Chapter 6

Sammy Gets the Scoop

The first stop is the print shop, where I drop off the poster board designs. I’m looking forward to telling Rebecca that they’ll be ready for pick up by one, and we’ll be able to distribute them later today. By the time I get to the creamery, Marion, wearing a paint-splattered smock, is already sitting on a stool surrounded by the tools of her craft.

“Good morning.” She peers at me over the top of rose-tinted glasses that have slid to the tip of her nose. Scrutinizing the yellow edge of a large paintbrush, she adds, “Your father called me last night to ask if I’d be available to help you all spruce up the place. I told him I’d be honored. What do you think?” She extends the brush toward me. “Does this resemble the color of your banana nut ice cream?”

“Not really.” The woman’s serious about getting her ice cream colors accurate, but I’m eager to get inside and see Rebecca. “The ice cream’s not that bright.”

“That’s what I thought.” She turns back around to face the window. “Rebecca is inside, but I’d be cautious. There’s a storm brewing.”

“Pardon?” I hesitate before stepping inside the door. “The weather is clear.” My eyes wander to the cloudless blue sky.

“If you say so,” she says, her voice ominous as she continues to review her color palette.

My father stands on the other side of the door. “What happened?” He squints and purses his lips.

“The posters will be ready for distribution this afternoon.”

“Good to know, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He shakes his head and mumbles something indecipherable under his breath.

“I’m glad Marion could start right away.” I figure he’s fishing for a particular answer.

“I’m talking about Rebecca.” This time he looks at me as if he doesn’t believe that I don’t know what’s on his mind. So far, this morning has taken a strange twist with both Marion and my father speaking in riddles.

“Has something happened?” Now I am alarmed as I look toward the office.

“You tell me.” He steps over to the sink where he washes his hands before facing me. “I was married to your mother for almost thirty-one years and I can tell when something is troubling a woman. So when I say something is troubling that gal, I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I shake my head in confusion. “I didn’t do anything. First, Marion talks about bad weather, which we don’t have, and now you’re accusing me of I-don’t-know-what.”

“I’m telling you what I see.” He glances at the back room door before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “She got here early, but I can tell something’s not right. And you better not make it any worse.”

“Really?” I run a hand across my jaw, irritated by the assumption that I’ve somehow wronged Rebecca and will continue to do so. “I would never do anything to hurt Rebecca. You of all people should know that.”

“I do, but does she? You had two women in there yesterday which, for most men, would be one too many.” He holds up a hand, signaling that he has no more to say as he turns away and I head straight to the office.

The light from the desk lamp surrounds Rebecca in a soft glow as she faces the computer screen. Warmth spreads through me as I savor the moment. Rebecca is back, sitting within arms’ reach. My Rebecca has returned to Sunnyville and, maybe, to me. When she’d left, she’d made it clear that it was for good, so, except for the occasional sighting when she returns home to visit her mother, I don’t expect to see her. I have never allowed myself to believe that we’d ever be able to rekindle what we’d had. But her being here now, sitting in my office, is cause for celebration. Her sweet fragrance fills the room, and just knowing that she’s right here makes every day that much better.

“Good morning, Rebecca.” Everything seems fine. I don’t know what my father was talking about.

“Hello, Raymond.” The coldness in her voice dissipates the earlier warmth that had filled me at the sight of her in my office.

“I’ve established your online presence on several different social media sights. There’s not a lot more for me to do here.” Her voice is chilly as she continues to avoid meeting my eyes.

“What are you talking about?” It must be a delayed reaction to Leah Ann coming by yesterday afternoon. If Rebecca is jealous, it can mean only one thing—that she still cares. Thank God, because there’s no way I’m going to stand by and watch her walk away from me again. “We just got started.”

“What’s happening with the posters?” She never stops looking at the screen. “I told Miguel they’d be ready this afternoon.”

“They will be.” Something is wrong, but I don’t know what. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d thought we’d both felt something special. “Am I missing something here? What does Miguel have to do with the posters?”

“He offered to distribute them at his job.”

That guy moves fast. Now that I know that they are close, it complicates things. Has she fallen in love with him already? Is that why she’s refusing to even look at me? Maybe she figures that I had a chance and now she’s moving on.

“Great, I’ll take them to him.” She hands a document to me. “I started the day early. All our plans are listed there.” She indicates the paper while continuing to avoid eye contact. “I’ll be leaving the office after the posters are delivered. I can continue to work on the website at home.”

“Wait a minute.” I walk around the desk and stand in front of her, hoping she’ll look at me. “Yesterday we agreed to go together to post them around town, remember?”

“A lot can change in a day.” She shrugs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

“We need to talk.” I reach out and touch her shoulder.

“You’re right. We do need to talk.” She stiffens before taking a step backwards. “There’s something I’ve meant to tell you. As soon as the contest is over, there’s no reason for me to continue working here.”

“What?” I blurt out. “You’ve been working here for less than a week and you’re already planning an exit strategy?”

“It’s not that complicated. I’d hardly call it an exit strategy. I promised to help with promotion, marketing, and the contest. Once we select the winners, my job will be finished and I’ll be seeking employment elsewhere.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” I’m scowling as I absorb how unwavering she looks, standing there with her arms folded. “We’ll still need you.”

“For what?” Her voice is clipped. “You understand what needs to happen to maintain the marketing plan. After I finish my tasks, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage the website.”

“I don’t know anything about website management. We’re going to need continued professional help.” I rub my jaw, startled by her unexpected resolve to abandon the project. “Has something changed that I don’t know about?”

