Boo Hiss (11 page)

C
HAPTER
12

I
T SEEMED IRREVERENT
in a way, to squeeze icing onto the Strudel from a small, plastic casing. She put the Strudel into the toaster just as Melb inquired about it for the fourth time from the comfort of the living room couch. Not once in her life,
ever
, had she eaten a frozen toaster Strudel. The fact that it had
gourmet
written across the box did not help motivate her. And though she was a fan of strawberries and cream cheese, the very idea of making Strudel in a toaster seemed so improper. She turned the box over, but the ingredients looked more like a chemical experiment than a delicate pastry dish. But this was what Melb wanted.

Ainsley walked into the living room. Melb was stretched out on the couch, sipping her decaf coffee. She glanced tiredly at Ainsley. “This stuff tastes awful. Can’t you tell the difference? I think it’s making me more tired.”

“Your body is working overtime. Remember that. That little baby, probably the size of the nail on your pinky, is sucking all your energy. You’ll feel tired for a couple more months, but then you’ll start feeling really—”

Melb held up her hands.

“What?” Ainsley asked.

“Just heard the toaster pop up.”

Ainsley turned back to the kitchen, but heard a knock at the front door. Fairly certain Melb wouldn’t get up, she wiped her hands and went to answer it.

Upon opening the door, she saw the most beautifully dressed, pulled-together woman she’d ever laid eyes on. She was dressed in a light pink pantsuit, from head to toe, with a casual tee underneath. Her hair was pulled away from her face with a thick brown headband that matched her shoes. Delicate earrings glimmered in the morning light, along with a tiny diamond that hung around her neck. Her eyes, wide and blue and mesmerizing, held shimmery hints of color on the lids, framed with neat and tidy eyebrows. She grinned.

“Are you Ainsley Boone?”

Ainsley couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been dressed by 9:00 a.m. Her hair, she realized, was sure to look a mess. She pulled her robe closed and tried to smooth the top of her hair.

“Yes. I’m Ainsley.”

The woman offered her hand. “Hi there. I’m Katelyn Downey.” “Hi,” Ainsley said, shaking her hand.

“I’m sorry to drop by without calling, but Reverend Peck said … “ She paused.

“Said what?”

“He said that it would be no problem. You’re always up and about.”

“I usually am. I have a … a houseguest … Anyway, yes, I usually am.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you. Should I come back another time? I wanted to discuss the possibility of you catering an event.”

“Oh. Um, no. Come in, please. Forgive the bathrobe.” She let the woman in but thought it might be better to direct her to the den. “Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? Or a … a Strudel?”

“Oh, a Strudel sounds fabulous! Reverend Peck has been bragging about what a wonderful cook you are.”

“Well, these are … fr-fr—”

“Yes?”

“Frozen. Toaster. Encased in plastic.” “Oh.” The woman smiled. “Coffee is fine.”

Ainsley excused herself to the kitchen. She retrieved a cup and saucer from her china, and poured the coffee. She quickly took some sugar cubes, put them in a crystal bowl, poured half-and-half into the cream pitcher, and returned to the den with it all atop a silver platter … though her house shoes flopping against the wood floors were doing a good job of reminding her that even silver couldn’t hide the fact she hadn’t made it out of her bathrobe yet.

“Oh, thank you. I tell you, I don’t know what I would do without my coffee in the morning. Have you seen the new coffeehouse on Main?”

Ainsley nodded.

Katelyn plopped two sugar cubes into her cup, “I’ll be moving to Skary soon.” “Oh?”

“My husband and I are building. Just off Maple, near the outskirts.”

“Building what?”

The woman blinked. “A house.”

“So you’re not actually a resident of Skary? I didn’t think you looked familiar.”

“Not yet. But I’m excited to be one soon. I have a son. Willem. He’s five and can speak Spanish. My husband’s name is Michael. He’s a developer and former baseball player.”

“What made you want to move to Skary? We’re not exactly on the map anymore.”

“Oh, you mean since Boo stopped writing. He’s your husband, right?”

“Yes. And nobody really calls him Boo anymore. He goes by Wolfe.” “This is such a charming little town. It has such character. Take
your house, for example,” she said. “It’s beautifully decorated. Sits right atop a hill. Has that wonderful porch I’m sure you two must enjoy thoroughly. Is it about three thousand square feet?” “I have no idea how big it is.”

“We wanted our son to grow up in a place where he could enjoy clean air, nice people, and convenient living. It’s the best of both worlds, wouldn’t you say?”

Ainsley couldn’t agree, but she smiled pleasantly. She’d seen the big world, earlier this year when she was introduced to a life of fame and fortune. She didn’t much like it.

“What kind of event do you need catering for?”

“In a couple of weeks, the reverend and I are going to be unveiling a brand new children’s ministry at the church!”

“A children’s ministry?”

“Yes! We’re redoing the basement. We’ll have puppets and music and all kinds of wonderful activities for the kids while the parents go to church. And it will be for all ages. We’ll even paint a mural across the wall.”

“I haven’t heard a thing about this.”

She winked. “We’ve kept it top secret. We wanted to surprise everyone.”

“Do you even go to the church? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you.” “Not yet. But soon. When our house is finished.” “We don’t have many children.”

“You offer parents activities for children, and they’ll bring their kids, their nephews, their neighbors. The power of free baby-sitting cannot be overestimated. Believe me, I pay our baby-sitter eight dollars an hour, and still have to order her a pizza.” She sighed and brushed her shiny hair off her shoulders. “So anyway, what we were thinking of was having a big party after church in two weeks. We’ll set up in the basement,
have games for the kids, serve up some brownies and cookies and hot drinks. What do you think?”

