By late morning, Winnie’s brain had turned to mush. Between the lack of sleep, the bizarre introduction to the town’s most relentless busy body, the kick in the gut she felt after learning about the inevitable professional connection she and Cal would share, and the intensity of all the processes, passwords and people she was learning about on her first morning on the job, Winnie didn’t know up from down.
Slowly, slowly, the curl of anxiety began to creep its way through her core, and her internal pendulum started to shift toward panic. What was she doing here in Bloomsburo? Had she really picked up her life and stepped into the middle of a community where she didn’t know a soul? Who could she vent to? Who could help her process the dozens of conflicting emotions coursing through her veins right now?
And why on earth had she agreed to not contact her best friend Bree for an entire month?
Luckily one familiar sound stopped her from her catastrophizing: her stomach grumbling. She suddenly struggled to remember if she’d actually managed to eat even so much as a granola bar this morning in the all the hubbub. If there was one thing Winnie knew about herself, though, it was that an empty stomach increased her odds of overreacting.
She might be in an unfamiliar city, dealing with a needlessly aggressive community leader and a criminally handsome professional acquaintance, but she could manage a meal. She could do that much for herself.
Winnie first.
She told Gloria she was leaving for a lunch break and walked out of the newspaper office doors, down the block to where the road intersected with the main square downtown. Looking across the street, she noticed a retro green and white sign that read “Dewey’s.” She glanced at her watch. 10:53 a.m. Too late for breakfast but too early for lunch. Luckily Dewey’s looked like the kind of small-town diner that would have her appetite covered either way.
Pushing through the front doors, she heard the attached bells tinkle in welcome, and felt somewhat relieved by the restaurant’s vacancy. Her oddly timed meal at least allowed her to beat the lunch rush.
Behind the counter she saw a pretty waitress staring out the window, her face distant. Winnie placed the woman in her early twenties, with a cute retro apron and wild red hair that a low ponytail failed to tame.
“Excuse me,” Winnie interrupted. She felt bad, disturbing a woman so lost in her own thoughts, but Winnie had to get some sustenance if she wanted to survive this Monday. A huge plate of fried food may be the only thing strong enough to salvage the day. Not to mention that if she didn’t eat soon, she’d be struck by the hangries, and turn really cranky, really fast.
Winnie cleared her throat, trying to gently break whatever spell held the waitress.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said, shaking her head, as if to bring herself back into the present. “I’m not all here today.”
“Trust me, I get it. My mind’s wandering all over the place, too. Is it okay if I sit here at the counter?” Winnie asked, dropping her messenger bag down on a shimmery red vintage diner stool next to her.
“Of course. Can I get you a drink?”
“If you could put a Pepsi in my hands right now, you’d be my new best friend.”
Surprise colored the woman’s face, but she smiled and turned to the soda fountain behind her.
When the drink, filled with the most delicious crushed ice, made its way to Winnie, she gulped it for five seconds straight until her throat began to burn.
“Oh, that’s better,” she said. “I’m Winnie, by the way. I’m so new to town that I haven’t even had a chance to buy groceries yet, hence why I’ve come to you in such dire, hungry straits.”
“Well, I’m Evie Finnegan,” the waitress said hesitantly, apparently still somewhat unsure of what to make of Winnie. “And I’m old to town.”
“You grew up here?”
“Yep. Born here, raised here. And currently stuck with no real prospects for getting out of here,” she said with a forced laugh, though Winnie noted the slight strain in the woman’s face as she twisted what appeared to be a wedding ring on her left hand.
The interviewer in Winnie wanted to ask a half-dozen follow-up questions, most of which would be impolitely invasive. She mentally filed them away for later.
“Here’s a menu,” Evie said, placing a massive laminated sheet in front of Winnie. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
“Will do,” Winnie said, hungrily scanning the dozens of breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert choices.
Evie moved back down the counter, likely to give her sole customer a bit of space as she made her decision. But even from where she resumed her post looking expressionlessly out the window, the woman kept sending curious glances back Winnie’s way.
As the newest, most sparkly fish, everyone’s going to be watching you closely. Cal’s prediction had become the theme of the day. She might as well have a flashing sign on her head that blinked New Girl! New Girl! in neon letters.
Then again, the front-page feature story about her in the newspaper had pretty much created the same effect.
Surviving this transition would require a friend, and the pretty, weary redhead seemed as good a candidate as any, not only because of her age, but also because Winnie already knew that Dewey’s would quickly become a regular haunt.
A flutter of butterflies whirled through Winnie’s belly, acknowledging not for the first time the difficulties of making friends as an adult. Mandatory college ice breakers had thrown her into Bree’s path back in college, but everyday life didn’t offer such opportunities, so she’d have to be brave. Her survival depended upon it.
