Tilting at Windmills (16 page)

“Okay, okay—don’t get so defensive. I was just wondering.”

It was late May, nearly Memorial Day, and I’d been in Linden Corners since the middle of April. During the past several weeks, the town’s gentle nature and pace continued to win more of my favor. Though I’d set no definite deadline for my departure, even I was surprised that I wasn’t yet ready to leave.

I was still tending bar. In fact, George had upped my hours and my pay, and I had steadily learned the various tricks of the trade, which weren’t that difficult, as it turned out. There was little or no demand for mixed drinks, and no demand for exotic drinks, with most of the service coming directly from the beer tap. I had learned how to change a keg, which was the most strenuous aspect of the job. More often than not, I stood around, talking with the locals and soaking up the flavor of the town.

It was coming up on four o’clock in the afternoon, opening time, and I had work to do. There were pretzels to be set out and a jukebox to start, so I had to wrap up this call with John Oliver. That would force him to get to the point of his call.

“Look, John, I know you can sit around all day and chat, since this call is on your company’s bill, but me, I’ve got a bar to set up and customers who depend on me. And we don’t exactly have a cordless phone at the Corner, so I can’t walk and talk and work. So, better to spill it now. What’s up?”

He hesitated, confirming my suspicion that he’d had a reason for calling.

“John, just spit it out.”

“You know, I hate being put in the middle. . . .”

“John . . .”

“Okay, all right. Maddie wants to contact you.”

I dropped the pint glass I’d been holding. It slipped right from my hand and fell to the hardwood floor and shattered into too many pieces to count. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought about Maddie; I had. But the idea that she wanted to talk to me shocked me.

“You drop something?” John asked.

Yeah—my heart.

“Just a glass. You took me by surprise is all.”

“Sorry—but there didn’t seem any easy way to broach the subject,” he said. “She’s been pressuring me for a couple weeks now, and I kept putting her off, hoping it—she—would just go away.”

“No such luck?”

“Nothing to bet with, that’s for sure,” he said.

I asked for more details. He’d run into Maddie in, of all places, Sequoia, the restaurant where I’d eaten with Maddie and Justin and the people from the Voltaire Health Group. The place that had spiked my oysters with a nasty case of hepatitis, which had led me on the road to a new life. Maddie had been there with some woman John didn’t recognize.

“Didn’t get a name either.”

But Maddie had asked about me.
He’s doing great,
John had said, not wanting to reveal too much, and that had been that. Until two days passed and Maddie called him at work and asked for my phone number.

My senses suddenly came to life as I thought about the city I’d left behind. I could smell the fast-paced energy of New York City, taste the high style (and price) of dining out. But I was also flooded with memories of Maddie’s sweet scent and silky touch, the alluring tilt of her head when she posed a question, the occasional slip of her Southern accent, the way she moved and spoke and breathed. All of these images came rushing back to me, nearly overwhelming me. Luckily my surroundings drew me back. Suddenly, all I saw were unwashed pint glasses and all I could smell was beer.

“No,” I finally said. “I don’t want to see her or talk to her. John, things are going too well right now; I’m at peace. And I’m having fun. Hey, it’s the carefree life and it’s what I want right now. I’m not ready for another ride on the emotional roller coaster.”

“Well, think about it.”

“I have.”

“Sleep on it,” he said.

“John, you’re supposed to be my friend. Why do you sound as though you’ve pitched a tent inside her camp?”

“I’m not taking sides, Brian, I just think . . . no, I’d better not . . .”

“Say it,” I said strongly.

“Brian, it’s time to come back to the real world. You’ve lived the fantasy, you’ve run away and found a new life, but it’s not yours. It’s someone else’s, like a summer share with strangers. But it’s over. Maddie was the best thing to ever happen to you, and she wants you back. She wants to talk about it.”

“It? Does she know what ‘it’ is?”

“Brian, just talk to her.”

An emphatic “no” escaped my lips, and then I instructed him not to give Maddie any information regarding my whereabouts. Still, he pressed me further, as only a good friend can do, but I wasn’t going to stand for it. I told him I had to go.

“Just answer me one thing,” John said. “Is there someone else in the picture?”

