A Good Measure, page 4
“I know, but of all the colors, orange and blue look the best together.”
“That explains why you didn’t pick the purple and yellow pansies.”
“Yup.” She looked at the old mailbox her dad had put on the new post. “I think you should get a new mailbox, Gran.”
Libby eyed the dented green box. “You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll ask your dad . . .”
As she said this, a pickup truck came around the corner, and Libby turned, recognized her childhood friend and neighbor, Payton Childs, and waved.
“Good afternoon, you two!” Payton called cheerfully. “Your pansies look so pretty. Just the sight of them lifts my spirits.”
“Thank you,” Libby replied, wiping her brow with her arm. “It’s definitely nice to see the sun again.”
“It is indeed. And how are you, Miss Ellie?” Payton asked. “You look as if you’ve grown a foot since the last time I saw you.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Ellie said, grinning, “and I probably look that way because my pants are too short.” She looked down at her ankles—which drew her grandmother’s attention, too.
“My heavens, El, those pants are too short!”
“I know. Dad always asks me if I’m expecting a flood.”
“Remind me when we get back to the house and we’ll see if we can find some longer pants—after six boys, I have closets full of ’em . . . in all lengths.”
Ellie looked alarmed. “That’s okay, Gran. I don’t want to wear boys’ pants—I’d rather wear high waters!”
Libby frowned. “Well, that’s silly—they’re perfectly good pants. Uncle Gage says farm kids don’t care what they wear.”
“Well, he’d be wrong about me,” Ellie declared. She turned back to Payton and quickly changed the subject. “Where’s Cash today, Mrs. Childs?”
“Oh, he’s still at the shop. He stays late on Fridays to clean the floors. Then we get pizza for supper.”
Ellie nodded. “That sounds fun.”
“And . . . how are you doin’?” Payton asked, locking eyes with Libby.
“I’m fine,” Libby assured her. “I’ve got El to keep me company . . . when she’s not too busy.”
“Well, you know, we ladies are still gettin’ together every Thursday night and you’re more than welcome to join us. It’d be good to get out of that big house and away from all those memories.”
“I know . . . and one of these days, I might just take you up on it.”
Payton smiled. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” she said, and then she eyed Ellie. “Remember, Miss Ellie, you heard it, too—you’re my witness!”
The little girl grinned. “I’ll remember.”
Payton swept her hand through her short, salt-and-pepper hair and pulled on her baseball cap. “Well, I’m off to pick up Ames—we have our first softball practice tonight.”
Libby frowned. “I hope the fields aren’t too wet.”
“You and me both!” Payton said, waving. “You take care!”
After she’d gone, Ellie eyed her grandmother. “How come you don’t go on Thursday nights, Gran?”
Libby leaned down to pick up the empty flower trays. “Oh, I guess I’m just happier being home, cozied up with a good book and a cup of tea.”
“You can do that any night. I think you should go. Mrs. Childs and Mrs. Finley are always so nice—they make me laugh. You need to laugh more. You know what the Bible says—a cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones . . . and a day without laughter is a wasted day!”
Libby eyed her granddaughter. “The Bible doesn’t say that!”
“It says the first part.”
Libby smiled. “How’d you get to be so wise?”
“Being ’round you . . . and reading a lot,” Ellie replied. “Did you hear about the big shark they found off the coast of Nova Scotia last year?”
“I don’t know if I did . . .”
“You’d remember because it was over seventeen feet long and it weighed more than thirty-five hundred pounds!”
“Wow!” Libby exclaimed. “That is big!”
“They estimated she’s over fifty years old! And . . . guess what they named her.”
“I don’t know,” Libby answered, wishing she had half the enthusiasm for learning as her ten-year-old granddaughter did.
“Nukumi—it’s named after a legendary wise old grandmother figure of the Native American Mi’kmaq people,” Ellie replied, putting her arm around her grandmother’s slender waist. “Just like you.”