“Are the cheeseburger’s any good?” Winnie asked, trying to pull the woman back into conversation.
“Amazing. They’re best with onion rings.”
“That will be perfect. Well-done, please,” Winnie said as she slid her massive menu up the counter toward Evie. She watched as the woman jotted a few notes on a tiny pad of paper, and then slipped the order to the kitchen via a window on the far side of the counter.
A fragment of their earlier conversation suddenly sparked in Winnie’s brain.
“Wait a minute, did you say you last name is Finnegan?”
Evie looked suddenly worried. “Yes.”
“Are you by any chance related to Betty Jean Finnegan?”
If Winnie didn’t know better, she’d guess that it was despair flashing in Evie’s face in that moment.
“Um, yes. She’s my husband’s grandmother. And I apologize in advance if she did something to upset you.”
Winnie laughed in relief.
“Let’s just say it’s my first day in town, and she’s already made quite the impression. I’m not sure how she feels about me. I didn’t get the sense that she was especially pleased with me.”
Evie raised one brow, and the effect transformed her serious face into something mischievous.
“Well, if you’re on that list, then you’re joining me there. After all, I was the no-good hussy who got pregnant in high school, ruining her grandson’s prospects.”
Winnie’s heart swelled. A potential friend who understood the full force of The Velour Whirlwind? She knew fate had guided her to Dewey’s this day.
“You have kids?” Winnie asked in disbelief, not only because Evie couldn’t be twenty-five, but also because she had the figure of a teenager.
“Three, actually. A five-year-old daughter and two-year-old twin boys.”
Winnie told her jaw not to drop but it did anyway. That explained Evie’s weary aura, anyway.
“Well, you look incredible for having three kids,” Winnie noted.
“And if you come in here once a week and say that to me, you’ll be my new best friend,” Evie said, a genuine smile spreading across her face for the first time during the exchange.
“So if I started venting to you about my day like someone might do to a bartender, would you kick me out?”
Evie grinned, another flash of mischief animating her face. It filled Winnie with joy to see the woman loosening up a bit.
“If you lead a dull life, maybe. If you’ve got something juicy to share, probably not.”
Winnie laughed, and began to tell Evie all about her unusual first day, and to inquire about the ever-growing cast of Bloomsburo characters crossing her path. The warm glow of a new friendship, not to mention the cooked-to-perfection cheeseburger, worked like a salve on her anxious heart.
~-~-~-~-~-~-
In her second night in the new cottage, Winnie slept like the dead, and she awoke slowly and with much confusion.
Where was she?
Oh yes, her new cottage. The She Shed. That silly nickname still filled her with unreasonable joy. It probably always would.
What day was it?
Oh yes, Tuesday. She’d officially survived one day on the job.
Why was she feeling disoriented?
Oh, that could be any combination of things. Professional stress. Nutritional deficits. (She really did have to get to the grocery store today. Last night’s dinner of Lucky Charms didn’t exactly qualify as a meal of champions.) Oh, and perhaps the fact that she couldn’t be in her new home without thinking about Cal Spencer.
Just as she slid off the high perch of the new bed that she had already fallen in love with, she heard a knock on the door.
It would have felt like déjà vu had the gentle knocking not so contrasted with Cal’s pounding two day before.
Cal’s pounding. Now there was a phrase she hoped to never think of again. She’d given up men, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to turn off her libido. This combination of conditions presented a problem.
“Winnie, are you up?” a woman’s voice sang from the porch, shaking Winnie from her own thoughts. She panicked, remembering that she wore nothing but a taco-printed nightgown. She grabbed the nearest hoodie she could find and threw it on. By the time she made her way to the door, she was glad she had. The early September heat wave had apparently passed and the fall morning air felt crisp and cool.
She opened the door just a crack to see the kind face of a middle-aged woman and in her heart, she knew it had to be the face of her new landlady, Rhonda Spencer, the woman with whom she’d already shared half a dozen enjoyable phone conversations. With her long, strawberry blond hair pulled back into a thick braid that hung over her shoulder, her blue eyes lined with the gentle crinkles of a laugh-filled life, a floor-length sundress covered in swirl of floral patterns, and wrists full of colorful bangle bracelets, Rhonda embodied the picture of a hippie who’d aged magnificently.
Winnie liked Rhonda instantly, even if that required her to ignore the fact that the woman’s eyes had the same mischievous glint as her son’s. The Spencer DNA clearly trended heavily toward charisma.
“Winnie?” she asked, her face glowing with affection.
“That’d be me,” Winnie said. “Rhonda?”
In response, the woman simply pulled her in for a long, deep hug. Winnie willed herself to forget her lack of real clothing, and tried not to imagine the state of her wavy hair after a long, restless night. Luckily, Rhonda’s warm presence put her instantly at ease.
