Chancey Jobs (Chancey Books Book 4) Read online

  So even before we got up the front steps, I was blinking abnormally. Had to hold onto Jackson to make it up the steps, and then walking inside, leaving the noise and breeze and sunlight behind, a hushed feeling wrapped around me. The old wood and wax smell mixed with the organ music, and blinking back tears no longer did its job.

  I followed Jackson into a pew, keeping my head down. The stained glass made me catch my breath. Had I ever really noticed the pictures? The faces? Even the way people talked quieter, laughed in a deeper register, smiled, and waved at each other across the room. There is no reason at all, none, for all that to make me cry and yet it did. It and everything else that's happened. Jackson just keeps patting my arm. He has no idea what to do either. So much for giving Missus a piece of my mind. I'd probably just hug her and ask if I could move in with her, too.

  And then Ruby stands up when the minister asks for prayer requests.

  "Preacher, I want to say something. I mean, I want to ask y'all's prayers for something. For me. Just ’cause something is big, don't mean it's better. Every lady in here can tell you that. Ain't I right, ladies?"

  And my tears dried up just like that. Ruby wears blue jeans with either a T-shirt or sweatshirt every day, everywhere. Today—I'm assuming in honor of going to church, which she rarely does (but no judgment coming from this pew)—she has on a denim skirt. Her t shirt is black and has a big yellow ball on the front with a red line and circle over it. Last winter she had a bunch of bright green shirts made with the same red line and circle to protest the power plant she later became a big proponent of. However, as she turns to address the congregation behind her, I see the yellow ball isn't the only enhancement, this shirt has writing on the back.

  "NO MOONS."

  "Ladies? Ain't I right? Sometimes big just means big and that's all. Small can be good!" She emphasizes this with a shove of her fist high into the air, and some of the smiles turn into chuckles.

  The preacher realizes he needs to get this back in control, so he clears his throat next to the microphone. "Thank you, Ruby. We'll keep that in mind. Any other prayer requests?"

  "Me!" Ruby shouts. "Me, I need prayers that I don't go hungry. That I don't lose my business. That woman has moved in here to ruin me, and so I need prayers. Prayers and, well, customers. Thank you, Preacher, that's all I got to say." She plops down and nods at the people sitting near her.

  This time the preacher not only doesn’t ask for more requests, he turns to the choir leader and rolls his hand at her like, hurry up, no telling who'll stand up next. I remember Laney telling me that every time a new preacher comes, he or she tries to get the prayer requests from the congregation cut out of the service, but she says it'll never happen. She says that's why half the people are here. Gossip update.

  Listening to the choir sing, I feel a poke in my shoulder and a piece of paper the same buff color of my bulletin falls beside me. Bryan picks it up, but I grab it before he can open it, since who knows what it could say about Will and Anna.

  "We're taking food over to Jordan's this afternoon. You coming?" Over my shoulder, and a couple rows back, Laney is looking at me with her head cocked, eyebrows lifted, and eyes questioning. I nod and then crumple the note in my hand as I look down at my lap. Well, it's probably just a ruse to find out what's happening with Will. Guess I might as well get it over with this afternoon. Plus, if we go out to the barbeque place for lunch I can just buy a gallon of sweet tea and not have to cook at all.

  Because yes, making tea is cooking.

  Chapter 7

  "Ruby goes out to the nursing home to see her Aunt Meredith every Sunday, so I figured we're good going to see Jordan today," Susan explains as she waits for me to unlock the bookstore. “Sure don’t want to run into Ruby while carrying food to the enemy.”

  "Oh, wait, the door’s unlocked." I push it open and stick my head in. Music comes from near the back. "Hello?"

  "I'm not open," Shannon calls from behind one of her displays. "Oh, it's you,” she says when she sees us. “Meant to lock that behind me."

  "What are you doing here?" I ask as I hold the door open for Susan. She has a cardboard box full of food which she carries in and sits on the florist’s counter.

  "Filling Jordan's order. She says she has to have the table flowers by 6 a.m. opening on Monday mornings. So I guess I'll have to work Sunday afternoons now. She was shocked when I said we weren't open on Sundays."