“Is that you asking, John, or are you asking on Maddie’s behalf?” I asked, now totally and thoroughly pissed off. “Hey, John, check out the definition of
loyalty,
then call me back sometime.”

And I slammed down the phone.

The intrusion of New York City into my easy existence in Linden Corners was jarring, and I didn’t want to deal with it. So I turned on the jukebox, turned up the volume, and spent the next half hour burying myself in work. Then it was time to open. The regulars started arriving and I began pouring drinks. The music played and we talked and joked and enjoyed one another’s company. The hours passed and I forgot all about John’s phone call.

George and Gerta were away this week, off visiting one of their daughters and her family, leaving me the run of the place. I’d managed to make friends with a number of the regulars, none of whom had any interest in the fact that I was some city slicker, and so the conversation leaned toward topics like the wife who complained about this and that, or the boyfriend-girlfriend troubles of the younger set, or the whining nature of kids today, which suited me fine. The one man who failed to join the conversation was Chuck Ackroyd, who hadn’t, from the moment we’d met, made a secret of his dislike for me. I had a sense he saw my presence as a threat to his friendship with George, and nothing I did could change his mind. Not even a free beer.

“This one’s on me, Chuck,” I said, refilling his glass before he’d even asked. It was a gesture in the right direction—at least that’s how I saw it.

“Aren’t you taking advantage of George’s good nature by giving away his product?”

I was tempted then to make him pay for the beer; instead, I walked away and started a conversation with someone else.

That was when the door opened, and someone I never expected to see inside Connors’ Corners entered. It was Annie Sullivan, looking freshly scrubbed and full of energy. She sidled up to the bar and flashed me a happy grin.

“What’ll it be, stranger?” I asked.

“Do you recommend the wine?”

“Looking for a new paint thinner?” I joked.

She laughed, and said, “In that case, how about a diet Coke?”

Since our afternoon at the windmill, Annie and I had seen each other only a couple times in town, and once, I’d been invited over for dinner. And that was because Janey’d been mad that she had missed me that one day. But Annie had been busy since she had taken a part-time job at a nearby antique store three mornings a week.

“How’s the antique business?” I asked.

“It’s nice getting back to work after . . . well, too long, you know. But it’s not going to last—only until summer comes and Janey’s home again with me.”

“Speaking of Janey, where is she that you can come and hang out in a bar—and on a school night?”

“Cynthia’s watching her. I had a couple quick errands to run.”

“Is stopping at the local tavern one of those errands?”

“Well, I came to see you.”

“Me?”

“On Janey’s behalf. I come bearing an invitation—to a picnic. Memorial Day is coming up, as you’re no doubt aware, and the town has an annual picnic, and it’s lots of fun, and—oh my, I’m starting to sound like Janey, talking like this. But, heck, if a child’s enthusiasm rubs off on you, consider it a blessing in a cynical world. So, what do you say? Cynthia and her husband, Bradley, will be joining us, and Janey wanted you to be there, because, as she says, ‘He’s nice.’ ”

“How about you?”

“Yes, I agree with Janey. You’re nice.”

“No. I mean, are you inviting me to the picnic as well?”

Even in the dim light of the bar, I could see her blush, not the red flush of embarrassment, just a faint hint of nervousness. Annie tried to laugh it off.

“It’s not a date, Brian Duncan, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Good. Then I’d be happy to join all of you,” I said, surprising her with my response. “And thank you. There are signs about the picnic all over town and I was wondering what I’d do with myself. The idea of being the one stranger in a town full of friends was daunting to say the least.”

“Consider yourself a stranger no more. Heck, you’ve got the run of George Connors’ tavern—the first non-Connor to do so ever, far as I know.” She drank deeply from her diet Coke, setting the glass down when she’d finished. “Well, I’ve got to run; there are still a couple more errands on my list. But we’ll see you—Monday, about noon? Come to the farmhouse—Janey wants us all to arrive together.”

I promised I’d be there, and then Annie was out the door as fast as she’d come in, leaving me oddly thrilled by her presence, comforted by her invitation. If John’s call had caused me to question my motives for lingering in Linden Corners, I was now reassured that the decision to stay in the land of the windmill was a good one.

