Absence of mallets, p.4
Absence of Mallets, page 4
Mac chuckled. “The big guy with the elbow patches is Kingsley. He sold a book of horror short stories. More literary than genre, I’m told. I haven’t read any of them, but I’ll probably check them out.”
Besides the elbow patches, Kingsley wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was starting to go bald, which might’ve explained why he wore his curly black hair in a thick ponytail halfway down his back.
“Who names their kid Kingsley?” Travis mused.
Eric nudged him. “Good question.”
“He’s too young to be wearing a cardigan with elbow patches,” Chloe said. “But then, maybe he fancies himself writing for Masterpiece Theater.”
Mac grinned. He took a quick bite of fish, then a sip of his beer. “And finally, there’s Hugh. He’s the short, baby-faced fellow sitting on the end. He writes techno-thrillers. Not sure how well he’s doing, but hey, he just sold a fourth book. So, good for him.”
“So you’ve got competition,” Eric said with a grin.
“My books aren’t as techno-heavy as Hugh’s, but yeah.” Mac chuckled. “Competition is good for me, right?”
“You can take it,” Travis said.
Chloe was staring across the room.
“Stop staring,” I whispered. “They’re going to know we’re talking about them.”
“That guy’s got a thing about his phone,” she said. “Have you noticed he hasn’t put it down? He took a selfie with the group, then a couple of himself. Then he took pictures of everyone’s food. And now I think he’s recording their conversation, because he keeps angling the phone toward whoever’s talking.”
“I noticed that, too,” Eric said, his eyes narrowed.
Travis shook his head. “Hope he doesn’t try that in the workshop tonight. I get into some personal stuff about PTSD in my story, and I’d rather not have the whole social media world listening in on my problems.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Mac said fiercely.
When Travis first moved to town, Eric had confided to Mac and me that his friend suffered from PTSD. It was one more reason why Travis had chosen to move into the village. He wasn’t always sure of himself living among civilians, but more importantly, he would be able to get all the services he would need at the community center. When I hired him for my crew, he was open and honest about the disorder.
“You know, Mac?” Eric began. “I think I’ll check out your writing class.”
Travis held up both hands. “Don’t do it on my account.”
“I’m not,” Eric said easily. “Just like to keep my finger on the pulse of my town.”
Chloe looked around the table, then turned to me. “And you’ll be there, too. Right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
She sighed. “I was looking forward to a quiet night at home watching TV, but since you’re all going to be there, I can’t stay away. You have room for one more in your class, Mac?”
“For you? Always.”
* * *
* * *
The meeting room inside the Homefront community center had been arranged to accommodate a relatively small group tonight, with ten chairs in a semicircle facing a tall director’s chair. Next to the director’s chair was a side table and a whiteboard.
With fifteen minutes left until the workshop began, there were already sixteen people standing around the coffee machines or talking together in small groups. And that didn’t include the six writers from the retreat group who hadn’t shown up yet.
“You’ve got a good crowd here, Mac,” Eric said.
“There are more people here than the number that signed up, but this is great. The more the merrier, right?”
“I’ll get more chairs,” Travis said.
“Thanks, Travis.” Mac turned and gave my arm a squeeze. “Guess I’ll start greeting people.”
“You go ahead,” I said. “They’ll want to talk to you.”
I watched him approach a group of three men and introduce himself. I didn’t know why I’d been holding my breath, but I let it out slowly as the group welcomed Mac heartily.
I turned and headed across the room to help Travis with the chairs.
The doors of the paneled wall units were folded back accordion style to reveal several tall stacks of chairs. “I can help,” I told him, and we began carrying chairs over to the semicircle.
“I can help, too,” Chloe said, and grabbed a couple of chairs.
“Where’d Eric go?” I asked.
“He saw the light on in the program director’s office, so he’s down there talking to him.”
I nodded and set out two more chairs.
“Hey, Parks,” Travis called. “Give us a hand here.”
An older man, grizzled and slightly stooped, came shuffling across the room and took a few more chairs from the stack.
Chloe and I supervised the arrangement of a second larger semicircle of chairs behind the first one.
“Think twenty-five will be enough?” Travis asked.
I glanced around, did a quick head count. “Maybe a few more, just to be safe.”
“I got ’em,” Parks said, and set three more chairs down to complete the circle. “That should do it.”
“By the way, ladies,” Travis said. “This is my buddy, Parks.”
“Hi, Parks,” Chloe said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for your help.”
“A pleasure.” The older man nodded his head and said with a gravelly voice, “Parker Bellingham Jones the fourth, at your service.”
Parks looked to be in his fifties, I thought. And despite his fancy upper-class name, he must’ve had some hard times along the way.
Travis snorted. “He’s got a way about him.”
“Not sure why,” Parks said, chuckling. “And still not sure how I earned such a highfalutin moniker like that when I grew up in a trailer park.”
“I have a good friend who lives with her parents in a trailer park,” Chloe said. “Only they call it a manufactured housing community.”
Parks smiled. “That’s a nice turn of phrase, isn’t it?”
