Snowflakes and Coffee Cakes (5 page)

“Anything. I’ll take anything,” she tells the editor there as he’s skimming her completed profile of Lauren Bradford and the barnwood art exhibit planned at Circa 1765.

He looks up at her pacing in front of his desk. “I like this.”

“You do?” she asks, stopping still.

“Sure, it’s got a nice local flavor. And who knows, some of our readers might commission the artist to paint their homes, too. I might like one for a Christmas gift for my wife, actually. So, yes. I’ll use this in a few weeks.”

Every bit of breath that Vera hadn’t realized she’d been holding expels in a tearful, quick sigh. “Seriously?”

“Definitely.”

“For pay?”

He laughs. “Of course. Listen, you’ve proven yourself with the scarecrow piece, and now this. So I can put you on the payroll, part-time, but it’ll be
regular
part-time work.”

“I’ll take it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Stop at Bonnie’s desk on the way out. She’ll have a couple forms you’ll need to complete. It’s a formality. Since you’ll be on the payroll now.”

“Wonderful.” Vera extends her hand to shake his.

“Glad to have you on board, Vera. And thrilled to have one of Boston’s top journalists working here. Actually, I’ve got an exclusive that might be right up your alley.”

“Really?” Visions of in-depth reporting fill her thoughts. She’s been away from the big time for so long, but it all comes easily back with the suggestion of it. Research, and tracking down leads, and verifying facts. “I’ve got references from Boston, if you need any.”

“No, that won’t be necessary, Miss Sterling. Although this one’s under a tight deadline, so I hope you can handle the pressure. I’m giving you the Holly Trolley exclusive.”

“The what?”

“Holly Trolley exclusive. It’s mid-October already, so it’ll be starting its holiday rounds soon. I need a driver interview, some history, maybe a first-hand look at a ride around town. What do you think?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. “You up to the challenge?”

“You’re serious.”

“Vera. It’s the
Addison Weekly
. It’s what we do.”

She looks long at him, squinting. “Well I’ve never met a challenge I couldn’t meet,” she tells him. “I’ll get right on it,” she says while walking out of his office.

And so, like those squirrels burying acorns to get through the winter, she stockpiles one check from Lauren’s profile and a future check from her latest coup, the trolley piece. Hopefully she can dig up a few more to sustain her over the coming months.

Outside, headed to her car, she glances up at the sky. The thing is, furry caterpillars and tree branches holding on to lingering leaves, none of it can predict beyond what she knows.

And what she knows is this: Sometimes it feels like she’s freefalling through a storm of days, twisting and turning with job issues and a tired old house and a dwindling bank account, her life constantly changing shape, starting out one way and becoming something else along the way, just like one of her father’s falling snowflakes.

*  *  *

The heavy, rusted latch feels like it hasn’t been touched in years. Derek lifts it to unlock the side double doors from inside Vera’s barn, opening them slowly to an expansive view of the cove. The far side of the water is lined with trees in full autumn color, reds and golds and yellows. Closer to the barn, tall cove grasses of pale green, topped with feathery silver seed, sway in the cold breeze, almost like a whisper. An old green wooden rowboat, its paint faded, its inside driftwood gray, is tied to a rickety old dock in the grasses. And he simply stands there and looks, then decides to finish the ham grinder he’d brought along in his toolbox, finish it right there in front of that serene view.

In five minutes, or fifteen, he can’t be sure how many, he hears Vera’s car pull in the driveway and so he folds up his napkin, closes up the double doors and goes back through the barn, exiting through the old Christmas Barn entrance facing her house. He waves to her after shutting the door behind him. “I set out those traps I told you about,” he says over his shoulder, noticing her walk over wearing a green dress and bomber jacket. He wonders where she’s coming from, dressed up like that. “They’re live traps. Cages. So we can transport the animal elsewhere after we catch it.”

“Thank goodness. Because I really need to get in there and start cleaning it out.”

“No problem,” he answers, turning up the collar on his cargo jacket and glancing at the gray sky.

“Did you see my dad on TV this morning, predicting the winter weather?”

“Never miss Leo Sterling’s Addison Almanac. He may be right about the snow this year. I feel it in the air.”

