Small-Town Hearts (17 page)

“Y
ou kicked him out?” Karen Russo stared at Meg as if she'd sprouted two heads the following evening. “Why?”

“You know the answer to that as well as I do.” Meg strode across the store, pulled the blinds closed over the new Help Wanted sign she'd hung in the window, and turned off the lights. Exhaustion tugged her from all angles. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, then came downstairs this morning to find Danny's key beneath the door. No note. No goodbye. No nothin'.

Which was what she wanted, right?

“Did you give him a chance to explain?”

“He admitted everything.”

“Admitted?” Karen moved closer and set her hands on Meg's shoulders. “Did you seat a jury of his peers or find him guilty on your own, Meg?”

“Mom, stop.” Meg turned, tired and angry, disgusted with herself for allowing the deceit to grow out of hand and livid with Danny for being so good at what he did. “I asked. He answered. End of story.”

“But is it?” Karen stepped back, waved a hand around the store and blew out a breath. “He was going to help you, remember? I can't take time off work because the other
hygienist is on vacation, Dad's swamped with overtime for the first time in nearly six years and Tops is giving Crystal extra hours. How are you going to do all this on your own with a broken arm?”

“You think I should have strung him along because I needed help?” Meg shot her mother an incredulous look. “I would never do that.”

“I think you should have taken time to calm down and check your facts before you went off on a nice guy who happens to be your competition. A fact you've known for a while.”

“But I didn't know he was muscling people out of their businesses to feather his own nest, which is obviously why the McGees avoided us at the ice cream stand the other night.”

“Establishing a store for his grandmother isn't exactly feathering his nest, Megan.”

Meg wrenched the back door open, longing to slam it, wanting to slam anything right about now. She was tired, hurt and angry. Her faith in mankind had reached an all-time low and that was saying something for her, and all she wanted was…

She bit back a sigh and wanted to cry in her mother's arms, but her mother seemed to think she was totally whacked. Well, that might be the case, but at least she was smart enough to know when to apply the brakes this time. This time
she
called the shots.

“Thanks for coming over, Mom.”

Karen slipped an arm around Meg's shoulder, gave her a half hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You're welcome. And try not to do too much these next few days, okay?”

The suggestion bordered impossible. Hannah had a summer reading camp going at the library, Crystal was working extra at her higher-paying job and Danny was gone, leaving Meg on her own. With a broken arm.

“I'll be fine. I always am.”

Karen's look doubted Meg's assertion, but she kept her silence and left Meg alone to wrestle the hows and whys of the situation until sleep claimed her, and despite how wretchedly worn out she was, it didn't come soon enough.

 

Meg heard the jangle of the door the next morning and hurried from the small kitchen. She'd managed to talk the ice cream delivery guy into loading the counter freezer himself, rotating the older stock to the front. The bakery supply company did the same in the kitchen. But trying to mix, ladle, measure and scrape the big mixing bowl with her left hand was a time-consuming process, and there was no way she could make headway on such a busy week at this pace.

Still, she faced Maude McGinnity and the smaller woman accompanying her with a welcome smile as she approached the counter. Maude swept her casual clothes a look of sympathy. “Hard to get into your old-fashioned dresses with that cast, honey?”

“Impossible.” Meg sent the arm a rueful look. “I didn't want to ruin the sleeves by cutting them, so people get the modern-day Meg for now.”

“Which is a wonderful version, as we all know.” Maude's assurance deepened Meg's smile. “Meg, this is my friend Marilyn.”

“How do you do?” Meg stretched out her left hand and found the other woman's grip surprisingly strong and agile.

“Quite well, thank you. I'm in town for the summer and I saw you had a help-wanted sign posted.” Bright brown eyes sparked with humor and intelligence as the gray-haired woman jutted her chin toward the window placard. “I don't know if you're looking for full-time or part-time, but I've got a lot of experience in the kitchen, and I'm good with folks in all kinds of situations. Since Maude's working all day, it seems silly for me to sit around twiddling my thumbs.”

“You could help my quilters,” Maude interjected.

