Sugarplum Homecoming

Lana’s confidence, buoyed first by Davis’s kindness and then Wendy’s, now wilted like a daisy in the snow. She barely remembered this woman but clearly she’d been judged and found wanting.

The trouble was, she couldn’t argue. She was as guilty as charged.

* * *

Lana left the school feeling lower than a snake’s belly. Her fingers itched for her guitar and a chance to let the music melt away the disquiet in her chest. But she couldn’t today. Today she had her first face-to-face meeting with her new boss, Joshua Kendle.

She drove to the newspaper office, past more of the quaint, picturesque mountain town she’d once wanted to escape. Even now, the need to run pressed in. Sometimes she was ashamed because the desire to get dog drunk and escape her problems almost overwhelmed her. Only the thought of how far she’d come, of how much God had done for her, and of Sydney, kept her straight and sober.

As she parked at an angle in front of the newspaper office, her hands trembled against the steering wheel. She took out her phone and punched in the speed dial number to Amber, her counselor at the mission in Nashville. After a brief conversation and prayer, she stepped out of the car with renewed courage. She’d come too far to turn back now.

Assailed by the scent of bacon, she spotted Marvin’s diner, a familiar old haunt tucked in between the dry cleaners and an antique shop across the street from the Gazette, and smiled. Not everything in Whisper Falls had been bad. She could do this.

Head up, shoulders back, she marched through the half-windowed door into the Gazette. Immediately, the wonderful bacon smell gave way to printer’s ink and old-fashioned type set that harkened to days gone by. The Gazette, it seemed, had yet to enter the full digital age.

“Morning. May I help you?” A short, potbellied man with sleeves rolled back on thick arms and wearing a backward baseball cap rounded a counter. He was probably in his early forties.

“I have an appointment with Joshua Kendle.”

“You must be Lana.” He scraped a hand down the leg of his faded jeans. “I’m Joshua. Welcome. You ready to get to work?”

Her shoulders relaxed at his affable warmth. “Ready. What do I do first?”

“Come meet the rest of the staff and then I’ll show you the ropes.” He took her through the back where several cubicles were set up with computers and introduced her to the small group of employees, including his wife, a heavyset blonde with big hair and a gold print scarf. “Hannah is the brains of the outfit. She handles the classifieds and subscriptions.”

As Lana met the others, she relaxed more. No one here seemed to remember the awful Ross girls, or if they did, they didn’t care.

After the introductions, Joshua led the way to his desk crammed inside a tiny, messy office and got down to business, explaining Lana’s duties and her pay-per-article salary. “Hannah gathers an events list from the schools, churches, civic groups, and posts it on the computer and out front on the bulletin board. You can access it yourself from home if you want. Attend as many of them as you can, write up a report, email it to me. I’ll edit and proof and let you know if I have questions. Pick up your check every other Friday.”

“That sounds too easy.” Even if she hadn’t written a full page of anything other than songs in years.

“You grew up in Whisper Falls, right?”

How did he know that? He wasn’t a native. “Except it was Millerville back then.”

“Your local knowledge should come in handy.” Joshua didn’t appear to be in a rush, but he moved and spoke quickly as if always on a deadline. Which in fact, he probably was. “This job will put you in contact with practically everyone in town at some point. It is a great way for you to get reacquainted.”

She’d considered that, although she hadn’t seen it as an advantage. Joshua might know she was a Whisper Falls native but apparently he knew little else. Thank goodness.

“You got a camera?”

“Only an old used one. The pictures are pretty good.”

“That’ll work. Simon is our staff photographer but he can’t be everywhere. I use photos from anyone who’ll send them in, so if you see something picture-worthy, take a shot, add a caption and email it to me. I’ll go from there. If I use it, you get paid.”

Awesome. “Okay.”

“Good.” He dug around in the mess of papers on his desk and pulled out a sheet. “Here you go. Friday night. Football play-offs. Give the kids a good write-up, mention lots of names so we can keep the mamas and daddies buying newspapers.”