“It could snow every day and he’d be so happy.” She pulls a magnifying glass from her jacket pocket. “He gives me these all the time, to look at snowflakes up close. Says you’ll never get bored snow-watching, it’s nature’s artwork.” A cold wind lifts off the cove water and Vera looks up to the widow’s walk on her house roof. “I’m thinking I’ll have a bird’s-eye view of the snow this winter. You can see all the way out to the Connecticut River up there, which must’ve been the sea captain’s intent when this house was built.”

Derek looks up to her roof and zips his jacket against the wind.

“Come on inside and warm up. I’ll put on coffee.”

He glances out toward the sea captain’s view of the water, then back at Vera who apparently isn’t taking no for an answer, already headed quickly toward the side door into the house. “Sure, that sounds good,” he calls after her.

“Be careful.” She points down at one of the steps on the short flight of stairs. “That one’s creaky.”

He sets his boot on it and the soft wood gives beneath a little pressure. The edges are showing signs of rot, too. “You should add it to your list. I’d hate to see you hurt yourself if it gives out.”

“Okay, but for now, I’ll be stepping around it. At least until my cash situation improves.” She unlocks the door and they go into her kitchen. “Which, I’m happy to say, will be soon. I got a job today,” she tells him with a little curtsy, then sets her purse on the counter.

“Well, congratulations,” Derek says as he first looks back at the slamming screen door that needs a new spring, before slipping out of his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the distressed-white wooden chairs. A pendant light hangs over the round table from the painted beadboard ceiling and a collection of red ceramic apples lines the countertop.

“It’s not much, but it’s a start. Writing for the
Addison Weekly
.”

“Hey, not bad.” He pulls out the chair to sit, watching as she puts coffee grounds into the coffee pot. “At least you’re on familiar territory.”

“I am. My first assignment is to write about the Holly Trolley. You know, before the Christmas season gets into full swing.” She pulls two mugs from the burgundy cabinets and turns to him. “Speaking of which, I know it’s not an easy time of year for you. Brooke told me about Abby, and I’m so sorry about your loss. It can’t be easy.”

“It’s not, really. It’s just something that’s there. That we deal with.”

After a quiet second, Vera asks what most people don’t want to mention. “What happened, Derek?”

He hesitates, then turns up his hands. “You know kids. It got really cold for a few days that December and the water froze early on the cove. She was walking home from school with a couple friends, it was a Friday. And seeing all that ice, I don’t know, I guess they got excited and wanted to test it. For skating.” He waits while Vera fills his mug with hot coffee. “But it had just frozen and wasn’t very thick. I got a call at work,” he says while pouring cream into the cup. “To get to the cove right away.” He folds up his shirt cuff and glances at his watch. “When I got there, they’d just found her.”

“Oh, Derek.” She sits across from him at the table and reaches over to give his arm a quick grasp.

“It wasn’t good.” He sips from his mug, shaking his head. “Another little girl went under too, but they’d gotten her out sooner and were able to save her. They just couldn’t find Abby in time.” He takes a long breath and slides his coffee away. “Her friends said she only took a few steps and was actually turning back when the ice gave out.” He looks directly at Vera. “It happened, you know? It’s just something that happened.”

“You must miss her so much.”

“I do.” It’s not necessary to say it doesn’t get easier; it just gets different, over time. It feels, looking at her eyes, seeing her quiet, that she knows this somehow. “I have to tell you, Vera. I was looking out over the water from your barn earlier.” He stands and lifts his coat off the chair back, talking as he slips it on. “I used to stay as far away from the cove as possible, but lately, I don’t know. It’s like I can sense her here. This property of yours, sitting on the edge of town, well today I felt more peace than I have in a long time.”

“I’m so glad for that,” she tells him with a glance at the table. “You didn’t finish your coffee?”

He checks his watch again, certain she’s not aware that it’s that time, Abby’s time. “We’re busy at the store. The wreaths and Christmas trees will be coming in soon and I’ve got to set out the stands. Then I’ll be spending the weekend at my parents’ garage getting the carriage and sleigh ready.”

“Sleigh?”

“Depending on the weather. My uncle owns a small stable and a couple horses. So if it snows, we have a little red sleigh and give weekend holiday rides at the store.” He talks while heading out, pulling his jacket up over his shoulders. “You know, a horse-drawn ride around the block. The folks love it.”

Vera follows behind him to the door while he pulls his keys from his pocket. “Listen, Derek. I’m having a small housewarming party Saturday. It’s my birthday, too, and my family will be here, a few friends. Brooke convinced me to have the get-together—gosh, she’ll use any excuse to bake a cake. So anyway, you should come. It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll be busy, Vera, so I’m not sure.”