“I can do brownies and cookies with no problem.”

She clapped her manicured hands together. “Perfect! The reverend will be pleased. He says you’re the best of the best.”

“That’s nice of him to say.” Ainsley smiled. “I do try to offer a pleasant atmosphere and delicious food, no matter what the—”

“Ainsley
!”

Katelyn jumped in her chair, spilling her coffee onto her pink pants.

“Oh dear!” Ainsley grabbed the linen napkin on the tray and rushed to Katelyn’s side. “Blot, don’t rub,” she instructed her. “I’ll go get a stain stick.”

“Ainsley
!”

“Who is that?” Katelyn asked, blotting rapidly and looking toward the living room area.

Ainsley cleared her throat. “That’s um, that’s … Melb. I’m taking care of her while her … her house is being … purged of excess company.”

“Oh.”

“Nice lady,” Ainsley said quickly. “She’s just pregnant and—”
“Ainsley
!”

“
I’ll be there in a minute!” Ainsley
shouted, then gasped at her own loss of temper. She looked down at Katelyn, who was still blotting, now with disapproving eyebrows. “I’m sorry,” Ainsley said. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“Listen,” Katelyn said, dropping the napkin onto the silver platter and standing, “I better get going.” She pulled a card out of her designer handbag. “This is my number. Call me when it’s a better time for you, and we’ll talk about the details.”

Ainsley looked at it. Her lipstick color matched the pink lettering. Katelyn carried her bag over her shoulder, sliding on a pair of gloves
before she allowed Ainsley to open the front door for her. “It was a pleasure,” she said, and trotted down the front steps. Ainsley watched the petite woman pull herself into an oversized SUV and disappear behind the tinted glass as she shut the door.

“Ainsley! Where are you
?”

Ainsley sighed, slammed the door shut, and stalked toward the living room, where Melb hadn’t moved an inch. A line of crumbs from the Strudels sat upon her chest.

“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes,” Melb complained.

“I was in the middle of something.”

Melb sat up, the crumbs falling onto the couch. She dusted them onto the carpet. “You’re not going to believe this!” she said.

That was the truth. She couldn’t believe it. What one person could do to an entire, perfectly organized household! At least Melb had actually gone to get her own Strudel from the kitchen.

“I felt the baby kick!”

Ainsley couldn’t even muster up any kind of expression except the irritated one that had seized all her features.

“Did you hear me?” Melb asked.

“The baby is the size of half a peanut,” Ainsley said firmly, holding up her pinky finger. “You can’t feel it yet,”

“You just know it all, don’t you? You have this idea of how you think the whole world should run, and if it doesn’t run according to your highly developed schedule, then somebody somewhere is doing something wrong.”

Ainsley wanted to kick something. So instead she ran upstairs, slammed the door, and fell onto her bed in a heap of tears. It wasn’t yet eleven, and she already felt exhausted enough to sleep! And she
still
wasn’t dressed. She tore off her robe and lay in her pajamas, wiping her eyes.

Melb Cornforth Stepaphanolopolis was testing Ainsley’s longstanding idea that she was, indeed, the perfect hostess.

Wolfe walked along Main, to the corner of Pine, where there was a wonderful view of the countryside. He used to do this when he was brainstorming a book. It was hard convincing people that staring at nothing in particular was the majority of how a writer worked, but back then, he didn’t have too many people to convince. His life had changed drastically over the last several months. He’d gone from isolation to having a wife and hopefully children soon. He’d inherited a stable father-in-law and an imaginative brother-in-law, but nevertheless, it was a family. He’d learned how to be a friend and in return had gained friends. What he’d lost was his ability to write. And standing at the corner where so many ideas had often come to him, it was strange being able to think only about what he was unable to do anymore.

With the Spirit of God filling him now, was there no room left for a good story? He was certainly glad to have joined the faith. It had brought him the peace he’d searched for his whole life, but what he seemed to lack was direction. Why wasn’t God showing him what he was supposed to write? Every word he attempted seemed a worthless effort. It was as if an entire chapter of his life was over.

He heard a car behind him. Turning, he saw Martin pull up to the curb and get out.

“Morning, Wolfe,” he called as he approached.

Wolfe met him halfway. “Hi Martin. How are you?”

“Fine. What are you doing all the way out here on Pine Street?”

“Working.”

“Okay.” Martin stuck his keys in his pocket. “Well, since you’re not doing anything, can we talk?”

“Sure.”

Martin directed Wolfe toward a park bench nestled against a grassy knoll. That was one of the most delightful things about Skary—how many benches one could find. It had been Martin’s idea. He’d proposed that when a loved one died, instead of sending flowers, you could contribute to the Memory Bench program. A new bench would be put in, and your loved one’s name would be put on a plaque in the middle of the back of the bench. It was a huge success, and Martin said there were now more than a hundred benches all around the town. Even on his long walks, Wolfe never had trouble finding a place to sit.

They sat down on the memory of Mr. Elijah Samuel Smith.

“What’s going on?” Wolfe inquired, noticing Martin’s dreadful expression.

“It’s kind of hard to talk about.” Martin’s wringing of the hands was proof of that.

“Well, whatever it is, you can certainly confide in me.”

Martin gazed at the sky. “I’m in love.”