She wanted to ask how she was supposed to know who was who but held back. She needed this job. Any show of uncertainty on her part could kill the deal before she had a chance.

“I need the article by Saturday morning to make the Sunday edition. Can you do it?”

The offer, like the man, came fast and immediate. She hadn’t been as ready as she’d let on. She’d planned to take some time and study back editions of the Gazette, to check out library books on writing.

But Joshua was waiting for her answer now.

She stuck her phone in her back pocket and tossed her hair with a fake smile. “Sure. First thing Saturday morning.”

She’d write that article if she had to sit up all Friday night to do it.

Chapter Five

As Davis stood in the tool aisle at the Whisper Falls Hardware Store, he faced a dilemma. He was there buying a blade for his tile saw, a frequent expense, but he’d noticed Lana Ross leaving the store with two buckets of paint right after he’d arrived. Since the day he’d made a repair list inside her old two-story, he’d been thinking of his promise to help. He’d also been troubled by his sister’s warning against getting too friendly with his new neighbor, especially since Nathan and Paige had some wild idea about matchmaking between him and Lana.

Brown hair. Good grief.

“That you, Turner?”

Davis swiveled to look at the newcomer, Pete Abernathy, a burly frame carpenter. They’d played football together in high school and frequently crossed paths in the construction business. “How you doing, Pete?”

“Good. Did you just see what I saw?”

“What was that?”

“Lana Ross. I heard she was back, but who would guess she’d look that good. Man! Eye candy.” Pete smacked his tongue against his teeth, tsking. “You live close to the old Ross place, don’t you? Did she move back in there?”

Irritation, like a gnat around the nose, buzzed along Davis’s nerves endings. “Yep.”

“I bet things are hopping around your neighborhood now.”

“Not that I’ve noticed. She’s a quiet neighbor.”

“No way. Luscious Lana and her twin quiet? They were party central.”

“That was a long time ago, Pete.” His defense of Lana was starting to sound like an instant replay. And he wasn’t even sure he was right. “So far, no parties. Just a lot of work on that run-down house.”

“I heard she’s single. No boyfriend. No husband. That true?”

“As far as I know.”

“A shame. A woman like that alone. Figure she could use some expert advice from a willing man?” His tone indicated he wasn’t discussing the Ross house.

Davis turned a cool gaze on the man. “Does your wife know you talk that way about other women?”

“Loosen up, dude. I didn’t mean nothing by it. People talk. She’s got a kid. I figured she’s still a party girl.” Flushing red, Pete yanked a saw blade from the rack and stalked away.

Davis watched him storm off, saw him muttering to the checker and suspected either he or Lana was the likely topic of conversation. With a sigh, he reached for an extra blade and headed to the checkout himself.

It didn’t seem right that people would assume the worst about anyone, especially a woman they hadn’t seen since the teen years. Sure, she’d been wild and crazy, but so had a lot of kids back then. Lana and Tess were known as the ringleaders, the party girls, always looking for trouble, but they never had to look far. There were plenty ready to run with them. Davis leaned toward a different crowd and had kept his nose clean for a couple of reasons. He’d been a Christian or had tried to be. He sure hadn’t been perfect, but he’d wanted a scholarship. He hadn’t gotten it and after a semester of barely making ends meet at college, he had ended up joining his dad’s tile business. Much as the rejection had hurt when he was eighteen, he was content with his life today. For the most part.

On the drive to Jenny’s to pick up the kids and then all the way home, he fumed over the conversation with Pete. For all he knew, Pete was right about Lana, and if people were already talking, her reintroduction to Whisper Falls might prove bumpy.

None of which was Sydney’s fault. The little girl had crossed the street yesterday and invited his kids to play. She was a pretty thing, with bright eyes the color of the Hawaiian ocean and a sweet, gentle smile. He’d refused her request, using homework as an excuse.