“Well, even after you clean up the carriage. It doesn’t matter what time. We play a mean charades, a little Twister, have a glass of wine, a few laughs.”

He reaches for the paned door and starts to open it. Vera still follows behind him; he can tell without turning, simply by the closeness of her voice. “I just thought, well, who doesn’t like cake and coffee?”

Derek stops halfway out the door, checks his watch, then looks back at her. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Six

THE SKY SEEMS SOMEHOW BIGGER from up here, doesn’t it?” Vera asks her father. Her mom and sister are down in the kitchen setting out the party plates, but Vera wanted to suggest something to her dad here on the widow’s walk.

“It’s a whole different perspective, opens up the view,” her father answers as he circles the roof-walk, his hand on the white wooden railing. “I imagine the sea captain got a good handle on sailing conditions, seeing the river out there, watching the skies for change.”

“Listen, Dad.” She pulls her plaid scarf up around her head in the cold breeze and clutches it beneath her chin. “What do you think about doing a forecast from here? A segment when you’re predicting snow? It’s such a unique perspective, it would make for a great satellite forecast spot.”

“Now that’s not a bad idea, Vee.”

They both look out at the silver water, which reflects the brilliant blue sky and churning puffy white clouds right back at them. “All that water,” she adds quietly, “and it’s so still, it’s like a mirror. Those clouds are really vivid.”

“What I’m thinking is that the cove water is a good source of vapor for snow clouds. I love the idea of filming a segment up here. It could be very dramatic.”

Vera paces, holding her scarf tied close, her shoulders hunched against the cold. “Okay, we’ll plan on it then. But let’s get inside before I freeze!”

“Hey,” her father says, stopping her as he runs his hand along the railing. “Check this out. You’ve got twinkly lights.”

Vera sees that the white railing and vertical spindles—okay, they need a coat of paint, too—are entwined with clear lights, the kind you’d put on a Christmas tree. “They must be left behind from the old days, Dad. Maybe when the Christmas Barn was in business?”

“I’ll bet that’s it. Is there a switch?”

“Inside, at the bottom of the stairs,” Vera says. “Do you think they still work?”

Her father descends into the house and moments later, her entire widow’s walk is illuminated with sparkling light. “Ooh! So pretty.” She steps back laughing, looking at all the tiny twinkling lights. “Leave them on, Dad. It’ll look festive all lit up for the party tonight.”

*  *  *

“Right foot, yellow!”

“What?” Brooke asks. “Right foot? I can’t untangle it, wait.”

“Right hand, blue!” Vera shouts, watching Brooke nearly fall over onto Brett, her long brown hair sweeping across the dotted mat. The guys had moved the sofa out of the way earlier so they’d have room to play. “Hey you two, keep it clean now. I mean, really, it’s Twister.”

Brett shifts his right hand beneath Brooke’s leg to the nearest blue.

“Left hand, yellow!”

“Yellow?” Sara Beth asks. Her husband Tom puts his hand on the same yellow spot his foot is on. “Hey, is that legal?”

Brooke glances over, then loses her balance and falls flat on her back, throwing out her arms in exasperation.

“You’re out,” Brett tells her as she skulks off.

“I’m so done with this silly game,” she answers from the striped couch where she pulls ankle boots on over her stockinged feet. “Twisting me up like that,” she says.

“What’s wrong with twisting up a little?” Brett asks her, and Vera just catches the wink he throws her way.

Vera gives the spinner another whirl and Brooke takes it from her. “Mom wants you in the kitchen. I think she needs help wrapping the leftover pizza.”

“I’m on it.”

Her sister glares over at Brett then. “Huh. Let’s see you try this one. Right hand, red.”

In the kitchen, her mother is writing down a phone number. “What’s up, Mom? Need help cleaning?”

“No thanks, it’s all finished. I’m ready to put out the cake and coffee.” Vera’s collection of vintage coffee cups and saucers are set on a tray, looking like fine, antique artwork. Most are hand-painted florals, some edged in gold, some with ornate looping handles, a couple black-and-white striped. “But here, take this number first.” Her mother rips a page from the pad on the kitchen countertop. “It’s the Marches’ phone number. They’re really interested in renting out your barn. As soon as possible.”