“Ha! Old maybe, but I don’t know about legendary . . . and you, my dear, are much wiser than I am,” Libby said, pulling her close as they walked along the road.
“It must run in your side of the family,” Ellie said. “The Tennyson side is stubborn, and the Jansen side is wise.”
“Well, I think you got an extra dose from the Jansen side.”
“We can only hope,” Ellie said, using a phrase she’d often heard her grandmother say.
“True!” Libby replied. “So, what kind of tea are we having today?”
“Hmm . . .” Ellie put her finger to her chin. “How ’bout peppermint?”
“Peppermint it is.”
6
AMES LIFTED THE SHARK-FIN-SHAPED LID OFF THE TREAT CANISTER—AN ACTION that always triggered the menacing theme from Jaws . . . and always made Ned’s ears perk up. “Okay, mister,” she said, eyeing him. “On your bed.” The big black Lab hurried over to his fleece-covered bed and Ames knelt in front of him, gazing into his sweet brown eyes. “You can come next time, when it isn’t so wet out. You don’t need to lie on the cold grass. You’ll be much cozier right here on your bed . . . or on mine,” she added, knowing that, as soon as she left, he’d trot down the hall, hop on her bed, and sprawl across it like a king. She gave him the treat and kissed his furrowed brow. “I’ll be back . . . and maybe I’ll even bring you some pizza crust.” Hearing two of his favorite words, Ned thumped his tail, and Ames chuckled. “See you in a bit,” she said, grabbing her softball glove and hurrying out through the open garage.
“I can’t believe we have practice already,” she said, climbing into Payton’s truck.
“It’s a sure sign of spring!” her friend said cheerily, but as she put the truck in gear, she looked over and saw Ned gazing out the window. “I thought we were bringing him.”
“Nah, it’s too wet. He’s better off at home.”
“Sorry, Ned,” Payton called. She loved the old Lab almost as much as his “mom” did. Maybe more. “He could stay in the dugout, you know . . .”
Ames shook her head. “He’s fine. The sooner we go, the sooner he’ll be asleep, dreaming happy dog dreams.”
“Mm-hmm,” Payton replied, sounding unconvinced.
“Did you finish the book club book yet?” Ames asked, tying her cleats as they drove.
Besides being founding members of the Guild and playing softball together, Payton and Ames were in the same book club, but, unlike the weekly Thursday meeting of the Guild and the twice-weekly practice or game of the softball team, the book club only met once a month, and they didn’t meet in the summer. This month they’d been plodding through the last book before their summer break—Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse—and Ames, despite all the rave reviews she’d found on Amazon, thought it was “a snoozer.”
“I have,” Payton said, “but I’ll definitely be bringing a large sippy cup full of wine to the meeting. Let me know if you want one.”
“I definitely do,” Ames said, chuckling. “I haven’t finished it . . . and I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to. I can’t get through a single page without falling asleep . . . and that’s without wine. I don’t know why Ellen picks such tired old books. I think we should read a page-turner once in a while.”
“Why don’t you suggest one?” Payton asked, looking over.
“Maybe I will,” Ames said, gazing out the window. “I’ll have to think of one before we start up again in September.”
“It would probably help if you didn’t read other people’s reviews on Amazon and let them cloud your opinion.”
Ames chuckled, knowing it was true. “I have to do my research—I’m always skeptical of the books she picks and I want to know what I’m getting into.”
“Well, how about reading the positive reviews, too?”
“I do,” Ames said, knowing full well she was more likely to click on the one-star reviews first.
“Are you still up for pizza?”
“If you are, but I probably should’ve driven so you wouldn’t have to take me home.”
“I don’t mind—you’re just down the road.”
“Cash might mind.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll have his nose in his phone and he won’t even notice.”
“Okay,” Ames said, and then, even though she’d been planning to wait for Payton to ask her, she blurted, “I tried the smoothie maker!”
“No way!” Payton exclaimed, feigning shock.
“Way,” she replied, laughing.
“And?”
“And it was great.”
“What did you make?”
“A recipe called Rise and Shine.”
