“I just talked to her. She’s got questions about the Applegate and Carnahan family backgrounds. A meal is the place for that conversation. With pictures.”
Tom grinned. “I never tire of the stories from your father. We’ll be there. What time?”
“Will you be off by seven?”
“Yes.” Another thought occurred. “Maybe you could find a way to bring up her grandparents and work them into the conversation.”
“Why?”
“I think she’s struggling with her family’s place in this town and whether she belongs. I know she does. You know it, too. But we have a different perspective on Walter, and I’m not the one to say anything to her about it. It’ll drive a wedge.”
She studied his expression for a long minute. “Okay. I’ll find a time and place. Not dinner, but sometime.”
“That works.” He sighed. “Trying to keep us solid. I like having her home.”
“I get it. Navigating marriage isn’t for sissies. We close at six and are usually out of here by six thirty. More than enough time to get dinner to the table.”
“We’ll be there.” He leaned to kiss her cheek.
“You’ll find these kids?”
“Ah, so you think it’s kids, too?”
“Most likely. It’s kind of cute the way they’re moving him around.”
Tom shook his head. “Tell Clem and Slade that.”
“I will. Putting it on my agenda for tomorrow. Those two know better than to do all this bickering.”
It wasn’t the reverends weighing in on their behavior, but his grandmother’s ‘talk’ would be better. A long-time friend and fellow business owner held more weight. Oh to be a spy for that lecture.
“Thanks. Later.” Tom walked back to his truck and checked his phone.
Why hadn’t Mia contacted him with the new post?
And where was his wife?
&&&&&&&&&&
Summer carefully parked Tom’s truck and glanced over the main street neighborhood, noting the chaos of Clem’s Restaurant decorations and the clash with the train station front of Slade’s General Store. When she was in high school, Slade’s consisted of the antique/thrift store and sat next to the dilapidated railroad stop. Garrett Slade, being a smart businessman, bought the train station and the land around those two buildings.
Now the entire block was Slade, Slade, and Slade. For Christmas, he turned the stores and surrounding walkways into a mini-Christmas village. From elves to gingerbread men running to keep up with the train, to Christmas trees decorated in various themes, the scenes were fun and quirky. Santa’s empty spot was a glaring eye sore, but the red, green, and white lights numbering in the thousands shouted Christmas in bright color.
The antique store was dedicated to angels. Angel ornaments, angel crystal sculptures, and angel homemade crafts. She was searching for the right theme for her home Christmas tree and couldn’t settle on coloring or doing only balls or adding ornaments. Her grandfather’s collection was eclectic to say the least and, while she chose some of them as a remembrance, most were decrepit and pitiful.
She stood back and studied the store window, questioning if painting it would fit her landscape brand. This idea would make three Echo Falls paintings along with the mural.
“If you keep standing here, you’ll get trampled.” Her mother-in-law’s voice jarred her back to reality.
She turned to Helen Applegate, accepting a hug. “I’m toying with painting this. Look at all the angels. Such different sizes and shapes, some plain, some beautiful, stunning all of them. I’m not sure I could do this justice.” She lifted her phone and snapped several pictures.
“You couldn’t do it justice? You?” Helen laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Doubts of an artist. I never believe I can do a new subject right, because the idea never comes off my hand the way it’s in my brain.” Her mother-in-law held the door to the main store for her to enter first.
“Yet, here you are. Famous.”
“Well-known. Not famous.”
