She slipped out, brushing him once again on her way out.
“I’m not apologizing for that one or else I’ll start my three’s all over again and we’ll be stuck here all day.”
“Can’t have that.” He smirked, but she’d already turned her focus elsewhere. She waved to the men in the corner, pausing as she got to the door.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You guys better get your applications for seasonal employment in order. If those layoff rumors are true, and if you wait too long, I’ll have plenty of young muscle to choose from.”
The old guys guffawed, but he couldn’t help but wonder who was this Claire woman, why did she know about the layoffs, and why did she want young muscle?
Chapter 2
The comfortable daybed had welcomed Claire Evans into an immediate embrace. The incessant honking of a car horn mere feet from her head did not. Dust danced in the sunbeam falling onto the clock. Six twenty-two p.m. She closed her eyes, rolled to a seated position and took in a deep gulp of air. The honking continued. Jo would have called. She swung her feet to the floor and opened the side door to her office-slash-garage-slash-apartment. An old man with a cigar leaned out of the open car window of an econobox on wheels, scowling and honking the horn.
“Walter.” Of course.
“Hey, kid.” As long as she could remember, Walter sounded like he’d eaten a bowl of broken glass and gravel. “Sandy’s fixing dinner in the kitchen. It’ll be ready any minute. Why are you sleeping out here?”
“I missed my little carriage house studio. Do I have time to get ready?”
“No. Food will be on the table in,” he looked at his watch, “four minutes.”
Claire didn’t want to go in the big house. Not yet. She glanced around the back yard. The picnic table sat in dappled sunlight.
“Think she’d let us eat outside? The air is so pleasant tonight. Please?”
Walter stubbed out the cigar. “I’ll ask. You change out of that grubby shirt. Is that mayo? Tuna? Whatever it is, Sandy won’t like it. I’d tell you to shower up but there’s no time for that.”
Claire suppressed a smile as she reentered her space. She pulled a few t-shirts from her suitcase until she found one that passed the sniff test and used a facial cleaning wipe to freshen up. Laundry would have to be on tonight’s agenda. She hustled out the door in time to see Sandy carrying a casserole dish down the steps.
“Let me get that.”
“You don’t have oven mitts. Sit. Relax—well, until time to do the dishes. I cooked, so you can take care of those.”
Soon a plate piled high with noodles, tomatoes, beef, and cheese appeared before her. The unappealing mess was not Instagram worthy, but eating a meal where no one photographed the food was refreshing.
“What’s your plan, Claire-bear?”
“Finish work for the Dayton job because it’s a quickie, open the store a few days a week so people can pick up orders, get the house decorated and then undecorated for Halloween, and naturally the train display.”
“I think he means after that.”
She looked at Sandy, who stared back at her with the same curious expression and tilted head Claire remembered from her kindergarten days.
“I have a few short-term contracts in February, March and May. Actually – I have to double check March. And then?” She shrugged. “We didn’t set up other contracts before... He handled all the business, kept my calendar and schedule organized.” She didn’t want to think about the future. Anything beyond the Christmas display was hard to contemplate.
Across from her, Walter and Sandy joined hands and shared the sort of non-verbal communication that came with fifty-some years of marriage.
“Clem is gone and he’s not coming back. You need to think about what you’ll do. Maybe the Smithsonian is still looking. You could have a regular schedule. Or maybe you can get a business manager or a full-time agent to set your contracts and schedule.”
“But don’t stay here and limit yourself out of some obligation.” Sandy shook her silver streaked bob.
“But the holiday trains. I promised.”
Sandy stretched a hand across the picnic table. Walter rubbed his free hand over his wild eyebrows. They were pulling the parent routine. And Clem wasn’t here to save her from their concerned meddling.
“Look, Kiddo, some New York yahoos are mucking with Adena. I’m meeting with the guy tomorrow for a departmental review.” The way Walter intoned those last words let her know exactly how little he thought of the idea.
“So?”
“The company hasn’t been doing well.” His voice grew quieter. “For the last five years, rumors have been flying about the company being sold off for parts or closed. We did some restructuring a while back and bought some time, but this new management crew actually owns a stake.”
“I thought Adena was public. Lots of people own stakes.”
“But most are individual people who own a handful of shares. Not private equity firms. Some people have already been fired. I’m not sure there will be an Adena come December.”
“Walter, if you need a job—”
“Pshaw. I’m a year from retirement. I’ll be offered a buy out.”
“Then you can take over the store.”
His harrumph turned into a phlegmy cough. “I can retire happy. Sandy and I can take that cruise and escape the worst of winter. I was thinking about you. We both know running a store isn’t the best use of your skills. I can’t imagine they’ll cancel the train display contract, but if there’s not a company....” Walter shrugged. “I hope you weren’t banking on the salary.”
“They can’t cut the trains. It’s tradition.” The words squeezed past the lump in her throat.
These interlopers couldn’t do this. Not to her, not to her grandfather’s legacy, not to good people like Walter and Jo and Beverly and the O’Meara’s and other shop owners, and especially not to the
