Trouble's Brewing (5 page)
I leaned over to push off on the chest, and I saw the fallen letter under the bed. As I reached to retrieve it I noticed it felt thinner than the others. When I got to my feet, I saw that the handwritten scrawl on the envelope addressed to “My daughter Vonnie” was nothing like my mother’s neat penmanship.
I carefully unfolded the note …
My Daughter,
My heart is broken. Your mother called and tell me Joe’s baby is dead. I call the nurse, and she say, “The baby is lost.”
Such terrible news.
I come to your bedside, but your mother told me to go home. How could I leave you? I wait till your mother found me outside your room. She so very angry. She say I not wanted. She say you go back to Colorado and that I not to write or call you. She say for me to bring your suitcase to hospital. She say you leave tonight on the airplane and that I not say good-bye.
My heart is heavy. Joe is gone. The baby is gone. Soon you too are gone. Today, I pack your suitcase. I send your letters and Joe’s letters in the pockets of your coat. Maybe your mother never find them.
Vonnie, please come home. I miss you with my whole heart. Love,
Your Maria
Beneath the closing, I read, “Vonnie, please come home to us. We miss you. Your sister, Nina.”
I covered my eyes with my hand. I was suddenly transported to another place and time, to Maria’s tiny white clapboard home in L.A. Though my own mother had sent me packing at the news that I not only married a Mexican American but also that I carried his child, Joe’s mother, Maria Jewel, had swung wide her doors.
“You are my Joe’s wife. Now you are my daughter,” she’d said.
Joe’s little sister, Nina, who was all of ten, became a special friend to me, helping me learn to cook the Mexican dishes. I helped her with her spelling words, and she joined me on long walks in the nearby park.
One sunny Saturday morning, as we perched on the swing set, enjoying the breeze we made as we rocked to and fro, she asked me, “Vonnie, why did you fall in love with Joe?”
I kicked up my feet and glided for a moment. When I stopped I turned to her. “He fell in love with me first. When I saw the love in his eyes, how could I help but fall in love with him? I mean, who could resist those big brown eyes of his?”
Nina giggled and pushed off in her swing, long black braids soaring behind her. She called back over her shoulder, “Did you know about our family?”
I stopped and watched her sail through the air. When she returned to earth, she dragged her well-worn Keds on the ground so that she came to a full stop. I turned to her. “Not at first, Nina, but when he told me, I fell in love all over again—with all of you.”
Nina pushed her too-long bangs from her eyes. “And we are in love with you, especially Mama.”
It was true. Maria and I had instantly bonded. Our deepening friendship somehow connected us to Joe. She spent hours telling me about his childhood and the happier times before Joe’s father was killed in a terrible car crash with a drunk driver.
I, in turn, described how Joe and I had met in the school cafeteria, our long walks at sunset overlooking the mountains, and our Boulder wedding. I told her of the happiness of my childhood growing up in the Colorado Rockies.
I can picture her now, tiny and plump, sitting at her kitchen table as she stuffed her chilies with cheese. She was dressed in a purple housedress with her soft black curls pulled into a ponytail. “You are such a brave girl to ski down a mountain. No wonder my Joe married you. You will be a good mama to the children.”
I laughed. “I should teach you, Maria! Then we could ski down the mountain together with sticks tied to our feet.”
“What ideas you have!” Maria said, waving her hand as if to brush away the mental image I’d created.
“Hey, don’t forget me! I’ll tie sticks to my feet too!” Nina said.
We laughed at the thought of the three of us tumbling down a snowy mountain. But our laughter turned to sad smiles when I added, “Of course, Nina. We’ll bring you, the baby, and Joe too.”
Our eyes met in silence as we thought of our dear Joe, so far away from home.
I’d tried to be brave. I said, “The time will pass quickly. Maybe we’ll all spend next Christmas in Colorado.”
One day, when we were dicing onions and peppers in Maria’s yellow kitchen bright with geraniums, she said, “Vonnie, how glad I am you are Joe’s wife. We miss him while he is in Vietnam, but he left us you.” She patted my belly with her brown hand and smiled at me. “And soon the baby.”
Had it really been over three and a half decades since that moment in time? I sat on the edge of the chest and covered my face with my hands. “Maria, Nina!” I sobbed, suddenly homesick for L.A.
Donna took the letter and read it. She looked at me. “From Joseph’s mother and sister?”
I nodded.
“Did you ever call them?”
“No. I wanted to, and I think I would have if I had found this note. But Mother convinced me it would be too hard for them to hear my voice. It would make them miss Joe all that much more.”
“Where is Maria now?” Donna asked.
