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Betsy Wiznowski’s home was a well-maintained one-story painted red. Two massive pines guarded the gate, and bright flowers lined the sidewalk to the house.
Tentatively, Kelly knocked on the door. Betsy had graciously accepted an appointment time, but things changed.
“Hello, Kelly,” Betsy said warmly. “Come in. I’ve set up a table with coffee and buns on the back porch. We can talk there. It’s so lovely this time of year.”
Mutely, Kelly followed her hostess to the back, the aromas of rich coffee and sugar awakening her taste buds as she walked through the kitchen. The screened-in porch overlooked a generous backyard with a glimpse of the bay. Goldfinches and chickadees fought for position on one feeder, and hummingbirds buzzed around another. A black woodpecker with a deep red chest beat his beak against a suet block.
“They’re hungry this morning,” Betsy said. “I have to take the feeders in at night. Bears, you know.”
People did seem to take the presence of the large predators for granted in Promise Cove. Ryan had mentioned a few wolves had been spotted at the far side of the lake.
“It’s good to have you back,” Betsy said, pouring coffee from a carafe. A mound of scones crested a cobalt Fiesta plate in the center of the table. “You were such a quiet child. I’d wondered how you turned out.”
Kelly wasn’t sure how to respond. There didn’t seem to be a question.
“You’ve been postmistress a long time,” she said.
“Yes. I never dreamed of becoming one.” She grinned. “My heart was set on Hollywood. I had planned to be a star. Unfortunately, I found I wasn’t the type they were looking for back then. Directors wanted waifish women, not tall, husky Hepburn types like me. But I was very organized and became an assistant to a producer. I suited me fine. And then I met my Harold.” Betsy’s expression became soft. “We honeymooned up here. It was so beautiful. I feel like he’s with me even now.”
“And you stayed in Hollywood?”
“Up until Harold passed away. Then, well, Hollywood didn’t sparkle for me anymore. So I moved up here. They needed a postmistress, so I took the test and here I am.”
“No children?”
“Just one son. He stayed with a friend in LA and finished school. He came up here during summers. He was a good boy.” Betsy’s expression was vague, like she was existing in a time separate from the present. Suddenly, she straightened. “But you’re not here to listen to an old woman reminisce. No doubt Maggie has sent you for the auction.”
“Um, well...” All the awkwardness of her teenage years flooded back. It was one thing asking well-heeled California society women for donations, but this was a widow approaching retirement with not much more than memories to sustain her.
Betsy held up a finger. “But not yet. First, I need you to tell me everything that’s happened from the time you left us until now.” She held out the plate with the scones. “Have one. I made them fresh this morning.”
Almost in desperation, she took one and immediately bit into it. The surprisingly moist and sweet confection vied with the almost bitter note of currants. Perfection.
Letting herself relax a bit, she gave Betsy the sanitized version of her life in between sips of deep roasted coffee and sweet scones. As she spoke, the postmistress nodded and said soothing words. She was the most attentive listener Kelly had encountered in a long time. So much so that she wound up revealing more than she’d intended.
“I remember hearing you play,” Betsy said. “Your grandmother’s door was always open, and it was a safe and tranquil place to spend some time. I was there with a group of knitters once, and your grandmother urged you to play a new piece you’d learned. It was lovely.” The postmistress hummed a few bars of a Brahms melody Kelly barely remembered.
She’d missed so much. She skittered away from the regrets.
“What was Hollywood like?” she asked.
Betsy laughed. “That is always the first thing people want to know. What was it like? Pretty much like you’d imagine. All the big studios got a jolt when Easy Rider came out. That small independent film grossed an incredible amount of money for the investors. Peter Fonda came from a family with a name, but the rest were upstarts. Films no longer followed a tried-and-true path but were created by talented people determined to turn a mirror on tradition.”
“It must have been a crazy time,” Kelly said.
“It was. Lots of energy and social upheaval, much of it good.” Betsy picked up her mug, a white cup with Screen Actors Guild in black script, and took a slow sip. “Sometimes, though, I wonder if we didn’t help create a divide in America that has only gotten worse.” She was silent for a few moments, then shook herself out of it like a dog shedding water.
“Like I said, interesting times.” She put down her mug. “Am I the first person you’ve come to see?” Betsy asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s because I’m such an easy touch.” Betsy smiled. “Let’s go see what I have.”
