October 17th
"I've been telling people for years that it's only a matter of time before the rest of the world catches up to us." Deputy Palmer Anderson rocks back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers.
"I think that's a little alarmist," Sully looks up from his paperwork.
"He's not wrong," Sam chimes in, balancing two cups of coffee before setting one on Palmer's desk, then spins an empty chair to straddle it. Sam doesn't like his office; he'd rather be out here with the guys. Besides, while it's a rare day when they're all here together, last month's paperwork was piling up so it's their monthly 'push to control the backlog.' "The island can't stay like this forever. We've been Mayberry for too long."
"Do you think there's actually more crime these days or people are just more likely to report it?" Sully ponders, rolling his chair toward the other two men.
"If we knew what went on behind closed doors, we'd have to arrest half the town," Palmer shrugs while smoothing his mustache. "Nowadays, people feel the need to share everything."
"That's a good thing though, right?" Sully asks.
"If nothing else it's job security," Sam smiles, sipping piping hot coffee.
"I heard a story about a guy in San Francisco," Palmer began, "a serial killer who placed a wanted ad in the newspaper looking for someone to kill, and people actually responded."
"No…" Sam balks.
"I swear to you," Palmer assures him. "This lady, who's batshit crazy because she didn't get enough love her mother or some shit, went to his house and he killed her and ate her."
Sully and Sam groan in tandem.
"That's the kind of world we're living in." Palmer tips his head to the side and picks up his mug.
"Okay," Sam concedes, "but to be fair, in comparison things are pretty tame here. Sure there's been more drunk, disorderlies and domestics, but winter is coming. It happens every year."
"We haven't had a murder on the island since 1918. Ol' Margie's an omen of things to come, you mark my words. There's a shit storm brewing on the horizon! You just can't see it yet." Palmer nods.
"We don't even know what happened." Sully interjects, unsettled at the idea of her death being a homicide; it's a possibility he doesn't want to face.
"You don't need to know, Sull, you feel it." Palmer looks to Sam, "The Sheriff feels it, don't cha?"
"Well, I…" Sam trails off, trying to find the right words. But he knows there's no need to sugar coat things with these two. "I can tell you something wasn't right in that house."
"See," Palmer cocks his chin toward Sully. "You gotta learn to trust your instincts; they'll save your life."
"My instincts are fine. I just don't go around assuming the worst. I prefer to wait until all the facts are in." Sully huffs.
"Not everything comes wrapped with a nice little bow. You'd do yourself a favor to remember that."
"Lay off him," Sam waves his hand at Palmer. "Hey, what ended up happening over at the Curtsmans?"
Palmer rolls his eyes. "Jeanie called in again, said Jim was beating her. By the time I got there they'd made up and she denied the whole thing."
"You talk to her without Jim?" Sam raises an eyebrow.
"Am I new?" He asks, incredulous. "Course I talked to her, she's got a shiner too, he popped her good, but she won't turn him in. So what could I do?"
"Maybe I'll head over there tomorrow while Jim's at work." Sam offers.
"You do that Sam. I've got better things to do than play therapist to a housewife who won't help herself."
"Jesus Palmer, you sound like a-" Buzz. Buzz. Sam's phone vibrates in his pocket, he checks the screen and gets up, "I gotta take this." He waits until his office doors clicks closed before answering. "Hey you."
"Hi Sam," you greet him, sounding out of breath.
He loves the way you say his name; it makes his pulse speed up. He's not sure he'll ever get used to it. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Larry Grandby's truck slid off the road out on Canton, couple of us stopped to give him a push. He's good."
"Listen to you, muscles." He teases and you laugh. God, Dean was right, you do laugh at all his awful jokes.
"I'm not sure if I like being called that." You laugh as he hears the ding of the open car door and the click as it shuts. "I don't really have a good reason for calling. I'm just sitting her on the side of the road. I just haven't talk to you in a couple days."
"I'm glad you did," Sam peaks out the door at Palmer and Sully who are still engaged in conversation. "We still on for dinner Saturday?"
"Yes," you confirm, pausing before adding, "I miss you. Is that weird to say?"
Sam smiles, relieved there's no one around to see what a fool he must look like. "No, I miss you too."
October 19th
"You're not doing it right," Maude Chapman slaps at your arm and you let go of the the bedspread. You're a nurse, not a housekeeper; but most of the residents don't see the distinction.
You take a deep breath, stepping back to allow her to take over, "why don't you show me how you want it."
"Here," her hands are all knuckles, knotty fingers that somehow still move with expert precision as she folds the edge the way she prefers and tucks it under the mattress. "You have to keep the folds tight."
