“Don’t interrupt your elders.” His tone was mock serious and elicited a chuckle from the crowd. “Now that we have tax-deductible status, we may be able to get some bigger donors rolling in. Talk it up at work. If you work for a company that matches charitable donations or have kids that do tell them every dollar counts! I know we’re all stretched thin this time of year, but it’s time to dig deep.”
“That goes for the treasury too!” Claire didn’t recognize the voice, but the speaker earned more than a few cheers.
“Sergeant Conner?”
A portly man four seats down from Claire rose and moved to the microphone. “I’m pleased to report that thanks to the great success of ‘Operation Ticket’ we have raised two hundred and fifty dollars so far with another four hundred in fines outstanding.”
This was the first she’d heard of ‘Operation Ticket’ but given the burst of applause, plenty of other people knew about it. Maybe it was a carryover from the summer and Labor Day weekend.
Conner continued. “In other police news, we’ve had a few complaints about vandalism. We still haven’t been able to identify the suspects.”
She swore he winked given the way his eye crinkled, but her vantage point wasn’t all that great. The crowd tittered so she guessed he had done something. Her mind drifted, assembling snippets of information she overheard into something more cohesive. The sudden sound of her name snapped her attention back to the reason for tonight’s gathering: presenting her plans for the display’s new location.
As she finished, she turned to her neighbors once again. “A large portion of the display is still in storage at Adena.”
She waited until the whispering died down before continuing. “Walter, in an extension of his role as corporate liaison, will arrange a time to retrieve our materials, hopefully on Friday, maybe Saturday. There’s a lot of stuff. I’ll rent a moving truck, but if you’re willing and able to provide some muscle power later this week, I’d appreciate it.”
“Will there be food?” One of locals from the feed store shouted out. The question took her aback. She hadn’t thought about payment – there was no money allocated for food for the crew even in a normal year, but they usually did offer some refreshments for setting up the tables. She thought about the treasurer’s report. Take-out pizzas and sodas would blow that budget, but not her pockets.
“I’ll make a couple of cream cakes” Sandy McKenna offered.
Even though it earned him a smack in the chest from his wife Patti, Bob let out whoop at the offer.
“I won’t be able to help, but I can send a crock pot of soup, and maybe a pie or two.” Jo said.
“If I don’t eat the pie first.” Kevin looked up from his game system to a reward of chuckles and smiles.
Soon other residents offered to bring a dish or send napkins or paper plates. Claire’s jaw relaxed, but her cheeks tightened as her lips drew into a smile. Within minutes, enough volunteers spoke up that they planned an entire meal that sounded big enough to feed a hungry army.
“Okay. Sandy, if it’s all right with you, I’ll let you coordinate the food. I suppose we could use the kitchenette and drag some folding chairs from the closet – nothing too fancy or fussy. Just remember, no food near the display!”
AFTER RETURNING HOME, Claire sorted through the pieces in her studio and packed them in carefully labeled boxes for their journey to the church basement. Packing peanuts and scraps of bubble wrap littered the floor. Once they had the main display in place, she and the OMC would frantically add the new and refurbished elements to get the display ready.
She picked up her favorite model of James, turning it over and over in her fingers. “It’s a shame I can’t use this. I did a great job with the paint, and all for naught” A small part of her wanted to put on a pair of heavy boots and crush him like a bug under her shoe.
“Don’t do that.”
The figurine fell from her fingers and tumbled on the table. The voice seemed as if it came from the little City Boy - it even sounded like a tiny version of him.
“I need a vacation.” She looked around at her studio, tools in an abnormal state of disarray. “Or sleep.”
Bed would be a useless proposition. Too many circuits fired at once, overloading the system. Thought trains jumped tracks at runaway speeds, anything to avoid a rest in the roundhouse. Once the display was in place, she would sleep.
Her gaze fell on the tiny James on her worktable. Of course he had to lay there face up, staring back at her with an unblinking but oh so perfect challenge in the brown eyes with golden flecks. It was his fault. But she couldn’t bring herself to throw him away. She reached out. Her hand seemed abnormally large as she lifted him up.
“What am I going to do with you?”
A gnawing grew in her stomach. It wasn’t hunger and it wasn’t overeager acid churning. It was guilt. She tried to rationalize it, saying she lacked culpability, but her unease continued, especially when the damned smile seemed to twitch. She glanced at the clock. With a sigh, she threw the jerk into box of spare figurines, grabbed her coat and set off into the night.
SHE APPROACHED VIA the over-the-fences shortcut, but even from the backyard she could see the distinctive glow of moonlight bouncing off toilet paper in the tree in the front yard. The house was as dim as the yard. No light flickered, so he probably wasn’t watching TV and her movement hadn’t triggered any motion sensor lights. She picked up a handful of gravel and flung it toward the upstairs window. A satisfying pling reached her ears, but nothing happened. She tried again. Still
