The library was nearly deserted, a welcome change from last week when a whole herd of children on Thanksgiving break crowded the aisles and monopolized the computers.
Al closed his laptop, depression dragging his mood to the vicinity of his shoes. The only responses he’d received to the dozen or so online applications he’d submitted were automatically generated e-mails saying, “Thank you for applying. Your application will be reviewed. If we are interested in scheduling an interview, we will contact you.”
To make matters worse, his old job had been posted. Only it wasn’t his job anymore. He didn’t even meet the qualifications required to apply.
Relinquishing his claim to the table where he’d been stationed for the past three hours, he returned the stack of newspapers to the rack along the back wall. He’d scoured the want ads for papers from every city in Kentucky and Ohio. Cincinnati included a few possibilities, though not any that listed a salary even close to what he was accustomed to making. Still, if something came through there, he’d consider the ninety-minute commute each way. There was a slim possibility that the lure of living in the same town with three of their grandchildren—five when the twins arrived—would convince Millie to leave Goose Creek and the dream of her precious B&B. He didn’t hold out much hope for that, though. Plus, they’d already sunk so much money into the house, he would probably have to work until he dropped dead at the office just to survive.
Briefcase in hand, he headed for the exit. He had to find a Kinko’s or some other place to print the party invitations he and Millie had designed yesterday. His company—former company—allowed employees to use the office printers for a reasonable amount of personal printing, so Millie had assigned him the task. When he produced the printed invitations, he wouldn’t say a word about where they’d been printed. That way he couldn’t be accused of lying to his wife. Why, then, did guilt twinge at his conscience?
“Goodbye, Mr. Richardson.” The librarian at the front desk paused in her task of removing books from the return bin. “Will we see you tomorrow?”
Al forced a smile. “Yes. See you then.”
He left, wondering how long he would have to keep the Shameful Secret.
The veterinary clinic closed at three o’clock on Saturdays, three hours earlier than during the week. Susan had made the change after her wedding to give her and Justin more weekend time to spend together. She shut the door behind the last patient and turned toward the reception desk.
“I can hardly believe it’s December third. Christmas will be here before we know it.” She smiled at Alice. “Do you have plans for the weekend?”
The receptionist made a show of straightening the pens in the cup on the counter. “Well, yes. I mean, tonight I do.”
A telltale flush colored her cheeks. In the past two weeks, Susan had noted that Alice’s cheeks became rosy whenever a certain pit bull’s owner was mentioned.
“Oh? A date, maybe?”
Her guess was confirmed when the blush deepened.
“Not really a date.” Alice took a key ring from the desk drawer and busied herself locking the other drawers and the file cabinet. “Ansel offered to drive me to Lexington to do some shopping for the kids. And then we’ll probably have dinner.”
Susan couldn’t stop a grin. How well she recognized those easy blushes and the way Alice avoided looking directly at her when questioned. It was just like when she first met Justin.
“Hmm. Dinner on a Saturday night sounds like a date to me.”
To her surprise, Alice’s head jerked up. Alarm drained the color from her face. “Do you think he thinks it’s a date?”
Though curious, Susan felt a desire to put the anxious woman at ease. “Depends. I mean, if he asked you out to dinner, then it’s a date.”
“He didn’t put it like that.” She bit her lower lip, forehead creased. “He called yesterday and asked what I had planned for today, and I told him I needed to get over to Lexington and do some shopping. He said he had some to do too, so we should drive together to save gas, and then maybe we could grab something to eat on the way home.” Her throat convulsed with a swallow. “Does that sound like a date?”
Of course it does. But at the dismay on Alice’s face, Susan tempered her answer. “Maybe he’s just being friendly.”
Relief washed the lines from her brow. “That’s what I thought too. Otherwise—” Her lips snapped shut.
How interesting. Susan had seen the two together at the tree lighting last week and had noted how attentive they were to each other. Because Ansel lived in Morleyville, he had no reason to attend the Goose Creek event unless he wanted to spend time with one of the residents. Namely, Alice. He’d done nothing to hide the fact. And Alice’s attraction for the man couldn’t be more obvious.
The question rested on the tip of Susan’s tongue, but she bit it back. She considered both Millie and Alice friends, but they were also employees. Bosses shouldn’t interfere in the personal lives of their staff unless invited to do so.
She kept her expression free of curiosity. “Have a good time. I hope you find some bargains.”
Alice gathered her purse and rolled the chair neatly beneath the desk. “I’ll see you Monday.”
Susan locked the door behind her. Why in the world did Alice want to avoid calling their outing a date?
Al stood on the sidewalk in front of his former home and watched as Forest and Heath Wainright handed the last reindeer to Junior, who put it in the bed of his pickup. Beside Al, Thacker rocked from heel to toe, hands shoved in his coat pockets.
“Are you sure you won’t let me pay you?” Al made a show of reaching for his wallet, but Thacker held up a hand and shook his head.
