"Cooper wants to marry me, Jenna. Can you believe it?"
Libby's voice came across the phone line sounding close to tears and mystified. But Jenna Murphy didn't doubt for a minute that Lib's dreams were about to come true. Nobody deserved this shot at happiness more than Libby McGannon, Sentinel Pass postmaster and Jenna's best friend for more years than either cared to count.
"Me," Libby repeated, before Jenna could respond. "And he asked before I told him about the baby. I think. Wait. Maybe not… Oh, I don't know. My mind is such a swirl of hormones and guilt and worry. But this feels right. Doesn't it? I said yes, anyway. Oh, I've gotta run. He just went to Mac's to formally ask for my hand—isn't that sweet?—but I can see him coming back. Thanks for listening. I love you. Bye."
Jenna slowly replaced the phone on its hook. The Murphy family's phone was an old-fashioned model. Practically museum quality. Black, because black was cheaper. She was proud that her hand didn't shake, not even a little. Surprises had never been her friend. Even good ones took time to become familiar, and thus…safe.
"That was Libby," she told her mother who'd probably been able to hear bits and pieces of Libby's exuberant monologue from where she sat across the room. "Cooper proposed." She swallowed the metallic taste in her mouth. "And Lib said yes."
"Oh, my," Bess Murphy exclaimed, springing up from the kitchen table where mother and daughter had been eating breakfast. Granola and soy milk. Bess's latest health fad. "I knew it. I knew he was in love with her. I could see it in his eyes last night at the town meeting. Even when he was talking about what was going to happen and how the town would benefit from the television production crew coming, he kept looking at Libby. Like a starving man in a 7-Eleven."
Jenna couldn't help but smile at the metaphor. Cooper Lindstrom, TV star and talent show personality, didn't strike her as the type to frequent quick-stop convenience stores. But Bess was renowned for saying the first thing that came into her head—often at her daughter's expense.
"Have they set a date?"
"She didn't mention one, but I imagine it'll be soon," she said, gathering up both empty bowls to put in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. If she left them for her mother to tend to, they might still be on the table when Jenna returned from work. The completion of household chores was dependent on the intensity of one or all of Bess's ailments: arthritis, diabetes, gastro-intestinal troubles, migraines or any other unexplained medical symptom that might flare up, leaving Bess prone on the couch watching Lifetime or Turner Classic Movies—or, God forbid, Discovery Health—for the entire day.
Her mother was a hypochondriac, plain and simple. She'd always been overly wrapped up in everyday aches and pains, but since Jenna's father's death two years earlier, Bess had honed the art of fretting about her health to a doctorial level.
Bess refilled her coffee mug and leaned casually against the dated, olive-green Formica countertop. "Why do you say that? They haven't known each other long. And Libby was pretty upset with him when she found out Cooper had been playing her for a fool."
Jenna felt her cheeks heat up. She was one of the few people who knew that Libby was pregnant. She'd just assumed that Libby and Cooper would want to make their relationship official before the baby came, but that wasn't always the case these days. "I don't think Lib will hold that against him, Mom. I've known her a long time, and this is the first time I've ever seen her throw caution to the wind— relationshipwise. That says a lot, don't you think?"
Bess didn't answer right away, but at least she seemed distracted from Jenna's gaff. The break in conversation gave Jenna time to pack a small lunch. Apple. Cheese stick. Cookies—the not-so-healthy brand her mother refused to buy. At times, Jenna felt like a child living with her mommy. But most days she felt old. Very old. Caught in a one-sided generational squeeze caring for her ailing mother without the benefit of a husband and family of her own to balance things out.
By choice, she reminded herself. She'd had a couple of chances to unknot the apron strings over the years, but the men she'd dated had been either too much or not enough like her father. Or, in Brian's case, too much like her mother. She honestly had no expectations of ever finding Mr. Right for more reasons than she cared to list—the most verbal of them was looking deep in thought at the moment.
"I'm not surprised Libby fell for Coop. He's like a big, handsomely groomed golden retriever.You just want to hug and pet him. But that friend he brought with him to the meeting wasn't too shabby, either.At first, I thought he was purebred Doberman…because he was dressed all in black, I suppose. But when I looked closer I could see the depth in his eyes. So, I'm calling him Mr. Bernese Mountain Dog."
