Jodi Thomas - Mornings On Main

Connor nodded as if following a logic that long ago had gone rogue.

Joe lowered his voice. “I’m calling them Toe Tents. You put them under the covers at the bottom of the bed. Slip your feet in and your toes can wiggle all night without being cramped.”

“Brilliant!” Connor shouted. Joe had finally come up with an invention dumber than Tele-Birdfeeders.

Joe smiled, scratching his beard. “I knew you’d like it. I figured I’d cut you in for a share, son, if you’d let me set up in one of those old barns on the other side of the creek. If I remember right, your family owns them and a few are still solid enough to be of use.”

“No one ever goes over there.” Connor’s family did own the worthless piece of town. From the thirties to the early sixties there had been several small businesses. A barrel shop. A furniture store that made rockers and coffins. A repair shop that could fix anything from toasters to TVs and a small winery that shipped as far as a hundred miles away. One small storage shed had even been used to weave Angora rabbit fur into yarn. But that was long ago, before Connor was born.

His dad had told him the businesses died one by one when the chain stores came in. Folks could buy another radio or toaster cheaper than having one repaired. If Joe wanted to use one of the buildings, he’d be the one man in town who’d know if it was safe. Joe Dunaway knew everything about the building industry. He’d spent his summers in manual labor. Said it kept his mind sharp to work with his hands. He could have been a big-time contractor, but he’d chosen to teach.

On the bright side, Connor had gone from being called boy to son, so he was moving up. Maybe he could listen at least until the coffee arrived.

Joe didn’t seem to notice Connor was only half listening. “People will go over there when the big orders start coming in for my Toe Tents. You might want to tell the city to repair the roads. I’ll put a big sign out so the locals don’t have to pay postage. Once it takes off, I thought I’d reopen one of the factories and hire some of my friends who’ve been sitting around for years.”

Connor patted the old man on the back. “When the orders start, I want in. Tell you what. You pick what place you want, and I’ll lease it to you free for six months.”

“I’m not asking for anything free. I got this niece who’s got a houseful of kids, and she buys everything online. She says she’ll help me get set up with a website next week. I’ll cut you and her in for ten percent right from the start.” Joe thumped his fist on the counter letting Connor know he wouldn’t budge on the deal.

Connor agreed. Ten percent of nothing was still nothing.

Jillian brought out two cups of coffee and seemed interested in Joe’s idea. She’d probably heard every word from the kitchen. She also called the old guy by name, so this must not be Joe’s first time to stop by.

When she started asking if the Toe Tents came in different colors, Connor slipped out the door and carried his coffee and her short articles across the street. If he was lucky, he’d have a few hours to work on a short story explaining history through a time-traveling warrior’s eyes. Kids would probably like that.

Since Sunnie was a baby, he’d been compiling a collection of stories about famous battles that changed history. His main characters were the Roman warrior and his dog. They saw the fighting and how each battle changed the world. They were searching for the secret to end all wars.

Of course, it occurred to Connor that if they found it in the series, it would end his series. Then he’d have to come up with another idea.

His stories were about as likely to get published as Joe’s Toe Tents were to be stocked on the shelf at Walmart, but his writing gave him direction. A mission. A small doorway he could step through and out of his life, if only for a few hours a day.

After lunch he always dropped Gram back at the shop, then drove to his house already thinking about the walk with Jillian that evening. On the days Gram didn’t leave for lunch, he’d walk to work or drive the pickup. She’d finally reached the age that she had trouble climbing into the old Ford. If Connor had his choice, he’d walk everywhere, but the pickup was for hauling and the Audi was for Gram, so he owned two vehicles he didn’t really want.

When he wandered back to Main, he took the creek route. He liked stomping through tall grass. Getting his boots muddy. Enjoying the escape. The World War II battle he’d been writing about danced in his mind as he worked off a few calories from the three-enchilada plate he’d finished off at Lennie’s Tacos and More.

He thought of telling Jillian about how much he loved the wild nature park that ran though town, but he figured she’d just lump him in with Joe—another crazy person in the stop-off town for her. So he went back to his office and tried to concentrate on work.

After four hours of struggling with paperwork on several small farms the family business leased out, he closed the office. If he increased the rent, the farmers would suffer. If he didn’t, taxes would eat him alive. Somehow in the past fifteen years since he took over the Larady family books, he’d managed to keep the balance relatively even, but that wouldn’t be possible in the future.

At five, he ignored the chill in the air and darted across the street with a biography of Patton under his arm and an empty coffee cup in hand.

Jillian laughed when he walked in. “It’s too late for a refill; I’ve washed the pot.”

“Too bad. I could use another cup.” He walked past her, set the cup in the kitchen sink and returned. “Is Gram about ready? The Autumn Acres bus will be here soon.”

“Of course I’m ready, Danny, it’s closing time.” Gram stepped from the office.

He met Jillian’s glance and shook his head slightly, silently telling her not to mention that Gram had called him by his father’s name. “She does that sometimes,” he whispered when Gram was busy turning the sign over for the night. “It doesn’t matter.”

Connor didn’t miss the understanding in those blue-gray eyes. There was a wisdom there, as well. A knowledge of living many lives, maybe, or simply the loneliness of living one.

Jillian helped Gram with her coat. “Paulina came in for a few more purple fat quarters for that new quilt. She told us that tonight, after dinner, the high school choir is putting on a ’50s songs concert at the Acres. She wanted to make sure Gram would be there.”

Gram nodded. “And we’ve got good seats. I told Joe that if he wanted a seat in the front row with us, he’d better manage to show up on time.”

“Whose date is he for the night, yours or Paulina’s?”

She huffed. “Mine, I guess. Paulina has been swearing since she was twelve that she’d never date. How she ever managed to marry three times is beyond me. Come to think of it, I’d best sit between them just in case lightning strikes again. Joe’s old heart probably couldn’t take it.”

Connor smiled as he walked Gram to the bus. He loved the way her mind always wandered into a story. Bending, he kissed her check. “I love you, Gram.”

“I love you, too, Connor.”

She’d remembered his name. It was a good day.

When he turned back to the store, he noticed Jillian was locking the door.

“Ready?” she asked as she turned to face him.

“Ready,” he answered, thinking he’d been waiting all day for these few minutes they shared. He offered his arm as if they were in an old black-and-white movie.

Hesitantly, Jillian placed her hand around his elbow and began to tell him all the details of Joe’s dream of being a Toe Tent king. The old guy swore his ideas came to him while he was daydreaming about camping.