Once again, Kelly followed Betsy. This time she had a chance to look around. Portraits of famous movie stars of years ago, most of them signed personally to Betsy and her husband, were interspersed with large reproductions of movie posters. Tucked in a corner was a golden statue with a globe on top. Below that was a black-and-white still of a handsome man with the longish hair popular in the 1970s.
“My husband won that for best screenplay the year before he died. He was really on his way, but his heart failed him.” She touched the photo lightly with the tip of her index finger. “Our time was short, but it was magical.” She turned to Kelly. “You’d be lucky to find a love like that.”
“I did. I married John.”
Betsy shook her head. “Just the way you put that lets me know I’m right. Your husband didn’t fly you to the moon and back just by being next to you. Maybe you’ll find the right man here. You were interested in Ryan a long time ago.”
The postmistress saw and remembered too much.
“That was a long time ago.”
“And yet you went hiking with him on Sunday.”
Small towns held no secrets.
“We’re just friends.”
Betsy nodded and opened a drawer. “This will do. It’s a replica of Nurse Ratched’s cap from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. My husband worked on the screenplay, although he didn’t get top billing. It’s signed by the cast, even Jack Nicholson.” She held it out to Kelly.
“Oh, I couldn’t take that. Surely, your son wants it.”
“Take it,” Betsy said, her voice flattening from the enthusiasm she’d shown all morning.
Kelly held the cap delicately.
“My son doesn’t need it.” A sadness passed over her face. “He doesn’t need much of anything.”
An awkward silence ensued.
“I should go,” Kelly said.
“Come back any time,” Betsy said as she walked her to the front.
“I will. And thanks again for the donation,” Kelly said to the slowly closing door.
What an amazing life Betsy had led. So different from the wife-mother route Kelly had traveled. As she settled into the driver’s seat, her phone buzzed.
“What are you doing?” the text from Ryan asked.
“My duty for the town.” Her excitement wasn’t containable. “She gave me a nurse’s cap from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest! Signed by everyone in the cast!” She followed the message with every excited emoji she could dredge up.
“Love to see it. Stop by ART.”
Ryan was alone when she arrived. “Amazing,” he said when he looked at the cap. “You can almost still feel the energy of all those people in this. It’s going to fetch a pretty penny for our town. Good job!” He high-fived her, then his fingers flew over his keyboard. “I’m letting Maggie know so she can get it up on the website. It will be quite a draw.”
When he’d finished, he patted her hand, but let his fingers linger a few seconds longer than necessary before pulling them away. “Thank you.”
“It was fun. Well, up until the time I asked her if she didn’t want to give the cap to her son.”
“Ouch.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not my story to tell. Let’s just say it’s difficult. He was a kid with a lot of promise, then 9/11 happened, and the course of his life changed.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “If you stay past the summer, really become one of us, then Betsy may tell you.”
“Oh.” Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Betsy’s reaction to her son’s problems was to double down on her community involvement, especially with the kids. She and your grandmother were a formidable pair. I think Betsy feels a little lost without her.”
Kelly nodded. Everywhere she looked in this small town, her grandmother had left her mark. At some level, she felt incredibly guilty for selling the retreat center to a stranger. But what else could she do?
“Are you free in the next couple of days?” she asked.
“Up for another hike?” he asked with a grin.
“Not for a while! I’m still recovering from the last one.”
“We need to get you in shape. No self-respecting Montanan is out of shape.”
“Well, I doubt that,” she said. “I want to return my rental car to the airport and use the RAV4 my grandmother left in the barn. I’ve talked to the attorney, and he said there’s no problem. No use in paying for something I don’t need.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to take you. But let me come up to your place after I close down so I can check it out. I should be done by four.”
“You know mechanics, too?”
“Whatever it takes to get by,” Ryan said. “How about I bring a couple of venison steaks, and we can grill.”
“I haven’t seen a grill.”
“I know where it is.”
Of course he did.
“Sure.” She’d have to pick up some things from the store. “I’ll see you around four.” She waved and walked out the door, butterflies flapping away inside her. She couldn’t make up her mind whether she was nervous about more time with Ryan or excited to have dinner with someone other than herself or her kids.
Whichever it was, dinner with Ryan was a big change.