“Was it good?”
“It was. It had spinach, apple, and lots of frozen fruit, and I felt healthy all day.”
“Good,” Payton said, nodding. “I’m glad you finally tried it.”
“Me, too.”
They passed the abandoned textile mills and pulled up behind the ramshackle wooden bleachers that had been leaving splinters in the hind ends of townsfolk for generations. “I thought they were gonna replace the bleachers this year,” Payton grumbled.
“It got moved to fall,” Ames said—she always knew what was happening in town—“but I wouldn’t hold your breath.” As they climbed out, the wind whipped around the truck like a minitornado and pulled their caps off their heads. “Sheesh!” Ames said, grabbing hers before it could scuttle across the parking lot. She tightened the plastic closure, pulled it back on, and stopped at the fence to watch their teammates warm up. “Ready?” Payton asked, slapping a softball into her glove.
“I guess so,” Ames said with a chuckle.
Payton trotted out past the pitcher’s mound—one of the many things she loved about her old friend was her unflappable spirit. It was true, she had worried about her after Frank died. For a while it had seemed as if Ames might never smile again, but then Quinn—good ole Quinn, as Payton often called her—had reminded her mom that life with Frank had been anything but easy and said that Ames could now enjoy life on her own terms. Her daughter’s words had hit home, too, because that same afternoon Ames had shown up at Payton’s front door with a bottle of chardonnay, and as they’d watched the stars come out, she’d told her everything Quinn had said.
Ames threw the ball and then swung her arm around, stretching it. “A little stiff.”
“It’s been a long winter,” Payton replied, tossing the ball back.
They threw it back and forth, each lost in the memory of their younger days—when the wind didn’t feel so cold and their bodies didn’t ache so much. Finally, feeling warmed up, Ames called, “Want to pitch a few?”
Payton nodded, took her place at the mound, scraped her toe through the dirt, wound up, and fired it straight over the plate, leaving Ames’s hand stinging inside her mitt. “You still got it, ole girl!” she teased.
“That’s what you always say,” Payton said, laughing.
Practice lasted for an hour and a half, and afterward the team gathered around the dugout and Jen McAllister dragged a cooler out from behind the bleacher. “Who wants a cold one?”
“Meee!” a chorus replied.
“Wish we could, ladies,” Payton said, checking her phone, “but we have a dinner date with Cash.”
“Booo!” Several women jeered affectionately as Ames and Payton headed to the truck.
They pulled away, waving, and Ames turned up the heat in the truck and held her hands in front of the vent. “My hands are frozen!”
“Mine aren’t,” Payton said, unzipping her sweatshirt.
“Is your thermostat still broken?” Ames teased.
“Goin’ on ten years now,” Payton said, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’ll ever be normal.”
Ames knew how much Payton’s core temperature fluctuated. She was constantly zipping, unzipping, covering, uncovering, pulling on, pulling off—it was an endless cycle. “Did you ever make a doctor’s appointment? I thought you were gonna get your thyroid checked.”
“I am, but I’ve been busy . . . and I keep forgetting, and when I do remember, it’s after hours.”
“You should write yourself a note.”
“I should—what a novel idea!”
Ames laughed. “Want me to order ahead?”
“Sure.”
“What are we getting?” she asked, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
“The usual—medium pepperoni for Cash and a large for us—whatever you want.”
“Half mushroom, half bacon . . . or Hawaiian?”
“Oooh, Hawaiian—we haven’t had that in a while.”
Ames ordered the pizzas and when they stopped at the shop to pick up Cash, she started to climb out. “Hafta spend a penny.”
“You can’t wait till we get to the restaurant?”
“Nope,” she said. “You have hot flashes and I have an overactive bladder—we’ve reached that wonderful stage of life when we have old lady problems.”
“That’s because we are old ladies!” Payton said.
Ames laughed and saw Cash coming out. “Hello, there, young man,” she called. “Hold the door for me, would you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Finley,” Cash replied, barely looking up from his phone as he held the door.
