Big Sky Reunion

Freshly printed flyers and advertising copy in hand, Melinda headed on foot toward the office of the Potter Creek Courier, the town’s semiweekly newspaper.

Aunt Martha’s physical therapist had cut her back to one appointment per week, telling her she should keep up her daily exercises at home. Thoughtfully, a church friend of Martha’s had volunteered to take her to the therapist this morning.

On a Monday, Main Street was quiet. Two preadolescent boys went racing by on their bikes, whooping and hollering, their baseball caps worn backward on their heads. By afternoon, they’d probably join other youngsters at the municipal pool at the far end of town.

Most of the vehicles on the road were pickups, often with a bale of hay in the back. Older women seemed to have a preference for cars rather than trucks, their gray heads barely high enough to see over the steering wheels, their speed a few miles per hour slower than the youthful bicyclists.

Older teens and young adults who had jobs or chores to do gathered later, near sundown, at the picnic area at Riverside Park. They’d swim in the wide spot in the river, listen to music played on boom boxes or from car stereos, make out behind the bushes.

Melinda’s face warmed and her steps slowed at the memory of being with Daniel at the park. If she had known about DeeDee Pickens, she never would have gone to the park with him. Not even once.

She reached the building that housed the Courier, a one-story stucco structure with wooden siding that mimicked an old Western town. The headline on the most recent edition of the newspaper, which was posted in the front window, announced VFW Elects New Officers.

Hard to imagine any news more exciting than that in Potter Creek. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Finding excitement hadn’t been her goal by coming west.

Finding inner peace and starting over were closer to the truth.

The cowbell over the door clanked as she stepped inside and got a whiff of printer’s ink and old newsprint. A stack of newspapers sat at one end of a long counter along with racks of Potter Creek postcards and area maps. The two desks behind the counter were both piled high with papers that threatened to topple over with the least provocation.

A woman appeared from the back room. Probably in her early fifties, she wore a bright, friendly smile.

“Morning. What can I do for you, hon?” she asked.

Melinda introduced herself and placed one of her fuchsia flyers on the counter. “I’m Martha Raybin’s great-niece. I’m going to be reopening Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions, and I’d like to place an ad in the paper.”

“Oh, I’d heard Martha’s niece was in town helping her out. I’m Amy Thurgood, editor of the Courier.” She moved her glasses from the top of her head, where they’d been perched, and slipped them on to study the flyer. The banner on the flyer read Grand Reopening on a background that resembled a knitted scarf with needles and yarn bordering the pertinent information. “Martha’s a dear lady. Guess she had quite a fright with that stroke ’n’ all.”

“She seems to be recovering well.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Is this the ad you want to run?”

“Yes, I brought you a CD. I thought that’d be easiest for you rather than scanning the master copy.” At the Pittsburgh knitting shop, one of Melinda’s jobs as manager was to create and place their advertising in the local paper. She’d spent most of Sunday afternoon designing this ad and the flyer.

“Perfect.”

“I was also hoping you might assign a reporter to cover our grand reopening.”

“A reporter?” Amy looked over the top of her glasses at Melinda, her hazel eyes sparkling with good humor. “Hon, around here I’m the editor in chief, sole reporter and general gofer girl. I do have a couple of stringers who cover high school sports and write the Ag column for me. But what you see is what you get, all-round newspaper woman with printer’s ink in her veins.”

Chuckling, Melinda warmed to this outgoing woman. Potter Creek might not compare in size to Pittsburgh, but it certainly topped the big city for friendliness.

As they talked, she discovered a three-column ad would cost less than a third of the price the Pittsburgh paper charged, although it would still make a dent in her minuscule checking account. Amy promised to run the ad in both Wednesday’s and Saturday’s editions. She also volunteered to post a flyer in her front window and agreed to drop into the shop during the opening.

Amy pushed her glasses back to the top of her head. “So, are you planning to stay here and run the shop for Martha?”

“That’s the plan.” Fingers crossed that she could turn a profit and keep both her and her aunt from the poorhouse.

