Chapter Five
A couple days later, Summer gazed at the Good Shepherd Community Church on Oak Street and questioned why she’d never painted this church.
The lines, the colors, the character stood out.
She remembered each and every brush stroke from painting the Lutheran and Methodist, but had quit on the churches after they were complete.
Out for a walk with her camera, she was hoping to snap some secret photos of Tom to aid her memory.
She already sketched out the structure of his drawing, but this gift was special, connecting their past to their future.
She didn’t have a lot of time to tinker with it.
Given how much Tom sacrificed on a daily basis to keep her painting, she wanted to be sure this gift showed him what he meant to her.
Strolling in the cool weather gave her the shivers, but she kept striding on, making a mental list in her head of all the Echo Falls paintings she did have. Drawn by twinkling lights, she watched for cars and crossed one street then another.
The Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church spire rose in front of her – she’d painted it in summer years ago. She stopped mid-block, mesmerized. At the back of the church, the long length of a green, fir tree held her spellbound, glowing with twenty feet of lights and silver stars. “Wow!”
“Took two cranes this year to put the tree in place and a whole ton of patience.”
Summer tore her gaze away from the splendor and stared at the young woman with the stroller, barely recognizing her.
“Hi, I’m Chrissy, and this is my brother Stevie.”
“Yes, we met last Christmas.” Stevie had been abandoned under last year’s Christmas tree.
Tom’s sister and her husband had fostered the boy until Chrissy had arrived, searching for him after a complicated, abusive family situation had gotten out of control.
The squirming, shy two-year old was no longer a baby.
His face had thinned, his body stayed busy even strapped in the stroller, and the flush in his cheeks brightened his blue eyes.
“You’re Summer, right? The artist?”
“Yes, Tom’s wife.”
The woman’s eyes went back to the church. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Are you going to paint it?”
“Yes, I am.” Surprise went through her. She didn’t usually return to subjects she’d already done, but this begged a painting. She turned back to the tree. “It defines Christmas, don’t you think?”
Chrissy shoved back on strands of blonde hair that escaped her ponytail. “They had a creche last year but left it out this time. I went to the meeting and spoke for putting it back in place. Stevie slept under that tree last year. It was a Christmas miracle they found him.”
“That’s what the season is about.”
“I thought so. But the parishioners were leery of all the fuss so opted out. I’m hoping to convince them for next year.”
“I should paint it with all the decorations from last year so they can recognize the miracle.”
“Could you paint it that way?”
“Sure, people should have pictures. The creche belongs in the painting.”
“You should ask Pastor Kyle. He might know who. This town could use the reminder.”
Thinking of Clem and Slade, Summer couldn’t help but agree.
The toddler fussed. Chrissy searched in her pockets and rescued a small toy horse from the folds in the fabric. “Here you go, buddy.”
“He’s grown so much.” Summer studied the child’s solemn face light with joy over what was most likely a favorite toy.
“Meg and Bret have been marvelous to him, and me, too. They swayed the judge for a co-guardian arrangement and have helped me so much.”
Summer grinned. “They’re good people.”
An Echo Falls police vehicle stopped next to her at the curb. The window whirred open. “Ladies.”
“Hi, Tom.” Chrissy gave him a little wave.
“Hi, honey.” Summer stepped to the curb and leaned on the window. Busted. Pictures now would raise his suspicions. “How’s your day?”
“It’s moving along. I tried to call you. Want to do welfare checks in the canyon with me?”
“Sure. Are we stopping at Clem’s for food? I could use something warm.”
“I can make that happen. Need a ride Chrissy?” Stevie lost his shy and waved at Tom. “Hey, buddy!”
“Nope, we’re going to the library for story time. Thanks, though.”
Summer stepped to the sidewalk. “I’ll catch up with you later? Would you help me get the whole idea squared before I paint?”
The woman blushed. “I’d love it. Might be something tangible I can show Stevie later so that time doesn’t seem so dastardly.”
Dastardly. This woman read. “I agree. I’ll find you.”
She opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Waving at Chrissy and Stevie, she glanced at her husband.
He eyed her. “What’s the camera for?”
“Pictures. I’m searching for inspiration, location, and vibe for the mural. I stopped to study the Good Shepherd Church and was drawn down the block to the Lutheran Church in all it’s Christmas glory. Both went on my list to paint.”