"Got it," you nod in confirmation and complete the remaining corners following her instruction.
"You can take the tray too, I'm done."
"Perfect," you look at her leftover hot roast beef sandwich, now room temperature as a film forms over the gravy. You came up to her room to double check her medication and found yourself in a never ending loop of chores and tasks. "I think Beth is coming later to clean, so she'll get the rest of it for you, kay?"
"Beth has no eye for detail. There's been a cobweb in the bathroom since I moved in."
"I'll talk to her, make sure she gives your room a good once over."
"If you think it will help," she dismisses you by sitting her arm chair facing the window and picking up her book.
"See you tomorrow." You close the door carefully and tiptoe past the open door to Mr. Flannery's room. You can see him through the open door, napping on his bed as he snores loud enough to wake the dead.
Memory Lane Manor is the only elderly care facility on the island. It looms large and imposing on the west side of the island. The house was originally built by Jessup P Flannery in 1883, one of the first construction projects on Little Tall. It remained a private residence for nearly a hundred years before being sold by the Flannery children to Joe Burch, who converted it into a old folks home. Each of the twenty one rooms are home to hosts of colorful and cantankerous residents.
You've worked here for almost five years with no desire to leave. If you want to live on the island you've got two options; Memory Lane or Dr. Bauer's Family Practice where Carole Till has been the only in-office nurse for the better part of twenty years.
It's not that you mind the home; you like most of the residents and enjoy afternoons of checking blood pressures and listening to vintage tales from yesteryear. You've always been a romantic when it comes to nostalgia, so your chosen occupation is a good fit.
Over the years you've toyed with the idea of moving on. You went to school on the mainland at the University of Southern Maine and there were days when you missed Portland and all the amenities it has to offer. Maybe someday you'll grow a pair and move to the 'big city.' But not anytime soon. Your life is here, not to mention this thing with Sam is still in its infancy. You'll always be an island girl. It's in your bones.
You drop off Maude's tray at the kitchen and head to the small suite of offices on the first floor, your tennis shoes squeaking as rubbing meets hardwood.
"Is she in a mood today?" Kelly looks up from her computer.
"When is she not in a mood," you grin, setting your chart down and sinking into your desk chair. "She had me make her bed. If she had things her way I'd be her maid, personal assistant and spend my day answering her every beck and call."
"Claudia worked overnight all last week. She said Maude had her making tapioca pudding at three in the morning." Kelly gets up from her desk and walks over to yours, sitting on the edge.
"Claudia needs to learn to say no. If she does it, then the expectation is the rest of us will too." Sighing, you tap the power button on your laptop.
"Have you heard anything else about, you know…" Kelly lowers her voice despite the fact that you're the only two people in the room.
"Are you talking about Mrs Schulman or Debbie?" You clarify.
"I'll take the dish on either, but I was talking about Debbie. My mom said she had a full meltdown in the middle of the grocery. Screaming at Scott about screwing Karly Smith while she was in Vermont visiting her sister. She almost gave him a concussion with jar of pickles."
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. What I don't get is how Debbie can even get upset in the first place. She's slept with half the town, most of them after she got married."
"She's always been a wild card. Remember when we were in high school? The shit that came out of her mouth. You never knew what was coming." Kelly laughs.
"I invited her over for dinner out senior year and sat at the table terrified of her saying something vulgar in front my parents. I think it's all about the shock factor with her. Hell, I don't care who or how many people she sleeps with as long as it's not me that's taking a can of the green beans to the skull." You snicker as you thumb through your handwritten notes. It's going to be a long evening of data entry.
"What about the Schulman thing? I heard it was just an accident, she fell in kitchen."
"That's what I heard too." You breeze past the topic.
"Come on, you were with the sheriff! He didn't say anything else?" Kelly pushes.
"No, not really."
"Speaking of the sheriff, Kathy over at Cooper's said he was in there a couple weeks ago asking about wine pairings. She thinks he's back with Maeve."
You try to contain you reaction, forcing a casual shrug as you flip through your notes. "Who knows."
"It's a shame," Kelly forges on, "Maeve's sweet, don't get me wrong, but there's no light on in the attic. I could never figure out what he was doing with her."
"I'm sure there's more to her than meets the eye." You try to play devil's advocate, despite how uncomfortable the conservation makes you. If you're honest, you feel the same way. Maeve and Sam were always a mystery to you and now the thought of them together makes your stomach tight. You don't begrudge him a past, you both have one. But you'd prefer to leave it where is belongs.
