Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Josie

I’d become a regular at Lowell’s, the small but well-stocked home-improvement store in town. Sam always remembered my name and asked me how construction was going, and the cashier had given me a twenty-percent-off coupon yesterday. Today was Saturday, so it was busier than usual even though it was rainy, and the people shopping looked more like homeowners than the contractors that had been around all week. I waited in line, scrolling on my phone, until someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to be staying on Rosewood Lane, would you?”

I turned to find a woman who was probably in her early sixties, with bright makeup and an even brighter hot pink one-piece short set.

“Yes. How did you know that?”

The woman smiled. “Lucky guess. My friend described you, and, well, it’s a small town, so it’s not too hard to spot the new people.” She extended her hand. “I’m Opal Rumsey. I believe my boss is your neighbor?”

“Fox?”

She nodded. “But don’t hold that against me. Not everyone who works at Cassidy Construction is as grumpy as the boss.”

I chuckled. “It’s nice to meet you, Opal. I’m Josie.”

“Rumor has it you’re the owner of the place where you’re staying.”

“I am. I inherited it from my dad when he passed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. It was a long time ago.”

Opal nodded. “Most of us thought Mrs. Wollman was the owner, she’d been there so long.”

“My parents actually grew up in Laurel Lake.”

“Really? What were their names?”

“Henry and Melanie Preston. Actually, my mother’s maiden name was Melanie Langone. My dad would’ve been seventy this year. My mom is sixty-eight. My parents had me later in life.”

“Can’t say the name is familiar.” She twirled a lock of hair and winked. “Then again, I’m a lot younger than your parents. Did they go to school here in town?”

“My dad was born and raised in Laurel Lake. My mom’s family moved here after she graduated high school. But she had a younger brother.”

“Then you know who would probably know them?”

“Who?”

“Bernadette and Bettina Macon. Twin sisters. Born and raised here in Laurel Lake. They turned sixty-nine last week. Bernadette was a school teacher in town before she retired, so she knows even more people than me.”

“Oh, I know Bettina Macon.” I shook my head. “Well, not know her, know her, but we exchange holiday cards.”

“Her too? I’m starting to feel left out. My friend Frannie said you guys exchange cards. Were they friends of your family or something?”

I smiled. “No. It’s kind of a long story, but I send a lot of holiday cards.”

“Can I help the next person in line?” the cashier yelled.

I’d been chatting away and hadn’t even noticed it was my turn. I stepped up to the counter, and Opal followed right behind me.

“Well, we’re going to be done here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Opal said. “But I’d like to hear your long story. What do you say we have some lunch? Bernadette and Bettina’s little sister, Rita, owns the coffee shop in town, and Bernadette works the counter on Saturdays so Rita can spend time with her babies in the afternoon. The shop sells these little finger sandwiches that are made fresh a few times a day. Absolutely delicious. I like them because they’re small, so I don’t have to pick just one. Anyway, I can introduce you to Bernadette, we can see if she remembers your daddy, and you can tell me your holiday card story.”

“Umm… Sure.” I shrugged. “Why not? That sounds like fun.”

My new friend Opal drove a bright yellow Volkswagen bug. Light rain started to fall as we went to the parking lot. We took separate cars, but I followed behind her to Rita’s. On the way, I couldn’t help but think this was something I’d never do in New York City—agree to have lunch with a virtual stranger. Being down here had me letting my guard down, accepting a friendly person as just being friendly, not having an ulterior motive. The vibe was so different.

When we arrived at Rita’s, the girl at the counter said Bernadette was on break and would be back in a little while. Opal and I ordered iced coffees and four different types of the finger sandwiches. We took seats toward the back of the shop on a comfy leather couch and matching oversized chair. The place reminded me of something out of Friends. Warm and cozy. A place where you’d meet your crew to catch up on stories.

“I’m all ears.” Opal sipped her coffee and picked up one of the sandwiches. “Tell me your holiday card story, and if your story is good and we have time before Bernadette gets back, I’ll tell you about the time she had a little too much to drink, fell down, and got her high heel stuck in her panties on the way back up.”

I chuckled. “I might have to bolster my story a little to make sure I get to hear yours.”

Opal’s eyes twinkled. “Something tells me your story will be more than enough. Go on, now. Let’s hear why everyone in this town except me gets a Christmas card from you.”

“Well, I grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey. When I was little, my dad used to tell me all these amazing stories about growing up in Laurel Lake. Two years before he died was the first time the town was named America’s Friendliest by People magazine. He was so proud that he told everyone who would listen. Laurel Lake became this mythical, sort of magical place to me. He always promised we’d visit, but my mom is a very successful neurosurgeon, and she works a lot. We’d planned to come a few times, but something would always pop up for her and we’d have to cancel. My dad died very unexpectedly when I was thirteen—cardiac arrest in his sleep. We’d never made it down.”

Opal covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, that’s terrible. Such a young age to lose your father.”

