“You didn’t have a chance to talk, really,” I said to my husband as we drove from the church back to the big house. “I was hoping to hear what you had to say about the downtown area.”
Evan laughed, turning for the moment to look at me. I saw his eyes glimmer in the winter moonlight, and in spite of the frigid cold outside, I felt toasty on the inside.
“I got a pretty good kick out of the term ‘urban development’ for that little strip of buildings in the center of town.” I feigned a pout and spoke in my best Oliver Twist voice. “ ’Ey, mister. It may not be much but it’s ’ome.”
Evan laughed lightly again. “Nice,” he said. “You should join the local theater.” His brow raised, and a finger went up in the air. “Oh, wait. That would require an actual theater.”
I wiggled back in my seat and said, “There will be, you’ll see. Oh, Evan.” I turned to him again. “Can’t you just see it?” Then I shook my head. “No, not yet you can’t. But I can. I see Cottonwood as it will be . . .” I knew how to get my husband to join me in my excitement. “With a bakery that will feature Miss Melba and Miss Irene’s goodies. Did you ever taste anything as heavenly tonight as their cakes? I made an absolute pig out of myself.” I reached over and poked him in the side. “You didn’t do so bad yourself.”
“I admit it was delicious. And I admit you can’t get food like that just anywhere.”
I grinned. “Now that I have your attention . . . I can see antique shops and clothing stores. And, ha-ha, a local theater so the people here—who will be more than the sixty citizens Cottonwood now has—can go see a movie or perhaps have local plays. And if we can get the school up and running sooner rather than later, young families will move here with their children. Oh! What else can we have downtown? We’ll need a realty office, of course. A bank. A café.” As I said each new place, I held up a finger on my right hand, touching it with the index finger of my left. “A vintage hotel? Yes! Remember the hotel we stayed at . . . where were we? Florida?”
Evan nodded. He hadn’t forgotten. “I remember. I also remember the train coming through every few hours and waking me up.”
I reached over and wrapped my arms awkwardly around his shoulder. “I remember all those times you woke up too.” His eyes slanted toward me. “Vixen.”
I slipped back to my seat, took in a deep breath, and sighed. “It’s going to be incredible, Evan. How much of it can you save, do you think?”
He didn’t answer right away, finally saying, “What do you mean?”
“Of the old? How much of the old can you save?”
I heard him inhale, then blow air through his nostrils. “Jo-Lynn, you have to understand something, sweetheart. It’s cheaper and, to be honest with you, wiser to tear it all down and start over.”
“What? Are you crazy? Do you know how old some of that brick is? The lights and shelving. The structure of everything is invaluable, Evan. Besides, Mark Michaels seems to agree with me on this issue, so there.”
Up ahead, the big house came into view. Evan slowed the car and turned off the highway and onto the property. The car bounded along the ruts of the lawn until it came to a stop.
“For now,” he said, then added, “Jo-Lynn, listen to yourself. You have a degree in interior design. You know what happens to walls and floors and ceilings over time when they are not properly cared for. I’m not so sure that we go into some of these buildings they won’t fall in on top of us. Is that what you want? Some of these day laborers or local residents killed by a beam that lets loose while someone else two doors down is hammering? Not to mention the electrical disasters you’d be looking at. Plug one wrong thing in and the whole of your precious downtown could burn to the ground.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Evan. Our theater isn’t opened yet.” I didn’t speak in jest. I opened my car door and stomped toward the front porch. I’d left the old hanging lamp between the front door and the steps burning as bright as forty watts could shine, but it had apparently gone out while we were gone. “Great,” I muttered.
Evan was not far behind me. “I thought you left the light on.”
“I did. Like everything else around here, it’s on its last leg.”
Evan dipped into his pants pocket and brought out the key to the dead bolt. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Jo-Lynn. Glad you see it my way.”
I punched him in the shoulder. “We’re not done with this discussion. I’m not going to let you flatten what’s down there. It will lose its charm and appeal. Promise me you’ll discuss this at length with Mark Michaels.”
The front door swung open, and Evan stepped back to allow me entrance. “Of course, Jo-Lynn. I’m not the boss of this, but I’m an expert and I think Mark will at least listen to my opinion.”
“He’ll listen to mine too,” I said, then pointed to the firewood in the copper pot. “Let’s grab some of this and head upstairs. I’m freezing.” I glanced over at the French doors.
As we trudged up the stairs, arms laden with wood, I spoke over my shoulder. “We’re supposed to go through the boxes tonight, remember? See if we can find anything that might be of interest to anyone.”
Evan sighed. “I’m tired. Let’s do it in the morning.”
I grew concerned that if we didn’t do it tonight, the morning would come with all the work within it and we’d not get to it then either. But I no longer had the energy to argue with him. We reached the landing, and I stopped. The moonlight spilled into the unadorned windows at the ends of the hallway, granting enough light to the door of the bedroom, which was ajar. “Evan,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” He came up beside me.
“I know for a fact I closed this door on the way out. I remember because my coat belt got caught in it.”
We stared at the door for several seconds, perhaps longer. Perhaps it was minutes or hours or days. It seemed forever until my husband finally whispered, “Come with me.” He turned, barely making a sound, and we retraced our steps down the stairs and out the front door, the firewood growing cumbersome in our arms.
As soon as we hit the top of the porch steps Evan said, “Get in the car. Now.”
It was not until we stepped off the porch that we dropped the wood, then ran for the car, slipping into its warm interior and locking the doors. Evan pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket and dialed 911 while I kept my eyes on our bedroom window.
“Nothing’s moving around in there,” I said, my voice barely audible.
Evan gave the information, then slapped the phone shut and turned to me. “Call your Uncle Bob. See if they’ve gotten home yet.”
I didn’t have Uncle Bob’s cell phone number in my phone, but I did have Mae-Jo’s. She answered on the fourth ring. When I asked where they were, she told me they were just pulling up in their driveway. “Can you come back here?” I said. “I’ll explain when you get here.”
Evan spoke from the driver’s seat. “Tell Bob to bring one of his guns.”
I turned my head to look at him, my mouth gaping open. “Evan,” I said.
“Tell him.”
I repeated my husband’s order.
“Mercy sakes alive,” Aunt Mae-Jo said. “What now?”