He stole a glance in the rearview mirror at the kids in the backseat, heads together, focused on a handheld video game. Electronic zings and zaps mingled with their happy giggles. How would he feel if the neighbors snubbed them?

He was letting the opinions of others determine his actions when, in truth, Lana and Sydney had given him no reason to avoid them.

He was as big a jerk as Pete Abernathy.

As he turned down Dogwood Street into his neighborhood, he spotted the woman occupying his thoughts. His chest clenched. He ran a hand down the front of his T-shirt, pushing at the uncomfortable feeling.

In a pair of old jeans with one knee torn out and the hems frayed above white tennis shoes, Lana was standing on a ladder sweeping leaves from the gutters. One end of the gutter hung loose. A mishmash of building supplies was scattered on the porch.

Instead of turning toward his house, he pulled into Lana’s driveway and got out. Both his kids hopped out, chattering like chipmunks.

When the car doors slammed, Lana turned her head. The brown hair that mesmerized his son was pulled back in a tail and held with a skinny red headband.

“Looks like you’ve got gutter problems,” he called. Not exactly scintillating conversation but an easy opening.

“I hope not.” She frowned and glanced back to the roofline. “You think so?”

“Maybe not. If you’ll come down I’ll take a look.”

“Would you?”

“Sure.”

She was already backing down the ladder.

As he took her place, she said, “I’m trying to learn as much as I can about this remodeling business, but it’s a sharp learning curve.”

He squinted down at her. “YouTube?”

Her mouth curved. “How did you guess?”

“I’ve gone there myself a few times. There’s some good advice and some really bad advice. Be careful.” He tugged at the loose strip of gutter.

“What do you think?”

“The hangers need to be replaced but the fascia wood is in good shape.”

“Are they expensive?”

“Under ten bucks apiece. An easy fix.”

“Whew.” Her face was tilted upward, so he was staring down at dark mink eyelashes that reached all the way up to equally dark eyebrows, the smooth, pretty curve of her neck and her full lips. “That’s a relief. So far, it’s the only thing less expensive than I’d hoped.”

“What have you gotten done so far?”

“If you have a minute, I’ll show you.”

Davis twitched a shoulder. “Okay.” He turned to tell the kids, but they’d heard and were already on the porch, ready to barge in. “Hey, you two. Slow down,” he said coming down from the ladder.

“Is Sydney home? Can she play?”

“She’s inside doing homework.”

“Which is where you two munchkins should be,” Davis said, grabbing them both in a headlock from the back.

“Da-ad!”

“Please, Daddy, can we play for a minute while you talk to Lana?” She measured with her thumb and finger. “One teeny-weeny minute?”

“We can’t stay long,” he warned.

Taking that as a yes, they barreled inside and up the staircase, thundering like prairie buffalo.

“Sydney!” he heard Paige yell.

Lana laughed as they, too, went inside. “I’m beat from battling this house all day and they still have energy to run.”

“Remodeling is a big job.” He looked around the living room. “Nice. I didn’t expect you to have the walls covered already.”

She’d not only painted the ugly green walls and ceilings, she’d scrubbed the windows and fireplace and tossed sheets over the old furniture. The room was, at least, now livable.

Next to the fireplace, an acoustic guitar leaned against the wall, classic Lana. He remembered how good her voice had been. Anyway, she’d impressed their small town.

“I couldn’t stand the graffiti,” she was saying. “Some of the writing wasn’t exactly family fare. I didn’t want Sydney to read it.”

“I hear that.” And he liked it, too. If she didn’t approve of rough language, she had changed. “The color is nice. Sort of a pale chocolate milk.”

“I still have to paint the wood trim. What do you think of white enamel all around?”

“White’s always nice. A good accent to the soft brown.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but the trim will have to wait until the true basics are done. Time has taken a toll on a lot of things, and the vandals didn’t improve matters.”

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