It Really IS a Wonderful Life: The Snowflake Falls but Hearts in Love Keep a Home Warm All Year Long (17 page)

“How old is he?”

“Six.”

“He could join Tiger Cub Scouts next year.” Brandy turned to the wizened yet striking woman seated next to him. Her blue-sequined top set off a long, navy-blue velvet skirt. “Grandma Rose, this is Dorie Fitzgerald. She works with Jamey at Bargains Galore. Dorie, this is Rose Harwood Niles. She’s receiving an award too.”

Rose took Dorie’s hand in an affectionate greeting. “No big thing. I get a plaque only because I’ve lived so long.”

“Grandma Rose is ninety-four years young and Midville’s oldest active den mother.”

Rose’s youthful spirit shone through the face age tried to ravage. “I love children. They keep me young.”

Lifting his glass, Brandy nodded as if offering a toast. “Grandma Rose taught in a one-room school house before Midville paved their roads.”

Rose’s eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. “The village built its first multi-classroom facility well over fifty years ago. Progress comes with a price, Dorie. I never liked teaching only one grade. In the early days, the older children helped to teach the younger. It taught them responsibility.”

Brandy glanced toward his grandmother. “Dorie, I’ll have you know you’re seated with walking history.”

“Shush, Branson. The date of my birth is no claim to fame.”

Brandy leaned back against his chair. “This woman is probably the main reason for Midville’s population growth—fourteen children, sixty grandchildren, twenty-nine great-grandchildren aand four great-great-grandchildren.”

Rose’s quiet sweetness reached across the table like a mother’s hand. Dorie basked in the presence of reluctant Midville royalty.

“Grandma Rose, someone should write your story. Maybe I’ll do it.”

“If that’s your goal, you’d better hurry. At my age I pay my AARP membership by the month.” Rose winked at Dorie. “My story’s not so much. My mother—now that’s a story. As a young woman, she left the comforts of home and family to marry a circuit preacher.”

Brandy glanced toward the bar. “Jamey Sullivan is quite a story too. Don’t you think, Dorie?”

Color her clueless.

“Or hasn’t Jamey told you? I assumed since the two of you were dating—”

“I’m not sure we’re dating. I’m not sure what we’re doing.”

Brandy snickered. “I suspect Jamey doesn’t know either.”

Rose grasped Dorie’s hands. “My Albert, Branson’s grandfather, and I were friends before we were sweethearts. He died over thirty years ago. I married again, of course, but I’ll never forget my Albert.”

Jamey returned with his soda in hand and the topic of marrying friends aborted. “I’ll bet Brandy talked your ear off. I hope you didn’t fall for his fiction.”

What connection did Brandy Harwood have with Jamey besides being Midville’s resident emcee? Brandy had to be at least two decades older than Jamey, yet they ribbed one another like best friends.

Jamey took a seat next to Dorie. “Did Brandy admit to being my scoutmaster?”

“He didn’t mention that.”

Brandy winked at her. “Jamey put up the worst challenge I’d ever met in twenty years of scouting. That’s why I retired after he made Eagle.”

“Not so. Tell him, Grandma Rose. I was a good kid.”

“Is Rose your grandmother too?”

“No. But half of Midville is related to her and the other half feels like they are.”

Rose’s eyes moistened as she tweaked Jamey’s cheek. “You were an easy boy to love, Jamey, even though you were a challenge to discipline—always getting into scrapes with boys twice your size. I knew you’d do this town proud. And you have.”

Dorie let the tidbits on Jamey Sullivan settle in her brain. Brandy and Rose, at least, seemed to know a Jamey Sullivan that existed long before Dorie stepped into the Little Red Hen Preschool for the first time.

A waiter set plates of lettuce topped with a hint of onion and two cherry tomatoes in front of each of them. Jamey unfurled his napkin and let it rest on his knee. “Rescued by imitation salad. Let’s stop chewing on my nefarious past and enjoy our meal. By the way, Brandy, I thought the troop decided on a buffet as usual.”

“I suggested we have a sit-down dinner this year. Hope you like roast beef, Dorie.”

“One of my favorites.”

The conversation focused on everyone’s dislike of the tough roast beef. When the tables had been cleared, Brandy stood; as he approached the makeshift podium, the room exploded with applause. Jamey continued his praise. “Brandy’s very well-liked, as you can tell. He’s been Midville’s mayor for the past twenty years.”

