A Change in Altitude (5 page)

The door to the library burst open and a whirlwind—in the form of one teenage boy—swept in. He slammed the door, launched his backpack onto the table where Alina sat, and rushed up to the counter. “Hey, Miss W,” he called. “I'm here to shelve books to work off my fine.”

“Lucas, lower your voice please.” Cassie's words were scolding, but she was clearly pleased to see the boy. He was thin and angular, like someone who isn't tall yet, but will be. A mop of honey-colored hair drooped into his eyes, which peered out from behind round, wire-rimmed glasses. He wasn't boy-band handsome by any means, but he looked intelligent and interesting.

“Sorry. I'll use my indoor voice,” he said, softening his tone slightly. He turned and spotted Alina and strode over to her. “Hey, you're the new girl, aren't you? I'm Lucas.”

“Hi, Lucas, I'm Alina. My mom and I just moved here from Vermont.”

He slid into the chair next to her. “Are you working on that paper for English class?”

“Yeah, I'm still trying to decide what to write, though.”

Sharon forced her attention back to her work, still smiling to herself. Alina was going to be all right.

A few moments later, she heard giggling at the table and looked over to see Alina with the camera. “It was a going-away present from my dad,” Alina said as she handed it over to Lucas.

“It's really great,” Lucas said. “When the wildflowers start blooming in a few weeks, you should be able to get some great pictures. I can show you where to find some really pretty ones if you like.”

“I'd like that.”

Joe had given Alina the camera? That didn't sound like him; he wasn't the generous type, especially not with his daughter. But Alina had made a big deal out of wanting a camera at Christmas, so maybe he'd felt guilty about how things had worked out and he'd bought it for her. Funny that Alina hadn't said anything to Sharon, though. She'd just shown up with the camera the day they left. When Sharon had asked about it, Alina had said, “It's just a camera; don't make a big deal about it.”

“Hey, Miss W?” Lucas called.

Cassie looked up from her desk. “Yes, Lucas?”

“Does the town park have a name?”

“A name?” Cassie frowned. “I believe everyone just refers to it as the town park.”

“That's what I thought. I was telling Alina about all the flowers that bloom there every year.”

“My grandmother started the tradition of planting flowers in the park every spring,” Cassie said. “In fact, the land on which the park sits once belonged to my family.”

“Most of the town used to belong to Miss Wynock's family,” Lucas said.

“You are correct, Lucas.” She stood, a broad smile on her face. “And it's really time Eureka acknowledged the contribution the Wynocks have made. You've given me a brilliant idea.” She slipped her purse over her arm. “Sharon, watch the front desk. I have an errand to run.”

“Sure.” Sharon set aside the computer printout and watched as Cassie hurried out the door. “Where's she off to in such a hurry?” she wondered out loud.

“I don't know.” Lucas frowned. “But it's not always such a good thing when Miss Wynock gets an idea.”

 

Maggie set the plate in front of Jameso, then slid into the chair opposite. The house was so small that what passed for her dining room was merely a space between the kitchen wall and the back of the sofa that was just wide enough to accommodate a small table and two chairs. One more thing on her wish list: a house big enough to have a real dining room.

Jameso eyed the plate warily. “I told you you didn't have to cook for me,” he said. “I could get take-out.”

“I like to cook. Besides, it's expensive to eat out all the time.”

“You're right. I just don't want to make more work for you.”

“You're going to be my husband. I don't mind cooking for you.”

“That's great. I just don't want you to think you
have
to cook for me.” He picked up his fork. “What is it?”

“Thai noodles. I got the recipe from Barb.”

“Barb cooks?” He eyed the plate warily.

“All right, she got it from her caterer, but it's good. Try it.”

He shoveled in a forkful of the noodles in a spicy peanut sauce and nodded. “It is good.” He chewed, swallowed, and seemed to relax a little. “What did you do today? Anything interesting going on at the paper?”

“Cassie Wynock is on a tear about the town park.”

“What? Are people not picking up after their dogs again? Does she not like the flowers the garden club planted?”

“Better than that—she wants the town to change the name from Town Park to Ernestine Wynock Park.”

“Who is Ernestine Wynock?”

“Her grandmother.”

“The one in the play?”

“No, that was Emmaline, her great-grandmother. Ernestine was Emmaline's daughter-in-law, I think.”

“What's so special about her that she should have a park named after her?”

“Ernestine Wynock was on the board of the women's club that established the park and planted the first flowers there. And apparently a lot of other flowers around town, including the lilacs in front of the library. Cassie came by the office today, demanding that Rick write an article promoting the idea of renaming the park.” She grinned, remembering the newspaper editor's reaction to Cassie's badgering.

“I'll bet that went over really well,” Jameso said.

“Oh, yes. Rick went on a rant about the free press and no one telling him what to print in his paper.”

“What did Cassie do?”

“I thought at first she was going to hit him with her purse. But then she pulled herself together. She sat down at an empty desk and wrote out a letter to the editor on the subject.” As much as Cassie annoyed Maggie, she admired how the librarian never let obstacles defeat her. Maybe she got that from her pioneer ancestors.

“Is Rick going to print it?”

“Oh, yes. It's sure to start people talking, and there's nothing Rick likes better.”

“Should be interesting to see how it plays out,” Jameso said.

“Yes.” She toyed with the noodles on her plate. “What did you do today?”

“I finished the wallpaper at the B and B this afternoon.”

“And you're still sane. That's something.” Really, the man deserved a medal for putting up with Barb's constant “supervising” and interfering. Maggie adored her best friend, but the Houston socialite was used to ordering around the men in her life, and she treated Jameso the same way she treated her husband and son. Funny thing was, none of the guys ever seemed to really resent it.

“Barb was giving me the silent treatment.”

