“Yes, please.”
She hands me the dish of sugar cubes. A small tong rests inside it for grabbing.
“Three times?” Daphne pours a little cream into her cup and then sits back.
“Seven,” Peggy corrects. “I counted. I keep records.” She sits across from us, holding the cup to her lips. “I hold grudges.”
Daphne lifts her own cup in a cheers salute. “I respect that.”
“So, tell me everything.”
Daphne and I exchange a look. We can’t tell her everything.
“We need to fill the theater for the Saturday show,” Daphne says.
I continue. “And we need Graham to be there for an entire movie for . . . reasons.”
“Reasons?”
“Reasons we can’t fully explain.” Daphne pulls out our flyer. “But this is our idea to get him and the rest of the town there. And we stopped by here because I thought you might have an idea to get him to stay.”
Peggy takes the page from Daphne, lifting her reading glasses from where they are hanging on her neck to look it over. “Oh, this is a hoot. We will have those seats filled, no problem. But getting Graham there will be tougher.”
We get quiet, drink our tea, and nibble on the sweets while she’s thinking.
After a few minutes, she sets her cup down.
Daphne leans forward. “You’ve thought of something.”
Peggy’s eyes gleam. “There’s only one person in this town Graham Deadwyler has ever cared about.”
She stalls for so long, the suspense gets to me. “Who?” I ask.
“Mrs. Hammond,” Peggy says slowly.
“Who?” I repeat.
But Daphne gasps. “Mrs. Hammond! Of course!”
“Who is that?”
“Our high school English teacher,” Daphne tells me. “She retired. Lives over in Haven.”
Peggy points at Daphne. “You mark my words, he won’t leave the theater. Not if he sees her. That boy wouldn’t have written a single word without her. She’s the one who told him he mattered. She used to come in here all the time, talking about how good his writing was and how he would be famous someday.”
Daphne bounces in the seat next to me. “Yes. This is perfect. I’ll go talk to her. I applied for a job there, so I wanted to drive over anyway.”
“You will not kidnap a retired English teacher,” I say.
Daphne purses her lips. “Define kidnap.”
“Daphne.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “I will convince her.”
Peggy picks up her teacup. “I don’t think she’ll take much convincing. She loved that boy. I might have her number somewhere. Or I’ll get it. I always do.”
This whole thing still feels impossible.
