
“Time for rest. Join me in the station.”
No matter how lost she got in her work, when inanimate objects told her to get some sleep, Claire listened. They got bossy if she didn’t, so she lumbered to the daybed.
The old flip number clock clicked away, and she closed her eyes to the gentle sound. A growl loud enough to drown out the click brought consciousness. 2:45 pm. The growl vibrated through her stomach and echoed.
“Three and a half hours. I was tired.” Thomas the Train didn’t respond so she was safe. “Time for food.”
She entered the main house through the back door, put on a pot of coffee and pulled out a plastic container of sweet potatoes from last night. She’d have to tell Sandy they were even good cold. She’d leave out the part about eating with her fingers, but in all honesty, who could be expected to use a fork before having a cup of coffee. The bulky telephone charger blinked, indicating missed calls. She punched in the code for voice mail, then put the phone on speaker as she reached for a pre-stained coffee mug.
An electronic voice chirped. “You have thirty-seven new messages.” She dropped the mug, which responded with a fresh chip that skittered across the linoleum.
By the time she reached the end of the messages, she learned the people wanted their train display, so much so that an emergency meeting of the city council was set for tonight and her attendance was mandatory. One TV station wanted to interview her for the noon news, but the other networks were more open. Beverly offered to swap store fronts since hers was a few feet wider. The messages went on so long, she managed to finish a cup of coffee and remember how to use utensils and learned she shouldn’t listen to people’s kind words without a handkerchief handy.
Any lingering doubt the town’s commitment dissipated when she looked at her front yard. Half a dozen balloons waved from her mailbox and the mums from last night either multiplied or invited over some friends. Three newly erected posters proclaimed their support and a white news van was parked out front.
She hustled to the back of the house before the news crew saw her. She should at least comb her hair, or better yet shower before being seen in public. This whole situation was horrible and wonderful. Her grandfather’s legacy lived on. The mementoes and signs really belonged to him, but it was nice to pretend that she wasn’t alone in the world. That someone else out there understood and appreciated her passion.
JAMES DROVE TO THE hardware store over lunch to purchase a second fire extinguisher. After paying, he walked to his car. A weird gleam