“Oh?” She fixed her gaze on him, watching a flush rise from his neck, up past his beard to his cheeks.

He put down his fork and cleared his throat. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the name change,” he said. “I just . . .”

“I know. You don't like to talk about the past.” She'd been okay with that, mostly. What mattered most was right now, and the future she and Jameso would have together. But maybe he needed to talk about this. “I know you didn't have a happy childhood. Taking a new name is a good way to make a fresh start.”

“My father was a bastard and my mom refused to admit that anything he did was wrong. I got away as soon as I could, went into the army.” He took another forkful of noodles and chewed, his expression intense.

“You're a survivor,” Maggie said. “I admire that. I think it's why my father liked you, too.” Her father, Jacob Murphy, had battled his own demons after the Vietnam War. In a way, he'd been the father Jameso had never had, and Jameso had been his surrogate son. They'd helped heal each other, she was sure.

“I always felt guilty about Sharon,” Jameso's voice was rough, his face suffused with sadness. “When I left home she was fourteen. She was stuck there.”

“She seems to have turned out all right. I mean, she has her daughter and she seems, I don't know—strong. Together.” A lot more together than Maggie had been when she'd come to Eureka after her own divorce.

“She has a son, too. Adan. Apparently, he stayed with her ex, Joe.”

“Did you know him—Joe, I mean?”

“I saw him a couple of times. Big guy with a loud voice and a lot of loud opinions. I wanted to punch him about five minutes after I met him. I never understood what she saw in him.”

“I can't answer for her, but sometimes, when a person has been bullied, they're drawn to someone strong, someone they think will protect them.”

“Another bully.”

“You really think so?” Her stomach knotted and she rested her hand on the mound of her abdomen. “Do you think he abused her?”

“I don't know. But I don't think she'd have left her son unless she had to.”

“Have you asked her?”

“No.” He filled his mouth with food again, a convenient way to avoid answering her question. Oh, she knew all his methods by now.

“You need to talk to her,” she said. “She came all this way to see you.”

He looked down at his plate and said nothing.

She nudged his leg under the table. “Jameso, she's you're only relative. And I think she loves you, or she wouldn't be here now.”

“I don't know what to say to her. You know I'm not good with all that emotional stuff.”

“You don't have to say a lot. Just listen. Let her know you're here for her.” She leaned across the table and patted his hand. “The way you let me know you're here for me.”

He turned his hand palm up to clasp hers. “We're going to make this work, right? The baby and the marriage and the whole nine yards?”

Relationships were unpredictable. She knew that better than anyone. But no one would ever get married if they focused on everything that could go wrong. She loved Jameso and he loved her. She'd seen how hard he tried, how much he'd changed for her and for their baby. She squeezed his hand. And she'd changed, too. She wouldn't make the same mistakes with Jameso she'd made with her first husband.

“Yeah, we are,” she said. “We're going to make it.”

 

“Okay. Just hold that right there a little bit longer.”

Kneeling on the kitchen counter, shoulder shoved underneath the cabinet D. J. was endeavoring to mount to the wall, Olivia strained to hold steady. “Hurry,” she pleaded. “This thing is heavy.”

“I'm hurrying.”

She gritted her teeth at the sound of the drill driver, which always made her think of the dentist. “Okay, you can let go now,” he said.

Relieved, she wiggled out of her awkward position and admired the new cabinet. “It looks great,” she said. It was the last in the row of upper cabinets they'd spent all afternoon installing. They'd had to completely gut the kitchen of the old house they'd bought, but it was finally coming together.

“Pass over those handles and I'll put them on,” he said.

“Where are they?” She looked around the clutter—boxes, tools, and bits of junk were everywhere.

“I put them on the windowsill when we unpacked the boxes yesterday.”

She found the tiny plastic bags of door hardware scattered across the windowsill and the floor below. “There are only seven here,” she said. “One's missing.”

“It was there yesterday. I counted.”

“It's not here, D. J.”

Muttering under his breath, he stomped over.

“I'm not stupid,” she said, as she watched him paw through the construction debris scattered around. “It's not here.”

He reached out and caressed her shoulder with one big, calloused hand. “I never said you were stupid. I must have put it someplace else.”

She leaned in and slid her arms around his waist. “Maybe the ghost took it.”

He laughed. “So we have a ghost now?”

“That's what Bob thinks is behind all the things that keep disappearing here.”

“Oh, well, I'm sure Bob Prescott is an expert.”

“I don't believe in ghosts, but he did tell me some interesting history about this place. He said the man who lived here before Mrs. Gilroy supposedly murdered his wife and buried her in the backyard.”

“Grisly. And probably untrue.” D. J. patted her back and released her. “Even way back when, if your wife disappeared, people asked questions. They'd notice a fresh grave in the backyard. I think Bob's pulling your leg.”

“Probably.” She looked back at the row of cabinets. “What are you going to do about the missing door hardware?”

“If I don't find it, we can order another one.”

She leaned back against the counter and watched him install the handles on the other seven doors. “Everything is looking really good.”

“Yeah, especially considering what a dump this place was.” He pressed the trigger on the drill driver and drove a screw into place. “I'm looking forward to spending my nights and weekends doing something besides construction work.”

“There's always yard work and home repairs,” she said. “When you have a house, the upkeep never stops.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “You're not sorry we got the house, are you?”

“No.” She moved over and put her arms around him again. “We're going to be happy here.”

“I'd be happy anywhere with you.” He set aside the drill and kissed the top of her head.

“I know. But it's just so crazy sometimes, how things turn out.”

“What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the dust, cotton, and soap scent of him. Why did that combination smell so good to her? “I always thought of myself as a city girl. Yet here I am in a small town in the mountains, and I'm happier than I've ever been,” she said. “I'm starting to earn some money from my art. Lucas is doing well in school. . . .”