“No problem.” She jumped from her chair. “This is so awesome. I have to go upstairs and call Brandy.” She did a half squat. “Can I be excused? I’m too excited to eat one more bite.”
He nodded toward the stairs, and she fled past him carrying the red plastic card pinched between her fingers with a grip so tight it looked as if she were afraid it was going to fly away.
Our little girl, Olivia. She’s growing up.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Vanessa sat in the back of the car reviewing the reports on Porter’s. She looked up from her computer. More trees. “How much farther?”
The driver lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. “About another twenty minutes.”
She glanced at the time on her phone. “I guess that would make Fraser Hills about two hours from nowhere.”
Did he just snicker?He focused back on the road. He was probably thinking the same thing.
This was the longest Monday morning.
The farther they drove, the more the land rolled, making her a bit queasy. She reached for her tote bag for a bottle of water. Hopefully a few sips would settle her stomach.
On this winding road, she couldn’t stand to look at the staffing worksheet another minute. She’d seen enough though. Several had been working there since Porter’s first openedits doors. The average years of service was fifteen, and that would’ve been even higher if it weren’t for the influx of new hires over the past two years.
She’d done a lot of job hopping when she first got out of college. It was the only way to quickly increase her salary. She was proud of her current salary, but her goal was to be comfortably retired by the time she was fifty.
They passed the first sign withFRASER HILLSon it. Three miles away. Finally.
The driver hit the blinker and slowed down to take the turn.
Vanessa slipped her shoes back on and tucked her laptop into her bag.
They rode by sprawling acres of green grass and livestock. Pretty barns with painted barn quilts above the vast doors gave the landscape an unexpected pop of color that was otherwise pretty much gone since all the autumn leaves had already fallen.
On the right, Christmas trees lined up like toy soldiers up a steep hillside, ready to grace living rooms over the holidays.
In the center median a sign readWELCOME TO FRASER HILLS. A white oval hung below it withHOME TO PORTER’S ~ THE BEST FRUITCAKE IN THE USAprinted on it.
How can they make the claim of best in the USA? Who decided? And why? Hiring someone to taste all the fruitcake in the nation to pick one and call it the best would have to be the worst job in the world, or at least the USA.
She reached into her purse and jotted a note to add the removal of the Porter’s sign in the closure plans.
Staring out the window, a train track ran adjacent. Her stomach clenched with each climb of the road.Possible rail access. That could be another positive asset for the warehouse.
“We’re here,” announced the driver. “Fraser Hills.”
Main Street looked like something out of a story book. There were shops on each side of the road, and small houses dotted the roads off to the right and left. Main street was wide, with no median. Instead, bright white parking lines slashed the blacktop like a giant game of tic-tac-toe: nose-to-nose parking between the northbound and southbound lanes. Parallel parking in front of each store blocked her view of some of the shops as they drove by.
With fewer than two thousand people living in the town, Vanessa had feared there’d be nothing more than a bank, a grocery store, and a gas station—and Porter’s, of course. But this town was charming, and alive.
Each storefront had its own look, painted in bright colors that somehow worked together although there was clearly no planned scheme. Pastels next to jewel tones next to a school-bus-yellow pizza shop. It was like they’d tried to include every crayon in the box—making it kind of whimsical. It was an appealing location. Professional buildings next to retail shops. Among them, antiques, boutiques, candles, gift shops, and an old pharmacy that even boasted a soda shop. She wondered if the soda jerk wore a garter on his sleeve while concocting real phosphate soda recipes like the one her grandpa had taken her to the summer before she went into first grade.Anna and I will definitely have to check that out.
Pleasantly surprised by the size and multitude of welcoming shops, she mused about how much Anna would enjoy visiting here too.
Several people walked along the sidewalks. Rolls of bright red and green wrapping paper poked out of the top of one woman’s shopping bag as she strolled down Main Street.
“This is Porter’s.” The driver pulled to a stop in front of the building at the corner of Main and Porter House Road.
She peered out the window. It was nothing like she’d imagined. The brick building stood three stories tall, towering over the two-story buildings around it, and its dark red brick gave it an appearance of strength. Rather than opening onto either street, the front doors faced the intersection on an angle at least ten feet wide where the building’s corner had been flattened to create a covered main entrance. Three steps led from the sidewalk up to tall double glass-front doors with black shutters on each side. White columns flanked the steps, carrying the weight of the glossy white roof that covered the entryway; above the portico, huge shiny black-and-white-painted letters spelledPORTER’Svertically down the face of the building.
“Can you wait here for a few minutes? I need to pick up the key to the apartment, and get directions.”
