Falling on Main Street, page 1
FALLING ON MAIN STREET
SEASONS OF LOVE
BOOK 1
TARA GRACE ERICSON
SILVER FOUNTAIN PRESS
To my husband, without whose support this novel
would have
never happened and who co-stars in my favorite love story of all: ours.
Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5-6
1
Taking refuge behind a mannequin, Charlotte Walters stared at her designer shoes and tried to catch her breath. “Can I help you find something?”
The amused tone of a store employee made Charlotte close her eyes tightly. Could this moment get any more humiliating? Charlotte opened her eyes, lifted her chin, and returned to full height from her crouched position behind the awkwardly-posed plastic body. A quick glance around the store revealed her impromptu escape route had landed her in an outdoors specialty store. The mannequin she hid behind? Decked head to toe in camo, neon orange, and denim—a far cry from Charlotte’s silk shirt, pencil skirt, and Jimmy Choos. She turned to the young man and glanced at his nametag.
“Thank you, Brandon. I’m fine.” Brandon raised his eyebrows and gave a polite nod. When the employee turned away, Charlotte’s shoulders sagged. The effort of putting on a brave face, even for a minute, exhausted her. Maybe her therapist was right. Dr. Watts suggested staying in her condo, right around the corner from the Millennium offices, could be contributing to her anxiety attacks. To prove him wrong, today she’d ventured out for something other than the therapy appointments for the first time in a month. An entire month of twice-weekly therapy sessions and she was no closer to her old self than she had been on day one.
Cautiously, she looked out the store window to see if the reason for her hiding was gone. Just a moment ago, Charlotte spotted the former client a block away in the small shopping promenade and panicked, dashing into the nearest store. She stuck out like a ringing cell phone in a library among the hunting gear.
The coast was clear and Charlotte swallowed the nausea that flared at the thought of venturing back outside. Maybe Dr. Watts was on to something. What if she went somewhere no one would know her? She’d thought him a quack when he first suggested it.
“You might consider leaving town for a while.”
When Charlotte questioned how the heck to do that, he had responded, “Maybe just drive until you run out of gas and stay there. I think you’ll know when you get there.” At Charlotte’s wide eyes and gaping mouth, he continued. “You can leave your stuff and come back at any time, but being in this city doesn’t seem to be helping you.”
His eyes had softened and Charlotte saw the compassion in them. “There’s more to life than work, Charlotte.”
With one more defeated glance back at the hunting goods store and the young clerk who still watched her from a display near the wall, Charlotte pushed the door open and prepared for the walk back to her condo. If she worked quickly, she could leave tomorrow.
Charlotte pulled into the station off Highway 40 in Indiana running on fumes, literally and emotionally. She studied the small gas station, with its old fuel pumps and faded Coca-Cola sign. I may have gotten out of Dodge, but I’m not exactly sure the middle of nowhere will work for me.
At least she still had music; the radio station she picked up in Terre Haute remained strong. Charlotte spent the last hour belting out twangy country songs she hardly knew the words to. Might as well get into my new lifestyle, she thought wryly.
Life out here couldn’t be more different from her work as a top-tier recruiting consultant for companies around the world. Until recently, her reputation was flawless.
Charlotte had something few others did: she could read potential employees like an open book. Looking for someone to overhaul a company? Charlotte could tell in one interview if an applicant is genuinely creative, bold, and progressive; or if they have been claiming others’ ideas as their own. The insecurities and skeletons buried beneath power suits or carefully applied eyeshadow always came to light. Candidates she approved for a position always lasted and always performed. It didn’t hurt that her stock portfolio was full of companies on the brink of disaster until the right person came into power.
That had been her world. Yet, here she was, standing beside her black Mazda sports car pumping a few more dollars into the tank on the side of the highway in Indiana. Indiana! She'd never been to Indiana, other than Indianapolis. I must be crazy. That was the rumor, at least. Crazy Charlotte. Washout Walters. Ugh. Even as it made her cringe, she was determined not to care anymore. For the next year, no one could touch her.
Charlotte walked inside the QuikStop to pay for her gas, having realized there was no card reader on the pump. Where am I - the eighties?
"Hi there, darlin'," the clerk said with a warm smile, "anything other than the gas today?"
Taken aback by the friendly greeting, Charlotte stuttered. "Uh... I don't think so. Unless you have a local newspaper?"
The shopkeeper shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Paper in Minden don't come out 'cept on Tuesdays, but I think I've still got a copy of last week’s if you want it."
Charlotte resisted the urge to gasp. A weekly newspaper? She started every day with a copy of the USA Today, Wall Street Journal and the St. Louis Post Dispatch. Or at least, she used to.
Shaking off the unwelcome reminder of the world moving on without her, she nodded. "Sure, thanks, that'd be great."
As the clerk retrieved the newspaper from under the counter and rang her up, Charlotte let her mind wander. What could I possibly find to do here? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
"Anything in particular you looking for in the newspaper?" Curiosity was etched on the clerk’s face as if labeled with a sharpie.
Charlotte jerked a shoulder and glanced at the front page. "Maybe a job, a place to rent?"