“If she’s still living, I suppose she’s in L.A.”
“Do you have her old number?”
I stood and walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen. I noticed that Donna had put my blackened hamburger casserole in the sink and opened a window. I reached into the desk drawer and pulled out my ancient address book stuffed with yellowed papers. I uncoiled the rubber bands that held it together and flipped to the
J
.
“Jayne … Jacob … Jerrod … Jewel. There it is.”
Donna picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m calling the number. Unless they’ve moved, it should be the same as long as we dial the area code. Don’t you think it’s about time Maria knows her grandson is alive?”
“Surely, Maria is no longer there—”
Donna interrupted. “Hello? Maria Jewel, please … To whom am I speaking? … Nina Gonzales? … Maria’s daughter?”
Donna put her hand over the receiver and looked at me and smiled. “We found her.” She took her hand off the receiver. “Yes, well, actually, I’m calling for a friend. Vonnie … Yes, Joe’s wife. Do you want to talk to her?”
As I shook my head no, Donna extended the phone toward me. “Vonnie, it’s Nina. I’m afraid the past wants to speak to the present.”
I pulled up a kitchen chair and put the phone to my ear. “Nina? Is that really you?”
She sounded as if she were in the next room. I could hear the sound of children in the background. “Vonnie? I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you call before today?”
“I wanted to, so many times. But after so much time had gone by, I figured I was forgotten.”
“Forgotten? No, Vonnie, Mama talked about you often. She’d say, ‘Nina, I pray especially hard today. Maybe today will be the day Vonnie calls.’”
A gasp escaped from my lips. “I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Say that you will come back, Vonnie.”
“To L.A?”
“Mama is in the hospital. I just came home to get a few things before going back. She needs to see you.”
“Nina, what happened?”
“It’s her heart. After all these years, her broken heart has finally caught up with her. The doctors say she may not live through the week.”
“Oh no!”
“Vonnie, please. It would mean so much to Mama … We need you.”
“I … I won’t come alone.”
“Yes, bring your family. We’d like to meet your husband and the kids. Of course, I’m assuming you married again.”
“Nina. The baby—”
“I know … If only Joe’s baby could have lived. That would have been such a comfort.”
“But …” I lowered my voice. “But he did live.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about, Vonnie?”
“Nina, that’s the reason I called. I’ve only learned the truth myself. Joe’s baby is alive.” I started to weep. “Nina, did you hear? All this time. Joe’s baby is alive!”
Clay had just finished a second cup of coffee with his High Country burger when Eleana Bertrill came in for her shift at the café. She was young—too young for Clay—but she smiled at him every afternoon as though she wasn’t fully aware of their age difference.
Clay figured her to be no more than nineteen or twenty. She’d grown up in Summit View; he’d gone to school with her parents way back when. Though they were older than him, he remembered them well, and he wondered how they might feel if they knew how their little girl liked to flirt with the regulars at Higher Grounds.
As soon as she spotted him she winked, then reached for the green bib apron Sally had her employees wear. Each one had a white-stitched view of the Summit View mountains on the top left corner with the name of the café arched above them.
“Hi, Clay,” she said, walking past the knotty pine tables and chairs already filled with customers. “Can I get you another cup of coffee?” She dipped her head into the hole of the apron, then pulled the waist strings behind her back and began tying them into a bow.
Clay shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m good to go.”
“Have you tried the caramel lattes we just starting making?” She licked her lips. “They’re out of this world dee-lish.”
He shook his head. “I’m not really a latte kinda guy.”
Eleana looked out the window where his perfect viewpoint of the town lay on the other side. “It sure is gray out there. Bet we’ll see a lot of snow soon. Me, personally, I can’t wait. Good skiing weather, right?”
“Well, I’m not a skiing kinda guy either,” he said.
As best Clay could tell, she looked genuinely disappointed. “Eleana,” Sally called out. “That’s not your station.”
Eleana beamed a look of innocence, then winked at Clay once more. “I’ll see you around,” she said.
Clay nodded, then twisted his body a bit to watch her walk back toward the extensive glass counters filled with Sally’s delectable goodies. When he returned to his usual position, he caught the tail end of Donna’s Bronco as it passed by.
He jumped up so fast his chair toppled to the floor and landed with a crash. He reached for his black leather jacket—folded and tossed over the chair next to him—stepping over the fallen chair and skipping to keep from tripping. He knew he looked foolish, but he didn’t care. If he hurried, he could catch her.
He cussed himself all the way out to his old blue jeep parked in a nearby parking lot. If he hadn’t been checking out the view on Eleana, he would have easily been able to catch Donna.