Jenna shook her head as she rolled the top of her brown paper sack in a neat crease and stapled it. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know you think of him as a big slobbery pooch."
"Not just any old dog, dear. My favorite breed. When I was a young girl, our neighbor had one. His name was Franz. His owner went all the way to Switzerland to buy him. Now there are breeders around the country. I always wanted one, but Clarence claimed an animal that size would eat us out of house and home. He'd never budge— even when I played the Jenna card."
"The what?"
"You know how much your dad doted on you. I told him every little girl should have a dog." She pursed her lips and frowned in a way that made her look older than fifty-one. The frumpy cotton housecoat worn over faded pastel blue pajamas and open-toe scuffs didn't help. Jenna remembered a time when her mother looked glamourous and exotic—even before nine in the morning.
She made a mental note to ask the doctor about clinical depression the next time she accompanied her mother to an appointment.
"Clarence said if you wanted a dog that bad, you could buy one when you were paying the bills."
Jenna smiled. That sounded like her father. It also reminded her of a debate that Libby had mentioned between her brother, Mac, and his daughter, Megan. The widower had yet to give in on the dog front, but Jenna knew it was only a matter of time. Despite his gruff outward demeanor, Mac was a big softy deep down. Jenna had had a crush on him, off and on, for years. He might actually be the only man she'd consider marrying. Unfortunately, he'd never shown the slightest interest in her, except as his sister's friend.
With a sigh she'd meant to keep silent, Jenna stuffed the lunch sack into her backpack and looked around to see if she was forgetting anything. As usual, she'd laid out things the night before. She double-checked her list just to be sure.
"I know I told you this, Mom, but it's important so please don't call me in an hour asking me to run to Rapid with you," she said walking close enough to make eye contact. "The Health Department is supposed to send out an inspector today. He has to check the new pipes before we can cover up the open trenches. We can't afford to lose another day, otherwise I would have been covering for Libby at the post office."
Her mother's still-pretty lips pursed expressively. "Who'd they get to fill in? Not the girl from Hill City, I hope. Last time she worked I wound up with Rufus Miller's mail." When she shook her head, a lock of silvery blond hair escaped from the knot she'd piled on top of her head. "Libby's excellent, of course, but I miss the way things were when Mary was postmistress."
Libby's grandmother had practically run the town for as long as Jenna could remember. Now in retirement, Mary "lived in sin" with her companion, Calvin. "I know, Mom, but Mary's not doing too well right now. Lib said they had a scary episode yesterday. Calvin's hoping it was just a reaction to a new medication, but they don't know for sure."
Mom sighed heavily. "If I ever start showing signs of dementia, I want you to toss a hair dryer in the water while I'm in the tub."
Jenna had been hearing various exit strategies for the past couple of months. "With my luck, you'd catch it, then accuse me of attempted murder."
"I won't. I promise."
"Dementia robs you of short-term memory, Mom. You might forget that the plan was your idea. Libby's grandmother didn't even recognize her yesterday."
Mom lifted the cup to her lips but didn't drink from it. Instead, she frowned and said, "Well, I'm sure that no matter how bad I get, I'll still know when it's time to exit stage left with grace and flair."
Jenna knew better than to argue. They'd had this discussion as recently as a week ago when her mom thought she'd developed COPD—chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. No one adored diseases that came with abbreviated names more than Bess Murphy. Her doctor had insisted the symptoms were that of a cold. Possibly a little bronchitis. Mom had been crushed.
Her mother needed to get out more. At the very least, she'd benefit from a hobby.
Jenna and her friends in the Wine, Women and Words book club had discussed the topic at length. They'd even invited Bess to join the group. Mom had declined, claiming her failing eyesight was proof of macular degeneration. For some reason, Bess was convinced that her life was on a slippery slope and she could swoosh off into the ethers to join her deceased husband at any moment. A drama queen on skis.
"I probably won't be home until four or five," Jenna said, heading for the door. "You're in charge of supper."
"You're not going to miss Jeopardy, are you? Alex Trebek is so cute…in a miniature schnauzer kind of way."
Jenna stopped abruptly and wheeled about. "Mother, what is it with you and dogs? Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want a pet?"
Bess put a hand to her chest as if aghast. "Heavens, no. With all my health problems? What would happen to the poor thing if we bonded, then I died? I wouldn't inflict that kind of...