"Well, you should have said something!” His sudden volume change startled her. “I know Miss Ruth has been looking for someone to rent her cabin. Want me to ask her for you?"
Charlotte took a step back from the counter and reached for her change. "Umm, no, that's okay. I'm sure I can find something on my own."
He eyed her. "Well, alright then. Let me know if you change your mind. Miss Ruth would sure appreciate it. And you can't beat that cabin! I'd rent it myself if I didn't have my place to consider."
"I will, thanks."
Charlotte turned and walked out, still processing. A cabin? Surely, someone has an apartment around here, right? If she couldn’t find a place to stay, she’d have to keep driving. Something felt good about this place, though. The friendliness of the clerk and even the cool breeze gave her a feeling this was the place she’d get better.
She climbed back into the front of her Mazda and pulled her sunglasses from their perch on her head as a mud-caked pickup truck pulled in the pump next to her. It might have been green at some point. Charlotte stared through her sunglasses and watched a teenager climb out of the cab in jeans and a faded red baseball cap. He had grease and dirt smudged on his face as he eyed her Mazda with obvious appreciation. In response, she revved the engine and pulled out of the lot.
At the next cross street, Charlotte turned off the highway where a small green sign announced the town. Minden: Population 2340. She crept past Bud and Janine's Café and a little store with a battered old sign that simply read “Hardware". A bar and grill announced itself with the universal neon accessories. Guess some things aren’t so different from the city.
There was a pretty little building that had a black sign with gold lettering declaring it Minden Funeral Home. It was next door to Minden State Bank, and the Minden U.S. Post Office. She also spotted a small bakery, the Rolling Pin, and a craft store. The street was lined with carefully tended potted plants, and the street lights had patriotic banners still displayed from the Fourth of July celebration nearly two months earlier.
Then, as she crossed Elm, the landscape switched. Little houses with white picket fences. Trellis gates with ivy climbing the sides. Bright green lawns and friendly looking shutters on the windows. There were hanging pots and porch swings, weeping willows, and clothes drying in the breeze. It was perfect. Exactly what I need. This couldn't be farther away from the city life I'm used to. She rolled down the window and breathed deep. A little R&R in Mayberry and I can go take my life back.
Charlotte turned the car around when she reached the Minden Town Park at the dead end of Main Street and went back to the café she had spotted earlier. She parked in front and walked into the restaurant, newspaper in hand. Soft bells jingled over the door and announced her entrance to the nearly empty dining room.
“Be right with you. Take a seat wherever you like.” The feminine voice called out from the rear of the room, but Charlotte couldn’t see the source. She chose a booth facing the back of the restaurant. The day’s specials decorated a chalkboard behind the counter lined with classic barstools and a laminated menu was tucked between the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Charlotte glanced at it as the waitress sauntered over. She was young, about Charlotte’s own age. A hot pink apron covered her jeans and t-shirt and her name tag read “Chrissy”.
“Can I get you something to drink, hon?”
“I’ll just have a coffee.” Charlotte said. It was two in the afternoon and she wasn’t supposed to drink coffee, according to her therapist. I came out h
A moment later, Chrissy came back with a glass of ice water and mug of steaming coffee. Her perky soprano voice interrupted Charlotte’s musings. “Anything to eat?”
Charlotte tried to remember how long it had been since she had eaten, but nothing came to mind. “I’ll have the club sandwich, no mayo.”
Chrissy nodded. “Coming right up.” When Chrissy made it back to the counter, she called through the window to the kitchen. “Dad, club sandwich, no mayo!”
Charlotte settled in with her coffee and scanned the newspaper, if you could call it that. She saw an article about tables and chairs for rent from town hall and the upcoming Baptist/Catholic annual softball game. There was one section on ‘Finance’, which was an editorial on the property values dropping near the railroad tracks.
Sports took up the center two pages: an article bemoaning the lack of success of Indiana football, one highlighting the same at Purdue, a summary of Major League Baseball scores, and an in-depth update on the NASCAR standings. The last page was what she wanted, but before she could read it, Chrissy came back with her sandwich.
She set mayo and ketchup on the table and a generous stack of napkins. “Anything else I can get you?”
Charlotte gave a polite smile to the young waitress. “Do you have a pen and paper, by chance?”
Chrissy brightened at the interaction. “Sure thing.”
As Charlotte studied her sandwich and thought about the best way to tackle the three-inch-thick monster, she grabbed a french fry. She decided to just go for it and removed the toothpick that was holding it together. She took a bite just as Chrissy returned.
“You new in town or somethin’?” It wasn’t an unfriendly question, just more small-town curiosity from what Charlotte could tell.
She choked on her sandwich and struggled to swallow. Coughing, she looked up. “I suppose I am.”
Chrissy pushed out her chin. “Huh. We don’t get too many new faces in Minden. Everybody trying to get out of here, mostly.” Charlotte detected a hint of sadness in the young woman. Maybe she wanted to get out, too, Charlotte considered.
Charlotte offered nothing to that, and the waitress shrugged. “Let me know if you need something. My name’s Chrissy. It’s a real nice place to live, if you ask me.”