  Susan asks, "She's going to be open on Sundays?"

  "Yep, not until 7 a.m., though, instead of 6 like during the week."

  "Hmm, wonder who she'll find to work. Nothing's open here on Sunday mornings." Susan walks back to Shannon's work table. "These look great. Where did you get the black vases?"

  "Jordan. Apparently they are the same in every MoonShots. And there's a chart on how high the flowers need to be and how wide. I have these gorgeous hydrangeas, but nope, they don't fit the chart. Hey, what smells so good?"

  "We're taking some food up to Jordan. Figured it was just as easy to come through here to do it. Besides, I wanted to show Susan the bookshelves."

  Susan had walked over to the bookstore side. "This setup is great. You going to paint the shelves? What color you thinking?"

  "Shoot, you're right,” I say. “They would look better painted. Why can't anything be easy?" I turn to Shannon. "You seen Patty?"

  Shannon shrugs. "Maybe."

  "What does that mean? Is Patty here?"

  "Yes, she is here. She most definitely is here. Now."

  Laney had walked in the front door and heard what Shannon said. "Now? As in ‘now she's here,’ but she wasn't here earlier? And if that Now was because she was at church, then it would have been just a plain old Now and not a full-of-double-meaning Now. So, she's here Now, wasn't here earlier. Shannon thinks there's something we might want to know, but something she shouldn't tell. I'd say it involved a walk of shame for Patty, but Lord knows there ain't no man involved." Shannon grins, and I catch my breath, causing Laney to step towards me, her plate of cookies still in hand. "Or is there?"

  "Shannon, no. All night?"

  Her pinched up face pinches further. "Good thing I didn't go to look at the furniture. I'm just not that kind of girl."

  "And you weren't invited," I mumble as I head to Patty's stairs. However, at the bottom I pause, with my hand on the railing. She's a grown woman. What am I going to say or do? But if he dropped her off right here in town on a Sunday morning, oh law, everybody's going to know it.

  Laney shouts back at me. "Are we going to take this food to the MoonShots lady or not? I've got things to do."

  I walk back to the front and pick up my jug of sweet tea from where I'd set it on a window ledge. Shannon is collecting the vases and putting them in a box. "I'm going to deliver these next door while the workmen are still there. Jordan said she was going upstairs for a bit, earlier. Patty may, or may not, be upstairs also. But I think she has more company than Jordan."

  "He came back with her? What in the world is she thinking?" I shake my head.

  Shannon grins and nods to the panel truck sitting in front of the shop. "That's his truck. Guess we better get used to it."

  "Lord help us," I say, still shaking my head, "Patty has a boyfriend."

  "And more power to the big ol’ girl if she found a guy who can get her some furniture. This place needs some, and furniture ain't cheap," Laney opines as we walk to the back door.

  We push it open, and I hold it while the two sisters walk out. Susan leads the way, but Laney balks at the bottom step.

  "These metal steps are impossible in heels. Here, hold this." She hands me her plate of cookies, which I balance on my free hand while she takes off her beige heels. She threads the straps on her fingers and takes back her plate. "Give me that. Don't want you getting credit for both the cookies and tea."

  Susan is already standing on the deck by time we get up there, and her mouth has dropped open. "Look at this place."

  Olive green gauze
curtains are held back with black cords on each side of the decking. They hang from brass rings, threaded on a brass rod that circles the outside edges of the deck roof. Two square, black woven chairs with olive cushions sit beside a matching table. Right at the top of the steps is a small cabinet with glass doors, containing glasses and small plates. Fat white candles sit on pedestals, and tinkling from a wooden wind chime makes us look up to see the fan overhead with wide paddles of black wicker turning slowly. Susan rests the box on her thigh. "I could live here. Here, just on this porch."

  Laney pads in her bare feet to the French doors painted in glossy black and knocks on one of the panes. "Jordan?" she calls out. "We brought you some welcome goodies."

