Glory Be!

Emma punctuated her words with an emphatic nod. Here, she was expressing the way she really felt, even though she knew that little Glory was still overshadowed by its well-known neighbors. Edenton, some twenty miles west, had more history to offer tourists—including its own Revolutionary-era “tea party.” And Elizabeth City, fifteen miles north, was the region’s commercial center, a popular stopping point for yachtsmen traversing the Dismal Swamp Canal on the Intracoastal Waterway.

“I agree with you,” Simon said. “Glory is a surprising little town, and I am difficult to surprise. What has impressed me most are the people I’ve met so far. Really top notch. Lots of fascinating characters.”

“Characters?”

“That came out badly. Let me start again.” He poured cream into his mug and stirred. “Travel writing is fun, but I don’t want to mass-produce travel articles for the rest of my life. I hope to write fiction some day. Consequently, I’ve made it a habit to make note of interesting people who have the potential to become great characters in a novel. Glory added several new possibilities to my collection.”

“So that’s how novelists do it,” she said. “You adapt real-life people.”

“Sure. A good example is Glory’s high school football coach. I met him yesterday morning. He’s a hoot.”

“Tom Yeager,” she said with a sigh. “A man who knows how to strike a tough bargain.”

“Exactly! He’s an unusual blend of zeal, skill, confidence and cunning. That’s what makes him a good coach.”

Emma saw no point in arguing with Simon, who clearly thought himself a great judge of character. He wouldn’t want to hear that the Glory Gremlins had a losing record that most townsfolk blamed on Tom Yeager’s lack of coaching skill. “Who else have you met?”

“Sam Lange, the fellow who owns the Glory Book Nook. I don’t think I’ve come across a more knowledgeable book expert anywhere, and I love to visit bookstores. The fascinating thing about Sam is that he combines great expertise with a healthy dose of curmudgeonly behavior.” Simon threw back his head and laughed. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. A sour temper is an integral part of his persona. It’s like the splash of malt vinegar on a plate of fish and chips.”

“Very perceptive.” Emma drank from her mug and imagined the “recipe” that Simon might assign to her. Mix a can of hospitality with a cup of wishful thinking. Season with a dash of rotten luck in choosing a husband, then bake for thirty-seven years. Yields one healthy serving of Emma McCall. Or perhaps he didn’t see her as a fascinating character. “Did anyone else in town catch your literary eye?”

“Rafe Neilson, of course. A cop in a small town, but hardly a small-town cop. I could write a whole novel about the past five years of his life.”

“Really? I don’t know much about him,” she said, then immediately regretted her choice of words. They made her sound disconnected from the rest of Glory.

Simon hadn’t noticed her gaffe. He was far too busy retelling what he had learned about Rafe the day before. Emma settled back in her chair and let him prattle away.

The things I have to put up with to run a bed-and-breakfast.