Anyone related to half a town would certainly have a good shot at winning an election. Brandy Harwood, though, exuded oodles of charm and probably would have become mayor without the relative advantage.

“Before we begin with the awards, the Scouts will perform a skit. Let’s give them all a hand.”

Jamey’s blush burned with three shades of scarlet. “Those are my scouts. I shudder to think—”

The Scouts entered, carrying a cut-out of a car tied up with a big ribbon. The room erupted with laughter. Jamey leaned in and whispered an explanation. “Last year at camp I drove a red Mini Cooper, like those cars in
The Italian Job
. One night, the boys pushed the car so it leaned against the flagpole by the Administration Building. The next morning at revelry, I found my Mini Cooper tied up with a big yellow bow.”

“So that’s why you’re driving a Nissan?”

“It was a gift from my father.” Jamey’s shoulders heaved with amusement. “The Phantom does have advantages.”

“Phantom?”

“That’s what my troop calls it.”

The skit met with clamoring applause. When the thunder lessened, Brandy began the awards, each announcement receiving nods of approval and polite recognition.

Finally, he straightened his tie and paused for dramatic effect. “I’m privileged to honor these next two people. I wouldn’t be here tonight if it weren’t for both of them. One gave life to the father who gave me life. The other saved me from a watery grave. Let’s hear it for our heroine and hero of the evening: Rose Harwood Niles and Jamey Sullivan.”

The crowd stood, their applause deafening.

Jamey blushed again. “Don’t pay attention, Dorie. That’s nothing but political banter.”

He helped Rose to the podium. She accepted her award and gave both Brandy and Jamey a peck on the cheek. Brandy handed Jamey his plaque and presented him with a ceremonial handshake. He left the podium with Rose and joined Dorie at their table while Jamey took the microphone.

She uttered a quick prayer.
Lord, help him not to stutter.

He took a second, then faced the crowd. “Who knows where the next Shakespeare, Madam Curie, or Martin Luther King, Jr. will come from? Greatness does not depend upon geography or heredity. Greatness is born from dedicated leadership—leaders who encourage, rather than discourage, the dreamer inside the dawdler.”

The dawdler—that could be Josh and his ill-timed questions. Like this morning, when he’d asked how many bones were in the human body right when she was cramming in a load of laundry. Hearing Jamey’s words, she wished now she hadn’t snapped at Josh. She should have dropped the laundry, booted up the computer, and helped her son explore the wonders of anatomy.

Jamey’s speech ended with a standing ovation.

As Dorie rose with the throng of admirers, she marveled at this man. What history hid behind his words of wisdom? When he returned to the table, she squeezed his hand. “You were wonderful, Jamey.”

He looked into her eyes, and the glimmer retreated. Something like panic looked back at her. Maybe he thought she’d been too forward. After all, the man was her boss.

Many congratulations and handshakes later, they made their way to Jamey’s Nissan. Dorie snickered when she got in, wondering what riding in the Mini Cooper might have been like. When they pulled from the parking lot onto the main road, she braved the question tripping on her tongue. “How did you save Brandy Harwood’s life?”

“There’s nothing to tell. He went for a midnight swim in the Onchiota River and got caught in the current. I pulled him out. The newspapers made too much of it since Brandy was the mayor.” Jamey’s summary tied up the story neater than a movie logline. In all likelihood, he’d deleted a large segment. Why brush off her curiosity with a snippet? He averted her questioning gaze. Clearly, he wouldn’t let her tramp on his personal history. At least, not yet.

“There’s a lot of stuff in my past I’d rather not discuss. I’d prefer you first know the man I am now. People change. I’m not that crazy kid anymore, and Brandy is different too.”

She imagined a walk on a moonlit beach, she and Jamey holding hands. In her fantasy he placed a ring on her finger and told her his secrets. She said none of that mattered. He kissed her, and they continued their walk for the rest of their lives together.

Hold on, Dorie … way too premature.

“
I had a great time tonight,” she said, resisting the urge to gush with accolades on his speech and how much Midville seemed to admire him.

“I’m glad. I like being with you. You make me laugh.”

“Nice that I’m amusing.”

“I meant that as a compliment.”