  Already through the door I can see this is nothing like Patty's apartment. Silhouetted by the light from the big front windows, Jordan makes her way to the door and opens it. A crack.

  "We've brought you some food to say, 'Welcome to Chancey.’" Laney actually lifts one foot to step inside, but Jordan doesn't budge.

  "I'm kind of busy right now," she says and doesn't give an inch.

  Pure Southern panic sweat breaks out on those of us on the porch. My eyelids start jerking. How many times have I wanted to not let someone in my front door when they just show up, but have I ever? Well, nooo. And she doesn't even look bothered. This is a whole new superpower I've never even heard of. Fend off nosy, unannounced Southerners carrying food surrounding your front door with one, just one, sentence. Amazing.

  Then Laney shakes off any panic and fights back with a dose of shame. "Kinda hot out here, and I'd hate for this food to spoil if we just leave it on your porch."

  I can't see Laney’s face, but I believe that's fluttering eye lashes I hear. There, that should make Jordan melt and let us in.

  But melt is hardly the correct word. Maybe concede? Cave? Retreat? She sets her mouth in a straight line and steps back. "Okay, come in."

  Sleek wood floors reflect muted sunlight coming in the front windows. The trees of the park provide a background of green, and I realize just how dirty Patty's windows are. I don't remember even seeing any trees at her place. Jordan's low, wide bed with a tall head board of ebony is half-hidden behind free standing screens. The walls are painted white, and her couch and chairs are a dark brown leather set atop a cream rug. When I turn to set the jug of tea down, I notice the kitchen for the first time. Laid out just like Patty's, it couldn't be any more different if Patty didn't have a kitchen.

  Granite countertops, steel appliances, tall white cabinets. Susan can have the porch; I want to live here.

  Susan puts down the box of food. "This place is beautiful. I can't believe it's in Chancey."

  "You must be planning on staying here for a long time if you spent this much money fixing this up," Laney adds. "Here's some cookies."

  "Oh, thanks." Jordan takes the plate, sets it down on the counter, and then picks up her glass of wine. As she takes a sip, it's as if her manners get jump-started, well, a little bit. "Would you like something to drink? Wine or, ah, that." She points to the jug of iced tea. Every fiber of her body is saying, "No, say no". Of course, we ignore that and act like she meant it.

  "Sure, wine would be great."

  Jordan pours us all half glasses of wine. We try to appear casual, rather than awkward, for a few moments. Then Laney spots a couple of folding wooden chairs. "Hey, why don't we take those out to the porch?" She picks them up in her unoccupied hand and nods at Susan to open the door. Jordan and I follow. We sit in the two cushioned chairs and watch the sisters get settled into theirs.

  Laney tries again. "So, you must plan on being here a long time since you put so much money into the apartment."

  Jordan sighs and resignation flows over her. "It wasn't my money. Diego did that when they were fixing the shop."

  "Diego?" Susan asks.

  "Yes, Diego Moon, the owner." And she waits a moment while I make the connection.

  "Wait, your last name is Moon. Are you…"

  "Yes, Diego is my husband."

  Like filling in a long word in a crossword puzzle, things start clicking. "Oh, you're the owner. Of MoonShots. Oh."

  And the more words we fill in, the more questions we get. "Do you often open stores for the company?" "Will your husband be joining you here?" "How did you pick Chancey?"

  Weariness replaces the resignation, and she softens her tone and body language. "I haven't opened a store for the past several years, but at the beginning, yes, I opened several stores. No, Diego is busy in New York, and well, I don't know how he picked Chancey. I haven't been involved with the business since, well, for a few years now."

  When tears fill her eyes, we all hush. She licks her bottom lip and tries to smile. "I'm sorry, but I really do have work to do. We are opening in the morning." She stands up, and we do, too.

  I collect our three glasses, so Laney and Susan can fold up their chairs. Back inside, I set the glasses in the sink and on a small shelf above the sink, I notice pictures. In one of them, there are two little girls and a very handsome man. The other two pictures are individual ones of the girls from the first picture. They are beautiful, one with dark hair like the man, and one with blonde hair like Jordan. "What beautiful children," I say.

