The Inheritance

AS SOON AS SHE WALKED in the door, Roslyn knew the teenager she’d spoken to in the convenience store had been the wrong person to ask about a good place to eat in town. She stood indecisively on the threshold. A quick look around the café told her no one present was over the age of twenty. The pulsing bass of a rock group pumped from a sound system guaranteed to be heard in the next county. Guys and girls in crisp white shirts and blue jeans whizzed about with trays of impossibly tall drinks and enormous desserts. A few heads turned Roslyn’s way, but nobody showed more than a fleeting interest in the newcomer. Their dismissal of her presence made her feel twice her thirty-two years. She couldn’t leave the place fast enough.

Back on the sidewalk of Plainsville’s main drag, Roslyn debated between finding a grocery store and making lunch at home or tackling the other side of the street. The street won, merely because the idea of preparing a meal in an unfamiliar kitchen was more than she could bear.

Jaywalking in Plainsville was a rare occurrence, judging by the number of stares she received as she dodged a few cars to cross. Safely on the other side, Roslyn walked toward the heart of Plainsville—a small grassy roundabout in the center of the street dominated by a bronzed statue of a man astride a horse and with a hawk perched on his shoulder.

Roslyn viewed this centerpiece from the sidewalk. Plainsville’s founding father, she wondered, accompanied by his loyal pet hawk? She smiled. Not for Plainsville the lure of modern sculpture! Still, she had to admit the town was pretty, its sidewalks lined with graceful trees and planter boxes filled with plants not yet in bloom. She caught the reflection of light in one of the trees and noticed that its branches were festooned with strings of Christmas bulbs. The streetlights were replicas of gas lamps and arched gracefully over the parking lanes.

“I see you’ve already managed to find the best diner in Plainsville.”

Roslyn whirled to her left. Jack Jensen was standing inches from her shoulder and she brushed against him as she turned. “You startled me,” she gasped.

“Sorry, I should have tapped you on the shoulder or something. Either way, guess you would’ve jumped.”

“I—I was just looking at that statue,” she said, pointing to the roundabout.

“Oh. I figured you’d just had a bite to eat at Laverne’s place.” He craned his neck behind him.

Roslyn noticed for the first time the diner with the sign Laverne’s Coffee Shop propped against the plate glass window.

“Don’t be fooled by the name,” he added. “It’s not one of those trendy coffeehouses where you pay exorbitant prices for designer coffees and monster-size pastries that have no taste.”

Several corners in downtown Chicago popped into Roslyn’s mind. “Actually,” she said, “I was looking for a place to eat when the guy on the horse caught my eye. Right out of Main Street, U.S.A., isn’t it?”

He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The guy represents every pioneer and settler who had the guts to leave a safe home behind and head out for the unknown.”

Roslyn felt her face flush.

“And the hawk,” he continued, “well, anyone who knows their geography knows that Iowa is the Hawkeye State. Named after one of our famous Native Americans.” He waited a beat, then leaned into her face to say, “So much for the history lesson. Care for some lunch?”

“Great,” said Roslyn. “Maybe if I put some food into my mouth, I won’t be able to fit my second foot in.”

He smiled, stepping aside to let her go first. But then she heard him mutter. “Geez, I forgot I’m supposed to be meeting Lenny.”

“At Laverne’s?”

“Nah. This place is too old-fashioned for Lenny. He was going to wait for me near the roundabout.” Jack moved toward the edge of the curb and scanned the parkette surrounding the bronze statue.

His eyes crinkled against the sun and he pushed the tip of his baseball cap back off his forehead to get a better look. It was Roslyn’s first chance to get a better look, too. At Jack Jensen. Tall and lean rather than thin, he obviously kept in shape. His profile had strong lines without sharpness. Ordinary features that merged to form an attractive, though very un-Hollywood face. For some reason, that pleased her.

His head swiveled unexpectedly, catching her mid-stare, and Roslyn knew her face was red. “A dead giveaway,” he murmured softly.

“Say again?”

“Your skin tones. I bet you can’t ever tell a lie convincingly,” he teased, adding quickly, “Not that I’m suggesting you ever would!”

She grinned, just as Lenny’s shout got his attention.

“Damn!” he whispered, pulling his eyes from hers and staring down the street. Lenny was running toward them.

Lenny pulled up right in front of Jack. “Thought you were leavin’ me behind again,” he began, then stopped, catching sight of Roslyn. “Oh, sorry.” He looked from one to the other.

“I just bumped into Roslyn here,” explained Jack, “and, well, I was thinking of getting a bite to eat with her at Laverne’s.”

Lenny frowned. “Here? I thought we were going to Murphy’s!”

Jack stared silently at his nephew.

Willing him to shut up? Roslyn wondered. “You two go ahead with your plans,” she said. “Besides, I’m sure you have a lot of work to do today.”

“Yeah,” said Lenny, brightening at the reminder. “Aren’t we supposed to clear some brush for old man Watson?”

Jack flipped the cap off his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Little spikes stood on end, moistened by perspiration. “We can do that any day,” he said.

“Not with me, ’cause next week final exams are starting and I won’t be available.”

Jack sighed loudly and turned to Roslyn. “Look,” he began.

She held up a palm. “Another time. Just recommend something at Laverne’s for me.”

He gave a faint smile. “Anything. For lunch, maybe the club sandwich on whole wheat.”

“Sounds good,” she said, keeping her eyes on Jack’s face but catching the scowl on Lenny’s at the same time.

“Okay then,” he said, still playing with the cap in his hands.

There was a moment’s pause which Lenny broke. “The meter musta run out by now,” he grumbled.

Jack shot Lenny a look that silenced him. Roslyn was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Maybe you could pop around sometime tomorrow,” she suggested. “I think we need to talk about…well, things.”

“What time?” Jack asked.

She shrugged. “Sophie’s coming to help clean and go through some things with me. Maybe around eleven?”

“Good. Eleven.” He nodded enthusiastically, then put the cap back onto his head. “Okay, then. Tomorrow at eleven.”

“Geez, Uncle Jack,” Lenny interjected. “You’ve already said that a hundred times.”

Jack ignored his nephew and held out his right hand. Surprised by the sudden gesture, Roslyn placed hers in his.

“That’s good. That we’re going to talk, I mean,” Jack murmured, staring down into Roslyn’s eyes and clasping her hand gently in his.

Lenny sputtered something. Finally, Jack released her hand and, with Lenny tugging at his right elbow, began to move off down the street.

“Good grief,” mumbled Roslyn. “What a pair.” But her hand was still tingling when she placed it on the door to push it open.

CHAPTER FOUR

ROSLYN COULDN’T remember the last time she’d felt so restless. Or could this gnawing sensation be loneliness?