“I’m glad to hear that, hon. Folks in Potter Creek are turning pretty gray these days. We can use more young people who’ll stick around and raise their families here.”

An ache bloomed in Melinda’s chest. “Aunt Martha is my only family.” Her voice caught. She’d lost everyone she had loved, and the most precious of all, dead virtually by her own hand.

Once outside, Melinda drew a deep breath to clear her head and shake off her memories. Memories that ripped open her splintered heart. Memories that had the power to drive her to her knees if she let them.

Forcefully, she straightened her shoulders. She had to keep busy, had to keep her demons safely locked away.

As long as she was out and about, she’d drop off flyers at some of the local businesses, meet the owners and ask them to post the flyers. No need to wait for Daniel to do it.

No need at all.

Because the Potter Creek Diner was immediately next door to the newspaper office, Melinda decided to start there. Not only did they have a large plate-glass window perfect for displaying posters, but they might also have a community bulletin board inside.

From across the street she heard the happy laugh of a child. Without thinking, she turned to see a boy about five years old skipping along holding his mother’s hand.

Pain as sharp as an arrow arched into her chest. Her breath lodged in her lungs. Her vision wavered.

No, not now! she silently pleaded. She had too much to do to have a panic attack. Focus on the flyers. Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions. Anything except her child who would never laugh and skip again.

She whirled and fled into the diner. She forced herself to take a deep breath and expel the pain that had constricted her chest. She forced herself to focus on these new, safe surroundings, not on the past.

The interior decor of the diner had a Western flavor. At eye level, the paneled walls were covered with black-and-white photos of rodeo events and old-time cowboys. Above those were the stuffed heads of a moose with giant antlers, a cougar with hungry yellow eyes, a snarling wolf and a sad-eyed buffalo.

Dragging her gaze away from the four sets of accusing eyes, she noticed that only two tables were occupied at this midmorning hour, both by middle-aged couples having a late breakfast. An original watercolor painting mounted in a rustic frame hung on the wall behind them. The painting depicted magnificent, snow-covered Rocky Mountains, yet the eye was drawn to the tiny abstract figure of a woman standing alone in a meadow. Despite the beauty all around her, the solitary woman appeared isolated and forlorn.

The aura of sadness in the painting touched Melinda’s heart as she realized that she could have been that unnamed figure.

Turning from the painting, Melinda approached a woman who sat at the end of the counter, sipping coffee from a mug and reading a paperback book. “Excuse me, I’m looking for the owner or manager of the diner.”

The woman lifted her head and swivelled around. Melinda’s eyes widened briefly as she recognized the flirtatious brunette she’d seen making a play for Daniel on the church basketball court.

“Pop isn’t here right now. What can I do for you?”

“I, um, I wanted to put up, um, one of these flyers in your window.” Melinda’s tongue had apparently developed a bad case of nerves, making her sound like a stammering fool.

The woman turned her book facedown to save her place and held out her hand. “Lemme see.”

Melinda passed her a flyer, noting the young woman had wide, nearly black eyes and wore a touch of eye shadow that enhanced their size. No older than twenty, the girl was way too young for Daniel.

“Knitting, huh? I never learned how to knit. Didn’t see much point.”

“I’m going to offer both beginning and advanced classes. The basics are really easy. You’d be surprised how quickly you could learn to make scarves and caps, even sweaters like this one.” She’d intentionally worn a light-weight, vest-style sweater in bright colors as a sample of what she’d be teaching to advanced students.

The woman glanced at the flyer again and shrugged. “Sure, you can put it up in the window. Don’t know that you’ll get many takers.”

“Hey, Ivy,” a man called from one of the tables. “You got any more coffee over there?”

“Sure, sure. Hang on a sec.” Ivy handed back the flyer. “Go ahead. Put it up if you want.”

Her lack of enthusiasm did nothing to bolster Melinda’s confidence. She opened her mouth to thank Ivy, but the young woman was already off her stool heading for the coffeepot simmering on the burner behind the counter.