The Invited(43)

“Maybe.” Olive shrugged. “That’s what some people are saying anyway.”

Riley smiled. “Probably even the traffic light going out again and again,” she said. “It’s usually just Hattie who gets blamed for anything bad that happens in Hartsboro, but now all the old gossips are over the moon because they have someone new, an actual flesh-and-blood person to blame.”

Helen stood stunned, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Riley said. “It’ll burn itself out. Some teenage girl will get pregnant or a guy will leave his wife for another guy and the whole town will have something else to chatter about.”

“Yeah,” Olive agreed. “Take it from me, the best thing to do is ignore it.”

“Damn. I thought maybe I should start dressing in black and drawing mystical signs on the sidewalks,” Helen said, and they all laughed.

“I hear that in addition to being the new town witch,” Riley said with a mischievous wink, “you’re building an amazing house out there.”

“It’s really cool,” Olive said. “They’re doing all the work themselves!”

“Impressive,” Riley said.

“Or crazy,” Helen added. “Idiotic maybe, even?”

They all laughed again.

“Olive’s been a huge help,” Helen said.

“She’s a good worker, that’s for sure,” Riley said. “She’s learned a lot from working with her dad on their house. Have you met my brother, Dustin, yet?”

Helen shook her head. “Not yet.”

“I’ve been talking to dad about having Helen and Nate over sometime for a cookout. You’ll have to come, too, Aunt Riley!”

It was something they used to do all the time back when Mama was around—have cookouts and invite a bunch of people. Everyone would bring something—extra beer, potato salad, watermelon—and Daddy would shoot off fireworks in the backyard once it got good and dark.

    “Absolutely, Ollie,” Riley said. “Name the date and I’ll be there.” She turned to Helen. “So, what brought you in? Are you looking for anything in particular for the house?”

“Yeah, actually, I am. I want that soapstone sink you’ve got over there.”

“It’s a beauty. Let’s go mark it as sold and I’ll get a couple of the guys to load it for you.”

“Also, I’m looking for a beam to use as a header. Something old, hand-hewn. Maybe four by four or four by six?”

“We’ll take a look at what we’ve got,” Riley said, leading them back across the vast warehouse of a store.

“Olive tells me you’re kind of a local history expert,” Helen said.

Riley shrugged. “I wouldn’t say an expert. Not by any stretch. But it’s definitely a passion of mine.”

“I told Helen you could let her into the historical society so she could do some research,” Olive explained.

“I’d love to check it out,” Helen said. “In fact, I got the number of a woman named Mary Ann, hoping to get in and take a look around, and I left her a message, but she never called me back.”

“Yeah, she and her husband are in North Carolina—their daughter and her family live there. She’s about to have another grandchild and Mary Ann and her husband are down there waiting for labor to kick in. But I’m afraid the historical society is temporarily closed anyway. A water pipe burst and there was some damage. They have to redo the floor. A lot of stuff got frantically packed into plastic boxes and totes. It’s kind of a mess. But I can let you know as soon as we get the all clear to open up again.”

“That would be great!” Helen said. “I hope nothing was damaged.”

“No,” Riley said. “Everything was up out of the way, thankfully. It was just the floor. The carpeting has to be torn out and replaced, and there’s some question about the subfloor.”

They got to the sinks, and Riley pulled a tag from her pocket, wrote SOLD in big letters, and attached it to the sink. Olive’s eyes just about popped out when she saw the price: it was $799. It was a large, deep double sink made from smooth cut slabs of slate-gray stone.

“The sink’s from right here in town. And my guess is that the stone itself was quarried right here in Vermont.”

    “Really?” Helen said, looking even more excited.

“The sink came from an old farmhouse out on County Road. A couple bought it last year and are doing all kinds of upgrades, making it more modern.”

Helen shook her head. “I can’t believe anyone would give up a sink like this.”

“I know, right? They probably put some new, shiny stainless steel sink in to match their appliances,” Riley said. “Now let’s go find you the perfect beam.”

Riley led them over to the other side of the store, where the large beams were piled and stacked on racks. They all had white tags and were written on with yellow chalk.

“This place is so amazing,” Helen said. “And I can’t thank you enough for offering to open up the historical society for me.” She started looking at the tags on the beams.

“It’s no problem. Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to find?”