Always Florence

“Go easy on him.” Jerry Gold was the shop teacher at the high school. He was very tall and reedy and wore a University of Oregon jersey over jeans. His wife had given birth to their first baby in August. “He probably got to sleep in and had trouble getting moving. I mean, I haven’t slept in weeks, so it was easy for me to be on time.”

“And I came from across the river.” Clarissa Burke had a fashion boutique in Long Beach, Washington, and one in Astoria. She was a white-haired woman who was the epitome of grace and style—even after her husband left her for one of her young sales associates. “And you’ll see that I—”

Nate put the doughnuts in the middle of the table. “I know. You probably braved pirates to get here in a leaking kayak you had to drag across the river the last mile with a length of rope in your teeth. Right?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “It was a length of leather,” she corrected, “and I was still here on time.”

“And remarkably dry.” Mike Wallis owned the building and The Cellar, a wine shop in the basement, under Nate’s office. He was small in stature but big in ideas.

“I’m just saying,” Clarissa added pointedly, “that punctuality is important in small-town service. There are less of us to do more work, so it’s a good thing if we don’t hold each other up. Your brother understood that.”

Even Sandy groaned at the comment. “Clarie, he’s a bachelor with two little boys and no parenthood experience. Cut him some slack.”

Nate gave Sandy a grateful smile. He wanted to shout at Clarissa that he’d had one hell of a morning, and that while he wished more than anything that Ben were still here, he hated the comparisons to him because he’d always felt that he’d never measured up to his older brother. It was Ben who’d made the skills Nate did have work for the business.

Instead, remembering what he told the boys to do when they’d been misjudged or misunderstood, he fought for patience. He nodded politely to the older woman. “You’re absolutely right. I won’t be late again.”

At that moment, Jonni and Karen carried in thermal pots of coffee and hot water, a stack of white, diner-style plates and cups, and paper napkins.

“Perfect.” Nate smiled his thanks.

The two disappeared quickly, closing the door behind them.

After doughnuts were selected and beverages poured, Clarissa, the committee’s chairwoman, started the meeting. For all the group’s frivolity, the items on the agenda were efficiently worked through one by one. By ten o’clock they’d decided to do several small projects throughout the fall to accommodate all the groups who wanted to help, culminating with one formal event with a Christmas in Old Astoria theme.

“How formal?” Jerry asked worriedly.

Sandy made a broad gesture, apparently seeing the picture in her head. “You know, something really classy. Something upstairs in the Banker’s Suite.”

“So, dinner and dancing?” Clarissa asked.

The Banker’s Suite occupied the second floor of a former bank built in the Greek Revival style. The upstairs had been remodeled in grand fashion for weddings and other special events.

“Yes, but maybe with a raffle—some special items that’ll really get attention. What do you think?”

A skeptical look went around the table. Clarissa shook her head. “Those twenty-dollar raffles are a thing of the past these days.”

“I know. Bad economy. But what if the tickets were five dollars instead of twenty? People who can afford them will buy several, and people who can’t will buy just one.”

“What special items do you have in mind?” Jerry asked. “I can probably get tickets to the Mariners.” He waggled his eyebrows. “My father-in-law has connections, and he’s crazy about his new grandson. Thinks I’m quite brilliant.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “Lydia carried this baby for nine months, gave birth after what was probably a grueling labor if the baby takes after you sizewise, and you’re taking credit for him?”

Jerry grinned unabashedly. “I am.”

Clarissa joined him. “You do have to admit that season tickets are a brilliant idea. And that is one beautiful baby. I’ll contribute several items in a winter wardrobe. And my daughter is a jewelry designer in Palm Springs. I’m sure she’ll send us something.”

Sandy applauded. “Okay. You guys are on fire! Except for you, Jerry. You’re just kind of full of smoke. Nate, what can you get us?”

“A couple of free tax returns? I won’t even stipulate that they have to be simple.”

“Wonderful. We all know what getting taxes done costs these days.” She turned to Mike. “Can we count on you for a couple of gourmet baskets and wine?”

“Of course.”

“Great. So what have we left undone?”

Clarissa looked over her notes. “Not much. We’re agreed that we’ll have a series of small events so that all the groups that want to help us can. The high school kids are having a car wash and bake sale. The grade school kids are selling candy. The Astoria Coffee House and the Urban Café are contributing half the proceeds from a particular weekend to the cause. And the Downtown Association has agreed to devote a Saturday from noon to five where a portion of each business’s sales come to us for the food bank. What else? What’s Kiwanis doing, Nate?”

“Our plan is to lend support to whatever the committee wants. And we’re working on the raffle, too. Hunter is trying to get a really big prize to make everyone buy a ticket. Maybe a European trip, with airfare and hotel accommodations.” He went to the door and shouted for Hunter.

His colleague walked into the conference room. “Yes?”

“Can you give us an update on the status of the trip for the raffle?” Nate asked.

Hunter stood near the table, seemingly reluctant to share the news. “It’s not good, I’m afraid,” he reported. “It’s hard for travel agents to comp that kind of thing for us at this point in time. I’ve got a few local hotels and restaurants, but no one can do anything really big.”

Everyone around the table seemed to understand that.

“Does it have to be a trip?” Sandy asked into the quiet.

Nate noticed her eyes roving Hunter’s shoulders as she posed the question, then down the sturdy length of him as he replied.

“I guess not. What else would draw interest?”

“I know an artist,” Sandy said, with enough excitement to get everyone’s attention. “And she’s brilliant. In fact, I’ll bet we can get a painting out of her for the raffle. Something to support the Christmas in Old Astoria theme.”

“Who is it?” Jerry asked.

“Bobbie Molloy. She’s living here while she’s fulfilling a commission for my office.”

Nate looked at Sandy in amazement. “That’s who’s living in your aunt’s old house? She’s my new neighbor.... I didn’t know you knew her.”

“She’s kind of a private person. And she moved here to have time alone to work.”

“Then are you sure she’d want to help us?”

Sandy smiled sweetly. “I’ll talk her into it.”

“Didn’t you already talk her into teaching an art class at Astor?”

Sandy appeared surprised that he knew that. “Yes, I did. Why?”

Nate wasn’t sure why he felt protective of Bobbie Molloy. She insisted that she was doing well, but he remembered vividly how small she seemed, how pale. He wondered if Sandy knew she’d been ill. “Well, she seems a little...fragile.”

Sandy met his eyes and he was suddenly sure she knew everything about Bobbie, and maybe resented his interference. “If we don’t give her something to do, she’s going to spend every waking hour in that studio until she leaves for Italy in January. Her father called me recently to see how she was doing, and I promised him I’d help her get out and meet people.” Sandy looked around the table at the expressions on the committee members’ faces. Her colleagues obviously thought she presumed too much. “What? She was my roommate at Portland State, before she went to the Pacific Northwest College of Art. I care about her.”

“Well, if you ask her for a painting, won’t she still be spending every waking hour in her studio?” Nate asked.