  Jordan nods and smiles.

  Laney cranes her neck to look. "Oh, are they yours?"

  Jordan only nods again and presses her lips tight. Her eyes shine, and again we are all left standing awkwardly silent. Laney and I make moves toward the door, and then leave it to Susan. She covers the few steps between herself and our host and wraps the tall woman in a hug.

  Jordan's shoulders stiffen at first, and then they bow into Susan. Susan says in a low voice, "I know we seem like just nosy old women, but we do care about you and want you to be happy. Your girls are beautiful and missing them is normal. Maybe they'll be able to come see you here, and play right over there in the park."

  Jordan takes a deep breath and then steps back. "Thank you. Maybe they will, but probably not. No, probably not. Thank you for the food."

  Susan reaches into the box she’d sat on the counter earlier. “This is green salad and should probably go in the fridge.” As she lifts it out, Laney takes the lid off the larger glass bowl and releases a smell which causes her and me to breath deep and smile.

  Jordan looks over into the bowl, but wrinkles her nose and visibly recoils. “What is that?”

  “Chicken and dumplings. Susan’s are the best in town,” I say. However her face remains contorted. So I take a better looks. Hmmm, never really thought about it, but looks pretty unappetizing. Beige lumps in beige gravy. Hmmm.

  Swallowing, or almost gagging, Jordan takes a step away and reaches to take the salad container out of Susan’s hand, as she says, “A salad will be perfect.” She lifts the lid for a peek, then peels the lid completely off. “What’s this? A green salad?”

  Susan says tersely, “Not just ‘a’ green salad. Green salad.”

  “One of her specialties,” Laney adds. “I tried making it, but my marshmallows stayed hard and the pudding mix seemed grainy. It’s the pistachio pudding mix that makes it green. Isn’t it pretty?”

  I try to help. “There’s a whole can of crushed pineapple in it.” I don’t think that helped.

  Jordan takes a big swallow of wine, and then takes a deep breath. She straightens her back, and with the settling of her shoulders, neck, and then chin, she dismisses us.

  Quietly, we walk down the steps and pause at the bottom for Laney to put on her shoes. We wait until we are through the back door inside the bookstore, and we all look at each other.

  "What is going on with her?" I ask.

  With shaking heads, and thoughts circling, we walk up to the front where stretched out on what must be our new couch is a topless Patty and a big, red-haired man who is between us and seeing all of Patty's chest.

  He has his clothes on.

  "Patty! What in the world?"

  Andy starts to get up, but Patty pulls
him back to her. "No! I don't have my shirt on."

  Susan pushes a laughing Laney toward the door. "We're leaving."

  I follow them to the door, and don't look back. But at the door I stop and say loudly, "You need to take this, whatever this is, upstairs." I slam the door behind me and storm right into Laney and Susan waiting on the sidewalk. Do I even need to mention they are doubled over laughing?

  "Who was that?" Susan asks.

  "Andy, the furniture guy."

  Laney tips her head. "Well, from what I could see the couch looks nice. Not many folks these days will deliver furniture and give it a test drive for you. He should hand out cards."

  Chapter 8

  "Right there in the front window for anyone walking by to see! What is wrong with her?"

  Jackson hasn't stopped whatever he's doing with the back tire of the lawn mower, but he's laughing while he does it.

  Banging my hand on the hood of the riding mower I'm leaning against, I demand, "Why does everyone think this is so funny? She's kind of like under our care, or something. Least it feels that way."

  Grass stains mark the knees of his faded jeans when Jackson stands up. We are close to the river and the bottom of the hill has been mowed. Between the smell of lake water and freshly mown grass, I can't breathe deep enough. "I need to get some chairs to put down here. I don't ever come down here anymore."

  Jackson stands in front of me. "Not scared of ghosts down here, now?"

  "Nope," I say and pull him to me. “You smell like cut grass and gasoline. We should bottle that and make our fortune." We nuzzle for a moment and about the time I'm feeling all good, Jackson pulls away. I pout and ask, "Hey, where you going?"