The Tree Keeper's Promise Part 10

"You can come back next week. He should be in after the twenty-sixth, I suspect." She put the file down and smiled pleasantly, but it seemed only because she was supposed to.

"Actually, I'd like to reserve the gazebo for this Thursday, the twenty-second, if I could."

"Well, you could if Pete were here, and no one else has it, and you fill out his application and put a deposit down. We didn't used to require deposits, you know. Seeing how it's free for residents. But ever since the Silver Sneakers Club used it for a social-and a few of their walkers tore up the floor-we've started requiring a deposit."

Mark blinked.

"But since Pete isn't here, I guess you'll have to change your plans."

Mark opened his mouth to speak but closed it. She stared at him rather unapologetically. Finally, he made a last attempt.

"Look, it's the autumnal equinox, and I know that isn't the most important day of the year, but it is to me and my girlfriend."

"Do I know your girlfriend?"

Mark thought this was an odd question, as she didn't even know Mark, but so far everything about this conversation had been odd.

"I'm not sure-her name is Angela ... Donovan." He waited as she thought about it. "She moved here a few years ago."

"Hmm, no. Doesn't ring a bell. But you, you look like-do I know your brother Ben?"

"I don't have a brother. Just a sister who moved to California," Mark said, not sure how this was helping.

"Give me a second. What's your name?"

"Mark Shafer," he said cautiously, though not sure why.

"Shafer! You're Greg and Janey's son! You wouldn't know me, but I went to school with your mom and dad. I'm sorry, honey. You must miss them. I heard about that awful fire. I'm so sorry."

Mark cleared his throat. "Thank you. It's okay," he rea.s.sured her as best he could. "About Pete and changing my plans-I was hoping I could propose there Thursday night and wanted to make sure I didn't have to compete with anyone else. Like the Silver Sneakers."

"A proposal? Why didn't you say so?" She hopped up from her chair and scurried over to another desk, maybe Pete's, and returned with a binder. She produced a sheet of paper for Mark and then thumbed through the pages.

"Fill that out. I'm going to go ahead and waive that deposit. It's only twenty-five dollars. If it's just the two of you, I trust you won't be doing any damage to the property. And let me see here. Wait, you said this Thursday?" She looked up at Mark with crestfallen eyes. "Oh, sweetie, the Astronomy Club reserved it a month ago. Starting an hour after sunset. So what's that-about seven thirty or eight?"

Mark held his pen on the address line of the application. The Astronomy Club?

"You know what? Don't tell anyone Miss Lila told you this. You and your girl come right out there to that Gazebo, and you pop that question. Do you think you can manage it before seven thirty? Worst case is you'll have an audience of some retired men with telescopes, but if you get there early enough, I bet you'll be just fine."

"Before seven thirty it is," Mark said, though it didn't seem like he had much choice in the matter.

She pulled the application from his hands as he finished signing it and chatted away about Pete and how she knew he wouldn't mind her helping Greg Shafer's son.

Thankful the gazebo and the common wasn't going to be overridden with a larger event or group, Mark thanked Miss Lila and headed for the door. The bulletin board caught his eye and he remembered ...

"Uh, do you know anything about the Historical Society? Who would I talk to about having some land listed on the register?" he asked. She was putting the binder back on the other desk.

"That's Pete, too," she said.

Thinking of their exchange over the gazebo, Mark thought it best if he came back and actually talked to Pete. "Thanks. I'll track him down next week, like you said."

"Sure, you could do that." She returned to her chair and began arranging papers. "Or you could call Mrs. Simmons. Pete would just give you her number anyway."

A sudden clap of thunder broke over their heads, and rain began to pour against the back windows of the building, furiously pelting the thick panes.

"Darn! I was hoping to get home before the roads turned into rivers," Miss Lila said with a scowl.

"Do you by chance have her number?"

"Of course I do."

"Wait, did you say Mrs. Simmons? The same one who taught eighth-grade English?"

"That's her-and good, you already know her. That will help. She can be a little ... what would you say ... fussy? But you won't have to worry about that if she knows you. You won't have half the battle everyone else does."

With that, she handed Mark the number on a slip of paper that he tucked into his wallet.

He walked out of the town hall's double doors into the pouring rain inundated with memories of his eighth-grade English cla.s.s and Mrs. Simmons. A teacher who didn't share his sense of humor or "lack of respect for deadlines," as she called them.

Forget half the battle. I'll probably have double.

Chapter 9.

Angela arrived at the Blackstone apartments' rental office to meet the new hire. It had taken months, nine and a half months, but they'd finally found a replacement. Home office would handle the training but had asked Angela to handle a bit of general orientation. A tour and a few tips. "She mentioned that if you went to lunch with her that would be enough," Gloria from the home office had said. "But she may need a little more help than that."

