Coolheaded

Nora pulled the kitchen door closed behind her and, after a moment’s consideration, left it unlocked. She wouldn’t be gone all that long, and her son probably hadn’t remembered to take his key with him. Locking him out might teach him a lesson, but she didn’t have the heart to do it.

The pink and peach light of the early-evening sky was as soft as the spring air she stepped into. This early in the season, she always braced herself, anticipating the cold winter air, as though that were the world’s default setting, then felt surprise when she was greeted by this warm caress rather than assaulted by frigidity. It really was a lovely night.

The canvas bag her husband had gotten as a freebie from the last work conference he’d attended was slung over her shoulder. After her walk, she’d stop at the market, since they’d already gone through the milk and eggs she’d bought two days ago. Rory’s teenage-boy appetite was biting them in the rear end. She’d need to start working more than the part-time schedule she was doing now, just to keep him in food. And shoes. His feet were already so big, and yet they kept growing. So did the rest of him. He was like a caterpillar shedding its skin.

She checked the time on her phone. Six o’clock. She could probably squeeze in her usual three-mile loop and hit the shop in the last part of her circuit, on her way home. She certainly wasn’t going to carry a gallon of milk the whole way, though her arms could do with a bit of toning.

Her old running shoes felt cushioned, and light on her feet after the weight of boots, which she’d worn a lot this winter, given how much snow they’d had. She’d never been super-outdoorsy when she was younger, but activities like snowshoeing and cross-country skiing had seemed more pragmatic once the kids had come along. A way to stay fit without leaving the family behind. She’d come to prefer that kind of exercise—on trails, in the woods, among the white pines and hemlocks in the preserve—though from time to time she missed running, especially when she saw her fellow garden volunteer Amelia out on the roads and felt that pang of envy she always felt, and also now that the kids were almost grown. This summer she’d get out for some trail runs, but with the snowmelt, which was only a few weeks past in the shade of the forest, the paths would be a muddy mess. These walks she’d gotten into the habit of were strictly in town for now.

Her cell phone chirped its ringtone. She checked the screen and answered. “Hi.” She paused. “No, that’s okay, I can. It’s fine. I have a bag with me.” Still walking, she waved to her neighbor, Esther, who was just standing in her garden, staring. Probably planning. “He’s out for a bike ride with Alex. He should be getting home by about seven-thirty. I told him before dark.” Stopping at the corner, she waited while cars passed. “Mm-hmm. Yes.” She always hated seeing people talking on their cell phones while they walked, but here she was doing it. “All right. See you then.” She stuck the phone in the side pocket of her fleece.

“Mrs. Richardson?”

Nora had just looked left again and been about to step into the crosswalk, but she turned to see who had greeted her. Nora smiled at the young woman. “Oh hi, Lily. And please, call me Nora.” Lily was new in town, having been hired in the fall to take over as the director of the house museum at the edge of town. There were a few couples and families who had just relocated to the village proper. Occasionally, single people too. Nora thought fresh energy was good for the place but silently wondered how long Lily and her boyfriend—or maybe he was her husband—would last. That one, Lily, she was ambitious. You could just tell. She’d soon be looking for a bigger pond to swim in.

“Do you have a minute?”

Nora kept her face impassive but sighed inwardly. That was both the nice part and the downside of walking in the village—or, frankly, living in the village. Everybody stopped to chat or to conduct street-corner politics. The trails were safer in that regard. Nora took care to keep her voice light and unconcerned. “Sure, Lily. What can I do for you?”

“I had an idea I wanted to run by you.” Nora could see Lily’s eyes searching hers for willingness to be the audience Lily seemed to crave. Or maybe the look was of a predator assessing its prey. They didn’t know each other well, so it was hard to say for sure.

In the split second that followed, Nora’s thoughts were diagnostic, logistical: the food market was open until eight, so she’d have time to stop there after her three miles, and Rory could reach her if he needed to. All systems go: she could respond. “An idea?”

“Yes. I was thinking of hosting a book club at the manor.”

“A book club?” Nora was aware that she was just repeating Lily’s words back to her. Not to be unkind, but Lily did give the impression that that’s what she wanted. Anyway, better to be noncommittal.

“Yes, with a focus on themes pertinent to the important work we do at Thornton Manor and Gardens.”

Settling in for what the young woman had to say, Nora, out of habit, shifted her weight to her left leg but then caught herself, thinking what it would do to her sometimes-painful hip. She corrected her stance, matching Lily’s own straight posture. Nora purposely made eye contact, to be polite.

Lily continued, “I feel like a book group would be an effective path to higher levels of community engagement.”

Nora wasn’t entirely sure why Lily had approached her, particularly. She was one of the more plant-savvy volunteers at the manor for sure, which is how the Volunteer Coordinator had introduced Nora at the party their group had collectively organized as a farewell to the old director and to welcome Lily. Maybe that was it. Also, her being a mother with older kids seemed to make people think she knew things or wanted to be in charge of something. She had a reputation for being coolheaded, which struck her as strange. It’s not as if she’d had to manage a lot of crises.

Nora tucked her hand into her pocket and confirmed that the volume was up on her phone, in case her son called, not that he would, or her daughter, who sometimes checked in for a chat after her last class. “Do you mean increasing the number of visitors?” Nora frowned slightly, confused. “I thought Thornton Manor was on a solid financial footing. The last executive director was terrific.”

“It is,” Lily replied—a bit impatiently, Nora thought. “What I’m hoping to achieve is a more pervasive consciousness within this town”—Nora noticed the merest twinge of derision in those last two words—“of the manor as a cultural asset and material resource.”

Nora shifted her weight to her right foot. “Meaning you want people to care about it more?” she asked, then continued matter-of-factly, “We have twenty people a week showing up to volunteer during the season. I’d take that as a sign of people’s love for the manor.”

Lily’s jaw tightened, and it occurred to Nora that Lily hadn’t anticipated having to field questions. But then Lily seemed to consciously reset her features, and her poise returned, although her flicker of irritation had been, Nora had to admit, only barely discernible. “I wouldn’t frame the issue in that way, and we at the manor celebrate the dedication of our volunteers. You, certainly, have been one of our most valued supporters through your labor and in-kind contributions.” A bit patronizing, Nora thought, given that she’d been donating her time and plants for longer than Lily had been an adult, and that Lily had headed the organization for only a few months. “We’re finding that Thornton Manor is well recognized with the academic community—registration for the conference of research scholars we’re hosting next month has been robust. Securing the future of the manor, however, will require a larger base of boosters than we currently have and more financial buy-in from the local government and regional business community. My aim—and I have the full backing of the manor’s board of directors—is to increase the paths to participation in our programming and facility, but I also feel strongly that we need to put forth a more nuanced message about what Thornton Manor offers. A book club is one avenue to achieving both ends.”

Nora nodded. “Well, I suppose that could work.” She rubbed her arms to warm them. Standing there, she was getting chilled. “Let me know if I can help put the word out in some way.” She took a few steps toward the curb. “I’d better get going, but feel free to email me with more information.”

Lily’s crossed arms fell to her sides, her body’s acknowledgement that she had been dismissed. She took control of the moment again, though. “And Nora”—Nora half-turned back toward her—“thanks.”

Nora wasn’t sure what Lily was thanking her for, but she waved cordially behind her as she entered the intersection.