Man With A Miracle. Muriel Jensen
happen to you,” Cam warned.
“No,” he denied affably.
“That’s what I used to think,” Hank said with a knowing glance at him from beneath the bill of a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. “And look at me now.”
Hank’s wife, Jackie, was mayor of Maple Hill and the mother of four children, whom Hank had adopted.
“I like my privacy,” Evan insisted.
Cam laughed. “That’s what we all said. Prepare to kiss it goodbye, dude. You’re ripe.”
“Ripe?”
“Almost forty. Addie won’t be able to stand it. Even Haley, Jackie and Mariah are starting to plot.”
Cam’s wife, Mariah, a former dorm mother at the Maple Hill Manor Private School just outside of town, had charmed Cam into marrying her to provide a home for two of the school’s boarders, who suddenly had been without families. Five months later it had proven to be a good move for all of them.
“It’s not going to happen to me,” Evan said, seriousness creeping into his tone. He ignored the speculative looks his friends exchanged with one another. He hadn’t shared much about his past with his friends, though he trusted them all implicitly. It was just still too hard to give words to what had happened.
He’d told them he’d been a cop, and that he’d come to Maple Hill after an automobile accident that had almost disabled him. He said he’d come to rebuild his body in the fresh air, and to restore his spirit with the more relaxed pace of small-town life.
He’d joined St. Anthony’s Church, because after a month here, he still had too many memories and ghosts and needed desperately to be reminded that a power beyond his feeble abilities had charge of the world. And the Men’s Club gave him somewhere to go on weekends when his friends were involved with their families.
The church group was always raising money for the school, repairing or repainting it, or helping with some community project or other. Many of the men in the club were much older than he, but he liked their old-fashioned, curiously heroic way of thinking and their incisive senses of humor. They reminded him of Barney and eased his loneliness.
“Next year at this time,” Hank said, “when you’re married and expecting a baby, we’re going to remind you that you said that. Want to take bets on it, guys? Pick the month you think Evan bites the dust. Ten bucks. Winner buys everybody breakfast at the Barn.”
Evan ran in place, while the others stopped to exchange money and make their bets. “You’ll all owe me a meal when I remain a bachelor. Wait and see.”
They ignored him and conducted their business. Hank, who had faith in his mother, said she’d have Evan hooked by Valentine’s Day. Cam had been claimed in June and thought Evan would, too. Bart said that hurricane weather was powerful stuff and bet on August.
Evan put out his hand. “I’ll hold the money.”
Cam clutched the bills to his chest. “You’re one of the principals of the bet. You can’t hold the money.”
“I’ll give it to Jackie,” Hank said. “She can put it in the safe at City Hall.”
Evan shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to run in place. His leg was going to seize up if he didn’t. He needed a Jacuzzi and a Coffee Nudge. “You’re all going to be so embarrassed.”
They laughed in unison as they headed back to their cars. In five minutes they would reconvene at the Minuteman Bakery.
Evan stayed in his car an extra moment to massage his screaming thigh muscle, then joined his friends in the bakery’s corner booth. Someone had already poured his coffee and ordered his daily caramel-nut roll.
When he slipped in against the wall beside Cam, they were talking about the homeless shelter being built. As mayor, Jackie had helped solicit funds for the project and directed the construction.
The members of Whitcomb’s Wonders, a pool of craftsmen who could be hired at a moment’s notice for an hour or a year, had each worked on it at some point.
Evan had been painting and wallpapering at the shelter for weeks. All that remained to be done was the kitchen, and a second coat of paint applied to the common room. Jackie was hoping to see the shelter open on December twenty-third. With the advent of frigid weather, Father Chabot was sheltering the homeless in the basement of the church. There were several families, and everyone wanted to see them in more comfortable surroundings by Christmas.
“So, you’re okay to finish up by next week?” Hank asked Evan. Though they conducted their business over coffee and doughnuts, it was still business, and everyone’s attitude was a little more serious than earlier.
“Yes,” Evan replied. “Sooner if I can.”
“Don’t you and Cam have to get that office in your building finished this week?”
Evan nodded. “I’m doing that today and tomorrow. Unless you need me somewhere.”
“No. Nothing today. Some work at the Heritage Museum after the holidays.”
Evan and Cam’s first project together as Trent and Braga Development had been the purchase of the old Chandler Mill on the edge of town. Someone had made a halfhearted attempt to turn it into offices at one time, but the work was shoddy, clearly done by amateurs. Hank had once housed the offices of Whitcomb’s Wonders there, but had since moved the business into City Hall’s basement. Evan and Cam had torn down the old walls of the mill and hired Whitcomb’s Wonders to section off the first and second floors into eight large offices, and the third floor into two small apartments and two large ones.
The slow, easy approach they’d intended to take in readying the building for occupancy had gained momentum when a previous tenant, an accounting office, was happy about the renovation and eager to return—preferably between Christmas and the new year. Cam had promised the premises could be occupied on January second.
They had three more tenants eager to move in downstairs, and one waiting for a second-floor spot. It seemed that their development company was off to a good start.
Evan smiled to himself as he thought about how different his life was now from what it had been eighteen months ago. Then, he’d had morning coffee and pastries with scores of other cops in a squad room. He’d patrolled the city in a pattern that was often fairly routine, but could explode into periods of stress and danger that were sometimes energizing, sometimes terrifying. And he’d loved it.
Then he’d killed Blaine, and everything had changed. Well, over the past year he’d managed to accept that he hadn’t really killed him; Blaine had been struggling for the wheel at the time of impact. But that didn’t completely absolve Evan of blame. It was his fault Blaine had been in the car in the first place.
But he didn’t want to think about that right now. What he had here was good. Good friends, good coffee, rewarding work waiting for him. He missed his parents and Sheila and the boys, but he wasn’t up to seeing them yet. His mother had invited him for Thanksgiving, but he’d told her he had to work on the accountant’s office to have it ready in time. She’d sounded disappointed, but said merely that he had to plan to come home for Christmas.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of that yet, but he intended to.
“You’re coming to the Wonders’ Christmas party?” Hank asked Evan as he consulted his watch. It was almost eight a.m., time for them to get to work. “Sunday afternoon. And since we’ll all be together, Jackie’s planning to hold a meeting about preparations for opening the shelter.” Jackie had found a willing group of volunteers in her husband’s friends.
“I’ve got to work on the—” Evan began.
“No, you don’t,” Cam interrupted. “We’ve got a couple of weeks before Harvey starts moving things in.”
“But the carpet’s got to go down.”
“That’ll