Chapter 22
Reva had a relationship with punctuality that bordered on the sacred. She was raised under the stern gaze of her grandfather who taught her as a child that time respects those who respect time. The phrase wasn’t just a motto, it was a creed she lived by, embedded deep within her.
Thus, as the sun peeked over the horizon, casting a golden glow over Thunder Mountain, Reva was already up, her day meticulously planned down to the minute. This dedication to punctuality endeared her to the townsfolk and commanded their respect, for they knew, in a world teeming with uncertainties, Reva Nygard’s word was as reliable as the sunrise.
Unfortunately, this creed meant nothing to a jammy-faced toddler who ran from her when she came after him with a wet washcloth. When she finally caught up with Lucan and rubbed his dimpled face clean, she glanced forlornly at the highchair tray with the bowl of oatmeal, vowing never to tell anyone she’d bent to his will and replaced the nutritious breakfast—which he refused to eat—with his favorite jam on toast (heavy on the jam.)
By the time she buckled Lucan into his car seat, she was running a solid twenty minutes late for her appointment with Alex, the lead architect on the community center project. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard, mentally calculating the time it would take to get there.
Upon arrival, she discovered Lucan had fallen asleep. She hated to wake him, but leaving him alone in the vehicle was not an option. So, she scooped him up and carried him crying as she made her way to where Alex was standing with a group of men gathered around a makeshift table littered with blueprints.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said loudly over the crying child. “I apologize. He just woke up.” At that moment, Lucan vomited all over her blouse—a mixture of regurgitated grape jam and peanut butter. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, holding him at arm’s length.
A wide-eyed Alex quickly glanced around at the men. “Do any of you have a?—?”
One of the guys, a man with graying hair and deep lines at the corners of his eyes, quickly fished out a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it up. “Don’t know why you young guys don’t carry one,” he said to the other men who stood there stupefied.
Alex took the handkerchief and opened a thermos that was on the table. He wet the cloth with water and handed it off to Reva, who was horrified at the situation. “Thank you,” she said, juggling Lucan on her hip, who was now grinning. “My wet wipes are back in the car.” She patted the spot on her blouse to no avail. Rubbing it only made the stain worse.
Finally, she sighed. “Looks like a lost cause. I’ll have to go home and change.” She looked up. “But not this minute. Let’s continue.” She assumed a professional stance and prepared to participate in the discussion.
The guys all glanced at each other. One of them finally shrugged. “You gonna tell her?” he asked Alex.
“Go ahead,” came the reply.
The guy who had posed the question stepped forward and pointed to Reva’s head. “Uh, you have a little in your hair.”
“What?” Reva’s hand darted to where he pointed and met with a sticky concoction. She groaned. How was she going to command a presence with these men and hold their attention with a glob of vomit in her hair?
She met Alex’s gaze. “Look, let’s reschedule. In the meantime, shoot me an email outlining the progress and any issues that need the city’s attention. I’ll review it and respond immediately.”
She apologized profusely and turned for her car. Lucan leaned over her shoulder and waved his chubby hands back at the crew.
On the way home to change, Reva made a decision. She hit the call button on her steering wheel and activated her voice telephone system. “Call Oma,” she said.
Seconds later, the older woman answered. “Well, hello dear.”
“Oma, I have a little emergency here.” She explained the situation and how she was already running late for her next meeting. She didn’t mention the meeting was in Jackson and wasn’t business related, but a coffee date with Kellen Warner.
“I’d be happy to watch Lucan, dear.”
An hour had passed, and Reva, now showered and in fresh attire, had left the little boy in Oma’s capable care. As she accelerated away, a fleeting glimpse in the rearview mirror at the unoccupied car seat stirred an unwelcome sensation of guilt within her. Guilt she quickly brushed aside. After all, Lucan was with Oma—safe, sound, and in the best possible hands.
And she would be fine, too, despite the fact she now had wet hair in a braid. Not wanting to be tardy a second time, she pressed down on the accelerator to make up for the delay, determined to reclaim the lost minutes.
She even let herself enjoy the quiet and reached for the radio dial, tuning into her favorite jazz station. It was a beautiful morning after all, despite its chaotic start.
The piercing sound of a siren broke into her reverie.
A glance in the mirror confirmed her fears as she spotted the red lights of Fleet Southcott’s police car. Her gaze darted to her dash and realized her oversight—she’d been speeding.
With a resigned groan, she slowed and prepared to pull over to the side of the road.
So much for her dedication to being punctual.