Home Town, page 4
part #1 of The Long Road Home Series
He took the pot from her, dumped it into the sink and then went back to bracing his mother where she stood. Where she shouldn’t be standing.
“Will you please get down now?” he begged.
He’d lost his father to a heart attack when he’d been on base, waiting for word of his first deployment. When he’d still been feeling like he’d barely gotten his feet wet on his first assignment after finishing up boot camp.
He still had trouble accepting there’d been nothing he could have done about that. But he’d be damned if his mother got hurt while he stood right there and watched.
“Goodness. Since when are you such a worry wart?” she tsked as she finally let him help her step down onto the chair she’d used to climb onto the counter.
At six foot and one inch tall, Corey had inherited his father’s height, but his mother didn’t let her size stop her.
That fact wasn’t doing Corey’s heart any good as it continued to pound fast until her feet were firmly planted on the tile floor. He couldn’t fight the suspicion that she did lots of things he wouldn’t approve of while he was away from home.
“You obviously need someone to worry about you since you don’t show a care for your own safety,” he said in defense of himself.
“Pfft. Don’t be silly. I was perfectly safe.”
That was up for debate but he didn’t have time as his mother looked him up and down. “You need to take a shower and put on a shirt.”
He agreed with her, and that had been the plan until he’d stumbled upon her tight rope walk across the countertop.
“I’m planning on it, as soon as I grab something to eat,” he said as he opened the refrigerator door.
“Nope.” Standing at the sink, the coffee pot in her hand, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Shower first. I have cinnamon rolls in the oven. You can eat one after you’re dressed. But now you have to scoot.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“The committee will be here in half an hour. I have to get the coffee made and cups, plates and spoons put out—”
His plans for a big breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast dashed, he drew in a breath and closed the fridge door. “What committee?”
Historical society. Rotary. Church. His mother was involved in so many things, this committee could be just about anything.
“The two-hundred and fiftieth anniversary celebration planning committee,” she said over the sound of the running water.
“Ah. Of course. Okay, I’m taking a shower.” He shook his head as he walked out of the room, not knowing what exactly they were celebrating from two-hundred and fifty years ago but not curious enough to ask.
There’d be hot fresh cinnamon rolls waiting for him. That was enough of an incentive for him to speed through a shower and get dressed in record time.
Grabbing a pair of gray sweatpants and a T-shirt, he pulled both on.
He wasn’t exactly fit for public, but he wasn’t going to worry about what he wore on his first full day home to lay around and do a whole lotta nothing—as prescribed. He had no intention of sticking around to see the members of the committee once he’d gotten his coffee and pastry anyway.
No one would see him and that was for the best. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to be social. And he definitely wasn’t in the mood for conversation or questions about his injuries.
In fact, he needed to remind his mother about that. She knew where he’d been serving. In hindsight he probably shouldn’t have sent her that USS Eisenhower coffee mug. But she needed to not mention that to anyone if he was going to avoid the inevitable grilling about the attack that had made the national news.
Trotting down the hallway toward the kitchen, he’d just turned the corner when he slapped smack into a sweet smelling and even sweeter feeling feminine body.
It was reflex that had him gripping the woman by the shoulders to keep her upright.
It was self-preservation that had him dropping that grip when she glared at him and basically growled, “You can take your hands off me now.”
He did as he’d been told as realization hit.
She was older. Her hair different, shorter, sassier, rather than long and permanently in a ponytail like in high school. But there was no doubt. Particularly because of the resemblance to her brother Quinn, whom he’d just seen.
“Josie?”
“Corey,” she said in a voice low with barely contained anger.
Jeezus, this girl was acting as if she hated him. Why? He had no clue.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, since that seemed like a better place to start for their first conversation in a decade.
“I’m on your mom’s committee,” she bit out between clenched teeth.
“The centennial anniversary committee or whatever?” he asked in shock.
Josie was part of what he’d assumed would be an all blue-haired old lady committee? That was weird, right? Even his addled brain realized that.
“Yes. Why?” She glared.
One glance at her clenched fists at her sides had him wondering if she was mad enough she’d actually hit him and what that blow might do to his already damaged brain.
He shook his head. “No reason. Mom just didn’t mention you were, uh, on it.”
“If I’d known you’d be here I would have offered to host at my parents’ house,” she grumbled, seemingly more to herself than to him.
Again, why? What had he done to her to warrant this?
“Josie, did you find the printer in the den?” his mother called before appearing behind Josie.
“Not yet. I got waylaid,” she answered while still pinning him with a glare.
His mother came around the corner. She stepped up to Corey and grabbed his arm as she faced Josie.
“Isn’t it great?” his mother asked. “My baby boy is home. For a whole month!”
“It is. Just great,” Josie repeated in a jovial tone accompanied by a forced smile. His mother would never guess Josie’s true feelings about his presence but it was obvious to him.