“It’s so good to finally meet you!” Rhonda cried, releasing Winnie from the embrace and grabbing a basket from where she’d just set it on the ground. “For you!”
Winnie looked down and saw a pretty red wicker basket bursting with a bouquet of tiny purple and yellow asters atop a bowl full of fruit salad and a plate of homemade muffins so fresh that their warmth steamed the plastic wrap that enveloped them.
“What’s all this?” Winnie asked, touched. She’d actually have something to eat today!
“An apology.”
Winnie glanced up. “An apology? What for? I’m in love with this space. It’s more than I could possibly have hoped for.”
Rhonda’s face softened. “I’m so glad. It pained me to let it go, but as soon as I got your email, I knew you were the perfect woman to hand it over to.”
Winnie felt herself blush.
“But the apology is for my son.”
Winnie’s stomach tightened. Well, she’d made it two minutes, at least, before her mind reluctantly returned to Cal Spencer’s visit to this very porch.
“Oh, he felt worried about his mom, that’s all. He seems like a very caring son,” Winnie said, attempting to tuck a wayward curl back behind her ear.
“That’s generous of you to say. He’s the best son,” Rhonda said, before her tone shifted ever so slightly. “And since he’s my only son, I can honestly say that he’s also the worst. Either way, he had no right to barge in here and make you feel unwelcome.”
Winnie’s heart warmed at Rhonda’s protectiveness. She didn’t harbor any anger over Cal’s stony welcome. By now she felt merely resentful about his gorgeous existence more generally, and the way it kept short circuiting her sex-starved brain.
“We resolved the situation well enough.”
Rhonda looked unconvinced. “I gave him a piece of my mind when he told me what happened.”
“And what, exactly, did he say happened?”
“He told me that he stormed over here and scolded you. And then he said you put him in his place and he went along his merry way.”
Winnie couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds about right. And let me guess, Cal gave you a piece of his mind, too?”
Rhonda rolled her eyes, but playfully. “I don’t know at what point a child decides he needs to start taking care of his parent, instead of the opposite, but I’ll tell you, it’s unwarranted. I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions and take care of herself. I probably should have told him my plans for the She Shed, but you know what? I didn’t want him butting in. I wanted one project that existed just for me, not the whole family.”
“That seems reasonable,” Winnie relented. “But he’s a very dedicated son.”
Rhonda sighed. “That I can’t deny. It just shows itself in unexpected ways. But in any case, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for my absence Sunday, that I couldn’t welcome you myself, and to assure you that my overbearing son will not be causing you any more problems around here.”
Winnie smiled despite her realization that the man seemed more than capable of causing problems for her regardless of his physical proximity.
“So you’ve started at the newspaper already?” Rhonda asked.
“I started yesterday. I even ran into Cal at a meeting.”
When she saw Rhonda’s face light up at this new piece of information, she could practically hear Cal groaning from across town.
Cal groaning. Another phrase to add to the list of things Winnie shouldn’t ponder. “But, I had better get ready if I’m going to be on time today,” Winnie said.
“Well, I wish you luck. And I can think of at least five people that I truly, truly hope won’t find their way to your office today.”
“Does Betty Jean Finnegan happen to be one of them?” Winnie asked before she could think better of it.
Rhonda laughed. “Heaven’s yes. She’s already got her talons in you, huh? It never takes long.”
“Well, she’s at least attempting to do so.”
“Don’t worry. She’s almost all bark. I wish I could tell you she’s the worst you’ll face around here, but I’ve never been a liar.”
Winnie laughed as Rhonda gave Winnie one more hug and began the walk across the gardens, back to the main house.
It occurred to Winnie that in the past five minutes with Rhonda, she received more hugs than she had in the past week, a realization that made her feel unexpectedly weepy.
She needed a shower and some caffeine, stat.
~-~-~-~-~-~-
Before Winnie could even set her bag down at the office, Gloria handed her three phone messages. Once again she looked at her watch. 8:36 a.m. Never what you might call a morning person, Winnie realized it might take a good long while to fully acclimate to the early-morning eagerness of the Bloomsburo community.
“The first call came from the Presbyterian church, requesting coverage of their blood drive later in the week,” Gloria said, handing her a quaint, old-fashioned paper message. Come to think of it, with the rotary phone by her desk, Winnie doubted the office featured voice mail capabilities. She’d use her own cell phone if she could figure out how to get decent service anywhere in the center of town – another tangle in her new life waiting to be unraveled.
“The second call was from Diana Knolls, our publisher, who wanted to talk to you about an upcoming special section,” she continued, passing Winnie another tiny pink slip of paper.
“And the third one,” Gloria said with a sigh, as if she didn’t want to have to go into it, “well, the third one is from Esther Hoffman.”
“Okay,” Winnie said, suddenly wondering if that name made the cut on Rhonda’s five-townies-to-watch-out-for list. “Should I be worried?”