“Didn’t you do all the churches?” Tom pulled away from the curb and muted the volume on his radio.
Summer fastened her seatbelt and wiggled to settle. “No, I checked Jonathan’s list and the inventory in my paint room. Methodist and Lutheran only. The rest I didn’t do. I guess it wasn’t the right time.”
Tom looked both ways and turned toward Clem’s. “The tree is spectacular, but I said that last year and the year before.”
Summer stared out the windshield to keep from gazing agog at her uniformed husband. Why was he so compelling? “Is it possible to get to the point where you know the decorations honor the holiday and shouldn’t go any further?”
“Clem and Slade.”
“Church, too. There should be a stopping point.”
“I agree, but some would say tradition should be shaken up once in awhile. I liked the creche and the tree smaller like last year’s, but nobody asks my opinion.”
Summer mulled his answer. “Did you find Santa?”
“No. Not a sighting anywhere – even on social media.” The disgust in his voice made her grin, but she turned away, hiding her face.
“I saw that smile. If I didn’t have Mia bugging me every second about the case, I might find humor in the antics of whoever did this. But at the moment, not so much.”
“Mia needs validation. She’s not sure of herself or her ideas. As soon as she gains some confidence, she’ll be able to guide herself through these mazes.”
“Is that what you did? Find a mentor?”
“Yes and no. My grandfather loved my art, but couldn’t see a path forward. I could see the path, but was unsure of my talent. Jonathan gave me both.”
Tom stayed quiet while he turned into Clem’s, parking in the first slot. “Thank God for Jonathan.”
“For sure. Give Mia space. You might encourage some growth and give her a trusted, non-related adult to rely on. She’ll take correction from you better.”
Tom shook his head. “Not in my job description.”
“All the things you do for this town are not in your job description. You do them anyway. This is one of them.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Might be the right approach with her. We’ll see.”
“As Mrs. Heigl would say, patience and practice.”
Tom got out of the vehicle and came around. She waited for him to open the door because he liked to do it.
“Come, let’s get coffee and the food. The philosophy can wait. Hungry people can’t.”
“Why are you doing this anyway? Does the police department normally deliver the food?”
“No. But the couple who usually does the work has holiday travel plans, and we’re all pitching in. Tomorrow is the fire department’s turn, then the hospital.”
“That’s smart. It doesn’t fall on one person or group.”
Tom opened one of the double doors to the restaurant and let her go first.
&&&&&&&&&&
With her last class block as a free period, Mia Devlin left school early and took an unexpected route on side streets to her house. She coded her way in and went to her room, her haven. Dang, she didn’t feel good at all.
Mom had added a new strand of lights over the white banister. While they were pretty with all their twinkling and such, it messed with the feel of the smooth wood under her hand going up and down. The light addition put their home in a ‘too decorated’ category.
The house creaked with wind and silence.
Her mom was still at work at the library.
Usually she went and helped her. She dashed off a text and told her mom she was at home with a sore throat and a headache.
The usual Tylenol, drink some tea, blah blah came back at her.
Like she was a baby and couldn’t figure the treatment out herself.
She huffed and studied the pink room. It was time for a change. Pink was such an immature color.
Mia tossed her coat over her desk chair, dropped her backpack to the floor, and kicked off her boots.
Stylish-wise the pink slouch boots were fab, but comfort was minimal.
In two minutes, she changed to her avocado pajamas and thick olive green socks, then pulled her long hair back with a black scrunchie. She had work to do.
Today she had new pictures to upload.
The boys – Jake and Daniel – had propped Santa on a bench at the Applegate Farms Market. They got slaps for clear, funny pictures that would play well on the social media account even if they came close to being caught by Chad Applegate.
Sgt. Applegate wouldn’t be happy when he found out she’d been the one bouncing everyone around, but her main thesis still had to be answered: Why did adults care more about decorations than the real meaning of Christmas?
She pulled the experiment notebook from her pack and grabbed her laptop off her desk.
Human behavior continued to baffle her, and the more she studied, the less she understood.
It wasn’t clear and concise like rocket science where if you did A then B happened.
With this, sometimes you did A then J happened, and usually the outcome you expected was skewed into craziness.
Not scientific logic, but her observations supported an unpredictable result.