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“Phew! The sun is out but it is still butt-cold out there!”
Noelle laughed. She dropped her hands and turned toward the door. Her neighbor—well, work neighbor, Franchesca—stood inside the doorway, stomping snow off her boots onto the doormat and shaking her hands. Her black curls stuck out from under a red beanie cap, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, as always. She reminded Noelle of a gypsy. All color and movement and playfulness.
Franchesca ran the drama school next door to Noelle’s School of Dance. Her classes ran, for the most part, the same time as Noelle’s, but many students they worked with wanted to be involved with both. They were even putting together a performance for the community that combined both dance and acting. Still working out the details, they wanted to present it at the theater that sat on the corner right next to Noelle’s studio. It was close to being ready; they only needed to choose a date for the performance.
“It’s nice and warm in here though.” She smiled at Noelle. “You’re so much nicer to your students than I am. I mean, sheesh, they’re young. They’ll thaw, right?”
Noelle had only known Franchesca a short time but had figured out most of her questions were rhetorical.
“What brings you in on this fine, brisk afternoon?” Noelle moved to the door and hugged her friend. She took her coat and hung it on the rack just inside the door.
“Well, I come in here every day, pretty much, before I open my own place.”
“That is true. Come in out of the doorway.” She led her friend to the back room beside her office. It was more of a closet, to be honest, that Noelle had fashioned into a break room of sorts. On the small counter sat a coffee pot, an electric teapot and odds-and-ends snacks for getting her and her teachers through the afternoons and evenings.
“Tea or coffee?” Franchesca did stop in pretty much every day, but unlike most people who chose one or the other, she drank both and Noelle could never guess what mood she’d be in on any given day.
“Tea today, please.”
Noelle filled the teapot with water from the tiny sink and plugged it in. A few mugs lined the back of the counter. She dropped tea bags into two then turned to face her friend, doing a plié in her mind as she folded her arms loosely across her chest. Franchesca now sat in one of the chairs against the wall. The room could only house two. The studio had warmed now and music floated through the air. The peace of it was not lost on Noelle. More and more each day, the studio was becoming her space. Her world.
“I did want to stop by and ask you if you’d heard anything from our landlady.”
Noelle tilted her head, thinking through emails she had read through earlier that day. “No. I don’t believe I have. Why? Is something up?”
“Well, rumor has it she’s looking to sell this building we’re in to some uber-wealthy guy who has ‘plans’ for it.” She put air quotes around the wordplans.
Noelle tamped down her heart rate, which threatened to speed up, her moment of peace fading. “What kind of plans?”
“Heck if I know.” But I have a feeling a big fancy-pants moneybags probably doesn’t see a drama school or dance school as a big return on his investment.”
The teapot hissed then whistled. Noelle turned her attention to it, pouring water into both mugs then handing Franchesca hers.
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
Franchesca bobbed her tea bag up and down in the hot water. Noelle did the same. Neither of them spoke, both of them lost in what had to be the same thoughts. Their landlady was a kind woman. Someone who had been gracious with Noelle and easy to work with. She couldn’t imagine someone else running the place. Maybe the buyer was an investor and would be fine keeping the current tenants, not wanting to mess with finding new ones.
“Look. I’m sure it’s fine. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just wanted to let you know what I’d heard. This is a small town. News travels fast and it doesn’t always travel correctly, ya know?” Franchesca took a sip of her tea.
Noelle nodded, hoping her friend was right. She’d just settled into Marietta, embraced the studio as her new normal. Her mind couldn’t even fathom having to let it go.
Chapter Four
Wes sat atthe head of the dining room table, papers spread about. He’d intended to look over paperwork his dad wanted him to see, something he wanted Wes’s opinion on, but his assistant had called first thing with no less than five work fires he’d spent hours putting out. Morning moved into afternoon without him noticing until Glenna brought him lunch.
“You’re going to work yourself into an early grave, Mr. Wesley,” Glenna scolded. As housekeeper for the St. Claire family for more than twenty years, Glenna was more of a loving grandmother to the St. Claire kids than anything else. She had been their mother’s right hand for years. They’d be lost without her now.
At the sound of Glenna’s voice, along with the aroma of fresh-baked bread and homemade stew, Wes looked up from what he was reading. “What’s that, Glenna?”
She placed the food in front of him, sliding his papers aside to make room. “I said you work too hard. You’ve been sitting here since early morning. I fed you breakfast in this spot too!” She put her hands on her ample hips and frowned at him. “That is no way for a young man like you to live. You need to go outside, enjoy some fresh air!” She waved a hand toward the large window behind Wes’s chair.
He smiled. Glenna’s silver hair was pulled up into a bun, her black sweater and pants covered with a dusting of flour, most likely from making bread. She must’ve forgotten to put her apron on again. His father continued buying them for her, but she misplaced them, taking them off and putting them with towels or other kitchen laundry. As meticulous as she was about everything else in the house, it was a St. Claire family mystery as to what happened to Glenna’s aprons. They were the socks of her world, disappearing in an abyss somewhere without a trace.
Wes looked at the table. His laptop sat open to his right. The documents he’d been reading were now spread down the length of the mahogany table almost out of his reach. Which was saying something. The table took up most of the room. An enormous rectangle, it seated twelve people, but with chairs wide enough for two adults to fit in, the expanse of wood was lengthy. The kids used to tease that if two people sat on either end, they’d need a phone to speak to each other. Regular conversation would never be heard that far away.
Marian St. Claire took the ribbing from her children well, as always, and forever stood by her decision for a large table. That way, over the years, they could all gather and have room for spouses and children as they came along. Wes’s heart sank at the thought. With Annalise being the only grandchild so far, and the loss of Marian and Anna, the table wasn’t serving the purpose his mother planned.