“Of course not.” She almost flinches as she folds her arms across her chest. “You won’t need me. I’m confident you’ll do more than fine on your own.”

“You can’t quit, we need—” I pause, frantically searching for some tasks to keep her working beside me. “A logo.” I snap my fingers. “Most businesses have distinctive logos, and we don’t. I think that’s part of the problem. No image is associated with our shop.”

“We never discussed creating a logo.” She blinks a couple of times before biting her bottom lip. “However, I can see the benefit.”

“My father and I discussed it this morning,” I say, getting more comfortable with the lie. “He said other ice creameries have logos and that it’s about time we got one, too.”

“Really?” She drops her arms and, after glaring at me for an uncomfortable couple of seconds, continues, “He may have a point. I’ve done a lot of logos for my previous clients. What does he have in mind?”

“What does he have in mind?” I repeat the question while stalling to come up with a quick response. This is why I usually make it a point to tell the truth—lying is too complicated. “He said he’s open to whatever image you envision for the shop.”

“Great.” She points to the desk and her open laptop. “Now, if I can just get back to work—”

“No problem.” Is she kicking me out of my own office? I suppress a huge grin because I don’t mind—as long as she’s here when I get back.

****

By midmorning, Marion has a crowd of curious onlookers—both locals and out-of-towners—admiring her mouthwatering depictions of colorful giant ice cream cones and banana splits. At two, I head out to the print shop, and, when I return, there’s a line of people in front of the creamery. Inside, my father is busy waiting on several customers who are leaning over the glass counter and selecting their ice cream flavors. Three teenagers dressed in black wetsuits and dripping ocean water on the floor saunter in and place their surfboards against the wall before making their way to the yogurt machines.

“Dad,” I say, while approaching him. “I’ll be back in a minute to help, but first I’ve got to get these posters to Rebecca.”

“No problem.” He’s beaming, smiling as he scoops up a giant round ball of strawberry ice cream and places it on a sugar cone before handing it to a red-haired girl who looks to be about fourteen. “I’ve got this under control.”

“By the way, Rebecca is making a logo for us.” I’ll share more information with him after the crowd has died down. “I told her you’d like that.”

“A logo?” He plops a single scoop of chocolate ice cream on a waffle cone before passing it to a little boy who has the same distinctive hair color and scattered freckles as the teenage girl by his side. “Whatever Rebecca thinks is best. She’s the pro.”

“I’ve got the posters,” I announce once I’m in the office. Spreading the oversized pictures across the desk, I ask, “What do you think?”

She examines each print. “These look great. Once the customers hear about the contests, more customers will drop off their entries. They’ll also buy something while they’re here.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” I resist the urge to wrap her in my arms and tell her how much I appreciate everything she’s doing for the business. Considering the icy reception I received a few hours ago, the best thing to do is to control that impulse. “Marion’s work has already drawn a crowd outside, and a lot of them are now inside ordering ice cream.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” She claps. “I’ll take some of these posters with me when I leave.”

Before I can respond, my father peeks his head into the room. “There’s someone here who’d like to speak with you two. It’s pretty packed out there.” His voice is brimming with joy. “I’m going to have him come back here.”

Two minutes later, Sam enters the office in reporter-mode with a notepad and pen, poised to take notes. “Hey, guys, do you have time to answer a few brief questions about what’s going on at our local ice creamery?”

“You don’t need me. Raymond can answer all your questions.” She reaches for a red briefcase hanging on the back of her chair. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“I heard you were taking the lead in this.” Legs crossed in front of him, Sam leans against the desk. “Maybe my source got it wrong.”

“Your source got it right. Take a seat.” I pull out a chair, indicating that he should sit down. “Rebecca and I are working on restoring the creamery to its former glory days.”

“I see.” He rapidly scribbles on his lined notepad before pausing long enough to ask another question. “I want to get the story straight. You two are a team again, right? Just like old times.”

“Right,” I say, validating the story angle. “Speaking of old times, it’s the twentieth century; why aren’t you using a tablet?”

“Don’t worry about how I transcribe my story as long as I get the fact straights. I always get my scoop… Pun intended.”

“I see some things never change—like your corny jokes,” I say while laughing.

“All joking aside,” Rebecca addresses Sam, “it’s not just Raymond and me. You saw Marion’s window art and how much attention it’s gotten. Mr. Colton initiated the marketing campaign, not me.” She pauses to scowl at me before turning her attention back to Sam. “It’s a team effort.”

“Got it.” Sam nods, then Rebecca and I spend the next twenty minutes answering more questions. “This is helpful.” He jots down a few more notes before closing his pad and tucking his pen into his shirt pocket. “If I head back to the office now, I should be able to get this published in tomorrow’s paper.”

“I look forward to reading it,” Rebecca says. “With the wedding less than a week away, you’ve got to be super busy, so thanks for stopping by.”

“I’m not that busy. Cindy and her mother are handling most of the details, but I do need to get this story to my editor before my five o’clock deadline.”

“Hawaii will be fantastic,” Rebecca adds.

“Hey, I just thought of something that will increase the likelihood of my editor running the story.” After setting his notepad on his chair, he pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Everyone loves a picture. Rebecca, can you stand beside Raymond?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” she stiffly responds, a look of displeasure on her face.

“A picture increases the likelihood of the editor running the story and not on the back page.”

“Oh fine, since you put it that way.” She rolls her eyes and releases a loud groan as if she’s being ordered to dance barefoot on hot coals. “I only have time for one picture.” She glances in my direction before adding, “Miguel is waiting for me.”