Growing up, people laughed at her inattentiveness, like spilling spaghetti while walking across the room. She remembered Mom’s urging to not be so scatter brained and to focus on the moment, a simple instruction, but one Dorie could never grasp. Her spastic neurons plagued her as much as her curly, blonde hair. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t change her genetic predisposition. Devon had called her scatterbrained traits creative genius. Of course, he loved her, so her uncommonly wired psyche never bothered him.

As he pulled into her driveway, Dorie thought about Jamey’s pragmatic sobriety. He possessed a depth—a closeted interior, true enough, but width and breadth she could depend on. When they first met, she thought him shy. Now his quiet confidence drew her. As he helped her from the car, his eyes pulled her in. She slipped her arm through his as they strolled up the walk.

He paused at her front door. Would he kiss her goodnight?

“Thanks for being with me tonight.”

Why didn’t he look at her?

“I’m … um … leaving … for the weekend tomorrow, but …um … I’ll be back in time for rehearsal Monday night. Sh—Sherrie will be able to answer any work-related questions.”He gazed at the ice-covered porch. “Well … um … goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jamey.”

He turned back to his car and drove off without even a handshake. Reason fought disappointment. Jamey made no declarations. If friendship was all he wanted, so be it. She would expect nothing more and would stand in line with the rest of his fan club.

Who was she kidding? She’d fallen for him. Now what? How could she go into work day after day knowing he felt no more affection for her than he did for Gabe or Danny Riley?

When Dorie entered the house, Gillian looked up, an enigmatic twinkle in her eye. “How did it go?”

What could she say? The evening had been as magical as a fairy tale, until a few moments ago. “All right, I guess.”

“I re-read the play tonight. Did you know that George resisted his attraction to Mary? Loving her meant giving up his dreams.”

Where was Gillian going with this conversation? “Yes. I enjoy reading the script over and over as well. I’m afraid I don’t understand what the play has to do with tonight.”

“Don’t give up on Jamey. He likes you, but he’s at a crossroads.”

“Go on.”

“Ultimately, Mary became George’s salvation from a life he wanted but one that wouldn’t have given him serenity. George thought his destiny rested anywhere except Bedford Falls. He couldn’t see the happiness in his own backyard.”

What does Jamey need saving from?

Gillian put on her coat. “The kids were great. Feel free to ask me to stay with them anytime. By the way, your mother called. She said your brother is doing great. Here’s the kicker. She said I could tell you that your brother and fiancée are moving to Midville right after Christmas.”

Dorie bit her tongue as her stomach flip-flopped. “Mom will be pleased to have him so near.”

She should be happy for JJ too. Yet, the green monster reared. For the past year, she’d been the focus of her parents’ attention. Now with JJ moving to Midville and a wedding in February, would she be relegated to the less favored child? She scolded herself for harboring such pettiness.

Dorie pulled a gift bag containing a small scented candle from the top closet shelf and handed it to Gillian. “Please accept this. I really do appreciate your help tonight.”

She snapped open the bag. “I love candles. Thank you.” She tucked the gift into her purse. “Will I see you in church?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want the children to miss the last practice before their play Sunday night.”

“I’m sorry Jamey’s going to miss it.” Gillian rubbed her lips together, holding the pose for at least a minute, the way Mom did when she had something profound to deliver. “I think you should know that Jamey’s agent landed him an audition for a Broadway play already in progress. One of the main actors and his understudy were injured in a car accident.”

So that was the reason for Jamey’s sudden aloofness and for Gillian’s references to the deeper meanings of the play? “Too bad for the folks who were hurt, but I guess that gives Jamey the chance he’s been hoping for.”

“Don’t tell anyone yet. He wants to keep it low key.”

“I’ll pray that God’s will be done.”

Gillian beamed. “That’s exactly right.”

After Gillian left, Dorie turned off the living room lights and sat in the dark, oddly comforted by Gillian’s insights. Mary Hatch threw a stone at a rickety old house and made a wish. Instead, Dorie surrendered her unknown future into God’s hands.

Chapter Twenty-five

“Great news, Jamey. You got the part!”

“That’s huge, Sid. I’m excited, of course, but I can’t help feeling sorry for that poor actor and understudy. I guess one man’s misfortune is another man’s opportunity.”

“Luck might have provided the opportunity, but your talent landed you the role. Don’t shortchange yourself. With more luck and hard work you’ll go far—even to Hollywood if you want.”