“She’s eighty-eight years old. She’s about four and a half feet tall. She’s as sweet as the homemade pies she’s famous for. But she calls in at least three times a week with story tips.”
“Hmmm.”
“And let’s just say that her idea of what’s newsworthy probably differs from your idea of what’s newsworthy.”
“So what was it this morning?”
“Well, she’s got a summer squash coming up in her garden that, and I quote, ‘has some very interesting looking stripes on it.’”
Winnie couldn’t help but laugh. No, that didn’t feel like much of a news lead to her.
Gloria continued, “She wants to know if you want to drive out and take a picture of it for a small write-up in the next issue of the paper.”
“Oh, sheesh.”
“And I should mention,” Gloria continued, “that she lives at the very far reaches of the county. It’s probably a good thirty-minute drive once you get through all the meandering, gravel roads.”
“Can’t she just take a picture and send it in for our consideration?” Winnie asked.
“Did I mention that she’s eighty-eight? She has no camera, and no computer. Hence why she always needs the assistance of The Bloom Times staff.”
Winnie grabbed the final pink slip from Gloria’s hand.
“Well, I think the call from the publisher takes a bit more precedence than the call from Esther for the time being, don’t you?”
“I think that’s a good assessment.”
She turned to walk back to her office, but stopped, remembering one more thing she had to ask Gloria.
“Hey, Gloria, have they sent us an agenda for tomorrow’s city council meeting yet?”
Gloria blinked a few times.
“Well, no. They don’t tend to send those to us.”
“They don’t publish the agendas? That’s required by law.”
“No one’s brought it up, I guess,” Gloria shrugged. “Are you sure you want to go cover the city council meeting? No one around here has done that for years. Nobody would notice if you missed out this week while you got settled.”
Winnie sighed. The fact that The Bloom hadn’t covered city council meetings since the Reagan administration was one of the first things she planned to change at the paper. Townspeople deserved to know as much as possible about the actions of their leaders, and Winnie took the watchdog function of journalism seriously.
And if they weren’t even managing to publish a public agenda for their monthly meetings, the city council needed a watchdog.
“No, I think it’s good to let them know what they’re dealing with straight out of the gate,” she said with a wink.
Gloria gave an almost foolishly big grin. “Like I said, you’re going to shake things up around here. I better just put on my seat belt right now.”
Winnie laughed softly as she made her way back to her office. She looked at the messages in her hand, and decided to give her publisher, Diana, a call back before she got lost in other tasks. Diana, who hired Winnie, worked out of Minnesota, but managed ten different small-town newspapers like The Bloom around the Midwest. Winnie had spoken to her a handful of times in the weeks since her hiring, and Diana had always given the general impression of “slightly stern competence.”
Having dragged her finger across the rotary the requisite eleven times, Winnie eventually heard Diana pick up on the other end, informing Winnie that she didn’t have too much time to talk, but that she wanted to give her a heads up about an upcoming project.
“At these small, community papers, special sections can be a big money maker, and can generate a lot of community enthusiasm,” Diana explained. “You’ll put together 8-10 over the course of the year, usually about twenty pages each. Sometimes they focus on holidays, or seasons; other times they have some theme, like home improvement, or gardening. They’re usually comprised of a mix of canned and local content.”
Well that sounds like a lot of work for me, Winnie thought —silently, of course, because she’d like to keep her job for more than two days.
“I’ll get you a copy of the full year’s schedule so you can plan ahead,” Diana continued, “but the first one you need to know about is coming right up. Bloomsburo Days is the biggest festival of the year in your town, and it’s one of our largest and most profitable special sections you’ll produce.”
“Okay. What’s the timeline?”
“The festival is always held the first weekend of October, with events beginning Wednesday and ending Sunday. We need to publish the section the week before. So the special section will be distributed September 30th.
Winnie scanned the calendar on the wall. It was already the 6th. That gave her less than a month to put together the special content. She must have sighed louder than she meant to, based on what Diana said next.
“I know it’s daunting, but the good news is that you have lots of help with this one, given who runs the festival.”
“And who’s that?”
“The Chamber of Commerce.”
To Winnie, of course, this revelation felt like the opposite of good news.
“And luckily the guy in charge, Cal Spencer, really knows his stuff. He’s helped us with this section for the past five years, and as long as you work closely with him, your timeline should be manageable.”
“Well, that’s great, then,” Winnie lied through clenched teeth.
“Sorry to drop all this on you and run, but I have to catch a 9 a.m. flight to Decatur to unravel an HR disaster at our daily down there.”
“Okay, well, we’ll touch base on this soon,” said Winnie.
“Good.”
As Winnie hung up the phone, only one tangible thought remained: Was the daily paper in Decatur hiring? Bloomsburo, so it seemed, had it out for her.