Marilyn made a little face. “Joining a quilting team mid-project is like etching your name in wet cement. No matter how good the stitching, it won't blend. But maybe this fall?” Expectant, she arched a dark gray brow Maude's way.

“You know I'd love that.” Maude leaned toward Meg, almost conspiratorial. “Marilyn and I were friends in grade school, then she moved away and we didn't see each other for the longest time. But oh, the good times we had.”

“Yes, we did.” The smaller woman swept Meg's shop a satisfied look and sent a birdlike gaze Meg's way. “I can start right now.”

“Really?” Meg faced the unexpected gift standing in front of her. “You don't mind jumping right in?”

Marilyn rubbed gleeful hands together. “No, I do not. And I understand from Maude that you've got cookie and fudge booths due this weekend for the big balloon rally.”

The last thing Meg wanted to think about was the rally, because the minute it came to mind she pictured Danny in his big, bright balloon, the rainbow colors he'd described sharp against a blue summer sky.

But she wouldn't think of Danny. Not now, not ever.

Yeah, right. Good luck with that.

Meg kept her smile tight and her sighs internal. “I do, yes.”

“Well I've got a knack for picking things up quick as I see them, so I think we've got ourselves a deal.”

Excitement brightened the older woman's face, her steel-toned hair layered stylishly short, her dark pants offset by a deep pink golf shirt. All in all Marilyn was spritely and adorable, and if she could commandeer the counter business, Meg's one good hand could get things done in the kitchen. Meg dipped her chin in agreement and smiled. “Welcome to the Colonial Candy Kitchen.”

Marilyn beamed. “It's nice to be here, honey.”

 

A one-woman dynamo.

That's what Marilyn Schneider was, and her proficiency lifted a weight from Meg's shoulders that afternoon. Despite her age, Marilyn worked calmly, diligent and focused, those sharp brown eyes crinkled in delight. Her joy bolstered Meg's, and Meg decided then and there that God not only answered prayers, He'd sent Marilyn on purpose, knowing Meg needed someone bright, talkative and upbeat. Marilyn fit the bill.

“Oh, honey, isn't that nut cluster display just delightful?” Marilyn nodded toward the case. “And to have them all together, including the white chocolate varieties? Marketing genius, especially with the old-fashioned nut cans set off in the corner, their colors brought out by the bunting you used in front of the case. Very well done, Meg. Do they sell well?”

“Very.” Meg nodded, a quiet feeling of satisfaction nudging her angst aside. They'd baked and frozen cookies to get ahead for the weekend, they'd rotated the chocolates to ensure freshness, they'd stocked paper supplies for the ice cream area, dipped cones in chocolate and rainbow sprinkles for later. And Meg was about to show Marilyn how to make fudge, another balloon rally favorite, when Marilyn's pocket began to play the opening bars of the Archie's old bubblegum hit about sugar and honey.

“Oops, I must get this. Excuse me a moment, won't you, dear?” Marilyn withdrew the phone from her side pocket, her deft hands belying her age as she paced several steps away, gladness painting her voice while Meg wondered why someone her age would use a ringtone like that.

“Yes, dear, I'm fine, just fine, having the time of my life, actually. Maude's wonderful, doing quite well in spite of our advancing years, her quilt shop's a dream come true, I could move in there tomorrow and be perfectly happy the rest of my days surrounded by plaid and calico, and it's such a joy to be back in Jamison. I've actually procured myself a job.”
She bestowed a warm, friendly look Meg's way, so sweet and genuine that Meg couldn't help but smile in return, and she'd been fairly certain a few hours ago she might never smile again.

At the moment, she'd meant it. Now?

Now she was beginning to realize her mother may have made a good point, that maybe, just
maybe,
she should have at least talked to Danny. Given him a chance.

But, no. She'd steamrolled him and then tossed him out on his ear.

A tiny part of her wondered where he was staying, what he was doing, but she pushed that aside as Marilyn's voice hitched up. “At the most darling candy shop I've ever seen, with a proprietor so cute and spunky she reminds me of a page in the history books, with or without her usual costuming. Well, dear, I must go. Meg's waiting to show me how to make fudge, and I'm dying to learn her secrets. Bye.”