“She loves it there,” Chloe continued. “They have a pool and a restaurant, and there’s golf and all sorts of fun things to do.”
“We mostly had a bunch of kids to play with,” Parks said. “And when I was a kid, that’s all I really wanted.”
Chloe glanced around. “Do you live here now?”
“I do. Four doors down from my buddy Travis.”
I glanced from one man to the other. “Did you know each other before you moved here?”
“Nope,” Travis said. “I met Parks the day I moved in. He brought me a loaf of bread as a welcome gift.”
Chloe beamed at Parks. “That’s awesome.”
“Who can’t use a loaf of bread?” Parks said with a shrug.
“Man.” Travis blew out a breath. “That is some genius-level philosophy right there.”
Parks chuckled. “More like trailer-park philosophy.”
“One and the same,” Travis murmured.
Eric walked back into the hall and joined our little group. Chloe introduced him to Parks, and the two men shook hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Chief,” Parks said.
“You too, Parks,” he said. “Are you settling in okay?”
“Sure am,” Parks said, then sobered. “What you fellows have built here, it’s something I never thought I would see in my lifetime. It’s a dream come true just to be here.”
“It’s something we all needed,” Eric said quietly.
“True that,” Travis said solemnly.
Mac walked over and greeted Parks. “Thanks for helping with the chairs.”
Parks nodded. “Always glad to help.”
“Let’s go sit down,” Travis said, nudging Parks. The two men walked over to the semicircle and took seats in the front.
I looked up at Mac. “Did you meet everyone?”
“Yeah. They’re all psyched. I think it’ll be a good workshop.”
Chloe leaned in next to me. “I’m going to go save us three seats in the back row.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Eric checked his watch. “You about ready to start this thing?”
“Almost.” Mac glanced up at the wall clock. “Waiting for a few more folks to join us.”
As if on cue, there was a commotion by the double doors. We all turned to see the six writers walk in, chatting and laughing. A few of them waved at Mac as they crossed the room and made their way over to the circle of chairs. Once there, they had a quiet debate about where to sit. The two women suggested that they all sit in the back row because they weren’t actually participating. Two of the guys agreed, but—big surprise—Lewis wanted to sit up front. His good friend, the one Mac had identified as Brian, joined him.
Lewis wore a vintage jacket over his button-down shirt. It was suede with fringe along the sleeves and the hem and across the back. Some of the fringe was beaded, and I had to admit, it was fabulous.
“He’s going for the cowboy rock-star look,” Chloe whispered.
I almost giggled out loud. Despite the fabulousness of the jacket, it just didn’t suit his otherwise preppy style.
Lewis skirted around the group and made his way to the front row, and seeing him sit there so close to Mac made me wonder if Lewis had some mischief in mind. I didn’t say anything to Mac, but I knew he was more than capable of handling any disruption that came his way. I focused on Chloe as she grabbed three seats at the end of the second row.
“I’m going to join Chloe,” I said, and gave Mac’s arm an encouraging squeeze. “Knock ’em dead. Or alive.”
He grinned. “Alive is better.”
“Looks like the gang’s all here,” Eric murmured.
Mac nodded. “Then let’s get started.”
Chapter Three
Mac welcomed everyone and then introduced Police Chief Eric Jensen to the attendees.
Eric stood and glanced around at all the faces. “Thanks, Mac. I want to thank you all for participating in this first of many workshops at Homefront. We’re trying to do some good things here, and we all appreciate your support.” He glanced at Mac. “Back to you.”
“Thanks, Chief.” Mac gazed at a piece of paper in his hand. “I also want to point out that we’ve got a few visitors tonight who won’t be a regular part of the group. You probably recognize Shannon Hammer, who’s heading the construction crew working on the houses. Her sister, Chloe, sitting next to her, is also a contractor.”
We both waved at the group, and Mac continued. “We’ve also got six visitors who are all writers. They know the ups and downs of writing a book and trying to navigate the publishing industry. So during the break, they’ve offered to answer questions and talk about their books with you. Raise your hands, guys.”
The authors raised their hands, and everyone else turned to get a good look at them.
When the hubbub died down, Mac began the workshop. He asked some questions, then gave some ground rules. “No one is obligated to do the work or turn in assignments. You don’t have to read your work out loud. You can do as much or as little writing as you want. You can just come and listen if that’s what suits you.”
There was an audible sigh of relief.
Mac flashed a quick grin. “Yeah, I get it. But let me add that if you do participate and take a chance and write something and then read it out loud, you’re going to get more out of it than you ever imagined. Think about it.” I watched Mac glance around at the faces of the veterans. So many of these men and women had been through so much, and that didn’t just refer to their time on the battlefield. Some had experienced even more trouble once they came back home.
I knew Mac didn’t expect to impart any sort of wisdom or higher understanding in here. He just wanted them to enjoy themselves in the few hours they would spend in his workshop.