“And why are you home for a whole month?” Josie asked, overly brightly.
“It’s actually closer to three weeks,” he said to divert the conversation from her question. He was due back on base August first.
At the same time, his mother began to answer it with, “He was—”
“Injured,” Corey jumped in to finish his mother’s explanation. “Got hit by a blast. But I’ll be fine.”
He stared wide-eyed down at his mother, hoping she got the hint. She frowned, but nodded and said slowly, “Yes. That.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Josie said with an edge in her voice that had him wondering which part she was commenting upon. What was a shame in her opinion? That he’d been injured? Or that he’d recover?
Maybe being home wasn’t going to be as restful as he’d anticipated.
Chapter Eight
Corey Jacobs.
Just thinking his name had Josie’s jaw clenching. Her heart pounding. Her stomach churning.
So running into him—literally, physically, unexpectedly—was almost more than she could take.
It was her own fault. She’d seen him in the yard of his mother’s house earlier. Of course he’d be in the house when she got there. Where else would he be?
She supposed she’d assumed—hoped—he’d avoid the committee meeting his mother had volunteered to host just like she and Quinn always had when their mother hosted at their place.
At least that’s what she used to do. Now it seemed avoidance was impossible since the committees realized she had skills they needed.
The old ladies of the tri-town area had finally entered the age of the internet and embraced social media. Don’t ask them to use a QR code—Mrs. Jacobs had looked at her with horror when she’d suggested that—but at least as far as having an online presence they were on board. And they knew she was the one who could do that for them.
Lucky her.
Not that she minded. She lived to analyze target audiences and engagement rates. Yes, she was still a nerd…
“I think we need to do a direct mail campaign to all the residents, like we did for the two-hundredth anniversary,” Sadie Simmons suggested to the small group of ladies assembled in the Jacobs’ living room.
The frightening part was not that Sadie, at eighty-four, had been around for both the current two-hundred and fiftieth anniversary celebration but also for the two-hundredth, but rather that she was trying to use the same publicity methods.
Josie glanced around, waiting for someone—anyone—to raise an objection. An alternate suggestion. Anything at all.
No one did. It was up to her.
Drawing in a breath, she said, “Or we could spread the word electronically.” After being met with blank stares she added, “Like email instead of paper mail.”
“How would we do that?” Marie Jacobs, a saint of a woman even if she had birthed that devil’s spawn, Corey, asked.
“You have an email list, right?” Josie asked.
The exchange of glances among the ladies answered that question.
So, no email list.
“We can put a form on the website easily enough to capture email addresses.” Having been met with silence once again, Josie asked, “There is a website. Right?”
Sadie shook her head.
“Facebook page? Or a group?”
Marie raised her hand. “We opened a Facebook for the Sidney Historical Society once, but the woman who had the log in retired—and then died. So…”
Jeez. Josie nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. We’ll just start from square one. No problem at all.”
She’d rather start from scratch anyway. Set things up properly, right from the start rather than fixing whatever mess they might have come up with on their own.
“I can set up a simple website, with an email sign-up. And a public Facebook Page and a Facebook Event for the celebration. We really only need a single webpage for the brief history of Sidney. Then all the details about the events happening for the celebration. Some pictures. Historical and modern…”
The design began to come to life in Josie’s mind as she spoke.
“You can do all that?” Peggy, the church secretary who was younger than Sadie but still up there in years, asked.
Josie tipped her head. “Yes. Easy.”
Good thing she’d just finished a major project and the next one wasn’t due for a bit. This was turning out to be a bigger job than she’d anticipated.
Pen poised over her notebook, she asked, “What kind of things do you have planned for the celebration?”
“Well, it will all center around the founder’s compass,” Sadie said.
“The uh, compass?” Josie asked.
“Oh, she might not know,” Marie said before turning to face Josie. “You were living away when the bequest was made.”
“That’s right,” Sadie nodded. “It was right before the pandemic.”
Like watching a tennis match, Josie watched the conversation volley back and forth between the women as she waited for some actual information to be delivered.
“So that television show with the antiques came to Binghamton. And the Foresters had been cleaning out the house after Martha’s husband’s passing—”
“Rest his soul,” one woman murmured.
“Amen,” another responded.
Marie nodded. “Yes, lovely family. Such a loss. But when Martha’s son and daughter-in-law were cleaning out the house for her—”
“Martha is a bit of a packrat,” Sadie interjected.
“—they found a bunch of old stuff in the attic and brought it to the experts from the show to be evaluated.”
“I went too. Waited in a line for three hours for them to tell me my painting was worth less than I’d paid for it at the garage sale.” Sadie scowled.