She opened the door to a squeal from across the room.

"Eeeek! Angela? Angela Elliott. Is that you?" The new hire bounced over to Angela with both arms outstretched. Before Angela could dodge her, she was grabbed by the shoulders and kissed on each cheek.

Ashley Porter? Still as dramatic as high school.

"It's me," Angela said after awkwardly extracting herself from Ashley's enthusiastic greeting.

Though I haven't used the Elliott name for a while.

As if she could read minds, Ashley continued. "You don't use Elliott, though. Wait, wait ... don't tell me. It will come to me. You married the guy in your band. You really had a band, didn't you? How long had you known him, two months? Three? Todd-that was his name, and he was hot too. Though that didn't help so much with your mom. She would have preferred no looks to some sort of t.i.tle, right? And Todd, he um ... what instrument did he play? Donovan! That's the name. I remembered because the same month you married him, we hired a new chef with the same last name. No relation, of course, but yeah. So you're still Angela Donovan? No ring on your finger, I see."

No ring. That was true. And that was Ashley-three insults per breath as usual.

Was she seriously the new manager at Blackstone?

Doing something she wouldn't normally do, Angela checked Ashley's left hand. Sure enough, a fairly obscene diamond rested there. But something didn't add up. Namely the man Ashley married had much too much money and even more pride for his wife to be taking up residence as manager of the Blackstone, no matter how quaint the apartments were.

"I kept Donovan. It's my daughter's name, too," Angela said simply. "So, wow, it's a surprise to see you here. I didn't know ... I mean ... What brings you to Sutton?" Before Ashley could answer, Angela looked at her ring again. She brought it up first. "How's your husband?"

"My what? Oh, you mean Willard? We are so done. Divorce final-like almost a year. Okay, like three months. But we separated long before that. I am so over him. Over all of it."

Angela wasn't sure what that meant, but this concerned her even more. If that ring was from someone new, that would mean it would be all she'd hear about over lunch. Lunch! Did she, like seriously, have to survive lunch with Ashley?

I'm already sounding like her!

"Sorry to hear that," Angela said as she fiddled with her purse. "It's almost lunchtime. Did you want to go grab a bite to eat?"

"I'm so glad you asked. Yes, I'm starved. Did you keep a mini fridge in the office here? I couldn't find one, so I thought maybe you had one but took it with you, which I could totally understand if it was stainless or maybe special order. So I'll need to know where the POs are, right? Purchase orders-I've learned that. I'll fill one of those out p.r.o.nto for a fridge and probably a microwave. I don't see why they couldn't put a wall up over there and create like a mini kitchen, you know? I could stock it with protein bars and maybe some acai berries. I've heard Oprah used those to lose weight. That will need to be project number one."

They were in the restaurant, seated and halfway through their salads before Ashley stopped midsentence and announced how inconsiderate she'd been to not ask Angela what was happening in her life.

"I know you have Caroline, but you do get out, right? I mean, there has to be some kind of a social life in Sutton. How long have you lived here?"

Was she kidding? That had been one of the things Angela liked about Sutton-the lack of social life or, rather, the lack of socialites.

"It's been a couple years now. I was looking for something that wasn't Providence. I hang out in the country." Angela held in a smirk. "Some of the best people I've ever met live here."

"The country? I hadn't thought of that. I mean, I know we're not in Providence anymore, but I was hoping you and I, well, you could introduce me to some friends. You know, help me get settled. I can't be all about the apartments. We know the tenants won't be my friends."

Angela clanged her fork inadvertently-or not. "I can introduce you to one of my good friends." She ate another bite of spinach and chewed slowly. "Her name is Dorothy Shaw. She may be getting engaged soon."

"She sounds like my kind of girl. I mean, that's exactly what I mean. Don't let this ring fool you. I'm sure it didn't. You knew I was divorced, right? I only wear it to fend off the non-salaried. Believe me, I take this off faster than my cuc.u.mber-facial scrub when there are suits in the room under forty."

Same old Ashley.

"Let's see. Dorothy-she's in her late sixties. I've never asked her, but she has grandchildren. And her boyfriend, he's in his seventies and helps run a farm. Don't see him wearing a suit much. But you'll probably meet her soon enough. She lives in 312. Always pays her rent on time, if not a day early."

Ashley's jaw hung agape. "I'll ... keep my eye out."

