Gordon Falls, Illinois
September 2009
Jeannie Nelworth had the faucet handle in a death grip. It
wasn't that the women's restroom of The Stew Pot
restaurant was a tense place; she just hadn't expected
her nerve to go out from under her quite so completely
tonight. Somewhere between picking up name tags and the
Merchant Association's first agenda item, she'd had
to bolt into the ladies' room to pull herself together.
She'd found the bright red wallpaper amusing before, but
now it felt loud and suffocating.
Abby Reed was predictably right behind her. A best friend
can usually see through faked calm, and Abby was as
intuitive as they come.
"I'm okay," Jeannie lied the moment Abby pushed
into the tiny room.
"You are
not okay." Abby turned and threw
the door's small dead bolt Jeannie had forgotten to latch.
"I
told Mary Hunnington not to ask you about
postponing tonight's presentation, that you'd say
'go ahead' when you shouldn't have."
"I like being at these dinners." Jeannie forced a
cheery tone, pulling her hand off the fixture to fuss with
her long brown hair that didn't need fussing. It was
true. Normally she did enjoy the monthly gathering of
businesspeople in town. The many shopkeepers, hotel owners
and restauranteurs that made up Gordon Falls were her
family. Even the tourists were part of her life here.
That's why it was so hard to have her sweetshop
closed—if only for a while.
"Besides," she continued, "Nicky'd never
forgive me for ruining his monthly video-game sleepover.
Much as it kills me, that eighth-grade tornado loves a night
away from his mom."
Abby sighed and gave her the look half the other merchants
had. She knew her colleagues cared for her, only now their
warm but pitying looks made her feel simultaneously welcome
and on display. "Really, there isn't a soul here who
would have blamed you if you missed this one. You're the
last person who needs to hear tips on holiday
lighting and fire safety."
Why bother waiting? Another thirty days wouldn't change
the fact that her candy store and home had burned down a few
weeks ago. "If I stayed home, what would that
solve?" To stay home was admitting defeat, and Jeannie
liked to think of herself as the kind of woman who gave no
quarter to tragedies like that. "Okay, it's
hard," she admitted, but even those three words felt too
big, "but God is bigger than a burned building."
"It's not just a building, it was your home. And the
home you had with Nicky. The home you had with Henry, God
rest his soul. God is big, but that's
huge."
Just the mention of her late husband's name was enough
to double the size of the knot in her throat, even after
half a dozen years. She'd loved her quaint shop down by
the riverfront. It hadn't been close to the center of
town, but she'd always thought that made it feel homey.
It had been close enough to catch the riverfront tourists,
and back then she, Henry and Nicky used to watch the sun
come up over the river as they ate breakfast in their home
above the shop.
Then Henry was gone. Now, six years later, the building was
gone. "What's the whole point of faith if not to
sustain me through something like this?"
Abby started in, but Jeannie just blinked back tears and
shot her hand up in a silent "Don't."
After a quiet moment, Abby pulled a paper towel from the
ancient metal dispenser and blotted her own tears.
"George wants to talk to you," she said softly. A
conversation with George Bradens, Gordon Falls's Fire
Chief, usually meant getting roped onto a committee for some
new civic endeavor. "He says it's about Nicky."
Abby put a hand on Jeannie's shoulder. "Listen, this
is too much. Let me make some excuse for you so you can go
home."
"I'm fine."
Abby leaned against the red Formica countertop. "I
thought we covered this already."
The room was far too red. Red tile, red wallpaper. It all
felt like sirens going off, close and loud. "Well,
I'm
close to fine." That's how she
chose to view the raw-around-the-edges feeling that had
continued to plague her every day—every hour—since
the fire. The entire month felt like peeling off singed
layers, discovering new burns in unexpected places every
time she was sure she was done with all that. "I
don't want to go back to the apartment anyway." That
dingy apartment she and Nicky rented now seemed so
unbearably
temporary. They couldn't see the
river, and they seemed far away from everyone. It was the
worst of both worlds. Stuck in the middle, endlessly coping.
Keeping her life on hold while her candy store was rebuilt
choked Jeannie like smoke.
"I figure you've got five more minutes of old
business, then Chad will be up. Really, Jeannie, you
don't have to be here." Abby caught Jeannie's
eyes in the dingy gold-framed mirror above the sink. "So
don't go home. Go shopping, go eat a pound of fudge, go
walk over and sit by the river if you want, but give
yourself a break and leave."
Abby made it sound as if Jeannie could slip out unnoticed.
"Every single person in that room will know if I skip
out. And they'll know why—Chad's the fire
marshal and George is the fire chief. It couldn't be
more obvious."
"So what?"
"Well…" Jeannie fished for a better reason than
her stubborn defiance of a paralyzing fear. "If I leave,
how will I know whatever it is George wants to say about
Nicky?" She shut off the water with a resolute twist of
the faucet. There was nothing for this but to do what she
always did: fix her eyes on gratitude and soldier on. And
on, and on. She'd worked at being grateful; she'd
sent baskets of goodies to George and Chad and the rest of
the volunteers at the fire department.
Sent,
because she still couldn't bring herself to go into the
fire station. The least she could do—the goal she'd
set for herself tonight—was to sit through the
presentation, stay upright, force a smile and be grateful
Chad Owens was as handsome as he was thorough.