“It was definitely tough. My dad was my best friend. I was never too close with my mom. My parents were a very odd couple—Dad laughed a lot, told tall tales, and had a warm and loving way about him. My mom, on the other hand, is a bit cold—sort of detached and all business, even to me. Her career always came first, and she wasn’t home a lot. To be honest, I never really understood their pairing. But for whatever reason, my dad was over the moon about my mom. He worshiped the ground she walked on.” I paused and sipped my iced coffee. “Anyway, back to the cards. After my dad died, I started spending a lot of time at my best friend Chloe’s house. Chloe was one of seven kids, and they didn’t have that much money, but they all loved Christmas. Every year in late November, they would decorate their house with Christmas cards from the prior year hung on strings. They draped them on every wall in the kitchen and living room. My house was done up for the holidays by a professional decorating team that came in and made everything perfect. I once asked my mother if I could put some homemade ornaments on the tree, and she told me to put them on the little tree in Nilda’s room. Nilda was our live-in housekeeper who also kept an eye on me because my mother was rarely home.”

I nibbled on a sandwich before I continued. “Fast forward five years to when I turned eighteen, and I went away to college and got my own studio apartment in New York. I couldn’t wait to decorate for Christmas that first year—my way, not my mom’s way. So I got five boxes of Christmas cards, fifty in total, and sent them out to all my friends. I think I received one back. In hindsight, most eighteen-year-olds are either too broke to send cards or too wrapped up in their lives to take the time to do it. It made me sad, though, because I’d wanted to hang the cards from string like Chloe’s family did. The following year, I came up with the idea to send cards to strangers and ask them to send one back. The morning after Thanksgiving, I took a picture of myself smiling in front of my Christmas tree. I hand wrote a message in each card saying I wanted to collect cards to decorate my house, and I hoped they’d send me one. I had the Laurel Lake phone book in a box with my dad’s things, so I decided to mail the cards to people who lived here. I figured if they were America’s friendliest people, I’d have a better shot of getting a card in return. That year, I sent out fifty cards and got forty-one back. I got one from my friends the year before, yet forty-one from complete strangers. I hung them from string on all of the walls of my little apartment.”

“I love that!” Opal said. “Your dad’s people took care of you after he couldn’t any longer.”

“I never thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess they did.” I sipped. “I still had the cards hanging up in March, so I decided to send Easter cards to the forty-one people who had sent me a Christmas card. The next holiday season, I sent fifty new cards to random people from that phone book, and close to the same number reciprocated. Over the years, I’ve continued to send to the old ones and add new. I think I receive about nine-hundred cards for Christmas now, and a little less for the smaller holidays, like Fourth of July. I go in alphabetical order in the Laurel Lake phone book. I’m up to the Ns now. Some get returned because the book I’m using is outdated, but I enjoy doing it.”

“Makes sense why I haven’t had the pleasure of receiving one from you, then. My last name is Rumsey.”

I smiled. “I’ve sort of become pen pals with a few of the residents of Laurel Lake. I’ve exchanged letters in the cards with some. They tell me what’s going on in their lives, and I do the same. I’ve never met any of them, yet I feel like they’re old friends.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m surprised it took you so long to visit.”

I sighed. “Yeah. It shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, I followed in my mom’s footsteps and spent a lot of years in school and working too much.”

“I hear it’s Doctor Preston.”

I shook my head. “Dr. Preston is my mother. I’m just Josie.”

“We’ve only met and I can already tell you’re far from just Josie, sweetheart.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

Opal finished off one of the finger sandwiches. “So what finally brought you to Laurel Lake now?”

I looked down. “I…had a mental-health crisis and thought it would be best to get out of the city for a while.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but I’m not sure what that means. A mental-health crisis?”

“Basically, I had a nervous breakdown. Everything has a new term these days, doesn’t it?”

Opal reached out and covered my hand with hers. “I’m so sorry. Are you feeling okay now?”

I smiled sadly. “I am. I spent a month in an inpatient facility getting treatment. When I got out, I went home to a pile of mail waiting for me in my apartment. One was a letter from the real estate agent who had been collecting rent from the woman renting my dad’s old house. She said Mrs. Wollman had moved out. I didn’t feel ready to go back to work yet, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get out of the city and finally see the town my dad loved so much.”

Opal squeezed my hand. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Our lake has healing powers.”

“It really is beautiful. There’s a serenity here that you can’t find in New York City.”

Opal nodded. “Can I ask you a personal question, Josie?”

I chuckled. “More personal than me telling you I recently spent time in a psych ward?”

She smiled. “Are you single?”

My eyes dropped to my left hand. It was a lot lighter these days without the giant rock I’d worn for almost a year. “I am.”

She leaned closer, like she was telling me a secret. “So is your neighbor, Fox Cassidy. You two would make a very cute couple.”

“Oh gosh.” I chuckled. “Fox and I have met. I don’t think he’s my biggest fan.”

She waved me off. “Eh. Whatever he did to give you that idea is just Fox being Fox. The man is a coconut. Hard shell on the outside, but soft and sweet on the inside.”

My brows shot up. “Fox? Soft and sweet inside?”

Opal smiled. “I know. Hard to believe, right? But it’s the truth. Trust me, I’ve been working for him for a long time.”

“What is it that Fox does?”