“Okay, lecture over,” he said, and moved on to the idea of setting a story in a particular place and using sense memory to make it come alive. The smells, the colors, the heat and the cold, the buzz of insects, or the taste of salt air. He asked for questions and gave amazing answers, and I found myself fascinated by his voice and the way he phrased certain words. There was always a hint of humor in his tone. He found life interesting and fun, and he was never bored or listless, but always enthusiastic, even when it came to deciding what to have for dinner. He made me laugh, made me happy, and I felt so lucky to have him in my life. And it was always a thrill to know that he felt the exact same way about me.
I was shaken out of my happy little daydream when Mac’s tone suddenly changed. “Are you recording this?”
Mac was pointing at Lewis. The writer was taken aback, and I had to wonder. Did he think Mac wouldn’t see him holding up his phone the way he did?
“Yes,” Lewis said. “I like to have a record of everything.”
Mac sat back in his chair, looking perfectly relaxed. “I prefer that you not record this workshop.”
“But—”
“In a few minutes, some of us will be reading our work out loud. You must realize that for many beginning writers, it takes a lot of courage to stand up and read your own words to an audience. I’d like you to respect their privacy and put your phone away.”
Lewis looked at Brian for support. “But I always record our writers’ meetings. It’s not like I’m going to play it to the whole world. It’s just for my personal use.”
“Lewis,” Mac said succinctly. “I’m asking you to put your phone away.”
“Maybe we could take a vote,” Lewis said brightly.
“In this workshop, my vote is the only one that counts.”
“Wow.” He frowned and his lower lip stuck out. He was pouting! “That doesn’t seem fair.”
In a casual move, Mac stood and folded his arms. “What’s fair is that you consider the feelings of the other people in the room. Now please, put the phone away.”
I had to admire Mac’s patience. I would’ve drop-kicked that jerk right out of the room.
Lewis gave an ill-tempered shrug. “Didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” He glanced around as though he might be able to rally some of us to his side, but it wouldn’t work with this crowd. He reminded me of a popular football player back in high school who most of us secretly hated, but because he was such an arrogant bully, none of us had the courage to tell him to buzz off.
Mac was not one to be intimidated. He sat down and blithely moved on to the subject of dialogue.
I glanced over at Lewis and Brian in the front row and noticed Brian ignoring his friend as he stared at the doorway. He elbowed Lewis, and because I was watching him, I could tell what he was whispering. Wow, she’s pretty.
Lewis rolled his eyes in disgust but turned and looked. I couldn’t help but peek over my shoulder and see Julia and Linda looking in. Glancing back at the two men, I saw Lewis wiggle his eyebrows. Oh, hey. She’s hot. Then he whispered loudly to Brian, “Dream on, dude. They’re both above your pay grade.”
Brian scowled, clearly in disagreement with Lewis’s assessment. He turned back to listen to Mac, but Lewis continued staring across the room at the two women. As I watched, he pulled out his cell phone, and sure enough, he aimed and clicked a photo.
He wasn’t even trying to be discreet. The guy was too obsessed with recording the moment.
I glanced at Mac, and for a brief second, we made eye contact. I knew that he’d seen the entire byplay between the two men. And I knew we’d be talking about it later.
* * *
* * *
Halfway through the workshop, Mac gave everyone a ten-minute break. I stood and stretched, then turned to Chloe. “Are you going to stick around?”
“Heck yeah,” Chloe said. “I want to see what those knuckleheads do next.”
“That guy has no shame,” I said.
“You’re right,” she said. “But I’m staying anyway because Mac is an amazing teacher.”
“He sure is,” I said. “I’m more impressed than ever.”
“And how about that reading from Travis?” She shook her head in awe. “Wow.”
“It was beautiful,” I said.
Travis had read a short story he’d written about wrestling a bear to rescue a baby. It was both brutal and very touching. I’d never imagined a wilderness adventure story could be so lyrical.
“It made me cry,” Chloe admitted. “And laugh.”
“Uh-oh,” I whispered.
She gave me a look. “Oh, come on. I heard you sniffling, too.”
“It’s not that. It’s that.” I jerked my chin toward the other side of the room, where Lewis was deep in conversation with Linda. And now Julia was heading my way, looking annoyed.
“Now what has he done?” Chloe wondered.
Julia came right up to me. “Who is that guy?”
“He’s one of the retreat writers.”
“He’s an obnoxious idiot. He just told Linda he’s never met anyone so beautiful in his entire life.”
“She is very pretty,” Chloe admitted. “Who is she?”
“Linda Rutledge,” I explained. “She grew up here.”
“I don’t remember her,” Chloe said, frowning as she gazed over at Linda.
“She was a few years ahead of us in school.” I looked from Chloe to Julia. “You remember Julia, don’t you?”
“Sure.” She grinned at Julia. “Your dad was a really good carpenter. He worked with our father sometimes, right?”
“That’s right,” Julia said.
“And now she’s in charge of the nonprofit foundation that’s underwriting the supplies and equipment for my construction skills class.”
“That’s fantastic,” Chloe said. “Paying it forward, right?”
I almost laughed since I’d thought the very same thing.