Don't look at her. Chad Owens kept telling
himself to keep his gaze away from Jeannie Nelworth. He
shouldn't single her out in any way, but his eyes
repeatedly wandered over to her tight smile no matter what
he resolved. It was a hopeless cause; everyone in the room
seemed overly aware of the woman.
Jeannie loved yellow, loved kids and normally exuded as much
happiness as twelve people, but she looked pale and drawn
tonight, cornered by the collective awkwardness. George kept
putting his arm around her, looking out for her as if she
needed shielding from the world. That was George,
everyone's unofficial protective grandfather. The
town's most beloved fire victim at a fire safety
presentation—honestly, he was amazed she showed up at all.
Chad thought Jeannie should have some space after the
presentation, an escape from the small tight knot of false
casualness that pushed around her after the talk, but George
motioned Jeannie out of the group right away, calling her
over to where they were standing.
"How are you?" George hugged her. George hugged
everyone.
"George," Jeannie said with an applied smile. "I
am fine." She pushed her brown bangs out of her eyes
like a nervous teenager. "Stop worrying, why don't
you?"
"You know very well I won't. I'm looking out for
you, so help me stop worrying by saying yes to my idea."
Jeannie rolled her eyes, crossing her hands over her chest.
"How about I hear your idea first?"
George crossed his hands over his own chest and leaned in.
"I want to hire Nick."
There was a momentary flash of panic in her eyes.
"Don't you think thirteen is a bit young to be a
firefighter?"
George laughed. "Every boy wants to be a fireman. But
not every boy can be a firedog walker." He said it with
an absurd importance Chad didn't feel and Jeannie
clearly didn't believe.
Chad hadn't been in favor of George's scheme to hire
Nick to walk the portly firehouse hound. Plug certainly
needed exercise, but Chad found the gesture lacking. George
should know better than to put a cozy bandage on a kid's
enormous trauma. Fire stole something from a soul that could
never be restored. Chad knew it. Nick and Jeannie knew it
now, too, and some cuddly chore wouldn't make that go
away. Still, no one talked George out of anything once he
got a plan in that meddling, generous mind of his. Chad
supposed the scheme couldn't hurt, but he didn't
think it stood any real chance of helping.
"You have
volunteer firefighters but you want
to
pay my son to walk your dog?" Jeannie's
eyes narrowed with a friendly suspicion at the idea. Her
long, dark ponytail swung as she gave George a sideways
glance. Chad was glad Jeannie recognized George was up to
something.
She wasn't pretty in the stop-a-guy-dead-in-his-tracks
kind of way. It was more her energy, her optimism, that
pulled people toward her. Those brown eyes always took in
the world like it was a fantastic package waiting to be
opened. Nothing seemed to keep her down. Last year she'd
had her Jeep painted in the same yellow polka-dotted pattern
as her store, and while all the other merchants thought it
stunning marketing, all Chad could think about was how
mortified her son must be to ride in the thing. Still,
everyone in town knew Jeannie Nelworth's Sweet Treats
candy store. Half the businesses in the county used her gift
baskets, and the woman's chocolate-covered caramels were
nearly legendary.
"Plug would be good for Nick," George lobbied,
smiling as if every volunteer fire department had a
dog-walking budget. "Boys love dogs."
Jeannie let out a sigh. "Well, Nicky seems to need to
take care of something since…" Her voice fell off,
as if she'd run out of good ways to end a sentence like
that. Chad knew the feeling. He knew exactly how a life
split forever into "before the fire" and
"after."
"The guidance counselor suggested a pet," Jean-nie
continued with a hollow laugh, "But all our landlord
allows is a goldfish. Those are 'lame,' as Nicky so
bluntly put it."
Dr. Billings cut into their little trio. "So, Jeannie,
how's our Nicky doing?"
"Really great." Jeannie gave the dentist a big
smile. "People have been so kind."
They're always so kind, Chad thought. People
were so kind after Laurie's death he thought he'd
drown in careful kindness. Friends and family surrounded him
with casseroles and cards and "how are you's"
that hoped to avoid his sad answers. That was why it had
been so easy to move here. Only George knew what he'd
been through, why his history with fire went beyond the
professional and into the personal. He kept him off the fire
engines and at a desk; Chad liked his pain to stay private.
People never looked at him the same way again once they
knew, so he made sure no one did.
As for Jeannie, she had no choice. She was on display for
everyone's pity because the
whole town had
gathered to watch her home and business burn. He was sure
she'd call it something warm and cozy like
"community," but to him it was a naked, painful
exposure.
"Still, he's been through so much for such a young
man." Billings patted Jeannie's wrist.
"Oh, don't you worry about Nicky. He's coping so
much better than anyone expected. You know boys. He just
sees this as a chance to get cooler new stuff. Like
Christmas before Christmas. People came out of the woodwork
to help us, you know. Nicky and I had a week's worth of
clothes before the sun even came up the next day. The new
Sweet Treats will be right on Tyler Street in the middle of
all that lucrative tourist traffic. And evidently, my son is
about to become the firehouse's first official dog
wrangler."
"Told you she'd say yes." George elbowed Chad
victoriously. "Have Nicky come by Chad's office
tomorrow but don't tell him what's up. The boy will
enjoy it more if it's a surprise."
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