LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “All right,” she whispered. “How about next week? Someplace in Bremerton? You choose.”

      His relief was palpable, even over the phone. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

      But it was, damn hard, and Ian knew it.

      “When are you free to meet?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.

      “I’ll let you know. All right? It depends on what’s happening with the John F. Reynolds, but it’ll be soon.”

      This wasn’t exactly anytime or anyplace, but then he was in the Navy, and the military ruled his life—and consequently hers.

      Six

      Thursday afternoon was the monthly potluck at the Jackson Senior Center, named after longtime Washington State senator Henry M. Jackson. Charlotte looked forward to these get-togethers with her dearest friends. It was a time to visit, catch up on each other’s lives, share a fabulous lunch and listen to a speaker. Generally it was someone from the community. A local politician had spoken in January—a real windbag, as far as Charlotte was concerned. In December, the sheriff had discussed safety tips for seniors, and his talk was one of the best received in months. He’d been both interesting and informative.

      It just so happened that the speaker for the first week in February was Jack Griffin. Charlotte wouldn’t have missed it for the world. She arrived early, secured a table for her knitting friends and made sure the spot next to her was saved for Jack.

      “Yoo-hoo, Laura,” Charlotte called, waving her hand so her friend could see where she was sitting. The ladies in the knitting group always ate together at these functions. As the unofficial head of the group, Charlotte was expected to arrive early and claim the table—not that she minded.

      Laura nodded in her direction and carried her dish of deviled eggs to the buffet table. Her friend made the most incredible deviled eggs. She didn’t fill them with the standard yolk-and-mayonnaise mixture. Instead, Laura stuffed hardboiled egg whites with a crabmeat-and-shrimp salad. Every month, her platter was among the first to empty.

      Charlotte had brought the broccoli lasagna recipe she’d picked up at Lloyd Iverson’s wake. She’d experimented with it and added her own personal touch—mushrooms to the crumbled bacon, and cheddar cheese as well as mozzarella. She hadn’t been sure what to bring, seeing that she’d collected several excellent recipes lately. That was what happened when she attended three funerals in as many weeks. The dessert recipe she’d gotten last Monday, made with lemon pudding and cream cheese, was worth sitting through the two-hour wake, even if she hadn’t been all that fond of Kathleen O’Hara’s husband.

      Laura joined her, and Evelyn and Helen followed. As soon as they were seated, they reached for their dessert plates, headed for the buffet table and took their pick. Everyone did. Charlotte disapproved of the practice, but choosing your dessert early was the only way to guarantee you’d get one.

      “There’s Jack now,” Charlotte said, hurrying down the narrow aisle between the tables.

      “Jack!” she called out. It was important after all the bragging she’d done that her friends know the newspaperman considered her his personal friend. She made a show of hugging him and was gratified when he returned the gesture.

      Mary Berger, president of the Senior Center, joined them and held out her hand. “I’m so pleased you could be with us today, Mr. Griffin,” she said formally, frowning at Charlotte.

      “The pleasure’s all mine.” His gaze met Charlotte’s over the top of Mary’s head and he winked.

      Charlotte couldn’t help it; she blushed. Oh, that young man could melt a heart or two. Her own included. Now if only Olivia would wake up and realize what a catch he was. She did hope this was the man for her daughter. Charlotte had liked Jack the instant they met, and it wasn’t often she felt such complete rapport with a man. It seemed to be happening more and more these days. First Tom Harding and then Jack Griffin, both newcomers to the community.

      “I saved you a place at my table,” Charlotte told Jack, eager for her friends to meet him.

      “I’ve arranged a seat for Jack at the head table,” Mary countered, glaring at Charlotte.

      “But Jack and I are friends,” Charlotte said, certain that he’d prefer her company to the stuffed shirts who ran the Senior Center.

      “Why don’t we leave it up to Jack?” Mary offered and stepped back, crossing her arms. Her expression was confident, as if to suggest there was no contest.

      Jack was smiling. “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve had two lovely women fighting over me.”

      Mary cast Charlotte a saccharine-sweet smile, and it was all Charlotte could do not to throw up.

      “Why don’t I sit with Charlotte and her friends for the buffet,” Jack suggested, “and join Mary and her friends for dessert?”

      “An excellent suggestion,” Charlotte said, firmly taking his arm. Without giving anyone an opportunity to sidetrack him, she led Jack to the table where her friends were waiting.

      Evelyn and Helen were dying to talk to Jack, Charlotte knew. They both had article ideas they wanted to discuss with him. Her friends felt that the community had long ignored the contribution of its senior citizens. With Jack as editor, Charlotte believed this was about to change.

      Just as she knew he would, Jack won over her friends with little more than a smile. Since she’d talked his ear off the night of the community play, Charlotte was willing to share him now. The ladies gathered around him like deer at a salt lick, each one spouting her opinion of the local newspaper.

      Evelyn and Helen spoke nonstop, outlining their ideas and making suggestions.

      “Ladies, you’re right.”

      Charlotte’s friends beamed at the praise.

      “What the Cedar Cove Chronicle needs is a page specifically for seniors. Interviews, health news…”

      “Recipes,” Charlotte inserted.

      Jack pointed his index finger in her direction. “Recipes,” he agreed.

      “I sometimes feel the young people don’t understand or appreciate the history of this town,” Laura added. “Did you know Cedar Cove has had three different names in the last hundred years?”

      “Three?” Charlotte only knew of two.

      “I’m more interested in why the name changed,” Jack said. “Laura, you seem to know. Write me an article for the next edition and I’ll print it.”

      “But will people read it?” Laura asked, sounding doubtful.

      “They’ll read it,” Jack said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

      Charlotte chuckled, guessing at his strategy. Jack would come up with a misleading headline guaranteed to generate interest.

      “I like your ideas,” he told the women. “Now, which one of you is willing to head up the senior page?”

      Laura, Evelyn, Helen and Bess, who was the quietest member of the knitting group, all looked to Charlotte.

      “Everyone knows if you want to get something done, you should ask Charlotte,” Bess said, blushing profusely. “She’s got more energy than the rest of us combined.”

      Jack grinned as if to say he’d find it a distinct pleasure to work with her. “All right,” Charlotte muttered, thinking she needed her head examined for taking on another project. “I’ll do it, but I’ve got to have help.”

      “We’ll all help,” Laura promised.

      “Bring your ideas to me,” Jack said, “and we’ll work on them together.”

      Those few words were all the incentive Charlotte required.

Скачать книгу