It was her day off … which meant it was a good time to check up on her. He slid into his jeep and spun out of the parking lot, turning left to follow Donna’s trail. It took him a few minutes—with the amount of pedestrians Summit View had, it didn’t pay to speed—but he finally saw her as she made a left turn.
He flipped his signal, then slowed down. Wherever she was going, he didn’t want her catching him in his chase.
Minutes later he saw her pulling into the Westbrook neighborhood. He rolled to a stop, waited an appropriate amount of time, then continued on, parking a few houses down.
He had a plan. When she came out, he’d ease out into the street, feign shock at seeing her, and ask her to join him for a cup of coffee or a slice of Sally’s blueberry cheesecake. He’d tell her he had some things to talk over with her. She’d bite for that, and he knew it.
In spite of the cold in the air, he felt himself beginning to sweat. What gossip would he use for bait?
He jumped when his cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket. He reached for it, saw that it was his editor, then flipped open its top. “Whitefield,” he said.
“Clay … drop whatever you’re doing and get to the office. I’ve got a story I want you to follow up on, and I need you to do it pronto.”
Clay gazed through the windshield at the Bronco parked ahead of him. “Can’t you get someone else?”
“Who would you suggest? You’re it, Whitefield. I’ll give you ten minutes to get here or you’re fired.”
Clay slammed his cell phone shut. Donna would have to wait till another time.
“Good morning. Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?” I took a deep breath and repeated myself, this time putting the emphasis away from the word
good
and more on
help
. After all, this was a law office. For the caller it may not be a good day at all. “Good morning. Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?” And then once more for good measure, again changing emphasis. “Good morning. Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?”
After nearly a month of working for Chris Lowe, attorney at law, today was the day I’d be left alone to answer the phones without Chris’s daughter’s help. I had practiced all evening the night before. I even blurted out my little spiel during dinner.
“What’d you say?” my daughter, Olivia, asked from her end of the dining room table.
Her husband, Tony, looked up from his plate of baked chicken casserole. His eyes held merriment. “I think she just answered the phone at Mr. Lowe’s office.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry. Tomorrow I answer the phones for the first time alone.” I raked my fingers through the curls of red hair that seemed to be graying by the minute.
“Mom, they’re just phones. You’ve been answering phones since you were a child.” She arched a brow. “I think you can handle this.”
I shook my head at the very thought of finally being alone at the administrative desk of Chris’s law practice. Jenna Lowe was going out of town with her mother, Carrie, as they prepared for Jenna’s departure to college in a month and a half. “I may have been answering the phone since I was a child, but this is the first time in many a year that I’ve done so professionally.” I reached for my mug of hot tea and took a sip. It had turned tepid in the time since I’d placed it on the table. “I just want to do a good job. Jenna answers ‘Chris Lowe’s office,’ but I want to do something a little more … professional. After all, Jenna is his daughter. She could answer with peanut butter in her mouth, and he wouldn’t complain. Me? I’m a charity case.” I set the mug down and picked up my fork, mainly for something to do. I’d hardly touched a bite of food since we sat down for dinner.
“You are most certainly not a charity case, Mom.”
I nodded my head as though I agreed with her, but truth be told, I am. A month ago I’d walked into his office hoping for advice concerning my recent separation from my husband, Jack. “Coach Dippel” to the students at the high school and “Dad” to my daughter … and even more importantly, “Grandpa Jack” to our grandson, Brook. My shoulders slumped at the thought of it all.
Chris Lowe, in his graciousness, had offered me a job on the spot.
I’d hoped to talk about alimony—fellow Potlucker Lisa Leann Lambert had insisted upon it—but I suppose a job, in the end, is better. It has certainly made me stronger. Being married to Jack nearly drained me dry of all the strength I’d ever possessed.
Jack Dippel is a runaround.
Of course, I’ve always known it. Well, not always. But since we’d been married about a year or so … and he began to shower me with expensive gifts, like his father had given his mother every time he’d had an affair. Like Father Dippel, Jack had managed to keep his extracurricular activities and interests away from Summit View. Until Charlene Hopefield, that is.
Charlene is both the high school Spanish teacher and a floozy. She’s also minus one boyfriend. Since my unexpected departure from the home we’d shared for all these years, Jack has dropped Charlene like yesterday’s garbage and has practically kissed the ground I walk on ever since.
Not that he’s getting anywhere with me. I’m going to stand firm no matter what. Either Jack Dippel is getting help for his apparent addictions or I’m getting myself a divorce and moving on with my life.