I picked up Annie’s empty glass from the bar, and Chuck Ackroyd wandered over. He looked as though there was something on his mind.

“If I were you, I’d avoid that woman, Annie Sullivan.”

“Oh?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear that little invitation to the picnic,” he said.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but since you’ve made it so, out with it. What’s your problem with Annie Sullivan?”

“She’s trouble, is all.”

“And from what I see, you should know from trouble, Chuck.”

His face scrunched up, like he hadn’t fully understood my meaning, that he’d just been insulted. He slapped three bucks down on the bar and told me that that should cover the cost of his beer.

“Used to like this place,” he said. “Can’t say I feel the same now.”

And with that, Chuck Ackroyd left.

He couldn’t dampen my mood, though, not with the Memorial Day picnic to look forward to, and the chance to spend it in the company of such good people as Annie and Janey Sullivan.

L
inden Corners was the picture of the classic American village, all decked out for one of the nation’s most patriotic holidays. It was a remembrance of the dead and also a celebration of the unofficial start of summer. And no one could have asked for a nicer day, with temperatures in the seventies and a sun riding high in a sky painted with a few white clouds that held no threat of rain.

It was eleven o’clock on that Memorial Day Monday, and as I drove through town, I saw that the gazebo in the park was awash in red, white, and blue, and a banner stretched across Main Street from the bank to the fire station, welcoming Columbia County residents and visitors alike to the twenty-fourth annual Linden Corners Memorial Day celebration. Later that afternoon there would be a parade and a town-sponsored barbecue held at the fire station, and there would be sports and activities for children and adults alike. And all the families would gather on the town green.

Marla’s and Darla’s shops were open and would probably do a brisk business, selling cold drinks and holiday knickknacks. The Five-O was closed, and Martha had put a sign in the front door that encouraged folks to enjoy the barbecue and that she’d see them there. Most other businesses were closed for the day, even Connors’ Corners, but George, back in town, confessed he’d probably break down and open up later, after the fireworks.

It was festive enough to have been Independence Day, but as I’d learned, a neighboring town held the celebratory honors for that holiday, so Linden Corners went overboard on Memorial Day.

Already the village square was filling up with people. Cars and trucks filled the lots, and even the county sheriff’s office had sent a deputy to keep the traffic flowing. I’d never seen Linden Corners so filled with energy and with life, with folks simply enjoying one another’s company.

I passed through town and rode high into the hills and up to the lane that led to the Sullivan driveway. Janey was waiting for me on the porch and came running over as soon as the car came to a stop. She was a special kid, always smiling whenever I saw her and always able to get me smiling, too, no matter what kind of mood was occupying my mind.

“We’re going to have so much fun today,” she informed me, and I said I hoped so, which got her going, filling me in on everything and anything that had to do with the day’s events. At seven years of age, she was a veteran.

Annie emerged from the house dressed in a pair of white slacks and a blue blouse, a navy sweater casually tossed around her shoulders. She looked beautiful, I thought. With her chestnut-colored hair and that faint hint of blush to her cheeks, she was an all-American beauty, made even more lovely by the sight of Janey at her side, apple-cheeked and grinning.

Me, I wore casual slacks and a red shirt, long sleeves rolled to my elbows. I was ready to relax in a serious way, and that meant playing with an energetic seven-year-old.

“She’s been talking about this day all weekend,” Annie said.

“And I’ve been thinking about it,” I confessed, looking down at Janey. “Thank you very much for inviting me to your picnic.”

So that was how the day began, a mother and her young daughter adopting for the day one lost soul, the three pooling their resources to become a makeshift family on a day tailor-made for one. From all appearances, Memorial Day in Linden Corners was going to be a spectacular success, and we were intent on being part of it. Annie gathered a picnic basket, assigned me the task of carrying the heavy cooler, and issued Janey a reminder to take her toy-filled knapsack. We packed everything into the back of Annie’s truck, left my car in her driveway, and made our way back to town where we parked behind Connors’ Corners (in my driveway, actually). A double-trip for me, but Janey had wanted us to arrive in the village together. Then we made our way to the village park and found Cynthia and Bradley Knight already spreading out a large, oversized blanket, what Bradley called our home base for the day.