Pam Andrews - Hometown Reunion

“Watch your head,” he called back, stooping to avoid hitting his.

Lori crept close to him, relieved that at least she could stand upright.

“They never threw anything away,” Scott said, sounding surprised as his light played over the shelves lining every wall. “Look at those tins. I bet that peanut butter pail is almost as old as the building.”

Her curiosity made her forget how much she hated cellars. Apparently generations of the Conklin family hadn’t believed in throwing anything away. She pointed at a red metal box.

“What on earth is that?”

“Probably a dispenser,” he replied. “I imagine it sat on the lunch counter so a customer could put in a penny and get a box of matches.”

“Look. Glass ketchup bottles. The labels are still on.”

“At least they washed them,” Scott said, without enthusiasm.

He was creeping around in the darkest corners at the far end of the cellar, moving his light over a foundation made of stones cemented together. She’d had enough.

“I’m going upstairs,” she called out.

One thing he could put on his list was a new stairway with a railing that didn’t shake when she touched it. But then, it was unlikely she’d be going down here very often. She would find other places to store supplies, even if they had to hang from the ceiling.

Scott was gone so long, she began to wonder whether she should call down or, worse, go looking for him. When he did emerge, his hands were black with grime.

“Do you mind if I wash up?” he asked.

“No, and by the way, you have a spiderweb in your hair.”

She reached up and attempted to pull it away; she was sorry about her impulsive gesture when he looked at her with surprise. The nasty little strands stuck to her fingers, reminding her of how much she didn’t like spiders. And how much she had liked Scott.

When he brought an extension ladder from his truck and propped it against the building, she elected not to follow him up to the roof. Whatever he found, she would have to take it on trust.

Aunt Bess and her committee must think highly of Scott, she decided, because he was the only one giving them an estimate on the work. Of course, her aunt thought the best of everyone.

The aluminum ladder was probably stronger than it looked, but it wobbled as Scott climbed up. He disappeared from sight for what seemed like a long time, and when he threw his leg over to climb down, she was even more nervous for him. She automatically said a prayer that he would get to the ground safely, then wondered whether he would scoff at her if he knew. The boy she’d been head over heels for seemed less cynical as an adult, but Lori wasn’t sure.

“Bad news and good news,” he said when he got to the ground. “The roof was tarred fairly recently. I think it’s good for now, but the chimney needs some work.”

“Can you do that, too?” she asked, wondering what the extent of his skill was.

“I can repair it, but I recommend a professional cleaning. The furnace was converted from coal. I suspect they may once have burned trash in it, too.”

They’d burned coal? She had never known anyone who had a coal furnace. She was beginning to realize what a tremendous responsibility her aunt and the committee had undertaken in buying such an old building.

She didn’t try to oversee the rest of his inspection. Some things she could see for herself: the poor layout of the kitchen, the shabby condition of the linoleum flooring throughout the building, the urgent need to repaint the old-fashioned tin ceiling and the peeling surfaces of chairs that had probably been painted half a dozen different colors over the years.

“Wow,” she said, more to herself than to him.

If it was God’s plan to give her a tremendous challenge, He’d brought her to the right place. She would give it her all, but she still fervently hoped that she could accomplish what was needed and get on with her life as soon as possible.

After what seemed like hours of peeking, poking and probing, Scott sat across from her at one of the dusty tables.

“It will take me a while to work out everything that’s needed and give you an estimate,” he said, still writing figures on a pad.

“I understand.”

He was all business, and she missed the easy friendship they’d had many years ago. She wanted to ask him about his life. Was he happy? Where was his wife? He’d yet to mention her, and she didn’t want to pry. She didn’t know where he lived or why he seemed to take sole responsibility for Joey. But nothing he said or did invited the kind of confidences they’d once shared.

When he’d said everything there was to say about the renovation, he slipped his notepad into the back pocket of his jeans and retrieved his hat.

He turned at the doorway with a twinkle in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

“When you cook, do you wear one of those chef’s hats?” He sketched a tall shape in the air with his hands.

“It depends on where I’m working.”

“Here, for instance.”

“I suppose I could. Why do you ask?” She eyed him quizzically.

“Just wondering how you’d look in a starchy white getup.”

He grinned and was gone.

Lori punched in numbers on her cell phone, looking forward to a long chat with her best friend from high school, Sara Bennings. They’d kept in touch via e-mail, but actually getting together in person was a treat and one of the benefits of spending the summer in Apple Grove. Sara had married her high school boyfriend and settled into life as a farmer’s wife and the mother of Sunny, her four-year-old daughter.

“Hi. It’s me, Lori,” she said when Sara answered.

She was rewarded by a squeal of pleasure, and she could almost see her excitable, red-haired friend go pink-cheeked with enthusiasm.

“What are you going to be doing all summer, until the café is ready to open?” Sara asked after they exchanged recent news.

“A woman I know is writing a cookbook of recipes that will appeal to preschoolers. She’s going to pay me to test some of them while I’m here.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“I expect it will be, and it will give me a little income before I take another restaurant job.”

“Any prospects?” Sara asked. “I hate to think of you leaving again, but I can’t imagine any jobs around here that would interest you.”

“One with good potential in Chicago, but I don’t need to make up my mind right away. The restaurant is still under construction.”

They had so much to catch up on that Lori was surprised to see that they’d been talking for over an hour. She said goodbye, promising that they’d get together soon.

One thing she hadn’t mentioned to her friend was working with Scott on the café. Sara was the only friend who’d known about Lori’s big crush on him in high school. Sara might get the wrong idea if Lori brought it up. Lori didn’t want her friend to think she was still attracted to Scott after all this time. He was, after all, a married man.

“Daddy, wake up!”

Scott reluctantly opened one eye and grimaced at his son.

“How about letting me sleep a few more minutes?” he asked.

“You said we’d do something fun today,” Joey reminded him, planting himself astride Scott’s chest and digging in with his knees.

“What time is it?” He turned his head to look at the big red numbers on his alarm. “Seven o’clock! You don’t get up this early on day-care days.”

He couldn’t help noticing that Joey was already dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt, with the tag sticking out in front.

“I don’t have to go there today. Get up, Daddy!”

“I will if you get off me.”