I arrived at work fifteen minutes early, as is my habit, entering through the door leading out to the alley. I hung my coat on a chrome coat tree in the employee break room of Chris’s law office, which is upstairs from the Alpine Card Shop, and began making coffee. While it brewed, I ran downstairs to the sidewalk running along the front of the building in order to retrieve the Denver newspaper Chris had delivered to the office.
Back inside, I moved past tables of gift items and the displayed stacks of Hallmark cards divided by category. Because the card shop doesn’t open until 10:00, and Chris’s office officially comes alive at 9:00, I was alone in the building. Not a single light on. It was, somehow, comforting. There is a peace in the early morning blues and grays that I enjoy spending in solitude.
Sadly, that time had to come to an end. As I made my way up the staircase leading to the office, I flipped on the light, then did the same as I entered the main room of our offices and welcomed a new workday.
The aroma of coffee greeted me. I laid the newspaper on my desk, walked into the break room, and poured two cups of coffee, preparing the first as Chris preferred his and the second as I preferred mine. I then took both cups to my desk, where I deposited mine, and picked up the paper and stepped into the large office at the end of the hall.
There, I turned on Chris’s computer, laid his paper out neatly in the center of his desk, and placed the steaming cup of coffee next to it.
By the time I reached my office, I heard Chris coming in the back door.
“Morning, Goldie,” he greeted me, sight unseen.
“Good morning. Your coffee and paper are on your desk.”
Chris walked into the front office, his overcoat slung over his arm and a briefcase dangling from one hand. “Here, let me take your coat,” I said, bustling toward him.
Chris smiled at me, handing his coat over. “Ready for your first day at the desk without Jenna?”
I took the coat and squared my shoulders. “I’m ready.” My brow shot up. “Did Carrie and Jenna get off okay?”
Chris moved toward his office. “Bright and early this morning,” he answered without looking back. “Give me about a half hour, and then we’ll go over my schedule for the day.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, reverting to my Southern upbringing of referring to those in superior positions as “sir” and “ma’am.”
I grew up in one of the most rural sections of Dixie: Alma, Georgia. I’d still be living there today had it not been for our high school’s senior trip to Washington, D.C., where I met Jack Dippel. Met him, fell madly in love with him, and then married him a few years later after a long-distance relationship that sappy love novels are made of.
I shuddered, then took Chris’s coat into the break room to hang on the coatrack. Moments later, I was back at my desk, switching on my computer and giving the phone set a “cautionary eye,” wondering who the first caller would be.
“Good morning,” I whispered to it. “Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?”
Okay, Lord. We can do this. Yes, sir, we can.
“Good morning, Chris Lowe’s office. This is Goldie, how may I help you?” I answered my first call of the day at a little after 9:30. The emphasis was placed on none of the words but rather on keeping my tone professional and kind.
“Hi, Mom.”
It was Olivia.
“Olivia? What’s wrong?”
I could hear Olivia’s sweet smile through the phone line. “Nothing. I just knew you were nervous about answering the phone, so I thought I’d call as soon as I had a minute and let you practice. How’s it going?”
I smiled. “It’s going. So far, everything that Jenna taught me is making me more competent by the minute. She’s a smart girl. I wish I’d gone to college like she’s doing. Maybe I wouldn’t be in my fifties working for the first time in goodness knows how long, sweating over a silly telephone.”
“You’ll do just fine. You always do. I won’t keep you. Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”
“Thank you, my sweet thing. I’ll see you after 5:00.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I returned the handset to the phone and turned back to a stack of invoices to be mailed. I stamped the signature space of each one with Chris Lowe, Attorney at Law, then folded them and placed them in their corresponding envelopes. With each stamp-fold-stuff I felt more and more like a new woman. A liberated woman. A businesswoman. A woman in charge of her own destiny!
The phone rang, and I jumped. “Good morning—”
Before I could recite my greeting, Jack’s voice interrupted. “Goldie.”
I hunched over my desk. “Jack,” I hissed. “I’ve asked you not to call me at work.”
“Goldie, listen to me. Let’s have lunch together today. Okay, baby? Just one hour of your time, that’s all I’m asking for.”
I pursed my lips. “I’ve already made lunch plans for today, thank you.”
“With whom?” he stormed.
“Jack,” I said, hunching even closer to the top of the desk. “I refuse to be intimidated.”
“Now you listen to me, woman. This has gone on long enough. I’ve done what’s right. I’ve ended the … uh … relationship with Charlene.”
“Good-bye, Jack. I’m working and cannot be disturbed.”