“He’s a builder, mostly commercial stuff. But he also coaches a hockey team—a team for people with disabilities. Many of the kids have cerebral palsy or Down syndrome. A few have competed in the Special Olympics and Paralympics. And he does all that work for free. Without telling people about it, too, I might add.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yep. Stick around long enough, and I’m sure you’ll get to meet some of them. On the weekends I sometimes see him having lunch with guys on the team, or he’ll be out running in the street with one or two he’s giving extra training to.”

Huh. I never would’ve guessed Mr. Grumpy Pants was so giving. Though it did kind of make sense with the way he’d carried my suitcases in, even after I’d smashed his mailbox. And the way he’d hauled over all of my sheetrock when I’d had it delivered to the wrong address. There was a gentleman buried underneath that grunting exterior. It reminded me of something my dad used to say, something I hadn’t thought of in a long time. “Boys speak. A gentleman doesn’t have to; he acts.”

A few minutes later, an older woman wearing a black polo with Rita’s Beanery embroidered on it walked over to our table. She tied a long apron around her waist as she spoke. “Hey, Opal. How you doing? Katie told me you were looking for me.”

“Oh hi, Bernadette. I want to introduce you to someone. This is Josie Preston. Her momma and daddy lived here in Laurel Lake. He’s a year older than you, and she’s two years younger, so I thought you might know them.”

“Oh?” Bernadette looked over at me and winked. “Is your dad forty-nine too?”

Opal scoffed. “You’ve got varicose veins older than forty-nine.”

Bernadette waved Opal off, then tapped her finger to her lip. “Preston. Preston. Your dad wouldn’t be Henry Preston, would he?”

I smiled. “He is. And my mom was Melanie Langone.”

“Your mom I don’t recall. But oh my gosh, Henry Preston. I haven’t heard that name in years.” She gazed off like she was visualizing a memory. “Handsome Henry. He played the snare drum in the marching band. Had those pretty bright blue eyes. All the cheerleaders had a crush on him, but he was kind of oblivious about it. He was voted best looking in our class yearbook.”

“Really? Wow. He never mentioned that.”

Bernadette looked into my eyes. “You’ve got the same peepers.”

I smiled. “People have always told me I look like my dad.”

“How is your pop doing?”

“He passed away a long time ago.”

Her face fell. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear.”

“Thank you.”

“Josie is staying over on Rosewood Lane,” Opal said. “The house old Mrs. Wollman lived in.”

“The hoarder? That’s right. I forgot the Prestons owned that house.”

“My dad left it to me when he died.”

“Are you in town for a while?”

I nodded.

“You know who you should meet? Tommy Miller. He was your dad’s best friend. Lives over on Lilac Street, a block from your place. The two of them always had a fishing pole in their hands and a smile on their faces when we were kids.”

“Oh, I’ve heard a lot of stories about Tommy.”

“He still lives here. Same house. Same thick head of curly red hair. Same jokes he’s been telling for the better part of half a century. I bet you he has a lot of stories about your dad back in the day. Maybe he’ll know your momma, too.”

“I’d love to meet him.”

“How about I make that happen? Say next Sunday afternoon at two at my place? A week from tomorrow. I’ll host a barbecue. I’ll ask Tommy who else I should invite that you might want to meet.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to go to all that trouble…”

“It’s no trouble at all. This is what this little town is all about. We look for reasons to sit around the lake, drink spiked tea, and tell the same good stories over and over. When we find a person who hasn’t heard them all before, that’s reason enough to celebrate.”

I laughed. “Okay then. I’ll bake some desserts.”

Bernadette nodded toward the front. “I need to get back behind the counter so Katie can take her break. But leave me your phone number before you go, just in case Tommy can’t make it or something.”

I held up my cell. “Want me to text you so you have it?”

She chuckled. “I’ve still got one of those flip phones. No idea how to text. But you can write it down on a piece of paper, and I’ll add it to my phone book for safe keeping.”

I smiled. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“Looking forward to it. Thank you, Bernadette.”

Opal and I watched Bernadette walk away. As she reached the counter, the front door opened and none other than my grumpy neighbor walked in. He shook the rain from his hair and stepped up to place his order. I hadn’t even realized I was staring until Opal spoke. “Saw him at a wedding a few months back. His hair was slicked back like an old-time movie star. Even I couldn’t peel my eyes away. I get it.”

I shook my head. “Oh. I wasn’t looking at Fox that way.”

“No?” Opal grinned.

“I’m just surprised he doesn’t have an umbrella. He seems so organized.”

“Uh-huh.”

I tried to ignore the sexy jerk standing at the counter, but it was next to impossible to not steal glances, even after Opal had called me out. While Fox waited for Bernadette to pour his coffee, he scanned the coffee shop. When his gaze found Opal and me, he frowned and shook his head.

“Hey, boss!” Opal yelled and wiggled her fingers.

Fox nodded like it was painful to offer even that much acknowledgment and went back to watching his coffee be made. He was out the door a few seconds later, paper cup in hand.

Opal smiled from ear to ear. “He likes you.”

“Umm... What part of that brief interaction gave you that idea? The scowl when he spotted me or the way he ran out the door like there was something contagious in here he might catch?”

Opal’s smile widened. “Both.”