Sometime during their lunch, Ashley's chatter ranged from shallow to probing to awkwardly intimate. There were moments where Angela glimpsed a few emotions flit across her face. She was always trying to be someone she wasn't, though who she was-pretty and energetic with a knack for detail-could have been enough. Aside from trying to be more, better, best, she seemed to have a kind of ache, an aura of loneliness. She had friends to fit her shopping and gossip habits but not even one friend to turn to when life stopped moving along to the snap of her fingers. Building a facade for a life to impress one's closest friends made it hard to turn to them when that facade came cras.h.i.+ng down.

It was beginning to make sense why she'd chosen a job in Sutton. And why she wore a place-holder ring.

Angela ignored the pointed though unintended insults. She waded through the verbal debris and pa.s.sed up the too-numerous opportunities to pa.s.s judgment or point out the girl's mistakes. Ashley may have been a master of pretense and an expert of image-making, but pain was pain, and Angela knew that no amount of claiming she was "over all of it" could hide it. At least not from Angela.

And that may have been the reason she heard herself agree to bring Ashley to the farm.

Angela paced by the fireplace at the front of the farmhouse, her eyes darting to the bay window and back to the clock. Inviting Ashley to visit Shafer Farm seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Maybe not the right thing, but maybe the compa.s.sionate thing. Problem was, now Angela couldn't find a compa.s.sionate bone in her body.

What was I thinking?

All Ashley will see is Donna's barn and holiday crafts, not Gucci. Trees were the main attraction, not men in suits. The farm did have the Shafer family, namely Mark. But that was sort of the last thing Angela wanted to show Ashley.

What could she do about it now? One more look at the clock and it was too late. She saw her pull up, close the door-and what was that? A Mazda Miata? She was wearing boots, high-heeled boots. Leggings and a skirt? Could it even be called a skirt?

I've had bigger dinner napkins.

Angela sighed and checked the side door. No sign of Mark. That was a good thing. She could greet Ashley and talk for a bit, let her adjust to what would surely feel like a foreign country.

Another minute went by but no knock on the door. Angela stepped to the window and couldn't find her at first. How odd. How could she get lost from the car to the door?

Then she saw the corner of Ashley's shoulder off to the east side of the porch and then her hair flip. Twice. Angela craned her neck a little farther toward the edge of the window.

Who was she talking to?

"Any closer and you might fall in," Papa said as he entered the room.

She's not talking to Papa.

"Watcha lookin' at?" he asked as he moseyed over to the window.

"Waiting for my friend."

"You mean the one with the fancy shoes out there talking to Mark?"

Now Angela could see them in full view, Mark walking casually toward the door listening to Ashley, who was talking and bobbing and flipping her hair. If she meant it as a subtle flirtation, it was fast becoming a nervous tick.

Angela scanned Mark's face and his body language for clues. Was he put off? Surprised? Interested? No, of course not. But there were no clues. He looked like his genuine self, listening, walking, with an easy smile on his face.

Knots formed in Angela's stomach. What have I done?

She moved quickly from the window as they approached the porch, though she didn't have quite enough time to get involved in something other than straightening pictures on the fireplace mantel. Great.

Mark opened the door, allowing Ashley to enter ahead of him.

"Angela! There you are." She moved directly to Angela for a hug, or cheek kiss, or whatever it was that she did, her heeled boots clacking against the floor as she walked.

Angela caught Mark's eye over Ashley's shoulder. He wore a smile punctuated by raised eyebrows. All Angela could do was plead with her eyes.

"You didn't tell me the farm was so quaint, Angela. Or that it was this far out of the way. I mean where is the nearest drugstore? What do you do if you run out of mascara? Not that I buy mine there, of course, but in a pinch I can grab some Revlon and no one knows the difference. But seriously. I thought it would be a little bit country. You didn't tell me you were roughing it."

There may have been an awkward pause while Angela figured out a response to not ever needing emergency mascara, but Ashley continued.

"And you also didn't tell me I'd be meeting the owner of the farm." With those words, her attention s.h.i.+fted deliberately to Mark with another signature flip of her hair.

Angela acted quickly at that move, working her way to Mark's side. She stopped short of resting her hand on his arm, mainly to appear much calmer than she was.

"So sorry. I thought for sure I told you," she offered, though as she said the words she knew she hadn't had the chance. "Mark, this is my friend from Providence, Ashley." She hesitated a moment at the last name, not sure which name Ashley was using.

"Oh, we've met. I even got a little tour from the parking lot to the porch. The hand-carved door is exquisite. Mark is going to find the name of the craftsman for me."

Met and started a research project together. In less than thirty yards.

"I'm sure we have a file somewhere. All I know is that it wasn't ma.s.s produced. My mother loved originals."

Ashley had locked eyes with Mark and stood there as if she were soaking up every word he spoke. Had Angela not been standing so close to him, she may have felt like she wasn't even in the room.