I returned the handset, my hand quivering, and nearly knocked the entire phone unit off the side of the desk. “Get a grip,” I said to myself, teeth clenched. I pulled my right hand into my left and clasped it. It didn’t help the pounding in my heart, though. I took in a deep breath, then let it out ever so slowly. I did it again and again until I felt myself returning to normal.
“Goldie?”
I jumped a near mile. “Chris!”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Yes.” My bottom lip quivered, giving me away. “That was Jack on the phone. He wanted to have lunch.”
Chris nodded, staring hard at me, waiting I suppose for me either to have a good old-fashioned hissy fit or to say something brave and strong. I did neither.
He discreetly cleared his throat. “I’m expecting an old friend of mine from law school today. Van Lauer. We’re going to have an early lunch and then head over to Loveland Pass to try to get some early skiing in this afternoon.” Chris pointed toward his office with his thumb. “He just called my private line. Said he’s going to be in town for a few weeks for a much-needed vacation and a little private work.” Chris seemed genuinely excited. “It’ll be good to have my old friend in town. Could you do me a favor and cancel the two or three appointments I have this afternoon?”
“Certainly.”
Chris smiled at me. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? After Van gets here, I mean.”
“I’m having lunch with Lizzie,” I said, as though that complicated matters.
Chris placed his hands on his hips. “Lizzie? She’s not working at the high school today?”
“She had a dentist appointment so she took the day off. We thought we’d have lunch. Get caught up.”
“Ah,” he said, then turned to go back to his office. My eyes scanned the room, darting about like a ping-pong ball. Why had I felt the need to tell Chris that I had a lunch date with Lizzie? Or that she had a dental appointment?
“Get a grip,” I said again as I returned to my work.
At exactly 11:00 the front door swung open. I looked up from the keyboard of my computer, where I’d been typing the letters Chris had dictated into a tape recorder the afternoon before, and pulled the earphone from my ears. “Good morn—”
I stopped short. My eyes scaled upward, taking in what had to be all six feet, six inches of one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid eyes on.
And that includes Jack Dippel, darn his hide.
I swallowed. “Excuse me. Good morning.” I pressed my fingertips lightly against the hollow of my throat. “I must have swallowed wrong.”
Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous was peeling away his overcoat as he spoke. “You must be Goldie. You’d have to be with such pretty red hair,” he said, his crystal blue eyes twinkling against deeply tanned skin.
“I am. And you are Mr. Lauer?”
He extended his hand to me, and I took it. It was warm and soft, and, God as my witness, I noticed immediately that his nails were buffed to a shine.
“Van,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “Please call me Van.”
I met Lizzie at Higher Grounds Café a few minutes after noon. The restaurant was nearly filled already, what with the downtown working crowd finding their way there for lunch.
Naturally, Clay Whitefield was sitting in his usual spot, front and center where he had a clear view of the people coming and going, both on the sidewalk in front of the café and on the street just beyond. He spoke his hellos before we had a chance to greet him.
“Mrs. Dippel, Mrs. Prattle.”
“Clay,” we both said in unison. I noticed he had a small notebook spread out next to his plate of tuna salad sandwich, chips, and pickle. On it, what appeared to be a list of items, crossed out.
Clay can be a strange one at times. He’s a nice enough boy, but … strange.
“Don’t mind my asking, Clay, but do you ever leave this place? I mean, other than to go home or to make a quick trip to the newspaper office?” I asked.
Clay chuckled good-naturedly. “I can’t think of a better place to get the news for the newspaper, can you? There’s not a thing that goes on in this town that doesn’t somehow get talked about in here.”
“Here and the Sew and Stitch,” I said, speaking of Dora Watkins’s craft shop. If you ever need craft supplies or just a good dose of gossip, the Sew and Stitch is the place to go.
“I have to admit you’ve got a point,” Clay answered. “But for the life of me I’d have to say I’d stand out like a sore thumb in a ladies craft shop.”
Lizzie and I laughed, Lizzie patted Clay on the shoulder, and then we sat at a table in the center of the room, a few feet behind Clay, with me sitting with a clear view of his back. Within minutes, one of Sally’s new servers—Eleana, according to her name tag—was standing over us, asking what we’d like to drink. We both said, “Water with lemon.”
As soon as Eleana, a pretty young woman with thick auburn hair that curled unabashedly in a ponytail, walked away, we opened the menus she’d left for us, though I daresay we both knew the menu at Higher Grounds as well as we knew the ingredients in our own pantries. “Know what you want?” I asked Lizzie.
“I’ll probably get the same thing I always get,” Lizzie answered, then looked up at me. “Do you think we’re becoming creatures of habit, Goldie?”