“Not a penny. I’m glad to find a home for them. They take up a lot of space, and I’ve got a bid on eBay for a dancing Elvis that sings ‘Blue Christmas.’ Now I’ll have room for him.”
Al suppressed a shudder. The neighbors would be treated to sound in addition to light.
“Besides,” Thacker continued in a stage whisper, “you need to save your money, being unemployed and all.”
“Shhh.” Al glanced around. “Keep your voice down.”
“Relax, Bert. Nobody’s listening. How long before you come clean, anyway?” He jerked his head toward the house. “I’ve never kept a secret from Sugar Lips this long. Not unless it was a surprise for her, and even then she always gets me to spill the beans.”
“Not much longer. I have a lead on a couple of prospects.” A bald-faced lie unless he wanted to move to Arkansas, where one company had a job opening for which he might be qualified. He’d applied while at the library yesterday, but if he landed the job, he knew full well he wouldn’t be able to take it. No way would Millie go to Arkansas. Still, an offer would prove that he wasn’t useless, that somebody still wanted him.
Junior slammed the gate of the pickup. “I’ll see ya over at your house.” With a wave in Al’s direction, he climbed into the cab and started the truck.
The boys ran to join Al and Thacker.
Forest skidded to a halt. “Those are gonna look real good in your front yard, Mr. Richardson.” He blew a bubble and sucked it back in.
“I think Mrs. Richardson wants to put them in the back near the pond,” Al told the boy. “That way people can see them from the verandah.”
Heath bounced up and down. “Can you turn on the frog, Mr. Thacker? I love watching him eat that bug.”
Thacker laughed but shook his head. “Wouldn’t be able to see much in the daylight, would we? Come back later, and I’ll turn them all on.”
“We’ve been here ’bout every night,” Forest said. “Your yard is the awesomest in the whole town.”
Thacker gazed around his lawn, his shoulders back and chest puffed out. “It is, isn’t it?”
If you’re ten years old. Al kept the comment to himself and, thanking Thacker again, herded the boys into the car.
When they turned off of Mulberry Avenue, Heath spoke from the backseat. “Mr. Richardson, Mama said everybody in town is upset at Mr. Thacker on account of those lights. How’s come?”
How does one explain tastelessness to a preadolescent boy who no doubt prized quantity over quality?
Al chose his words carefully. “I wouldn’t say everybody is upset. But some people think that’s too many decorations for one yard.”
“Then why don’t they ask him if they can have some for their own yards, like you did?” The boy’s tone became sulky. “We asked Mama if we could get some, but she said no on account of we’re renting and the landlord might not allow it.”
Because Al knew the Wainrights’ landlord to be an easygoing man, he surmised Alice herself wasn’t interested in decorating with light sculptures. He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see the backseat. “It could be that they don’t like those particular decorations.”
“I don’t see why anybody wouldn’t want that frog.” Heath unwrapped a fresh piece of bubblegum, popped it in his mouth, and pocketed the wrapper.
“Or that camel with the neck that moves up and down,” Forest added. “I wish you’d gotten that one for your yard.”
For a moment Al envisioned Millie’s reaction if he arrived at home with the camel and its companion piece, the donkey. Even at his bravest, he would not willingly fight that particular battle.
“I think Mrs. Richardson has different ideas for decorating our yard.”
A glance in the mirror revealed two perplexed expressions. In the past five months, since the fiasco that these two miscreants had masterminded at Justin and Susan’s wedding, they’d displayed a sincere desire to make amends. Al wasn’t the only one who had been impressed with the energy with which the two had tackled the clean-up project they’d been assigned as punishment for their misdeeds. So yesterday, when Alice called with her babysitting request, Millie had jumped at the chance to have the Wainright children over for an afternoon and evening and had immediately begun planning activities for them. Even now, Fern and Willow and little Tansy were in Millie’s kitchen, learning to bake delectable treats. Millie had also informed Al that she intended to pay them for their help. He might have balked had he not developed a soft spot—a small spot, only about the size of a dime, of course—for the fatherless urchins.
Though likely to confuse them, maybe the kids deserved an honest answer. “It’s like this, boys. Most people in town think those light sculptures are ugly.” He hurried to forestall any differing opinions. “I know you don’t agree, but everybody is entitled to his own opinion. And in most cases, a few decorations are plenty, but when the yard is so full you can’t even walk in it, people think it’s overdone.”
“They think too many lights are gross?” Forest asked.
“Gross.” Al nodded. “Exactly.”
“Well, I don’t.” Heath folded his arms across his skinny chest. “I like ’em.”
Actually, Al harbored an unvoiced fondness for the motorcycle piece that he dared not share with anyone over the age of twelve. Especially his wife. “Me too,” he told them. “Some of them.”
They arrived home then, and Al pulled onto his long driveway to find Junior already unloading the reindeer.
He glanced again in the rearview. “You boys ready to work? I want to get those deer in place now so you’ll be able to help me hang garland on the front porch before supper.”
“You bet, Mr. Richardson,” Forest said.
“Let’s get ’er done!” chimed in Heath.