"You know what your problem is?" Kelly asks.
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway." You laugh, giving her your full attention.
"You're too goddamn nice." She kicks your chair.
"Trust me, I'm not," you shake your head. "I just don't want anyone else talking about me so I try to extend the same courtesy."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about." Kelly rolls her eyes and gets up. "You want to grab dinner later?"
"As long as we can drink too." You feel the sudden need for something to take the edge off.
"Girl," Kelly spins in her chair, "I've got you covered."
October 20th
Once a month Ellen Harvelle and the children of Wee Folks Daycare make their pilgrimage to Memory Lane. It's not the younger children, just the school age kids that have nowhere to go after school lets out and still require supervision. The program is your brainchild, a bringing-together of young and old that seems to breathe life into the elderly residents.
You wait at the door as Ellen ushers six children from her van toward the steps of the house. Included in today's merry band of little ones is Robbie Huskin, the mayor's son, and Sophie Winchester, whose blonde pigtails are swirling around her head.
You pair the children off one-by-one with the folks who choose to be part of the program. Some of them playing games, others reading story books about valiant knights and damsels in distress. You walk the perimeter of the social room, letting each pair interact in their own way. They've been coming here for almost a year and each have an established relationship that's wholly unique.
Just as the afternoon is coming to a close, Ellen sneaks up behind you. "I hate to ask, but you think you can do me a favor?"
"I'm not sure I like the sound of this," you joke.
"Can you keep Sophie for a little while? I'm going to drop them off on my way back to my place but Dean's house is on this side of the island. He just called and he's docking right now but he won't be up here until close to seven which means I have to make the rounds and come all the way back over here…"
"He's gonna pick her up?" You confirm. It's not the first time, every once in awhile you play babysitter for Sophie. She's a sweet kid and now as you explore a relationship with Sam there's a new level of interest. "I don't mind."
"You're a lifesaver." Ellen smiles.
Sophie sits at your desk with a wide array of crayons as she colors in a picture of Beauty and the Beast. You set a tray of this evening's dinner consisting of meatloaf and mashed potatoes in front her, hiding your amusement as she scrunches her nose.
"What is it?" She asks, poking the plate with her finger.
"It tastes better than it looks, just try a bite for me." You encourage her.
Sophie puts her coloring book aside and looks skeptically from you to Kelly, who's watching from her desk. Forking a bite of meatloaf, she closes her eyes and sticks into her mouth like she's taking medicine. After a minute she begins to chew, her expression turning from revulsion to surprise.
"Not bad huh?" You confirm.
"It's good," she doesn't look up from her plate.
"Sorry you're stuck here kiddo, your dad should be here soon."
"I like it here," Sophie mumbles through a mouth full of food, "my dad says I'm going to be seeing you all the time now."
You nearly choke on your own spit and Kelly rotates in her chair like a hound dog smelling blood.
"Oh yeah?" You sputter, unsure of where this is going.
"He says you're a real ten." She repeats what she heard matter of factly as Kelly stifles a laugh, snorting into her hand. "That's a good thing right?"
"Oh yeah," Kelly responds, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "it's good. Your dad say anything else?"
You clear your throat, throwing your co-worker a glare. "Why don't we talk about something else. How is school going?"
You change the subject as the heat rises in your cheeks, painfully aware of Kelly watching you like a hawk. You're never going to hear the end of this.
It's almost eight by the time you hear Dean's truck pull up. You gather Sophie's things and take her by the hand as you walk her down the steps.
"Sorry," he raises his hands walking to you. "I had a flat tire, it's always something."
"It's okay," you offer.
"Hey squirt" Dean hugs his daughter as she wraps herself around his leg. "You ready?"
"Yes," she sighs dramatically. "I'm exhausted."
"Me too. Go get in the truck and I'll be there in a second." She listens, running off to the car with a backpack over her shoulder. Dean looks at you with an exasperated expression, "I'm really sorry."
"And I told you, it's fine. She's entertains herself for the most part. She's pretty self sufficient."
"She is, isn't she," Dean looks back at the truck like a proud papa bear.
"She ate dinner and had seconds too, so she shouldn't be hungry."
"Thanks, I owe you. I'll buy you a drink once my brother gets his shit together and you two aren't hiding in the shadows."
You bite your lip, trying not to smile. The thought of Sam makes you feel ridiculously giddy.
"No repayment needed," you wave him off.
"I don't like to be in debt to anyone, sweetheart. Not even you." He reaches out and squeezes your arm before jogging back to his waiting daughter.