“Thanks. I’m Charlotte.”
Chrissy gave a broad smile. “Well then, welcome to Minden, Charlotte!”
Charlotte watched her walk away and turned back to the paper. The back page had a half-page ad about a sale at the hardware store and the Classifieds.
Farm north of Minden 2.5 miles, looking for seasonal help. Truck for sale. Tractor for sale. Fresh eggs for sale. Charlotte started to lose hope but kept reading. Puppies, free to a good home. Hmm, maybe I should get a puppy. Who am I kidding? I can’t even feed myself. How am I going to manage to feed something else? She got to the final listing: “Two-bedroom cabin for rent. Contact Miss Ruth.”
No phone number, no address. Great. This old lady doesn’t even know how to put an ad in the paper. There is no way this cabin is livable. She contemplated how to proceed with the lack of available information.
A bang sounded from the bar as Chrissy set down a stack of plates. Charlotte spoke across the mostly empty restaurant. “Chrissy, do you know Miss Ruth?”
Chrissy spoke loudly as she made her way to Charlotte’s table. “Well sure! Everybody knows Miss Ruth. You thinking about renting her cabin?”
Charlotte gave a light shrug. “Maybe. But she didn’t list a phone number on her ad, how do I contact her?”
Chrissy waved a hand. “Oh, Miss Ruth doesn’t answer her phone anyway. She says people wouldn’t stop by and see her if they could call her on the phone instead.”
Great, this just gets better and better. “Okay, can I get directions, then?”
“I’m headed over there after I eat, I can take you,” a male voice said from the front of the café.
Charlotte jumped at the big voice. She hadn’t even noticed him. He was a big guy, with a plaid button down on and a baseball hat covering a thick head of dark hair. Charlotte’s city instincts kicked in.
“No thanks, I’d rather drive myself...” than get kidnapped and murdered in the woods by you, she finished in her head.
The bearded man conceded with an eyebrow raise. “Alright. I’ll lead the way, and you can follow.”
Charlotte paused. “Okay, thank you, ...” she looked at him expectantly.
“Todd.” He supplied. “Todd Flynn.”
“Charlotte.” She answered. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, ma’am.” Then he turned to his coffee and away from her.
Good grief. No one had ever called her ma’am. Well, maybe a bell boy or a secretary trying to explain away a mistake. Chrissy wandered from Charlotte’s table over to Todd’s and Charlotte eavesdropped.
“While you are there, Todd, make sure you tell Miss Ruth that she is overdue for a visit. I’ve got a slice of lemon meringue with her name on it,” smiled Chrissy.
Todd’s smile broadened behind his beard. “I’ll tell her, as long as you’ve got one back there with mine on it.”
“Oh shoot, I think I gave yours away,” Chrissy said slyly.
“You wouldn’t have... You know I come in here every day just for that pie.”
They were flirting. Interesting, Charlotte considered as she tuned them out.
2
Luke Brand parked his hunter-green truck back in front of the small office building where he managed his landscaping business. Mulched flower beds and stacked stone features decorated the outside of the small building. A splash of mud fell from the wheel well when he slammed the door. It had already been a long morning; one of his workers got their lawnmower stuck, trying to cut the grass in a low-lying ditch when it was too wet. He had to take his own truck to pull them out, calling him away from another project.
He pulled the baseball cap off and wiped his forehead with a bare arm before replacing it. Then, Luke opened the door to the office and stepped into the air conditioning. The front room acted as a conference room for consultations with clients, although most meetings took place while strolling through a yard or construction site. Past the oval table was the door to his personal office, and Luke moved toward it, his heavy steps loud on the wood floor.
Sometimes, Luke was still amazed he owned his own business. Ten years ago, driving nails into shingles under the beating sun, it would have been beyond even his wildest dreams. Then, he’d been a struggling teenager, kicked out of his own home and with few prospects of a better life.
Praise God, he’d avoided the common pitfalls of those in his situation. Drugs, alcohol; none of it had held appeal for him. Only the drive to survive. Even now, he could look back and see how God was orchestrating everything. What God was accomplishing in taking Rachel, though, he didn’t know. When Luke thought about it too long, the ever-present anger flared. As usual, he stuffed it down and focused at the task at hand. Far easier to focus on work, or Ruth, or his endless project of fixing up the cabin he and Rachel had lived in.
It was equally painful and wonderful to work in the space he once shared with his young bride. Her laughter still echoed in the sparsely furnished rooms if he listened closely. Maybe he should go there this afternoon. I can make a list of things left to finish, and I’ve got those fixtures to install.
He needed to talk with Ruth anyway. She’d placed the ad for a tenant in the paper again, despite his protests. Just yesterday, Pastor Justin had asked him about it while Luke was trimming the bushes around the church.
Luke moved out of the cabin after Rachel died, unable to live inundated with the memories. Even though he no longer lived at the cabin, he couldn’t bear to let someone else move in. To do so felt too much like moving on. How could he move on from Rachel? His guiding light? She’d rescued him all those years before and they’d been so happy. It was perpetual newlywed bliss, his memories insisted. A future just beginning to take shape had been ripped from him in a moment.
