Chapter Five #2
Harriet glanced at Melody, slightly raising her eyebrows.
Mrs. Haufbrau had been even more insufferable than usual these past weeks and months.
She seemed to have taken Louis Merriweather’s death particularly hard and was still fully arrayed in black, even though the rest of them had progressed to wearing a simple black armband.
Likewise, the fledgling comradery that had blossomed between them after the fire seemed to have well and truly fizzled.
Melody tried to have compassion for her in the wake of her father’s death, but Mrs. Haufbrau’s grief was starting to affect business, as she was quite short and temperamental with customers lately.
Melody knew she should take her aside and have words, but she had no idea how to approach the situation.
She couldn’t very well scold a woman twice her age! Fred, of course, was of no help.
“Well, anyway,” Harriet went on, “Mom says it’s okay, so I think we might just leave it as is. That or ask his cousin Virgil.”
Harriet proceeded to ramble on about what each Schneider, old and young, was proposing to wear to the wedding, and Melody felt her mind drift.
Harriet had asked for her opinion on two topics, yet did not seem to notice or care that Melody had not had a chance to reply to either.
Harriet, she was quickly realizing, had plenty of people to advise her on her upcoming nuptials and was not in need of her help.
Mrs. Owens entered the shop then, and Harriet quickly shoved her feather duster under the counter. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Owens! Can I help you?” Harriet was in a perpetual good mood these days.
“Just came in for some flour, Harriet. And some milk. How’s your mom doing?”
“Oh, she’s good,” Harriet replied, moving to help the woman. Melody took her place behind the counter and noticed two blocks of cheese sitting at one end.
“What are these?” Melody called.
“Oh, goodness! John delivered those this morning with the eggs! I forgot to take them back to the cooler. Here, I’ll take them.”
“No, you tend to Mrs. Owens. I’ve got this.”
She was, in truth, glad of an excuse to go back and ask Cal why he had left the potluck so early.
In her fretful musings last night about whether to stay or go, Cal had several times factored into the equation, though he had annoyingly factored into both sides.
In her current mood, she was leaning toward him being a reason to go.
Why should she stay and moon over him? He wasn’t all that great, anyway, she decided, and tried to call to mind all the handsome Loyola boys who would be hers for the taking.
She paused just outside of the office (she refused to call it Fred’s office, though he did) and considered going in and trying to get him to see sense.
If he wanted to waste his life working at the Merc, she would not stand in his way, but it made sense to finish his degree first. Plus, she was certain that once he was back at Harvard, all his old pleasures would be more than enough to convince him otherwise.
But what if he refused to see reason? Could they successfully comanage the Merc?
She didn’t see how that would work, and yet she refused to be reduced to being his subservient employee.
Likewise, she wasn’t about to let herself be packed off to Chicago like an inconvenient child if she didn’t want to be.
But now, she decided, was not the time to discuss it and lowered the fist she had poised to rap on the office door. For one thing, the cheese she was carrying had grown warm and spongy, and, more importantly, this might be her only chance to speak to Cal alone.
She rounded the last aisle of canned goods and entered the butcher shop area.
Cal was bent over the back worktable, carefully slicing a lamb loin—if she wasn’t mistaken.
Recognizing different cuts of meat was not her specialty.
She set the cheese blocks on top of the display case. Cal did not look up.
“Harriet forgot to bring these back to the cooler this morning with the eggs.”
Cal continued slicing.
“Want me to put these in the there for you?”
“No, I’ll do it in a minute.”
Melody pressed her lips together. She moved toward the end of the counter so that she could see him fully and leaned against it. “I saw you at the potluck.”
He didn’t respond.
“I thought you weren’t going,” she prodded.
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind.” He began arranging the chops on a white enamel tray.
“How come you left so early then?”
Cal’s shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I was . . . I was hoping to talk to you.”
He glared at her. “Well, you seemed pretty busy. And I had to get back. Had other things to do.”
Other things? What other things? “Is someone ill?” she asked, trying to draw him out.
He looked up at her finally, a dark lock hanging over one eye. “No, no one’s ill, Melody. Not that you’d care.”
Melody felt as if she’d been slapped. What was that supposed to mean?
Cal went back to slicing. “Heard you’re going away.”
“Who told you that?”
“Fred mentioned it to me at the potluck.”
How dare Fred! She crossed her arms tightly. “Well, that’s not true! I . . . we’re still discussing it.”
“I meant to ask you about it that night, but like I said, you were occupied. Too busy I guess to talk to one of the employees. ‘Specially when you’re rubbing elbows with the mayor.”
“I don’t think of you as an employee!” Melody blurted, though she did suddenly remember referring to Harriet that way that night.
“And I wasn’t ‘rubbing elbows’ with the mayor!
” she exclaimed. “He wanted to tell me some story about him and my dad. I’ve heard it a hundred times before, but I couldn’t just walk away from him. ”
Cal stared at her for a few moments and then tossed his head, flipping back his errant lock of hair. “You know what? You should go back, Melody.”
Melody stared at him, stunned. Not him, too! Did no one want her to stay?
“It’d be the best thing for you. To get away from here. Study whatever it was that you were studying before.”
Melody tried to remember what she had been studying. English? What good was that? She cleared her throat, feeling like she was suddenly sliding down a slippery slope. “I don’t know. I kind of like it here now.”
Cal let out a little snort. “Thought you couldn’t wait to get back to all your friends in the city. And your beau. What’s his name? Doug?”
“It’s Douglas. And he’s not my beau. He’s just a . . . a friend. I’ve tried to explain that!”
Cal examined his thumb. “You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! I would have introduced you that night if you hadn’t just bolted out.”
“Look, it’s none of my business, but he didn’t have the look of a ‘friend’ to me.”
Stunned again, she exclaimed, “You’re right. It isn’t any of your business!”
“Sometimes you just can’t see what’s in front of your face, can you, Melody?” He scowled—actually scowled—at her!
“Me?” She bristled. “That describes you perfectly, Cal Fraiser!” Was he really this dense?
“Oh, I think I can see what’s in front of me just fine.”
“Well, if I left, you’d . . . you’d have Fred for a boss!”
Cal shrugged again. “Makes no difference to me.”
Melody tried desperately to think of something to say, some way to hang on to whatever this was. “Well, what about the cider?” She knew this was a grasp at straws, but it was actually a concern. “I can’t just . . . just abandon it!”
“Fred’s here now,” Cal said cooly. “I reckon he can handle it. So, you see, there’s really no reason for you to stay, is there?”
He was looking directly into her eyes, as if searching them for . . . for what?
Her heart was beating unnaturally fast. Was this a test?
She pulled her gaze away. She refused to beg him for his affection.
“No, there’s not.” Turning on her heel, she headed back toward the front counter, brushing a few stray tears as she went.
No one seemed to want—or need—her to stay, and no one seemed appreciative of all that she had done, all that she had sacrificed.
She glanced at her father’s office door through blurry eyes.
Well then, fine.
She would leave and let them all stew in their own juices.
She was more than happy to leave this backwater town and return to the delights of Chicago.
She would write Cynthia with the happy news as soon as she got home.
No, she decided—she would go home now and do it.
After all, Fred was here. Let him handle everything.