Meg nodded to the phone as Marilyn slipped it back into her pocket. “Your husband?”

Marilyn shook her head, her gaze frank. “No, Gerald died some time ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

Marilyn shrugged acceptance. “We had a long life together, a good life. Ups and downs, good times and bad. And we worked together,” she added as she bustled into the kitchen, “so there were days when we tripped over each other and days we avoided one another, but we stayed married for over forty years before God called him home. I have no complaints.”

“That's wonderful. And rare.”

“Yes.” Marilyn beamed. “So. Which fudge do we make first?”

Meg smiled back at her. “Your choice.”

“White chocolate cherry-almond parfait.”

“You've got it. Have you made fudge before, Marilyn?”

“A time or two, but not in a while.”

Meg nodded understanding as she set the kettle up on her specially designed two-burner cooktop, the extrawide burners perfect for large pots, the counter set nearly a foot lower than normal to facilitate stirring. “We don't have any automated candy equipment here.”

“Is automation bad?” Marilyn slanted a curious glance Meg's way.

“Not at all.” Meg aligned the measuring tools and stepped back to allow more room for Marilyn. “In bigger candy stores that produce on-site they use automated stirrers, candy thermometers, timers—even self-tempered chocolate. A machine warms and tempers milk chocolate by adding chopped pieces from a hopper as needed and then paddles the chocolate to keep it glossy.”

“Amazing.”

“Isn't it?” Meg smiled as she handed Marilyn an apron. “But I'm small enough to do that on my own, and that helps me teach the old methods both locally and at the Genesee Country Village in Livonia.”

“And while new doesn't equate with bad,” Marilyn offered, her left brow thrust up in agreement, “it's good to look back and see what the past has gained for us. Or lost.”

Her words of wisdom struck a chord in Meg. She paused in her measurements, made a little face and nodded. “The past says a lot about the future, doesn't it?”

“Sometimes.” Marilyn hustled around the kitchen procuring ingredients needed for the fudge. “And sometimes the past is best left alone.”

“You think?”

Marilyn grinned and set the jug of light cream alongside the bin of top quality white chocolate chips. “Oh, I know. Would you like me to measure this? I'm very good at following recipe directions.”

Meg gave up her spot readily. “Go for it, Marilyn, and if
you have any questions, I'll be right here getting the trays ready. We won't do the chocolate varieties until Thursday, but the white chocolate holds with no loss of taste or texture. And fudge freezes well, a candy maker's best friend in the summer.”

“Wonderful.”

Meg smiled as she prepared two medium-size fudge trays with wide waxed paper. The day had gone much better than she'd hoped or expected. Marilyn's appearance was a dream come true, but she wasn't in a state of mind to think about dreams coming true, not with how she'd shoved Danny out the door just two days before.

She eyed her cell phone, just in case she'd missed a call. Nope. Nothing.

Biting back a sigh of indiscriminate proportions, she watched as Marilyn measured, her movements quick and lively, a tiny smile quirking her jaw as her hands seized one ingredient after another. “You're pretty good at this, actually.”

Marilyn paused, offered Meg a grin, then nodded toward the pot. “I loved making fudge when my kids were small. We'd give boxes of fudge for Christmas, and we'd come up with all different kinds. They loved being part of the gift rather than just purchasing one.”

“That's a great idea.”

“We thought so.” Marilyn leaned down, adjusted the gas flame to her satisfaction and stirred the initial mixture with Meg's big, wooden paddle. “Gifts from the heart. People should embrace that idea more than they do.”

Meg couldn't agree more, but her heart wasn't in the best shape right now, for gifting or anything else. As the mixture heated, she moved back to Marilyn's side, not wanting to invade the older woman's space but needing the fudge to come out just right. Timing was a huge factor in that success,
and while Meg's personal timing had been messed up lately, candy timing…well, she understood that procedure better than most.

 

Danny hung up the phone, paced the parking lot outside the bank, withdrew the phone, glared at it, then stuffed it back into his pocket, beyond any mere mortal level of annoyance.