“High-end stores in Trinity Falls?” Doreen collected Darius’s empty plate. “Ramona knows the town’s culture won’t support exclusive labels and fashions. What is she thinking?”
“She wants to bring the big-city lifestyle to our little town.” Megan’s voice was tight with frustration. She carried her coffee to the counter and added cream and sweetener. “I should have realized this would happen as soon as the original center owners defaulted on the town’s loan.”
Her older cousin’s reasons for not staying in New York when Ean had asked her to marry him were still a mystery. It was now compounded by the puzzle of her goal to bring a piece of Fifth Avenue to their sleepy little town.
“How were you supposed to know?” Darius drained his second mug of coffee. “I wonder how Ean’s return will affect Ramona’s plans to gentrify Trinity Falls.”
Quincy stood abruptly. He put several bills on the counter. “Keep the change, Ms. Doreen.”
Doreen looked as startled as Megan felt. “Thank you, Quincy. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You do the same.” Quincy waved over his shoulder as he strode to the door.
Doreen stared after Quincy. “What was that about?”
Megan remained silent, but something told her Ean’s return wouldn’t affect only her unrequited crush.
Ean jogged down the deserted, quiet street of his hometown early Monday morning. He’d arrived in Trinity Falls late Sunday night, with only enough time to fall into his childhood bed to sleep. He drew a deep breath of the chilly mid-October air as he approached his parents’ home—now his mother’s house.
The buildings and lamps winding through the neighborhood displayed banners heralding next year’s Trinity Falls Sesquicentennial, the 150th birthday of his hometown. They read: 150 YEARS STRONG. He’d already caught the community’s excitement. Was the sole heir of the town’s founding family also excited? Last he’d heard, Jackson Sansbury had withdrawn from the town.
It had been a stressful six weeks since he’d announced his resignation at the end of August. Now with the scent of autumn washing over him, Ean’s tension drained from his muscles. Coming home had been the right thing to do. He’d had some trouble sleeping last night. But that had been because of the crickets, not because of his caseload.
He smiled, listening to the birds rehearsing their harmony as they perched high on the trees along his street. He took another deep breath, enjoying the clean, crisp air as the sun slowly rose, turning the sky a pale gray.
“Welcome home, Ean.” The disembodied voice drew him from his thoughts.
Ean looked up as he approached his neighbor’s oversized, stately house, across the street from his family’s home. He hadn’t noticed the tiny old woman standing in the threshold of her front door. She was wrapped in a thick green sweater two sizes too large for her.
Ean stopped at the end of her paved walkway, looking up at her. “Good morning, Ms. Helen. Thanks for the welcome.”
Helen Gaston, or “Ms. Helen,” as the residents of Trinity Falls called her, had been ancient the day Ean was born. Since then, time had stood still for her.
“Come on in.” She waved him up with a slim right arm. “Get out of the cold. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
How could he refuse?
Ean glanced at Ms. Helen’s sesquicentennial banner as he climbed the five redbrick steps and crossed the spacious porch. He toed off his running shoes beside her front door so he wouldn’t track mud from his run into his neighbor’s home.
Ms. Helen stepped backward, pulling the front door wider as she moved. “I’m glad to see New York didn’t leech out the good manners your parents instilled in you.”
“No, ma’am, it didn’t.” Ean crossed into her foyer in his stocking feet. He watched Ms. Helen disappear into her kitchen.
A deep breath drew in the scent of apple potpourri. The room was inviting, with honey wood flooring and bright yellow walls. Ean wandered closer to what appeared to be original framed watercolor paintings of the view outside Ms. Helen’s home. Very nice.
Heavy pale brocade curtains were drawn open over the row of windows to his left, allowing the gray morning light inside. A reclining chair was stationed in front of the windows, apparently to assist in neighborhood surveillance. In warmer weather, that chair would stand on her balcony. Ean’s gaze dropped to the current issue of the women’s magazine resting on the seat. Ms. Helen’s nephew bought her a subscription to the monthly journal every Christmas. Did she still accuse the postal carrier of reading it before he delivered it to her?
His hostess returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water. “You went running this morning in the dark.”
A glance at the chair answered how his vigilant neighbor had known that. Ever since he was a child, Ms. Helen seemed to know everything that occurred in Trinity Falls, sometimes before it happened.
Ean swallowed a gulp of water. “It was dark when I started running, but the sun came up pretty quickly.”
“Did you notice the streetlamps along the jogging path in the park?”
An image of the lamps, each waving a 150 YEARS STRONG flag, flashed across his memory. “Yes, they’re new.”
“Not that new.” Ms. Helen nodded toward his house across the street. “Adding the streetlamps was your mother’s idea. Did you know that?”