“So,” Marie said a bit louder. “It turns out they had a compass that belonged to Reverend William Johnston, the founder of our very own town of Sidney, New York. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Wow. How did they know it was his?” Josie asked.
“It was engraved with his name. And it fit the time period of the early 1770s,” Marie supplied.
“That’s when the reverend first explored the Susquehanna River Valley in a canoe with an Indian guide,” Sadie supplied.
“Native American,” Marie whispered the correction to the older woman.
Sadie either didn’t hear or ignored her as she continued, “He then purchased the land and settled here with his family and others. They had to flee for a few years, of course, during the Revolutionary War and all that unrest but they came back in 1784.”
“The expert said a similar compass was recently sold for six thousand dollars at auction but of course that one didn’t belong to the founder of our town. Given what it means to us, the value of this object can’t be overestimated. And can you believe it, the Foresters donated it to the historical society,” Marie said with awe.
“The library in Mudville is keeping it for us. They have a secure, humidity-controlled private area for their rare book and papers collection. But we plan to display it publicly for the celebration,” Sadie added.
Some actual excitement. Josie was grateful to discover there was good fodder to base her publicity on. Things were starting to look up. She scratched down a quick note on the pad of paper.
Priceless town founder’s compass!!
“My daughter works for the local paper. She can write an article about the compass and the plans for the celebration, if you wanted,” Peggy offered.
“Yes! Please. That would be amazing,” Josie jumped to say.
Peggy smiled. “Good. I’m glad I could help.”
“I bet the local radio station would mention it since it’s a community event. I could call them,” Marie suggested.
“And the Binghamton TV station has the community blotter segment. We can submit to that too,” a woman Josie didn’t know suggested.
Thank God. Some solid suggestions that would actually be helpful.
Hope bloomed brighter—in spite of her having to be under the same roof as Corey Jacobs.
“Definitely. Yes, to both.” Josie nodded as the ladies came to life with suggestions and offers of help.
Sadie clapped her hands together once. “Well, that all sounds wonderful. I think we’re off to a good start.”
“We really are. Who wants more coffee? There’s still plenty. Or I can make more tea,” Marie said as she stood.
Apparently the business portion of the meeting had come to a close but Josie couldn’t complain.
They really were off to a good start. This event might not be a flop after all.
Just one more thing needed to be accomplished before she lost the attention of the women in the room. She realized she didn’t have a specific date pinned down.
“When were you thinking of having the event?” she asked.
“Saturday the twenty-seventh,” Marie announced.
Josie’s eyes widened. “Of this month?”
“Yes. The reverend actually first discovered Sidney in July,” Peggy informed her.
“But we didn’t want to have it too close to the fourth—people travel for that,” Sadie continued.
“And your parents said they can be back from their road trip in time,” Marie concluded.
A noise coming from the direction of the kitchen reenforced for her that there were more than the committee ladies present. Corey was definitely still there, in the house, in this town, and for the duration of his stay and hers and the length of this project, back in her life, even if peripherally.
Three weeks to plan the event of the century and her biggest distraction would be here for all of it.
At that realization the shadow of a dark cloud began to close in on what had been a spark of hope. She stifled the low groan of hate-fueled discontent that threatened to surface from her throat.
It might have been years ago, but that hurt, that betrayal, felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Or this morning, when she’d come face-to-face with Corey again.
Nope. Pain was good. It would fuel her determination. Give her incentive to be the best she could be. And throw the best damn anniversary event this town had ever seen!
Corey peeked into the open doorway to ask his mother a question about the lawnmower or something—but Josie couldn’t concentrate on his words over the pounding of her pulse just his proximity caused.
Besides, she had to concentrate to keep the tea from splashing out of her cup as her hand shook.
He still had power over her after all these years.
This was going to be a long three weeks.
Chapter Nine
Josie walked back to her parents’ house next door after the meeting with a notebook full of To-Do lists, Mrs. Jacob’s printed agenda, and her head filled with ideas on how to make the event great.
She could only hope the anniversary would be distracting enough she’d forget that Corey was back.
In fact, her event planning was so distracting she forgot about the little freeloaders temporarily living in the house with her.
She’d just opened the door and reached inside to flip on the light when she first heard and then saw the blur of fur heading toward where she stood in the open doorway.
Thank goodness she’d packed all she’d need for the meeting in her favorite canvas tote bag so her hands were free.
She had only a split second but it was enough.
Somehow she managed to move inside, bend down to scoop up the kitten with one hand and push the door shut with the other.
She set down her bag and double locked the front door, all without losing hold of the squirming little escapee determined to get free.
These cats were fast. Like mini turbo racers. She’d never have caught it if it had gotten outside.
“What is wrong with you, little one?” she asked the baby kitty right to its furry little face. “You’ll get lost or eaten out there. It’s nice inside. You have food and toys and a whole house full of furniture to sleep on.”