“Eye contact, kiddo,” she admonished gently, and Cash looked up and smiled.
“I’ll be right out.” Ames went inside, used the ladies’ room, and as she passed back through the kitchen, she stopped and jotted two words on a sticky note and stuck it to Payton’s favorite mug. Then she closed the shop door and hurried out to the truck.
7
CARRYING TWO HOT LATTES AND TWO OF GOOSE FEATHERS CAFÉ’S SIGNATURE sandwiches, Chase stepped onto sun-dappled Barnard Street, but as he pulled his sunglasses down from their perch on top of his head and tried to read a text from Liam at the same time, he almost tripped on the legs of a man dozing in one of the café’s outdoor chairs. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, sidestepping. “Sorry ’bout that!”
“No worries,” the man replied, pulling his legs in. “We jus’ sittin’ here a spell,” he said, his dark eyes blinking in the sunlight.
Hearing him use the word we, Chase looked down and realized there was a little white dog under his chair. “Hey, pupper,” he said, juggling his food so he could hold out his hand for a sniff. In response, the skinny little pit bull stood up and wiggled her whole hind end. “What a cutie,” Chase said, propping his sunglasses back on his head. “What’s her name?”
“Marmalade,” the man replied, “cuz she’s so sweet.” Upon hearing her name, the little dog wiggled closer, her bony rib cage outlined under her short white fur.
“Nice!” Chase said. He knelt down to give Marmalade a proper hello, and as he stroked her ears, he noticed she was tethered to the man’s chair with an old, frayed rope, and behind her on the ground was a piece of cardboard with the words ARMY VET WILL WORK FOR FOOD! scrawled across it. He frowned, but when he stood, he hid his concern and reached out to shake hands. “Chase Tennyson. How do you do, sir?”
The man stood politely, and Chase—who was over six feet tall himself—realized the man was four inches taller, and his hand was the size of a bear’s paw. “Matthias Abraham,” he replied. “How do you do, my friend?”
“I’m well, thank you,” Chase replied. “I have a brother named Matt, but it’s short for Matthew.”
The man smiled. “My mama named me after the thirteenth apostle.”
“The one who replaced Judas,” Chase said with a knowing smile.
Matthias nodded. “You know your Bible.”
“Skipping Sunday school was not an option in our house.”
“In ours, neither,” Matthias said, chuckling. He started to sit back down, but just as he did, a café employee peered out.
“I’m sorry, sir, but these tables are for customers.”
Matthias nodded, and started to stand, but Chase stopped him. “Would it be all right if I joined you?”
“I thought you were in a hurry.”
“I thought I was, too, but . . .” he said, tapping his phone, “my friend just bailed on me.”
Matthias gestured to a second chair. “You’re welcome to join us.”
The employee rolled her eyes and disappeared, and Chase emptied the contents of his bag on the table. “Have you had lunch? Because now the other sandwich is gonna go to waste.”
Matthias bit his lip—he hadn’t had lunch. “Thanks, son, but I can’t take your food.”
Chase frowned. “At least take this coffee then—it’s just gonna get cold.” As he said this, he pictured Liam working at their new office just a few blocks away, waiting for him to return with lunch and some much-needed caffeine.
“All right,” Matthias said with a slow smile. “It’d be a sin to let a cup of coffee go to waste.”
“It would.” Chase agreed, smiling at the small victory. He took the cap off his cup and nodded to Matthias’s hat. “Which branch of the service were you in?”
“Army,” the man replied, taking a sip of the frothy coffee.
“Vietnam?”
Matthias nodded. “Medic.”
“That must’ve been a tough tour, especially as medic—I can’t even . . .”
“I try not to think about it.”
Chase unwrapped his sandwich. “You sure you don’t want the other one?” he asked again, gesturing. “It’ll get soggy and then I’ll just have to throw it away.”
Matthias felt his stomach rumble. “Well, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. Would it be all right if I give a couple morsels to my pal?”
“Of course,” Chase said, taking a bite.
